by Winfred Wong
“The appeal of extreme patriotism to uncultivated people with a fragile heart is irresistibly tempting when the government or, to be more accurate, the dominant party of the government is advocating it, maliciously hoodwinking people into thinking that the dominant party is equivalent to the concept of country itself and disseminating fabricated information to distort the truth. What you are witnessing here is beyond doubt one of the most convincing evidence of the existence of pure evilness,” Jack quipped when he got down from the ladder, his mature voice capturing everyone's attention, though to me, what he said sounded far-fetched, and I had, for a moment, considered him as the conspiracy theorist, who was responsible for fabricating the entire closing-the-border thing.
“Jack!?” the driver bellowed surprisingly.
“You know him?” I asked.
He didn't seem to be concerned with what I said.
“Long time no see, Kaylen,” Jack replied, wiping the dark black residue of smoke that covered his countenance fumigated on his face away with both hands, his action stimulated me to imagine how I looked like at that moment.
After running all my fingers around my face a few times, I stretched out my palms, which were as black as coal, and rubbed my hands against my trousers.
“Why don't you call me? I would have picked you up at the airport myself only if I knew you're coming back for us,” Kaylen said.
“I wasn't – “ Jack said, yet interrupted by a purring sound of a starting engine of a chainsaw.
“I don't think now is the best time to catch up with an old friend,” I said, as I finished rubbing. “Is there a way out of this place? Like a rear door?”
Cast me a short glance before averting it back to Jack again, “Yes, there is a way out of here, a rear door exactly,” Kaylen answered firmly when the sound of revving engine became more and more terrifying.
But I instantly felt like I was stepping into another trap when he answered so promptly. What were they doing here if they had already found a way out of here? Why didn't they make their escape? It was weird, but, on second thought, nothing about this place made sense at all. It wasn't weird.
“We should go now,” I said.
Before he could respond, sparks flying hither and thither around one particular spot on the rigid gate suddenly illuminated the foyer, and the whirring cutting sound that occurred along with the sparks suggested the beginning of their first attempt to cut through the gate.
“Please, just lead the way. I don't want to die here. You have a plan to get us all out of the country, don't you?” I continued.
Nodded, “Of course. No problem. Everyone follow me,” Kaylen yelled and walked off.
As the rotating front tip of the guide bar of the chainsaw completely penetrated through a rift it cut open, all of us began scurrying behind him in the opposite direction of the rift to a rear door, which had an indistinguishable emergency exit signboard above it, set at the end of the foyer. I expected the escape to be a lot more laborious than simply walking out an emergency exit that I thought was awkward due to it's ridiculously small size. I had to walk like a crab in order to fit through it, but that was it. We simply walked out of the hotel leisurely like ambling into our own apartment with a universal key ready in Kaylen's hand.
Behind the door was a grim, filthy narrow rear alley, where bright sunlight couldn't reach, winding back, carpeted with randomly discarded garbage between buildings. The stench arising from the squashy carpet was comparable to the acrid smoke inside the hotel, or even worse as it smelt like rotting dead rats. Despite the fact I hadn't caught a glimpse of a rat, I wouldn't be surprised if dozens of them suddenly came out of nowhere judging by the poor condition of that place. And we could only move along in single file because everyone wanted to minimize the risk of inadvertently touching the gray side walls, which looked extremely unhygienic with million-century-old stains on it.
Straggling right behind Kaylen, who was leading the way, “Did you come back for me?” I asked on a whim.
“What makes you think I would rush into a burning hotel for a man I hardly know?”
“Instinct.”
“Where are you from, my friend?”
“Port Aroma.”
“So what are you, a citizen of the Shangri-La, doing in this crazy country? You should've never come,” he said, voice trembling like he was restraining himself from weeping.
I could hear a little bit of jealousy in his trembling, so I bet he was upset because he wished to be born in a different time and place – he flat out denied this and claimed he was just feeling sad when I asked him about it upon arrival at the pond and he then rushed out of the car like a rabbit bouncing and leapt into the golden shining pond to prove that he's being honest with me despite the fact that I had no idea how the pond-prove-you-honest thing worked at that time.
“I thought I would love this place,” I continued, closed my eyes, letting fragments of memories I had built up in this journey to flow through my mind like rotating a kaleidoscope, and paused, realizing how absurd my thought of coming back here had been.
“You want to live here? You want to immigrate to this country?” he said in an amazing tone like he happened to see the sun peeping out from the western horizon, and giggled, then laughed in a happily sad tone.
“I wanted to,” I stressed. “I was born here, but was then forced to leave when I was still a toddler. I have had enough of hypocrisy from the people in the Port. So I thought it would be great to have a chance to come back here, to go to a place, where people still value the importance of maintenance of order instead of fragile freedom that does no good to the society.”
“You hate to be free, don't you?”
“I don't hate it. I just don't think it's as important as it is said to be. I can live without it.”
“You can live without it? Like how? Like a robot without soul but has a free mind that allows it to want to emigrate?” he repeated my statement in a mocking way. “You're taking it for granted.”
“Imagine you are in a place of true freedom, where everyone gets to do whatever they wish to, eats whatever they want to, plays whatever stupid games they like. They don't need to wake up every morning to catch the bus in order to be on time at work and worry about any problems. Imagine you are in a perfect world like that, a literal Shangri-La. Sounds like a dream world, isn't it?” I gulped down my saliva difficultly. “But when we are in such a flawless world, we are more prone to be attacked by our sloth and our unlimitedly expanding greed or craving, craving for more power, more wealth, both materialistically and mentally, which will make us sinful. Don't you see? True freedom is just a pipe dream that should never be within our grasp because it will make us more easily corruptible. By sacrificing freedom and keeping orders, which are the only tool that can tackle with our never-ending desire, there is still a chance that we can be less sinful. The more freedom we enjoy, the more sinful we are. We don't deserve it. So I can surely live without freedom. Plus, I just can't stand the way how people are abusing their right to freedom to do anything inconsiderate, especially one that would disturb order.”
“Tell me you don't mean it,” a familiar female voice behind me sobbed weakly and kind of freaked me out.
So I looked over my shoulder at her, saw the same old crying face of the helpful staff, who scowled at me in the airport, and was then dazed by an aghast feeling suggesting that she had followed me all the way from the airport to here and had never stopped crying. And I could only stare at her. Of course, by now, I know that she had done a lot of things, like informing Ciara about my arrival and aiding to set fire to the hotel, before regrouping with Kaylen at the foyer, and I have already gotten used to her fickle mood. Yes, she is still as capricious as she has always been even she is now living in the house with me. So I guess she was born that way. But luckily, yesterday, when she and I were sitting on our bed reading, I happened to find a way to help her gain better control of her emotions. And that's simply done by letting her listen c
losely to her own watch, which was her Gift, ticking, and she surmised that it was because of the special ticking sound, which was like ‘te-teeing’, it had.
But back then, it wasn't a real option, so I could only let her mutter on.
“Tell me you don't mean it,” she repeated twice, with her head down, wiping tears in her eyes away.
“Don't cry, my girl, don't cry,” Jack, walking alongside her, said, patting her gently like he was her father. “You can't blame him.”
“Sloth, greed, and any of that will never give up on making us sinful, no matter how much freedom we have,” Kaylen quipped. “These are only excuses. What's the real reason behind it?”
So I turned my head back and looked at him when a holy shaft of sunlight from the end of the alley dazzled me like it was the end of a time travel.
Shaking my head with eyes shut, “Anyway, what should I do now? Is the border closed yet? I don't want to stay in this country any more,” I said.
“Sadly it's closed,” Kaylen said. “But don't worry. As I have told you, we can get you out of here safely.”
I felt relieved.
After what I'd been through, that was the only thing I'd love to hear, “Thank you. What's the plan?” I asked, as we were about to walk into the boulevard that ran over the sweeping meanders.
Kaylen stopped at the edge of the alley, craned his head out to look left, then right, and then commanded, “Kriss will tell you about the tunnel later. For now, we have to split up into two groups. It would be too suspicious for such a large group of people to stay together. Jack, pick five of them. You guys will come with me. Kriss, can I count on you to bring the rest of them to House Heaven?”
The telecoms staff smiled and replied, her smile after tears looked like a rainbow after drizzle, and it did hold my eyes steady for a moment. “You can count on me.”
“I will meet you at nine o'clock in the park in our usual spot. Be careful. Try not to get caught,” Kaylen said.
He sounded like they were spies dispatched to infiltrate this country rather than just ordinary brainless freedom-pursuers to me. I wondered maybe it was the reason why the government yearned to eradicate them since, according to what Kriss had told me, it banned everything that would potentially disseminate confidential information of the country.
So, “Who are you guys, really?” I asked Kaylen.
He cast me a nonchalant glance, with his side profile and his pair of glinting dark black eyes, and strode away with Jack and his men without saying a word.
CHAPTER EIGHT
* * *
Plodding along the boulevard, from time to time, I would look back at the entrance of the Golden Hotel, which was still surrounded by a huge crowd of agitated people expressing hatred with unclassifiable violent acts. The itchy sound of cutting through steel only fizzled out when the sparks were no longer visible to me, yet, from my last glance, it seemed the steel gate was rigid enough to hinder them from swarming in even they were using a chainsaw.
“Who are you guys, really?” I asked Kriss, choked and searched my pockets for my mask but couldn't find it anywhere.
There were in total six of us moving as a group, and I decided to walk alongside Kriss, who was leading the way, though I soon realized that she didn't want me to fall into step with her; every time I caught up with her pace, she would change it abruptly so that I could only trail behind her and could only talk to her from behind.
“You already know that,” she answered with a coarse tone, picking up speed as if she was afraid I would try to fall into step with her again.
The street, where many lethargic-looking local pedestrians were smoking, wandering around, or crouching in the middle of the street, was seemingly densely packed, but the main reason why it seemed packed was because the street was becoming narrower and narrower as we proceeded.
“I thought you are a staff working for a telecoms company.”
“I am.”
“But how did you –” I paused when we walked past a local, and I receded to a dawdle, then resumed when I was sure he was out of earshot. “But how did you know they were going to attack this hotel?”
“There are many of us,” she said tersely.
I waited for her to go on speaking, but nothing led away from her statement.
“In the Port, the freedom-pursers are only capable of doing stupid things like dancing in the middle of the road, singing the national anthem during rush hour or playing deafening music along the road with loudspeakers in their cars. They never do anything constructive or lovable. But you guys are different. You guys are really in pursuit of freedom. I can feel it.”
“Are they not?”
“Are they not what? In pursuit of freedom?”
“Uh-ah.”
“No, they're not. They are not in pursuit of anything. They are just a bunch of self-centered scumbags enjoying freedom. Ask them to risk their lives to save a man they don't know, and you'll see how selfish and contemptible they are,” I said, as we turned left at the corner of the street and saw two police officers patrolling down the street toward us.
After inhaling an uneasy deep breath that was conducive to composing myself when I set eyes on the fierce-looking duo – I had for a second mistaken them as the two officers who killed the headband man and quailed.
“Heads down, avoid eye contact, keep moving,” Kriss whispered cautiously, not too loud, not too weak, just enough for all of us to hear.
Her words didn't help, nor the inhalation. I was scared to death and was quaking in my shoes. For each step taken, I had my toes curled a little bit more according to how much fear had risen within me. With my focus fixed on the cheap stone paved street, I just kept on walking, not too fast, not too slow, just like the locals. I didn't even have the courage to look behind to check if we were safe. I just kept on walking and walking until I felt like I had reached the end of the horizon.
And as I finally came to a standstill and looked back, I was elated to realize all five of them were quietly tagging along close behind me like nothing special had just happened on this quiet street, which seemed to be off the beaten track.
“What?” Kriss said, arms akimbo, as she was about to collide with me. “Do you even know where House Heaven is?”
“Nope,” I said. “Maybe it's better for you to lead the way.”
“Agree,” she said, and I sidestepped and made an after-you gesture in an exaggerating joking pose.
Thus we carried on trudging up along the steep street, which was much narrower compared to the boulevard, just a bit wider than that mucky muddy alley, in the same way we did on the boulevard with street lamps on the edge of the street.
“Where is that House something?”
“We are very close. We'll be there in around five minutes.”
“Is that a secret base or some sort of a hideout? I mean, the name is cool. House Heaven.”
“It's our prison,” she said with a hostile tone that had implicitly forbidden me from talking to her any more, or maybe it was me who didn't want to talk to her any more, I can't recall.
But at that time, when she said ‘it's our prison’, I immediately thought she meant it's where they would usually hide for a long time when the police was engaging in a hot pursuit after them and she called it a prison due to the long span of time they had to spend in there. However my assumption turned out to be wrong, not completely wrong, they did hide in there when they needed to, but the main reason for her to think of it as a prison wasn't what I thought back then. And it wasn't until yesterday – after I have discovered how to help her gain control of her emotions and at a point we started to talk about this prison thing – that it dawned on me that the main reason was because of my father, who spent the last minute of his life lying peacefully on a sofa inside and warbled this after a prolonged sigh ‘why am I in a prison that looks like heaven?’.
Of course, she wasn't there when he said that, so she seemed unsure of how he managed to get there after he had phoned h
ome, but she was certain that Kaylen's father and her father, to whom she had alluded in our conversation, were with him the night he passed.
Anyway, the rest of the uneventful journey to the ‘prison’ was completed in dead silence. The house was a two-story, stone-built, obsolete cottage that stood out from the modern skyscrapers surrounding it, and it stood out for a good reason. It looked like the roof was about to cave in at any moment and was so out of shape that I had no clue how it managed to remain in midair; the physics-defying look of it was just as extraordinary as The Leaning Tower of Pisa, which had already been heaved down by gravity two years ago, though the wreckage of it was well-reserved in a museum named after it.
“This is the House Heaven!?” I mumbled.
It was quite different from what an average man would typically expect to see for a building called House Heaven.
“This is it,” Kriss said as if she was saying ‘are you not satisfied?’, striding toward a steel door.
I followed close behind her. “Are you sure it is safe to go inside?”
“That's what you are about to find out.”
I couldn't see her face from behind, yet I was certain she was smirking when she spoke. And as she turned the doorknob and opened the door, producing a gliding flute-like sound, a big fat rat quickly slithered past my left ankle and disappeared into the street.
“What was that!?” I piped.
She then looked at me madly, “Don't make a fuss about it. It's just a rat,” rolled her eyes and stomped into the house.
Why was she mad? I didn't know. But it was clear that the two of us didn't get along very well and I guessed she and me could never be friend, though this inference has been proved dead wrong when I decided to propose to her last week. And she said yes happily with three consecutive quiet but quick nods. Yes, I have to admit that I didn't know her very well when I proposed to her – we weren't even a couple at that time – and that birthday celebration I had with her was the first time we two had a heart-to-heart talk, but that's already enough for both of us to fall in love with each other. There was no rose in my hand when I knelt down to ask the question. But there was that cumbersome-looking photo pendant that was seemingly identical to the one I had once seen in Kaylen's car in my hand – this is what I have chosen for my Gift – and this is something I will explain later.