by Winfred Wong
Behind the lock screen was exactly what I had been looking for, an electronic map, a detailed map with the sea route from the beach to a dock on an island due east to Port Aroma drawn out on it, and I thought it would be better for me to stick to her plan if possible as she hadn't pointed out where that dangerous outlying island currently surrounded by military vessels was on it. And for that to happen, now I needed to know my current location. And after a few more pats, I was sure there was nothing else helpful on her. So I rummaged around the ship and heaved out every drawers and every secret compartments I could find, leaving no stones unturned, the drawers and compartments looked as empty as a granary after a famine though.
Then I prayed for help and sat on the floor to think as the boat was floating around along the growing wrath of the waves, causing it to rise and sink every now and then, and every time when a wave smashed at the side of the boat, some splashes would mysteriously end up in my mouth and I had to spit it out; I could still recall the saltiness of seawater for quite a long while after that. But that didn't last for too long.
As I had had enough of the seawater-end-up-in-my-mouth thing, I hissed and got to my feet. I wasn't expecting anything when I looked around. But when I did, I caught sight of the beach that we were on. I guessed the waves had brought me back there. And to me, it's like a miracle, or even something like a deus ex machina that would only appear in a novel. So I laughed and screamed while throwing my hands up like I had just won a game seven, “Thanks, God, for saving my life!”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
* * *
After obtaining everything I needed to set off on my way home, I didn't hesitate to rush back to the pilot seat and started the engine. It was a long lonely journey; maybe not lonely as Kriss was still on the boat at that time, but during that journey, I had developed a lurking happiness in my heart as if I was on an express train bound for Shangri-La. But as I had approximately covered half of the distance from the beach to Port Aroma, I realized her corpse would be a real problem. If I got caught by the border patrols, what would be the officers' first impression of me when they found her corpse? It would be greatly detrimental to me.
I didn't have too many options, and I just wanted to get it done quickly. So what came up to my mind later was as simple as dumping her into the sea, but this thought had really given me a good chill despite knowing she was totally dead by then; dumping someone you knew, even though she wasn't breathing, without proper cremation beforehand into the sea wasn't as easy as just lifting up and throwing out a bag of garbage after all. And of course, if I got to choose again now, I wouldn't have done that. But back then, I was overtaken by fear, a stupid fear I had scolded myself for feeling several times after that incident – luckily she has never asked me about her corpse or else she would've probably dumped me already.
And I acted. I tiptoed over to her, lifted her up, carried her over to the gunwales and prayed. My prayer had gone on for what I felt like half an hour before I summoned up enough courage to do it with my eyes closed; I thought I would feel more sinful if I witnessed it, though the heart-wrenching splashing sound full of lament and sorrow produced when she vanished into the sea was loud enough for me to feel that sinfulness. Then I began weeping silently for a reason that was not clear to me till lately. It wasn't me who killed her. She killed herself. It wasn't me who killed Jack, Ryson, Mack, Ciara, Frederick, and any others, but I knew I was the one who must take all responsibility; they had all sacrificed their lives in order to help me after all. And from time to time after that, when I was alone at home, I would wonder how on earth did a son of an honorable man who is willing to sacrifice his life for the sake of others end up being the one being helped, and every time when I went through this in my mind, I would usually shrug it off in the end, realizing it's a daft thought leading to nowhere.
And I remember I had stood there like a statue with the same posture, bending down with my elbows on the gunwales and supporting my chin with two fists, for another half an hour of praying before returning back to the helmsman seat, and when I sat down and slightly turned the wheel so that it didn't deviate too much from the course drawn on the map, I felt the boat was lighter than before; I never dug deep into this seemingly false feeling even after everything, because I'd cringe badly every time when the thought of trying crept up into my mind. And I am cringing right now.
And the rest of the journey to my destination seemed as fleeting as an elevator ride. The sun had already peeped out from the horizon when I was close to the island, which had a weird war-ship-like shape and was shrouded in sea mist. According to the map displayed on the phone, I was supposed to find something like a dock, where I could disembark. But sadly, it didn't show its exact location, not to mention that the occurrence of poor visibility was hindering me from observing.
As the boat kept moving forward into the mist, I kept squinting to see what's up ahead, but before I was able to perceive anything, I heard an alarming siren and someone yelling through a loudspeaker, the ear-piercing electronic echoing sound buzzing like a bee, “We are the Coastal Defense Forces of Port Aroma. Whoever is listening to this please stop the boat and kill the engine, or else we will have to do it by force.”
The pure excitement surged through me when I heard he said ‘Port Aroma’ was almost as mesmerizing as the warm hug Oli had given me before. I'd never thought the most mellifluous thing in the world would be something like this instead of a good old song. I didn't remember if I had cried or not, but I was pretty sure I was beaming and looking around like a maniac while obeying his instructions in spite of the fact that I couldn't see him anywhere.
As soon as I had killed the engine, a middle-sized armored vessel that was almost triple the size of mine with a bowsprit and two unmanned guns mounted on each side of the bulwarks came out of the mist from behind and stopped precisely just inches away to the right from my ship, just about the distance so that the two ships wouldn't collide even while floating arbitrarily. And the next thing I saw was a bearded mid-aged man wearing a blue windbreaker and a typical pale white fisherman hat, with a flashy pair of sunglasses, emerging from the mist on its deck. He then boarded my ship by simply leaping over the bulwarks, which were half the height of me, like he was a superman, landed on the stern of my boat, making it sway, and walked over to me slowly.
“Hey. What are you doing out here alone? Are you a resident of Port Aroma?” he said nonchalantly while strolling and looking around, with all ten of his fingers, just fingers, in the pockets of his ill-assorted khaki shorts.
At that time, I had been expecting to see a group of well-trained uniformed officers marching onto my boat in an orderly fashion, instead of an athletic fisherman, and had thought they were going to arrest me for breaking a law I had never heard of, but then it occurred to me that the government had already dissolved when a doubt evoked by his strange mannerisms crossed my mind, and I suddenly realized now that no one was paying any more, no one was supposed to be enforcing the law any more, that's why I had scolded myself several times for feeling that dumb fear afterward.
Then my smothered excitement instantly transformed into a fretfulness, which I had once felt when I was waiting for the elevator back then, and I said while sizing him up down to the very details, like what size of shoes he was wearing, any notable scars or tattoos on the exposed part of his body, if he was wearing a ring or not and so on and so forth, “Who are you? I thought the government has already dissolved, and the Coastal Forces has already ceased to exist.”
But he chuckled and shrugged.
“I was just joking. Sorry man, for the big confusion. Haha,” he said, gasping for air between laughs like a clown.
“You were joking?”
“Yeah, I'm sorry. I thought even a five year old would – ” He suddenly stopped laughing and continued solemnly, glaring at me. “Unless you are a nasty smuggler.”
Considering I had already lost my suitcase, which stored every single piece of my personal identificati
on papers, at the burning hell, the fretfulness intensified, because I knew if only he had asked me to prove that I was a resident of Port Aroma, it would look very suspicious for me to refuse. So I remained silent.
But he suddenly cracked a smile, then burst into laughter, when I was gaping at him like I was transfixed. “Hahaha, look at you. You're really frightened, aren't you?”
After a brief delay, “Well yeah, frankly, I am a little bit frightened, but who are you? And why did you tell me to switch off the engine?” I said.
He then giggled, held his hands up, motioned me to look at his vessel in a way like he was saying ‘Da-Dah’ and gazed admirably at it. “As you can see, I am a fisherman, who owns an armored boat. Have you ever seen something like this? Isn't it extraordinary? I thought you would love to take a look at it. That's why I told you to stop.”
He was speaking with a weird tone of voice, one like what your children would make when they receive a new toy. It seemed obvious to me that he was some sort of a deranged lunatic by then, though, looking back, I can understand that he was just too thrilled about what he was going to tell me. But at that time, I just wanted to get rid of him and went home. So I scrutinized his vessel dramatically, placing my right hand right over my two eyebrows and said, “Wow that looks awesome man. Where did you buy it?”
“Is it?” he shrieked and grinned like an overjoyed kid.
“Why don't we go on board your ship?” I asked. “It's much better over there than staying here, isn't it?”
He looked oddly but sincerely gleeful when I was speaking, as if he couldn't believe I actually liked his vessel.
“Sure. I am more than happy to have you on board, you know what, my only daughter is getting married tomorrow, but I am still unsure about how I should decorate her cabin. I am thinking maybe you can give me some ideas regarding that matter.”
“Well, of course I can. I have actually worked for a decoration company before.”
“Really? My daughter is working for a decoration company as well! And that's why I am so confused!”
“Well then, let's go. What are we waiting for?” I said enthusiastically. “After you.”
He then nodded, headed to the stern and leapt over to catch a badly frayed rope ladder, which only extended down to half the height of the ship, after a few preparatory bounces. I didn't really know how he managed to jump so far and high, but I was sure even if I had wished to follow him, I would only have ended up drowning myself in the salty sea.
As he was climbing up the ladder nimbly – he was already halfway through it when I acted – I went back to the helmsman seat, ignited the engine and lifted the handle up to speed up the boat, and I remember a deceleration had never taken place until I had disembarked at the pier behind the high-rise at where I lived; of course, I had already given up on looking for that dock after meeting the man.
The tiny little pier was still as shabby-looking as it had been for the past few decades; the roof was rusted, the paint of the six supporting pillars with moss growing in some cracks was worn off, the stone staircase that acted as a junction between sea and land at the end of the pier was eroded. But overall, it was still intact, though when I was young, I had once wondered foolishly if I could hammer it down myself or not, but that wasn't the most foolish thing, not at all. The most foolish thing had to be that I had actually spent a whole sunny evening testing its firmness with a wood ax a few days after, instead of going to Brian's birthday party – he had only forgiven me for not going after a month – and it directly resulted in the largest crack at the very bottom of the first pillar. I used to think of it as one of those daft things that everyone would do at our younger age and had never told anyone about it. But back then, when I later laid my eyes on it, I realized that this kind of foolishness was exactly what made up the major part of my precious good old days in this place and this would never fade away, no matter how this place was changing. And so, the thought of emigrating has never come to me again for the rest of my life.
Then, as I heaved myself over the gunwales and landed on the eroded staircase in a batman way, I suddenly realized I had forgotten to moor it to the pier side. It was too late. The boat had already drifted away as though it was a giant piece of garbage thrown into the sea, yet I wasn't too upset about it. I thought it was better for it to disappear in my life because I had absolutely no interest in owning a boat; however, it later occurred to me that maybe I was just averse to it as it would become a constant reminder of what had happened in Felomeim, which was a shard of memory I would like to bury.
And so, I strolled across the pier to the first pillar, bent down and examined it for quite a long while before heading home; the crack was still there but was filled with overgrown moss. And I found it weird that now I was finally back home, I wasn't really as happy as I'd expected. I am not saying that I was unhappy, but I remember there was a gloomy feeling hijacking my heart.
Soon when I was moving in a flat, dingy tunnel connecting the seashore and the pavement in front of the high-rise, my phone buzzed. The default ringing tone echoed down the entire tunnel. I was a little bit shocked since it had been quite some time after it had last buzzed, but I still managed to slip it out and pick it up immediately after the third ring.
“Ashton? Can you hear me? Ashton? Ashton?”
I failed to recognize this impatient male voice at first, so I had to take a quick glimpse at the name of the caller displayed on the screen before answering.
“Brian?” I said.
“OH, thank God you finally picked up the phone. Thank God,” he said, then let out a big sigh, which was supposed to come to my ear before he spoke.
And then, strangely, I could hear a muted chime-like ringing, like what you would hear when you accidentally crashed your ring into the back of your phone. I surely didn't know he was going to marry Oli back then – I had only realized this after a year or so – so I was slightly baffled by that sound, let alone the head-scratching immense relief he had demonstrated.
“What happened? You are scaring me.”
He huffed out a gust of eerily soundless air. “Shit. Where to begin? I'm not sure how to put this. Shit.”
The relief he had a moment ago had suddenly dissipated wholly and was seemingly replaced by a newly developed anguish.
“Calm down, Brian. Calm down. Just tell me what happened.”
He huffed out another gust of air, probably making up his mind, and said clearly, “Listen, Ashton. What I am going to tell you is about your sister.”
“My sister? What about her?”
“She is...f...e...d,” he faltered.
“I can never understand you if you keep on stuttering. Say it clearly.”
After huffing out one more gust of air, “She was found dead last night,” he said.
I can still remember how the dismaying distress had then attacked me at that time and how I had refused to believe in it at first. The devastating impact on me had me knelt desperately in the tunnel and had deprived me of my ability to speak for almost ten minutes; the longest ten minutes in my life.
“Ashton? Are you all right? Ashton? Hello?”
“How? What do you mean she was found dead?”
“She was gang-raped, murdered and...dismembered. A bartender found her body this morning in an alley right behind the bar she works in, and she found my contact in your sister's phone. I have been trying to reach you for a couple of hours, but I just can't find you anywhere.”
“Where is her body?”
“King's Bar. At the rotary on the Queen's street.”
Then I hung up the phone, sat on my heels, had my eyes riveted on the ‘fe-fee’, which I was going to give her back, and tittered bitterly.
A Note From The Author
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