by O Thiam Chin
The break with Ian was not as clean as Ai Ling had wanted. Though she had ignored all his calls and emails, he still turned up unannounced on her doorstep several times; once, he had made such a ruckus that her parents had no choice but to let him in, and she had to shut herself in her room while he pleaded with her parents to talk some sense into her, to make her change her mind. He cried on every occasion. Ai Ling’s parents had asked her to resolve the issue with Ian, to get back together, because Ian was a good man, and it was hard to find someone like him. Ai Ling ignored her parents’ advice, and even in the heat of her inner conflict, she chose to stick to her resolve, to not budge from her decision.
The months that followed the break-up were a long period of adjustments, changes and coming to terms with her new status, as if whoever she was when she was with Ian had to be remade in the light of the current circumstance. She had chosen to avoid any contact with Ian’s friends; some had chosen to take his side, and Ai Ling was told in no uncertain terms, from their messages and emails, about how they felt about the whole situation. Others were more sympathetic, and it was the latter group who Ai Ling did not want to see. She did not feel the need to justify herself to them. Apart from this, Ai Ling took to her new life with as much enthusiasm as she could muster, with an unspoken, underlying hope that whatever she was doing would somehow, one way or another, lead her to a clearer perspective of her life, a deeper understanding of her own actions and decisions. It was a long way to go, Ai Ling had to admit, and she had to watch herself, lest she get distracted by a thousand and one things.
“And you don’t have any regrets after the whole incident, after the break-up?” Wei Xiang posed this question to her, more than once.
Ai Ling had often wondered about Wei Xiang’s longstanding interest in her failed relationship with Ian. They had been dating for five months then, and Ai Ling liked the pace the relationship was taking—consistent, steady, unhurried. They had taken their time to know each other, and after the first flush of romance had come and gone, what remained was a growing bond of affection. What they agreed upon was to be frank with each other, no matter what.
“What’s the point of regret? Regret is for something you did not do when you should be doing it. And I did what I did. The rest is history to me. It doesn’t matter. A lot of things don’t matter after a while.”
“But surely you must have felt something like regret, during the months after the break-up.”
“I can’t remember now. Maybe I did. It doesn’t matter anyway.”
Sometimes, Ai Ling wondered whether Wei Xiang saw something in her that she could not see. Was she the kind of woman a man would feel an instinctive need to protect, to take care of, or did she appeal to a type of man who liked her assertiveness, her independence? Ai Ling knew how she looked—her lanky frame, small breasts, shapely nose a few degrees from aquiline—but how the different, unequal parts of her body added up to something that could tell the whole story of her character was never apparent, something that remained a mystery to her. Sometimes, when she looked deeply into herself, she would feel a brief alarm at the chasm that existed between her external and inner selves.
“But why do you like me?” she asked Wei Xiang in bed, while spending her first night over at his place.
“Well, you are really beautiful and sweet and gentle and caring and…”
“No, I mean, what do you really like about me?”
“You are very special…”
“Are you sure you know anything about me at all?”
“I don’t, but I want to, a bit at a time.”
“You know I can be stubborn and petty at times, right? And I’ve my moods, too.”
“Yes, I know. But…”
“But what?”
“But I still like you.”
“You’re hopeless.”
When she said yes to Wei Xiang’s proposal, Ai Ling knew she was making the right decision. She had expected it for some time—they had been going out for three years at that point—and she was already preparing herself mentally for it. She had just hit twenty-eight then, and knew she was happy with Wei Xiang, a happiness she knew she had a role in its nurturing.
And at that moment—when she said yes—she had meant exactly what she had said. And, for once, in a long time, she had not doubted herself, or the choice she had made.
7
CODY
Late at night, you stumble out of a recurring dream, like a suffocating man breaking through an invisible barrier, your breaths laboured, your body covered with a film of sweat. Shards of the dream have lodged themselves in your fevered mind. Turning to face the blank wall, you can see in the faint illumination hairline cracks creeping up like railway tracks, disappearing into the ceiling. You stare at the wall for a long time to calm yourself down.
You drift into overlapping states of wakefulness and sleep—you can no longer tell which impressions are real or dreams. You can still feel your body working, like a well-tended machine: the breaths in your chest (in-hold-out, repeat), the tiny pulse in your wrist (tick-tick-tick), the curl-in-curl-out movements of your fingers (twitching, twitching). Life as a machine, going and going and going, persistent, dumb, unbearable.
You look up at the expanse of the white wall, all the way to the ceiling. Space, so much space—how could one ever fill it up? You stare until your eyes—dry like sandpaper—start to hurt, tiny specks floating across your vision. You study the unmoving shadow on the wall, a dark mountainous ridge.
You stretch out your hands, and the muscles in them ache anew. Triggered by the sudden movement, your body stirs to life—a forest catching fire. Flashes of heat flare at your joints, moving outwards. With the quickening of blood through your body, you can feel your cock hardening. You reach into your shorts and stroke yourself, mind still dazed. Slowly the act itself takes over, demanding every ounce of your attention, sinking you into the vagaries of desire. You find yourself masturbating to images of Chee Seng, salvaged from the depths of your memories.
“Really, you have to meet him,” Ai Ling had gushed over the phone. “He’s a catch. You’ll like him.”
She had called Cody during his lunch break, bursting with the news that she had met an old friend from junior college, a teacher, and over coffee with him, found out that he was gay and single.
“I don’t know,” Cody said, playing down her enthusiasm. Ai Ling had tried, unsuccessfully in past attempts, to fix up blind dates for him, whenever she met gay men from her previous jobs or from other friends and acquaintances. She had believed, without checking the person’s background—as long as he was gay—that he would be suitable for Cody. To get her off his back, after her first few attempts, he had gone on a date with a guy she had highly recommended, only to find him a complete bore, with no other interests besides his job as a stockbroker in a securities firm.
“I’ll be your chaperone, to take the pressure off. You really need to meet him,” she said.
“Come on, you’re making me seem desperate.”
“Well, you’re always complaining to me about being single, and how there are no longer any good men around. Or am I wrong?”
“Fine. Why don’t you arrange something and I’ll come along?”
“You won’t regret this, I promise. He’s very cute, definitely your type: tall, dark and handsome.”
“Isn’t that every gay man’s type?” Cody shot back. Ai Ling let out a cackle and ended the call with an update-you-later.
The date was set for a Sunday afternoon, coffee at Starbucks outside the Orchard Cineplex. Cody was running late, and as he approached the table at the café, he had a few seconds to observe his date before Ai Ling saw him and got up to introduce them.
Chee Seng was tall and solidly built, with a tanned, almost sunburnt complexion. Over coffee that afternoon, he kept up a brisk, low-key conversation, able to hold his own without Ai Ling’s help, directing most of his questions at Cody, basic questions about his life, work and leisure. Every tim
e Chee Seng smiled, lines would frame the contours of his mouth, his teeth bright against his dark skin.
Cody discovered that Chee Seng had been a teacher for about a year, and before that he had worked as an air steward for three years. “Too long,” he stressed.
“Why did you quit?” Cody asked.
“I wanted to do something else,” he replied, “something more meaningful.”
“And so you chose teaching?”
Chee Seng raised his hands in a gesture of I-don’t-know-what-I’m-doing, grimaced and laughed.
After two hours in the café, they left. Chee Seng insisted on driving all of them back. He dropped Ai Ling off at her place in Bishan before driving Cody back to Ang Mo Kio. Along the way, he asked Cody whether he was keen for another round of drinks since it was still early, only slightly after six. Cody agreed, and Chee Seng turned into the McDonald’s drive-thru, near the block of flats where Cody lived, and bought two iced coffees. After parking the car, they walked to a nearby park, alternating between light conversation and brief snatches of silence. Chee Seng touched his shoulder to Cody’s as they walked, sometimes brushing against his hand, grazing it lightly. Chee Seng’s laugh was full, unabashedly robust, and Cody found himself laughing along with him, caught in the undertow.
When the daylight started to fade, they turned back and walked out of the park. Cody glanced at his watch, undecided on whether to end the date, when Chee Seng asked if he would be interested to have dinner with him sometime.
“Of course,” Cody said.
“How about tomorrow?”
Cody agreed without hesitation. Chee Seng smiled, and for the first time that day, he looked shy, almost awkward. At the lift lobby of Cody’s block, they hesitated, unsure how to proceed.
“So this is where you stay,” Chee Seng said.
“Yes, my whole life.”
“Well, I hope to visit one day, if it’s okay with you.”
“Sure, one day.”
Then Cody moved to kiss him, a light peck on the lips, before pulling away. Chee Seng looked surprised, his eyes wide. Then he flashed a grin and started walking backward, waving at Cody as he headed back to the car. When he was gone, Cody took the lift up, and felt the nascent stirring of desire kicking at his heart.
Chee Seng was getting ready to leave, slipping on his white Jockey underwear. He rarely stayed over at Cody’s place on weekdays because of his work.
“I need to go. It’s getting late,” he said.
“Why don’t you stay for the night and save yourself all the travelling?” Cody said, patting the empty space on the bed. The crumpled bedsheet still retained Chee Seng’s body heat, warm to the touch.
“Not today, okay? I got a long day at work tomorrow, some teacher-parent meeting to attend. This weekend, definitely,” Chee Seng said, tucking the tail of his striped shirt into his dark pants, checking himself in the body-length mirror behind the bedroom door. He gave his hair a few tousles. Cody sneaked up to him and put his arms round Chee Seng’s waist. They studied themselves in the mirror. Cody kissed the nape of his neck, breathing in the muskiness of his skin.
“You look sexy in your work attire,” Cody said, stroking Chee Seng through his pants.
“Come on, you’re horny again?” Chee Seng said, but did not stop Cody when he unzipped the pants, and fished out Chee Seng’s semi-hard cock from the tight underwear. Dropping to his knees, Cody took him into his mouth. Chee Seng held Cody’s head with his hands, raking his hair. Cody looked at their reflections in the mirror as if he were someone else—a stranger—watching a secret, private act. He watched how his mouth moved, how his hands slid up and down Chee Seng’s legs and waist and ass, the flickering of tongue over the swollen head of the cock. Chee Seng closed his eyes and stood on the balls of his feet, immersed in the pleasure.
Cody pulled back for a moment. “Look,” he said, nodding towards the mirror.
Chee Seng opened his eyes and watched as Cody took the cock into his mouth again. Cody hastened his movements, and Chee Seng’s cock contracted involuntarily, a quick spasm.
“I’m coming,” Chee Seng said, tilting Cody’s chin so that their eyes met. An agonised expression streaked across Chee Seng’s face as he came hard. Cody loosened his grip as the convulsions slowed and stopped. Then he swallowed.
Chee Seng grabbed Cody by the shoulders, pulled him up and kissed him full on the lips. Then he pushed Cody onto the bed and pulled down his underwear brusquely. By the time they were both finished, Chee Seng was so tired that he ended up staying the night.
“Where are you bringing me?”
“You’ll know when we get there. It’s not far from where you stay,” Chee Seng said, turning into the car park beside Yio Chu Kang Stadium. At eleven-thirty, it was deserted, the streetlights barely illuminating the empty parking lots between the few cars and vans. Several had window curtains drawn, which made Cody wonder whether this was a haunt for couples to make out. How did Chee Seng know about this place? Had he brought other guys here before?
Before Cody’s mind could raise more doubts, Chee Seng pulled into a lot, at the farthest end of the car park. Switching off the headlights, the car went dark except for the panel of red-orange lights on the dashboard. Chee Seng reached over to pull the lever under Cody’s seat and slide it backward; it went three-quarters of the way down. The next moment, his hands were on Cody, unbuttoning his shirt, fingers cold on his skin.
“I thought we were having a chat.”
“Yes, we can chat, or we can do something else,” Chee Seng said, his breath landing on Cody’s cheek. Cody leant in to kiss him.
“Okay, let’s chat then,” Cody said, nibbling Chee Seng’s right earlobe, moving down his neck, taking in the scent of his cologne. Extending his body, Chee Seng accidentally pushed the air-con button to high, and cold air gushed out of the vents. He fumbled to turn it down.
“It’s so cramped. I can’t even stretch,” Cody said.
“Let’s go to the back,” Chee Seng said. Cody crept across the lowered seat, trying not to bump into anything. Chee Seng was close behind, his hands never leaving Cody’s body, guiding him gently to the back seat. Turning around to face him, Cody felt a sting of self-consciousness as Chee Seng hurriedly began to take off his clothes. Cody looked out the darkly-tinted side windows, scanning the surroundings for movement, keenly aware of the risk that they were taking. His heart pounded, and he froze.
“What’s wrong?” Chee Seng asked, lifting his head.
“Do you do this often? We might get caught.”
“Don’t worry, there’s no one around. It’s safe.”
Not wanting to sound too insecure, Cody did not ask again. I don’t have to know everything about him, Cody reminded himself. It’s only been two months since we started dating, and there’s plenty of time to get to know him, so why the insecurity? Brushing aside his uncertainty, Cody focused on getting back into the moment, to what they were doing.
In the cramped space of the back seat, they moved tentatively; they were still new to each other’s bodies so they took their time, with Chee Seng leading the way. Quickened breaths interrupted the silence of the quiet car, and their skins broke out in perspiration, tingling with rawness. Holding down Cody’s body with his, Chee Seng coaxed him into a fierce, quavering orgasm.
“Does this turn you on?” Chee Seng asked, after they had dressed and were back in the front seats, ready to leave. The headlights were on, casting a pool of buttery light on the tarmac in front of the car. Cody’s body, softened by the heady release, was still sticky, still yearning.
“Yes, but…” Not knowing how to finish the sentence, Cody laughed and leant across to give Chee Seng a long kiss.
8
AI LING
Swallowing the eyeball, the seagull turns its attention back to the woman’s body, assessing it with unfaltering concentration. It pecks away a stray strand of hair from her sand-speckled forehead. The woman’s face is swollen and discoloured, bruises dar
kening into islands of deep green and indigo on her sunken cheeks, and around the eyes. In the mute sky, a fellow seagull, newly arrived, sounds out a mournful cry, dipping and rising in the wind. The seagull on the beach looks up and regards the other bird. Then it flaps its wings forcefully and skips up into the sky, disappearing in the direction of Phuket, in pursuit of the other seagull.
The blood seeping from the empty pit of the eye socket has hardened into dark crusty trails on the woman’s face, and stained the patch of sand around the head into a crimson peninsula. Already the body is transforming, breaking down quickly in the heat and humidity. The muscles have finally relaxed, causing the body to sag, giving it a languid, restful demeanour. Rising from the body: a complicated mixture of smells, strong and overripe.
An agitated gust of wind blowing in from the sea lifts the woman’s torn shirt, revealing the bulge. The gastric acid is gradually eating out the stomach, dissolving its contents into a slushy broth. Bloated with noxious gases produced by the digestion, the stomach has grown distended, like a balloon, pressing itself against the sand. The woman’s hands, claw-like and protective, rest on it.
Suspended in the quiet sea inside the woman’s body, the tiny form remains inert, enclosed in a shrinking world.
During the second year of their marriage, Ai Ling had a miscarriage that she kept secret from Wei Xiang, barely a week after she had tested herself with a home pregnancy kit. She had wanted to tell him on several occasions, but the moment was never right. Then one morning, she woke to terrible cramps and bleeding, and had to call in sick after Wei Xiang left for work. Over breakfast, he had commented on how pale she looked, which she shook off with a smile. She stayed in the toilet and did not come out until she heard the front door close.
Ai Ling tried to staunch the bleeding with sanitary pads, but they were completely soaked through in no time. She threw on a loose-fitting shirt and left for the neighbourhood polyclinic, numb with pain and fear. She held her dark thoughts at a distance and focused only on her breathing. Two hours passed before her number was called. The polyclinic doctor, a short, balding man with a stern expression, was surprised that Ai Ling had endured so long—she should have called an ambulance instead—and gave her a strange, sympathetic look. The doctor asked about her husband, but Ai Ling gave a vague, noncommittal reply and looked down at her hands. She was transferred to the nearest hospital for the operation.