by Betsy Tobin
“Lili,” he says, brushing a lock of hair from her eyes. “I don’t deserve to be here.”
“I knew you were alive,” she whispers. “I felt you with me, from the moment I arrived.”
“I’m sorry.”
They hold each other, saying nothing. Wen has the sudden notion that they are back in their mother’s womb, their bodies entwined, their limbs indistinguishable, while the world outside rages.
At length, she pulls back from him, wiping her eyes. “Where have you been all these months?”
“In Morecambe Bay.”
“Alone?”
He shakes his head. She waits for more, but he offers no explanation.
“Why didn’t you let me know?”
Why indeed? he thinks. Fear. Cowardice. Guilt. Shame. A demon with many heads. He takes her by the shoulders and looks into her face.
“I have wronged you in so many ways. You must forgive me.”
She nods obediently. Wen wipes the tears from her cheek with the flat of his thumb, feels a tremor run right through her. He has always been able to dictate the terms of their relationship.
“You’re alive and you’re safe. That’s what matters most,” she whispers, resting her forehead against his.
“Yes.”
Just then they hear a key in the door and Jin enters, stopping short when she sees Lili. In her hand she carries a bag of shopping.
Wen sees her eyes darken. What is it Jin feels in this moment,? he wonders. Anger? Jealousy?
“So,” she says, nodding at Lili. “Now you know.” She closes the door behind her and moves to the counter, unpacking the bag of eggs, tomatoes, onions and rice. When she has finished, she turns back to them.
Lili pulls back slightly from Wen. “Why did you lie to me?”
“Because he told me to,” says Jin flatly. “So if you want to blame someone, blame him.”
Jin jerks her head at Wen and Lili turns back to him.
“I don’t understand.”
“It’s complicated,” says Wen. “One day I will explain.”
Lili frowns. Just then her phone rings. She pulls it from her bag, stares at it a moment, then turns it off.
“I have to go. Someone is waiting for me.”
Wen nods and kisses her forehead.
“But when will I see you?” she asks worriedly.
“Soon.”
“Tomorrow?”
“I’ll let you know,” he replies.
Reluctantly, Lili picks up her coat and bag and moves to the door, where she pauses, turning back to face them. Lili locks eyes with Wen for an instant and smiles, then slips out the door. When she has gone, Jin turns to him with a raised eyebrow.
“One lie begets another.”
“Did you get it?” he asks, ignoring her comment.
“Yes.”
He rises and crosses over to her. She takes a pale brown envelope out of her handbag and hands it to him. He looks inside it briefly, flicking through the notes.
“Thank you.” He looks up at her.
She shrugs. “What am I here for?” She replies curtly.
•
The following morning, he hops on an 18 bus for Chinatown. London feels oddly familiar to him now: perhaps the act of returning confers this upon a place, he decides. As the bus lurches through the crowded streets towards the West End, he realises that so much more of life here is open to him now. He comprehends much more: the questions of fellow passengers as they board the bus, the street signs outside, even the look in people’s eyes carries with it a new sense of clarity. He feels, for the first time, almost at home. The thought pains him; for just when he has grown accustomed to life in England, he must leave.
Once in Chinatown, he heads straight to the travel shop Jin has told him about. It specialises in dealing with people like him. They will not look too closely at your passport, she had said. Nor ask too many questions. They’re used to dealing with illegals. He locates the shop down a small side street after a few minutes; in the window is a list of destinations followed by ticket prices. He stands outside and lets his eyes roam the list: Beijing, Hong Kong, Taibei, Seoul, New York, Los Angeles, Sydney, Auckland. Places he has only heard of, for the most part, but never expected to see in his lifetime. He feels in his pocket for the passport and the envelope of cash. He has memorised the details of his new identity and practised saying them, though when he speaks his new name aloud, his voice still sounds strangely artificial. When he enters the shop, a Chinese woman is seated behind a desk, speaking in Cantonese on the phone. She looks up at him and hastily ends her call.
“Can I help you?”
Wen does not speak Cantonese and is uncertain whether to use English or Mandarin. But then he remembers he is meant to be Korean.
“I want to buy a ticket,” he says in English. “For airplane,” he adds hastily.
“Where to?” she asks.
Wen swallows. Until now, his mind had not been made up.
“New York,” he ventures.
“Do you have a visa?” she asks. Wen shakes his head. He removes the passport from his pocket and hands it to her.
“I am Korean,” he says. “Do I need visa?”
She raises an eyebrow. “Everyone needs a visa for America,” she says with a slightly bored expression. Wen colours. His heart flails inside his chest; he is certain the woman must be able to see it.
“Where can I go with no visa? Which country?”
She frowns, then turns to her computer, tapping on the keys. “On a Korean passport?” She studies the screen for a few moments, then turns back to him.
“Canada,” she says. “You don’t need a visa for Canada.”
Wen thinks of trees and snow: he doesn’t know why. He knows virtually nothing about Canada. But he is fairly certain they speak English there. “Which city?” he asks.
She shrugs.
“Toronto, Vancouver, Montreal.”
The names mean little to him. “Which one is best?”
The woman laughs. “You want me to choose?”
He smiles. “Please.”
“Vancouver’s meant to be nice,” she says. “It has mountains and is right beside the sea.”
Wen feels a sudden wash of panic.
“Not sea,” he says quickly.
“Okay. Then Toronto’s the place for you. Big Chinatown there, Mr…” She looks down at the name in his passport. “Soong,” she adds, arching an eyebrow.
“How much is ticket?”
“Just you?”
He nods.
“One way or return?”
“One way.”
A lump rises in the back of his throat.
“I can get you a fare for two eighty-five. Cash payment only. When do you want to travel?” It takes him a moment to calculate the numbers in his head. He has nearly stopped converting figures into wages in recent months, a habit he thought would stay with him for life.
“Soon,” he says.
She taps at the screen, frowning.
“How soon? Tomorrow?”
Wen nods. He removes the cash from his pocket and peels off a series of twenty-pound notes, handing them to the woman. He waits while she processes his ticket, contemplating what kind of life awaits him in this city whose name he can barely pronounce. As she hands him the paperwork, his mind runs to Lili and the dazed look upon her face as she left. Did she know, even then, that he was running away?
When he comes out of the shop, he walks back to Lisle Street and wanders up and down for a time. It has been so long since he has been surrounded by his own people that it feels strange to him now. He pauses outside a large restaurant filled with customers: the staff are all Chinese but the place is mainly full of white people. Wen studies a menu hanging in the window: the dishes are overpriced and cater to Western tastes. Just inside the window, a waiter is clearing dirty plates from a large table. He is tall and thin with slightly rounded shoulders, and there are permanent dark moons beneath his eyes, as if he has n
ot had a proper night’s sleep in months. Wen watches him for a moment, piling the dregs of a meal into a large plastic container. What did this meal cost? he wonders. And what trifling wage will this man take home at the end of the day?
At length, the waiter raises his eyes and looks straight at him. He stops, his movements frozen, and Wen wonders briefly whether they have met: perhaps they worked together somewhere along the way? Or do they simply recognise each other’s condition? Suddenly, an older Chinese man in a crumpled pin-striped suit is standing beside the waiter, berating him angrily. The waiter nods repeatedly and hurriedly finishes clearing the table, before lifting the box and turning away. The manager raises his eyes to Wen, takes in his dress and appearance and knows at once that he is not a potential customer. He scowls and gives a flick of his hand, indicating that Wen should move on.
Wen finds a bakery and buys some steamed buns filled with barbecued pork. He wonders what currency he will have to use in Canada, dollars or pounds, or something else altogether, and what his money will be worth. As he leaves the shop, he bites into one of the buns: the sweet pork filling fills his mouth. But as he does he senses a presence just behind him, like the tip of a wave. All at once, Little Dog’s voice is in his ear, and he feels the point of something sharp jutting into his kidney from behind. Two men appear at his sides: one he recognises from outside the chemist, the other he has never seen before.
“Keep walking,” says Little Dog quietly. “Or this time you’ll die for good.”
November 2004
The following day Lili sleeps late. Adrian and May are gone when she rises, and she is relieved to have the house to herself. She contemplates getting a bus to Hounslow, but something prevents her. She knows she will have to wait for Wen to contact her, but how long? A day? A week? A year? Now that the initial shock has passed, she must stifle the slow swell of anger that is building within her. If Wen deceived her, he must have had good reason, she tells herself repeatedly. She is due to teach at the language school this afternoon, but she remembers with dismay that it is Jin’s day off. For now she has no choice but to carry on.
That evening when she finishes teaching, it is cold and dark as she leaves the school. The first person she sees when she steps out the door is Jin. She is standing on the pavement just outside smoking a cigarette, a scarf wrapped several times around her neck to keep out the chill. Jin steps forward as soon as Lili emerges, and Lili realises with a start that Jin is waiting for her. Her heart skips a beat.
“What’s wrong?”
“They’ve taken him.”
“Wen?”
Jin nods.
“Who?”
“The snakeheads.”
“How do you know?”
“They rang. A few hours ago.”
“You spoke to him?”
Jin purses her lips. She says nothing for a moment.
“I heard him,” she says finally, her voice dropping to barely more than a whisper.
“What do you mean?” Lili asks unsteadily.
“I heard him scream. In the background.”
Lili feels suddenly ill. She turns around and bends over, overcome with nausea. She retches onto the pavement, then coughs several times. She feels Jin lay a hand upon her shoulder.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m all right.”
At length she straightens up again, sucking in deep breaths of air. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.
“What do they want?” she asks.
“They want their money.”
“Does he have it?”
“No. He has some, but not enough.”
“What will they do to him?”
“Whatever they want. In the eyes of the world, he is already dead.”
“How much does he owe?”
“Nearly twenty thousand dollars.”
“So much!” Lili says, astonished. She did not realise Wen’s debts ran so high. Jin nods grimly.
“Who has that kind of money?” asks Lili.
“Who knows? Not Wen. And not me either.”
“What about Fay?”
“No,” says Jin dismissively.
“But her husband’s a businessman!”
“Who spends money like water! And is swimming in debt.”
“There must be someone else,” says Lili.
Jin takes in a deep breath and exhales heavily.
“Wen was living with someone,” she says slowly. “In Morecambe Bay.”
“What do you mean?”
“He was living with an English woman.”
Lili stares at her. So Wen had secrets from them both.
“Who was she?”
“I don’t know. He never told me her name.”
“So we have no way of finding her.”
“No.”
“What can we do?”
“Nothing. We can wait. And hope that he can make some sort of deal with them.”
“We could go to the police,” suggests Lili desperately.
“Are you insane? Even if they found him, they’d put him on the first plane back to Beijing. He’d wind up in prison! I’d rather be in the hands of the snakeheads.”
“Perhaps he can still work off his debt,” says Lili.
“Maybe. Look, I’ll let you know if I hear anything. Go home now. You look terrible.”
Lili has no choice but to return home and wait for news. When she enters the house, she can hear Adrian cooking supper. She walks into the kitchen and sees him at the stove stirring something in a pot.
“Hello,” he says, looking up at her.
“Where is May?”
“In her room. Are you hungry? I’ve made a stew.”
Lili looks at the pot and shakes her head.
“I am not feeling well,” she says. She starts to turn away.
“Are you okay?”
Lili hesitates. She would like to tell him. But the words are stuck somewhere deep inside.
Adrian stops stirring and turns to her. Lili freezes. Adrian is staring at her, his face creased with concern. She can smell the stew: a sharp meaty smell that clings to her nostrils and makes her feel slightly faint. Panic rises within her. Perhaps nothing in this world can be trusted.
Adrian stands there, the wooden spoon outstretched like an offering. “Some days are harder than others,” he says.
May appears like a silent apparition in the doorway. When she sees the look on Lili’s face, she turns to Adrian. “Daddy? What’s wrong?”
“It’s okay, May. Give us a minute, will you?” He nods to her to leave.
May swallows. “I think the dinner’s burning,” she says then.
They all three turn towards the stove, where the pot has begun to smoke. The smell quickly wafts through the room.
“Damn!” Adrian mutters. He grabs the pan and pulls it off the flame, then crosses to the back door and opens it, allowing the cold night air into the room.
“Lili? Are you okay?” asks May, stepping forward.
“I’m fine,” says Lili, turning away.
Once inside her bedroom, she closes the door and leans back against it. Her eyes drift to the small shrine she has made for Wen, with the photo of him laughing in the centre. She crosses over and kneels down in front of it, lighting the row of candles she has arranged along the front of the table. When she has done this, she takes out a packet of joss sticks and lights one, clutching it in her hand as she bows three times towards Wen’s photo, praying to the spirits of their dead parents to keep him safe.
Behind her she hears a soft tapping on the door. She remains motionless, and a moment later she hears it open softly. Lili looks over to see May standing in the doorway. May comes forward and picks up another joss stick, lighting it from one of the candles. Then she kneels down beside Lili, holding the joss stick in her hand. Lili frowns. May is staring earnestly at the photo of Wen, as if she’d known him all her life, as if they are all part of the same family. Lili feels a surge of gratitude then. She bow
s again towards Wen’s photo, and May does the same. Together they bow again twice more.
A moment later they hear Adrian’s voice from the doorway.
“May?” he says quietly.
They both turn to look at him, and for a split second Lili feels a pang of anger that Adrian has interrupted them. But then she remembers that this is his house, and May is his child. She rocks backwards and rises to her feet. After a moment, May does the same.
“Time to eat,” he says.
November 2004
They take him to the blue hatchback, waiting down a side street. One of the men walks behind him with the knife pressed into his back, the other at his side. The pork bun he was eating has lodged halfway down his gullet. He is still clutching the sack with the other in his hand. As they approach the car, a uniformed parking attendant has just placed a ticket on the windscreen, and is turning away. Little Dog curses him in Mandarin and snatches the ticket, tossing it to the ground. He jumps into the driver’s seat, while one of the other men opens the back door and shoves Wen onto the seat, then climbs in beside him. The third man gets into the passenger seat, and Little Dog starts the engine and drives off. The man next to him pushes him down sideways onto the seat and binds his wrists tightly with a rope, pulling it hard enough to make him wince. Then he pulls a pillowcase over his head. Wen drops the sack of buns onto the floor of the car.
They drive for hours, at first slowly, stopping and starting through London traffic, then eventually much faster. At some point it starts to rain. Wen can hear the steady drizzle on the roof of the car, together with the swishing windscreen wipers. At length he dozes off, and when he wakes the car has stopped. He hears Little Dog get out of the driver’s seat and close the door; the other two men remain behind with him. The one next to him sighs heavily. Wen hears him stretch his legs.
“Fucking rain,” he says in Mandarin.
“It’s the dark that gets to me,” says the other. “Like living in a cave.”
Wen stirs slightly. He needs the toilet but dares not ask. They sit in silence and a minute later he hears Little Dog return.