by Wu Ming-Yi
Apart from Ohiyo, Alice had finally found someone she was willing to open up to about how much she missed Toto. Perhaps it was because Atile’i wouldn’t understand the details of what she was saying that Alice felt more free to speak her mind. Even though they would never admit it, the people around Alice had all gone from sympathetic and patient to bored and sick and tired of hearing her talk about Toto. The very sight of her put people on alert. Oh no, here she comes again, they seemed to say to themselves.
Language might increase the distance of a story, making it seem even further away, but Atile’i was sensitive enough to realize that Alice really missed her son. That was the way it was, no doubt about it. He didn’t have to understand her story to intuit how she felt. When Alice mentioned for the umpteenth time what it had been like with Toto around, Atile’i recalled something the Sea Sage had once said and related it to Alice: “Ind’e kasi ka mona’e lulala, i’a sudoma.”
Alice had already learned some of the words: mona’e meant ocean, lulala was flower, and sudoma beach. But she still didn’t understand the meaning of the whole sentence. She spent quite some time querying Atile’i before she felt she probably understood what it meant. Maybe it could be translated like this: No beach, no matter what the island, can hold the waves.
This was a maxim and an admonition. It would undoubtedly also count as a truth, even under scientific examination. Waves could not stay on a beach. There was often a fine line between proverbial wisdom and stating the obvious, between a truth and a truism, Alice thought.
“Only whales can be kept on the beach,” Atile’i said. The islanders believe that whales sacrifice themselves for the sake of all the folks who are unable to go fishing. When sea creatures use the land to kill themselves, their spirits soar up to the clouds; when land creatures drown themselves in the sea, their spirits turn into jellyfish. These were the rules of the spirit realm, taught to Atile’i by the horde of second sons he’d met on the sea.
“Sometimes death is payback. At other times, it’s just farewell, not owing anyone anything. As the days are long and the sea is deep, in the end the salikaba (Alice now had the word memorized) will betray the flesh, for the flesh is weak.”
Maybe because Alice tended to translate literally from Wayo Wayoan to Mandarin she always felt that the young Atile’i’s speech was overly poetic and a bit unreal. He made the pain that everyone had to suffer sound so beautiful. A kid Atile’i’s age should not be saying things like that. But in another sense, Alice thought about all Atile’i had experienced at sea, far more than she herself had experienced anywhere. Maybe the soul that resided in his young body was more complicated than the one that dwelt in hers.
Alice started taking Atile’i to draw water in the morning. Atile’i was curious about everything he saw along the way. The first time he saw a waterfall, he fell down to his knees, his eyes brimming over. He said this was something the Sea Sage had prayed for his whole life long: “How wonderful it would be to have such a mighty spring on Wayo Wayo. The sea is so big, but there’s not a drop to drink. That is the punishment of Kabang.”
Alice wanted to tell him that nobody could punish anyone else. She gave him a long explanation, but couldn’t be sure he understood.
Aside from drawing water, Alice also had to gather wild food plants. She had learned a lot by going to the Seventh Sisid, because Hafay would use plants Pangcah people often ate as ingredients in the meals she prepared. Things like kakurot (wild bitter gourd) to go with steamed fish. And you can combine sukuy (gac) with the snails you can catch anywhere and make a broth. Violet wood-sorrel can be pickled and served as a side dish. Rattan shoots make a great soup, while cassava can substitute for rice. Hafay also taught Alice how to make a pot out of a betel leaf and cook with it. You put the water and ingredients in the “pot” and toss in stones so hot from the fire that they make the water boil. Hafay said this was “stone bowl hot pot,” Pangcah style.
Atile’i had an outstanding ability to recognize plants. Usually he could remember something after Alice had picked it a single time. Soon he took over Alice’s job of foraging up in the hills. Sometimes when she got up in the morning, she would find the basket full of a day’s worth of vegetables. Alice couldn’t resist giving him field guides to read. Atile’i was really interested in the pictures, which looked just like the real thing. He was learning the names of different species at the same time as he was getting more and more familiar with a foreign language. At first he only learned the practical plants, the wild vegetables or herbs, but soon he knew almost all the birds, insects and reptiles, too. He could tell Alice at a glance that up ahead there were three emerald doves, eleven lesser scimitar babblers, seventy-nine Japanese white-eyes and a yellow-mouthed screech owl, with its eyes closed. Oh wait, there’s also a red-banded snake.
He quickly realized that the wild ferns, both cross-the-ditch and lady fern, that carpeted the mountains weren’t poisonous. They were edible, and could be eaten raw as you walked along. Soon the gash on Atile’i’s calf formed a scab, and the sore at the corner of his mouth was much improved. He picked breadfruits and wild raspberries and stored them in the cellar he’d dug to keep them cool and fresh. Alice was amazed. Atile’i knew a whole lot more about survival than she did. Sometimes she felt that the mountain knew Atile’i right from the start. He plucked buds and drank dew as he went along, as natural as a babbler in the woods nibbling on raspberries.
Once in a while, Alice walked down alone and drove into town to buy food. She would arrange to meet Dahu, Umav and Hafay along the way, and would always see the ruins of the Sea House, now almost completely inundated, and the endless seashore, still in a shambles even after several months of clearance. She got the latest news update about the Trash Vortex from Dahu and Hafay: journalists had recently started calling it the “Primeval Plastic Soup,” which sounded like a dish on a menu.
One time when she came down to town, Alice caught a talk show on TV while eating in a buffet. Some famous buckraker claimed he had seen a little dark fellow swim to shore out of the plastic soup and vanish into a grove. “If you don’t believe me launch a search in the mountains. You’ll find him,” the buckraker averred.
“Nonsense,” said the owner of the buffet. Alice knew it was not. Could someone have possibly seen Atile’i run into the hills? Thank God Atile’i had already changed into the clothes Alice had bought for him and could speak some Mandarin now. It would not be too hard to make up some story. Not to mention that the folks on this kind of show were all talk, no action. And to most viewers, it wasn’t supposed to be informative; it was pure entertainment, the kind of program that gave people everything but the truth. Nobody would actually go looking, would they?
At first Dahu and Hafay urged Alice to come back and live by the sea, but Alice told them that she wanted to stay in the hut for the time being, so they didn’t force the issue. Dahu had sorted out the stuff from the Sea House and packed it up. He was planning to take it up for her, only to meet with her adamant refusal. The situation was so awkward Dahu could only relent.
“I’m sure there’s something going on at the hut,” Dahu said privately to Hafay.
“You still don’t know Alice after all these years? If she wanted us to know she would have told us already,” Hafay said. “Anyway, maybe she’s just being a bit paranoid.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right.”
“But haven’t you noticed that Alice’s complexion looks so much better? Didn’t she say it’s been awhile since she stopped taking that whatchamacallit medication? I think it’s less likely now that she’d go and do something stupid, so whatever’s going on at least it seems to be doing her some good so far, right?”
“I hope you’re right,” said Dahu.
Indeed, every time Alice came down she was talking more about Ohiyo and less about Toto. But now Hafay, too, sensed that Ohiyo wasn’t Alice’s only companion at the hunting hut.
Alice found a quiet place by the highway and tossed a few thi
ngs from the Sea House, leaving most of them in the car. She kept all of Toto’s books and stationery, even though she knew that keeping these things would only cause her sorrow. It was like leaving a deadly weapon lying around. She discovered a bundle of letters in a manila envelope, all from Thom.
From seeing each other to living together to getting married, Alice knew that Thom had pushed himself to the limit for her sake. But she was unwilling to admit defeat and let him go. One time she really thought Thom wasn’t coming back. Toto had come down with a cold, and as soon as he got better Thom told her he was preparing to climb Mount Kilimanjaro. Alice did not say anything the entire day. When they were drying the dinner dishes Thom leaned over and asked: “Are you angry?”
“No. What’s there to be angry about?”
“I know you’re angry. The Umbwe Route isn’t that difficult. We’ll have a professional guide.”
“It has nothing to do with the difficulty or whether you’ve got a guide or not. Don’t you get it?” Alice’s tone suddenly hardened.
“I guess I just don’t fucking get it!”
“If you don’t get it you don’t get it. Whatever you want, Thom! Go do whatever you fucking want!”
Alice knew that she was being unreasonable, but she had a good reason, though for now she did not have the courage to confront it. For a while after Thom left, Alice thought: This is it, he’s gone for good. He’ll continue his adventures on seas, on slopes and in beds far away from her. Two weeks later Alice received a picture postcard from Thom of a glacier on Mount Kilimanjaro. The handwriting on the back was so finely penned it seemed to be printed in some old-style English font. In writing, Thom was always affectionate, never angry:
Without you my life would be nothing but a grim expanse of ice, frigid, flat and gray. On days without you near me I’m as haplessly muddled as a butterfly released into an alien realm, feebly flapping its wings among unfamiliar plants at the wrong height.
The last few lines were so Nabokov. Ah, but that was Thom. Toto and what remained of their love had been spun into a fragile thread, the only remaining tie between them. Thom did come back in the end. But if the conversation turned away from Toto, the two of them turned into silent snipers, each returning to his or her own trench. Sometimes Alice thought that she should have let it be, let him leave long before. How could such a man belong to her?
Toto and Thom had been out of contact for two days, but Alice still had not thought to call the police. It didn’t occur to her that there might have been an accident. She assumed maybe Thom was just trying to avoid her. To do so, he might not scruple to conceive a crude missing person plot, and might even take her Toto away with him.
This suspicion only disappeared when Dahu found Thom’s body. Thom’s death gave her mourning an outlet, but also caused her soul, which she had been propping up with hate for many days, to collapse. Thom had always been this person in her life who might disappear at any moment; Alice had been preparing herself for the worst all that time. But what about Toto? Why was there still no sign of him?
Dahu, the rescue team and the coroner all supposed Thom must have fallen off the cliff and died. He had comminuted fractures all over his body. But the route on which they discovered Thom’s body was totally different from the one he had registered at the backcountry office. The placement of the body did not really make sense, either. It was as if someone had dragged him into the secluded rock house at the base of the cliff. Or had the force of impact caused his body to ricochet right into the shelter? And was this the reason he’d eluded discovery?
Alice listened as Dahu discussed what might have happened with some other climbing buddies. She couldn’t understand why they didn’t mention Toto. Toto still hadn’t been found, not even his backpack, but they didn’t seem at all concerned. Of the two people in the world who cared about Toto, one was gone, leaving her all alone. She lifted the shroud, took a look at the shrunken corpse hidden beneath, and signed the cremation authorization form without hesitation. She sprinkled Thom’s ashes in the water in front of the Sea House. Alice never thought to inform his family, because Thom had simply never given her their contact information; he hadn’t even told his parents when Toto was born. Which made her suspect that Thom had been alone in the world all along; maybe he remained alone right to the end. How she once loved his body, and the spirit it contained. Now all that remained of him was ashes and dust.
One night, Alice asked Atile’i about funerals on Wayo Wayo.
Atile’i said that Wayo Wayoan funerals are usually held late at night, because the islanders believe that with the approach of day, the spirits follow the stars and fade away. The deceased is carried alone in a little boat toward the edge of the waters around Wayo Wayo. There is a boundary the living can never cross, not even when fishing, because of a powerful undercurrent. The relatives of the deceased ride in two boats, one to the left and one to the right, to steady the spirit craft. When they near the current that will carry the deceased off, the Sea Sage chants the psalm of farewell. If they see lights flickering in the distance it is time to let go. Then the craft departs, never to return, while the relatives of the departed sing heartily as they row back. If they do not get the timing right, the craft will sometimes turn round and they will, however reluctantly, have to throw stones at it to sink it. Otherwise the spirit of the dead will never rest in peace.
“You sing? You mean singing? Like this?” Alice hummed the first melody that came into her head.
“Yes, singing.”
“Did you ever ask why you do that?”
“Because it’s good for the deceased.”
“Why is it for the good of the deceased?”
“Because our ancestors want us to sing.”
“Is whatever the ancestors want you to do necessarily good?”
“Whatever the ancestors want us to do is necessarily good.”
“I see,” Alice said, perfunctorily. She suddenly realized that the melody she had just hummed was from a song Thom had sung for her in the campground in Copenhagen.
“You see.” Atile’i fell silent a few moments, as if lost in thought. Then he said, “May the Sea bless you.”
She had just decided to follow the route that they’d taken together, father and son. No doubt this youth standing in front of her would be an ideal helper and companion on her quest. She wanted to make the trip to the place where Thom died and Toto went missing, to see for herself, once and for all, what it was like and how she would feel when she got there. “Can I hear that again?” Atile’i asked.
“What?”
“The song. You were just singing.”
23. The Man with the Compound Eyes I
Nobody has ever seen the forest he now beholds, like a forest in a novel that has grown into a real wood. This is not to say that the forest is not immense, peaceful, dark and deep. It is indeed immense, peaceful, dark and deep, just a bit unreal.
The man, blond-haired and big-boned, looks back and encourages the boy behind him, saying, “We’ll be fine. I know a path to the big cliff over there. I’ve climbed it many times. It’s fantastic there, really incredible. You’ll know what I mean after you climb it: everything looks different from up there. I’ve even seen long-armed scarabs up there.”
Long-armed scarabs. This time I have to see them for myself, the gray-haired little boy thinks to himself. The man is carrying all the equipment so the boy can keep up. The boy’s skin is fair, his eyes enchanting—brown at first sight but almost blue from a certain angle. He is a tight-lipped, determined little boy. The boy has not called for a stop for over four hours since breaking camp this morning. The man has been making a point of helping the boy regulate his breathing and pace himself as they march in single file along an almost unmarked trail. If the boy stops walking the man senses it immediately.
So far the boy has stopped three times along the way, because he is constantly checking for scat along the trail, and for scarab beetles feasting on the scat. If he sees any movem
ent he stops, picks out the beetles and puts them in a ventilated jar, without using chemical agents to put the insects under. He just tightens the twist top lid. “Wait in here a bit.” The boy taps the jar, not actually opening his mouth but adopting a benign expression apparently intended to reassure the beetles. “Don’t be afraid, I mean you no harm.” But obviously the scarab he has just caught doesn’t understand. Seemingly bewildered, it flails its three pairs of legs, trying to climb up the side of the jar only to slide back down again.
The man and the boy start sweating. The forest is dark and extremely still. It is a deep-toned stillness. The two of them share the sound of one another’s breathing. Just when the boy feels maybe they should rest a bit, the forest comes to an abrupt end and his eyes light up, as if someone has just flipped the sunlight switch.
As soon as the boy and the man see the cliff off to the one side, they immediately feel that the forest just now has been as real as real can be, and that the immense rock wall they now confront is fantasy. The man has seen so many of the world’s wonders, and has climbed this cliff face before, but he is still deeply moved by it. He enjoys this feeling most of all, the feeling of awe inspired by a certain anticipated scene. Meanwhile, the boy is thinking that the insects in his jar once lived at a place like this. He does not have too many adjectives in his vocabulary yet. He notices his heart is pounding, and that he feels giddy.
“Isn’t it great?” the man says to the boy. The boy does not respond. He is too thrilled to know how to respond, and at the same time starts to doubt himself.