The Sea Is Ours

by Jaymee Goh

  “Yes, we found something before I set out from Japan,” Putra said. “According to the intelligence reports I gathered, Adipati promised the Japanese army a batch of new, improved soldiers. I believe those children were not bait. Adipati was going to use them for his new experiments. Perhaps he thought age was the key, since he was only successful with Malin, who remains, to this date, his youngest test subject.”

  “He’s trading with Japan now?” Buto raised his voice in disbelief.

  “But we are safe, for now. Knowing we are chasing him and his submersible ship, Adipati moved all of his experimental Basilisk Serum into the Sweet Water. The forged paperwork that we found along with the cargo, made it quite clear that Adipati was planning to take the hijacked ship to Japan—probably thinking he could rely on the camouflage to get out of the republic unnoticed. Malin… well… he saw the box leaking as it fell off the cargo during the fight. Parts of the ship were actually affected by it…”

  “He injected his already transformed crew with the serum?” Buto shook his head, troubled by where this story was going.

  “He loaded the ampoules into his blade-gun and shot them with it… and the other twenty golems as well. The effect of overdose turned them to stone almost immediately. It was almost unreal. Like being with Medusa from Greek mythology.”

  “Yes, we all know you read a lot of antique books in many languages.” Buto stood up. It had been a very long night and day. “Cut to the chase. Where is Malin now?”

  “When it was over…” Putra’s voice went low. The excitement of the battle suddenly left him as he was forced to face the reality he had been trying to avoid. “When it was over, I told him about the children. He just looked at the remaining two ampoules. We believed those were the last of the ampoules batch. Thirty-five were spent on the golems, now all turned to statues, and thirteen ampoules broke on the ship, turning several parts of the Sweet Water to stone. I told him we should bring the ampoules back to you so you can study them, develop a cure, or at least…”

  “He… injected himself with those ampoules?” Kat asked. Buto placed a hand gently on her shoulder.

  “The ship was turning to stone, he was turning to stone… I had to leave him there. He told me… He said no one must ever endure what he went through. Perhaps he thought this was the best way to prevent Adipati from continuing the Basilisk project. Well, you saw the rest… I got out just before that whole ship became too heavy and dropped like a rock down into the sea.”

  “He died a hero,” Buto said. “Just as he always wanted to…”

  “A hero!” shouted a woman from outside of the gadang house. “Did you hear that? My son is a hero!”

  “Wait, rangkayo! Wait!” There was a sudden loud noise from outside the house.

  The three officers went out to see what the commotion was all about. An elderly lady was waddling into the sea, chased by several villagers.

  “My son, my Malin Kundang. A hero. And I… What have I done… My son…” the old lady cried, going farther into the water.

  There was a blurry movement beside Buto and Putra. Before they could do anything, Kat was already in the water, helping the lady out.

  “No, no, let me go to him. My sweet son. All alone down there…” she said weakly. Her body hung limply in Kat’s arms.

  “The lady has a point,” Kat said, “We should probably go search for the bodies…”

  By sunset, however, they were forced to call out the search due to the low light conditions. Using his own giant automaton, Buto managed to carry as much as he could from the ruins of the Sweet Water. All thirty five bodies were accounted for. They left the parts of the ship and the petrified golems by the shore as a memorial to the Sweet Water and its crew. There was someone still missing of course. They still could not find the body of Captain Malin Kundang.

  It was very late when the team finally finished all their reports. The moon was high and full, giving an eerie silver shine to everything its light touched. Buto left the small cabin before the others. It was too hot in there. He needed some air. He was walking in the general direction of his ship when he saw the statue.

  A beautifully carved statue of Malin Kundang now stood on the shore, where his mother had first seen him on the previous day, just a couple of steps away from the ruins of his ship and the silent figures of his crews. At a glance, Buto almost mistook it for Malin himself. It was about the same height as his friend, a remarkable representation of the Captain. They even captured his spirit, Buto thought. There was always a certain tautness in the way Malin stood, as if his muscles were made of spring, ready for any action. This statue felt like that. Like it would move any minute if Buto did not watch it carefully.

  Buto approached the statue, marveling at the exceptional details put into the work. The villagers certainly didn’t waste time in honoring the hero. He smiled at the thought.

  “Ah Malin,” he said, as he saluted the statue, “Why do you have to go ahead and be a hero? Were you not the one who taught me the science of thinking straight? You made fun of me each time I charged ahead, you scolded me for relying on brute force alone… We could’ve done so much more with you in our team. I could’ve done so much more with your ship…” He glanced away at the sea where some new rock formations had formed a protective barrier around the beach. Buto sighed, seeing some features of the modified ship still quite easily recognized on the surface of those rocks.

  Kat came up slowly behind him. She could be so quiet when she chose to, but he could always tell when she was close by.

  “Look,” he said to Kat, “They even got the nose right.” Malin’s otherwise perfect nose was slightly crooked when he broke it several months ago in a fight. Buto himself had helped the Captain straighten it back into place. He could still recall many of the new curse words Malin taught him that day.

  Without saying a word, she reached out and held his hand. Her hand had been so cold ever since he upgraded her systems, but today it felt warm. Could it be that her humanity had really seeped back in? He did not want to think about her as an automaton today. He simply wanted to enjoy that warmth of her hand as they both silently mourned the passing of a great friend.

  He remembered the first time they met Malin, specifically that moment when Malin casually winked at Kat and made her smile after he miraculously (or as Malin put it, dashingly) maneuvered his ship away from intense cannonball fires. Buto thought about telling stories of their adventures with Malin tonight in their own airship.

  As if reading Buto’s mind, Putra, walking towards them said, “We shall be telling stories about him tonight. Remember the first time we met him? How he rescued us after you crashed Shiva?”

  Buto groaned, Shiva was the name of his giant automaton. Putra was right, though; they were lucky Malin was in the area when they crashed. They will definitely be telling more stories about Malin’s daring deeds tonight. Buto even thought of writing those stories down, perhaps send it to Malin’s poor mother? Can she even read?

  “The water was murkier all the way down there,” said Buto, more to himself than to his friends. He still could not believe Malin was gone. “Perhaps we could try again in a couple of days? I could probably fix a few more lights on…”

  “I shall come back with you,” Biwar said, coming close to the three officers. Biwar had volunteered to come to the headquarters in Batavia to help out with the special unit. He saluted the statue as well. “They have really made him a hero!”

  “An excellent likeness,” Putra noted, “From his roguish half smile to the way he always stood with one hand behind his back.”

  “A befitting monument.” Biwar nodded.

  Kat placed her hand gently upon the statue’s face, “Good bye, dear friend,” she said, and then she stared at her hand, slightly bewildered. “It’s… dripping wet…”

  “It was raining,” Putra said.

  “Was it?”

  “It’s October! Name one day since last week that hasn’t rained?”

&n
bsp; Kat shook her head, peering close at the statue. Buto pulled her towards their own aeroship, “Come, we need to locate Adipati as soon as possible.”

  They walked pass the statues and the ruins of the Sweet Water. Kat turned back once, but then, as the other three started the rockets on their vests, she too got herself ready to board.

  ~*~

  The statue of Malin Kundang blinked. He watched his friends as they all flew up towards their own camouflaged aeroship. “Good bye, my friends,” he said in a voice that sounded as hollow as an empty grave. “I wish I knew how I survived, but for now, perhaps it is better that Adipati thinks I’m dead.”

  Malin also didn’t know how he could ever be a pirate again, sky or sea, with a body that would sink the second it touched the waters. He wanted to curse, but he was out of curses. He had used them all up as he forced himself to walk all the way from the bottom of the sea to the shore. It had taken him forever.

  He did have one thing clear in his mind, however: he had a village to protect, and a mother to take care of. With heavy steps that left grooves in the sand, he walked slowly towards the village.

  The Insects and Women Sing Together

  Pear Nuallak

  As Kaew pounded chilli relish for the midday meal, she daydreamed about her mother.

  This is what she saw: Amphon, with her ever-serene face, piloting a great nak with bright scales and a noble crest above its great windowed eyes.

  She imagined the machine beast winding through the sky, powered by engines whirring like cicadas, an articulated metal body that dazzled pavonine in the sunlight. A fin of ixora-bright silk stretched tight over bamboo frilled the considerable length of its spine. The nak’s progress through the air matched its dignity in native rivers, comfortable with its power, its sleek beauty.

  Inside the head of the beast was Amphon at the dashboard, her fine firm hands and strong knees steering the metal nak with the same concentration as she rode an elephant. Marking the roof above her mother’s head were symbols in white and gold, blessings from a monk necessary for any vehicle. Her mother the hero, the adventurer!

  This is the kind of great machine beast which is worthy of her mother, Kaew thought, and a creation that would have to reside only in her imagination. Not even the engineers in Krungthep, the capital of Siam, had yet reached the sky in a vessel of such advanced size and power—flight meant a person strapped to bamboo wings, gliding from mountain tops. If they were to build a nak, why then, they’d place it in the water where it belonged.

  Every creature has its place in the world. Kaew paused before her pestle and mortar to consider this carefully: her own was far away from Krungthep. Nong Ngu Saeng Athit, so named for the gleaming snakes one encountered in the rice paddies, fell within the governance of Khorat city but remained a quiet village an hour’s walk away from this provincial capital. Mountains shouldered its way across the landscape and the fields were lush and full, pregnant with Phra Mae Posop’s gift to humankind, rice which whispered its blessings as it swayed in the soft breeze.

  Despite the progressive road-building and puttering steamboats along the waterways which connected Siam together, the village was still quietly tucked away, unremarkable, a little sleepy. It was better this way, said Amphon and Grandmother Jampa, though each woman had her own reasons for desiring solitude.

  “Child, what are you doing?” said Auntie Muk, noticing the thudding behind her had paused. She looked over her shoulder, draining the just-cooked rice from its milky water. “Roast the aubergine and look after the rice as it steams, won’t you? And don’t forget to add the chillies and salt to the mortar. I want everything complete when I return from feeding the dogs.” She set off for the yard, a bowl of rice milk in hand.

  “Yes, Auntie,” Kaew said to her moving back. Auntie Muk loved her dogs, calling them Chaba and Mee Noi, Maphraow and Toong Ngeun, feeding them from her hand and praising their elegant ridged backs. There was no need, then, for Kaew to hurry.

  When the coals finally burned low, she returned the clay pot to the stovetop, the rice murmuring to itself as the heat further perfected each grain. With a pair of tongs, she pushed the slender purple aubergines into the open maw beneath, where the dark heart of charcoal flickered patiently. Auntie Muk was contemptuous of gas-powered fires; food simply wasn’t the same without the lingering richness of smoke and ash, even if it did set you coughing.

  A sudden puff of steam came from the hair-thin gap between the rice pot and its lid. This bringing together of fire, water and air was the same power which moved whole boats, she realized—power which could be harnessed to bring people higher and faster through the sky.

  Kaew remained deep in thought as the meal cooked itself. Perhaps a metal khrut, with its noble beak, deep chest and broad wings, would be a more suitable vehicle for her mother. She giggled, feeling as if she’d picked one quarrelling suitor over another: though both nak and khrut were allies to Phra Phutta Chao, they were enemies of each other.

  The last projects in Krungthep she’d heard of were faster steam ships and the beginnings of a war elephant with legs that marched and an armored trunk which spewed shot. Kaew wondered when the engineers in the capital would consider the merits of heavenly creatures—those who had come to the aid of man, at least. In addition to desirable qualities like impenetrable scales and wings that levelled mountains, they had a beautiful form. That much was evident in stone carvings and murals on temple walls finely detailed and utterly still. To realize them in motion would be glorious.

  Such thoughts of machine beasts and brave women pillowed Kaew’s head as she dreamed at night, after she’d pulled up the stairs to the upper floor and settled onto her reed mat next to her grandmother. (Old woman Jampa, meanwhile, dreamed of regrets, a man who had seemed so good at first, and her family darting away from her like so many fish.)

  Kaew snatched secret moments of the day to trace pictures in the dirt, copying images from temple murals in her memory. A person wasn’t supposed to put pencil to paper until properly apprenticed lest the spirits of the old master artisans overwhelm the untutored mind, but her love of drawing made her reckless: she reasoned that pushing a sharp stick through dry earth could hardly count. Even with these crude materials, her lines were already smooth and finely controlled, and she wanted to know where her skill would take her.

  Yet the girl understood messages both loud and quiet which told her that most of her family wouldn’t understand how her heart shouted for this craft. She wanted this and nothing else, even though weaving, planting rice, courtship, marriage, a child in the belly ought to be her life’s richest work.

  Perhaps her mother would advocate for her. Amphon was ostensibly a maid in Lady Boonluea’s household, a role which for some reason meant travel and gentle, quiet smiles when Kaew pressed her for detail after detail. Those long trips away made frail Grandmother Jampa weep with anger while clinging to Kaew.

  “She leaves home as if she were a man! What’s wrong with rice-pounding and water-fetching that runs a house? Is that not enough work for her?” Jampa shouted at no-one in particular. “Who will winnow the grains and cook the meals? Who will guide you, my little Kaew, when it’s your turn to marry? Who will lay my ashes to rest?”

  Later, Kaew overheard Auntie Khajee talking to Auntie Muk while they worked on the family garden. “If you ask me, Amphon is a fine sister, a good woman”’ she said.

  Auntie Muk nodded. “It’s no fault of hers she was widowed so young. Who can predict the comings and goings of husbands? And you can see with your own eyes that Kaew is precious to her. Let Mother rage as she wishes. Amphon has done her duty as a daughter.”

  Kaew swept the chilli and salt into the mortar with a sigh. There were expectations of womanhood that went deeper than the roots of a takhian tree. No matter how much wealth a woman accrued, or the number of rai she owned, the world turned its usual course and the day always came where she knelt before someone else and carried out their wishes. She felt suddenly vexed
by this life, a narrow path crammed with too many things she didn’t want, and put her heart into pounding the chilli relish forcefully until it became so smooth and fine that not even Auntie Muk could find fault with it.

  As she finished, a tiny fleck of chilli landed in Kaew’s eye, fierce pain which burned away coherent thought. She’d later reflect it was unjust that, out of all the ingredients, it was somehow always chilli which jumped so precisely into her face.

  Auntie Muk returned to see her niece flapping her hands ridiculously with one hand and clutching her face with the other.

  “I’ve told you at least a hundred times, child, you need to concentrate,” Auntie Muk said to Kaew as she wailed, “You want to eat soon, don’t you? Go and rinse your face and eyes.”

  ~*~

  I know, well and truly, that I’ve committed many misdeeds. I don’t love as women are supposed to love. My daughter Kaew is precious to me all the same, my best secret and light of my eyes. Lady Boonluea presses me to bring her in but even now, after so many years of service, I hesitate, knowing the danger. I keep my girl in Nong Ngu Saeng Athit for a reason.

  Still, I recognize the same restlessness in her as I knew in myself. I’ll tell her our stories, women’s stories, so that she may learn the words to sing and shout what she already knows in her heart—and to plumb the depths of dreams she’s never even thought possible.

  I will sing her the song I learned in my sixteenth year. Even now there are those who disbelieve Grandmother Mo’s resistance against the Lao, claiming the impossibility of a fifty-five year old woman taking up arms and commanding warriors because of her age and gender. Some even say she simply did not exist, a story spun by Khorat officials to appease Krungthep of their loyalty to His Majesty in the capital.

  Of course I disagree; I expect the quality of my bones, heart, and intellect to be preserved for at least the next two decades, during which I may go from woman to man and back again. I do not command as she did—the Lady is real, life-changingly so—but I slough off my skin, creep softly, and take on the guise I require to find and capture secrets.