The Family

by Saxon Keeley

  “And you are just going to let them do that?”

  “To a certain degree, it is out of our hands,” admitted Alistair.

  Outraged, Wesley stands up from his chair, sending it hurtling to ground.

  “How can you let this happen? Are you not the fucking Chairman? What good is there in having an Assembly if politicians are willing to sell-out the Chinese in a heartbeat?” he argued, forgetting to control the volume of his voice.

  “Hold your tongue child,” snapped the Chairman.

  The hot-headed youth is silenced. The look on their grandfather’s face even sends a chill through Alistair.

  A patter of footsteps comes down the hall. All three turn as the door opens and Jessica walks in rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

  “Why are you fighting? Is Uncle Wesley in trouble?” she asked, confused at the presence of her father, uncle and great grandfather all wake and dressed.

  Feeling guilty for his outburst, Wesley is about to comfort his niece, when Alistair steps in front of him and carries Jessica back out of the dining room. They listen as Alistair reassures her that everything is fine. Knowing he may be gone for some time, the two settle back down.

  His grandfather waits for him to drink some of his tea before continuing. The floral fragrance sooths his temper.

  “Forgive me Wesley,” began Zhang, “I forget that you three are not children any longer. We should talk as equals.”

  “I just think that we are losing rights every single year. First, they closed the university, denying our brother his doctorate. Thankfully, because of our father, he was not forced to work in the factories. Now they want to target those who have limited enough prospects. Must we be subservient dogs to survive? What does it mean to be Chinese on Shanxi?”

  Zhang nods in agreement. “I completely understand. But anger is not a useful tool if the enemy is so deeply entrenched. Nor do I think complacency or faith that things will eventually get better are valid either. You would be surprised at how alike our concerns are. There are more like us. There are more that are like you. I can give you a place amongst our struggle, if you want it.”

  Wesley finishes his tea.

  “I have no interest in standing at your side in the Assembly. I not the same as my brother. Politics bores me.”

  “No, not the Assembly. If we are to secure Chinese prosperity then Shanxi needs an army.”

  *

  The thick polluted morning mist of the Industrial District turns the sunrise a faint yellowish green, a sight more recognisable to those from Earth than those native to Shanxi. A circumstance that would have never of been allowed under Charles’ environmental restrictions.

  Offset from the splendour of its neighbouring districts, each street is lined with characterless factories and storehouses.

  Leading the two brothers through the back streets, Chairman Zhang takes them to a small workshop in the very centre of the district. The door has been left unlocked and the three enter inside.

  Cumbersome machinery sits static. Metal shavings litter the ground. There is a heat to the shop floor that only comes from hard labour. Ticking of a large clock hanging in the far end of the room fills the workshop.

  Still unsure of where they are going, Wesley keeps close behind as they make their way through into the back and down a series of dark staircases. The deeper they descend below the colony, the colder it gets.

  “One. Two. Three. One. Two. Three,” yelled a harsh commanding voice.

  Entering a large training hall, the three watch from the balcony whilst senior officers run through their morning drill. Men and women move to the rhythm of the instructor’s calls. Upfront, he too participates in the routine.

  Though not much younger than the Chairman, the instructor is fitter than any of the young officers before him. Shaved hair and darker skin than other Chinese on Shanxi, his body covered in scars.

  Noticing they have guests, the instructor halts the drill. Showing both class and discipline every one of the officers stand to attention.

  Climbing the stairs, the instructor rushes up to greet them.

  “Good morning Chairman.”

  “Good morning. I would like to introduce to you my grandson, Wesley Jung. Wesley this is Sun Tzu.”

  Neither of them say anything.

  Sun Tzu sizes up the youngest of the brothers, inspecting the dragon crawling up the side of his neck. Wanting to square up to the old soldier, Wesley is unnerved by a frenzied glint in his eye. He turns to Alistair, who gives him a reassuring nod. Wesley then knows there is no negotiation to be had.

  Met with a crazed smile from Sun Tzu, the old man begins to chuckle to himself.

  “You will be in Yong Squad,” said Sun Tzu, then called out to the commanding officers below, “Sun Ren, show Mr Jung to his quarters.”

  “Yes, Sir,” replied a female voice.

  Stepping out of line, Sun Ren waits for her newest recruit to follow. Unconventionally and boyishly attractive, her features are accentuated by her hair shaved at the sides. Her sports bra shows off an old tattoo of carps leaping up a waterfall transcending into dragons. A tattoo that covers her entire back. One that she is now ashamed of.

  “The rest of you are dismissed. We reconvene at zero-eight-hundred hours,” announced Sun Tzu.

  “Wesley, I hope that you find purpose here. Sun Tzu is a good man and true to the prosperity of Chinese in the Charted Systems. Do what he says and you will pave the way for a better tomorrow for us all,” said his grandfather.

  Alistair places a hand on Wesley’s shoulder. “Together we will build Shanxi so that one day it may stand on its own. Best of luck brother.”

  “Jung!” called Sun Ren.

  Wesley cannot think of the right words to say, still stunned at the sudden turn this morning has taken.

  “This way, quickly,” she ordered.

  Astonished that a whole community has been living below everyone’s feet, Wesley is taken through a maze of narrow corridors populated with young soldiers. Squad leaders yell out orders. Individuals run errands, while others complete their chores. No one is idol.

  Sun Ren arrives at a door with ‘Yong’ sprayed on it. Holding it open for him, Wesley is faced with a plain room with rows of beds running down either side and lockers at the back. Racing to the ends of their beds, the squad stand to attention.

  “We have a new addition to our squad. This is Wesley Jung of the Jung family. There will be no special privileges granted because of his family name,” she called out, making sure he knows his place amongst his comrades. “This is a proud squad, with zero disciplinary offences to its name. We are leading the competitions board and have no intension of losing that placement. We are the top squad because we follow five simple rules. Rule one.”

  “You let one down, you let all down,” the squad chanted back simultaneously.

  “Rule two.”

  “Individuals die. Units survive.”

  “Rule three.”

  “Broken windows lead to broken limbs.”

  “Rule four.”

  “Sun Tzu is absolute.”

  “Rule five.”

  “Chinese we are, Chinese we will stay.”

  “Communal showers and facilities are down the corridor to the right. The mess hall is back the way we came and straight on. Breakfast is in half an hour. Your bed is at the far side. Personal belongings go in your locker at the end of the room. Your uniform is also kept in your locker. You have five minutes to change. Everyone must contribute, your responsibility will be mopping the corridors in the morning and washing dishes in the evening,” she explained rigorously. “Li Guang.”

  “Fūrén,” said a young gentle looking man, stepping out from the line.

  “You are to ensure Jung knows the Neo-Shanxi Army’s daily schedules,” she ordered.

  “Yes Fūrén.”

  With that she leaves the room and everyone relaxes. Wesley walks down towards his bed and is met by the men and women of his squad. There is
something familiar about everyone in the room. Young, scarred and tattooed. Most pat him on the back as he walks by, others smile as if they know something he does not.

  Disappointed at his measly personal space, he continues to find his locker. Already printed with his name, Wesley opens it to find four changes of clothes and a few essentials such as a toothbrush and razor. Checking the label in the trousers he is confused to find that they are the right fit.

  “The Chairman gave us your sizes a few days ago,” explained Li Guang. “Sun Ren runs a tight ship, but you would not want to be a part of any other squad. Get ready quickly, it is going to be a long day.”

  “Where do I get changed?”

  “Right here. Sorry there is not much privacy down here. You get used to it quickly. First time, we promise not to peek…too much.”

  Leaving him with a slap on the back, Wesley faces his locker and begins to unbutton his jacket. He does his best to undress as discreetly as possible, occasionally stopping to glace over his shoulder.

  The moment he pulls his shirt over his head, a pair of hands grab the waist line of his trousers and yank them down to his ankles.

  Cheers from his squad mates erupt, while a few girls in the dorm wolf whistle. Feeling his face turn red, Wesley throws off his shirt and drops to pull up his underwear.

  Sneering back the squad, he sets his eyes on the nearest person laughing.

  “It is better to just get it over with. You will thank us when we strip down for our shower tonight,” said Li above the noise.

  Oscar Jung

  From the streets of the Trading District, the towering buildings of the Political District can scarcely be seen. The closeness of the buildings make the district difficult to navigate at this time of night.

  Business men walk with their arms interlinked with prostitutes and concubines, the sweet aroma of cheap Baijiu wafts through the air as Oscar passes them by. Groups of middle aged women dressed in expensive cheongsams sit outside bars playing mah-jong, cackling as they tell each other dirty jokes and recollect sexual encounters.

  Every few yards vendors sell the best food in the city. The odd vendor chops up what looks like meat and if Oscar ever knew what cooked meat smelt like, he’d be able to know whether what they were cooking was the real thing.

  But it’s a scam. The price of the supposed meat dishes is extortionate, there to exploit the drunken night goers. Women of the night bait the Western business men to buy them their favourite dishes.

  Each vendor specialises in different cuisine. The deep warmth of the spices of the Sichuan vendor; to the rich vinegar of the Shan vendor; to the subtler blend of herbs from the Hui vendor.

  With the clash of languages, lights from the overhead lanterns and contrasting flavours in the air, the whole district is a sensory overload.

  Hung outside one of the night clubs is a poster of his wife when she was younger, from a time before they had even met. Oscar is momentarily hurt when he sees that she is not using the ‘Jung’ name for tonight’s performance.

  As he enters the club, the bouncer stands up from his stool. Realising who it is, he takes back his seat and pulls out a carton of cigarettes. He holds them out for Oscar, but is politely refused.

  “She is currently on. Her set should be over soon,” informed the bouncer.

  “Is there a kid with her?”

  “Yeah. He is backstage in the dressing rooms.”

  Red velvet curtains and the sound of music guide him through to the main room.

  Pitch black, with exception of the stage and bar, Oscar skirts around the edge of the room to buy a drink. Taking a seat on a stool, the bartender without saying a word rests a glass on a napkin and begins to pour Oscar a drink.

  Xuan stands centre stage. Oscar’s heart skips a beat, feeling just has he did the first time he saw her. She leans in ever so slightly and begins to sing into the ring-and-spring microphone.

  Up in front of everyone, Xuan looks content. Her eyes smile. Always dressed in the finest satins available on Shanxi, she would not dare to be seen in anything less. Her hair beautifully pinned back, glistening in the light. Her make-up brings enough colour to her skin to hide how sickly pale she is. Oscar is concerned by how thin she appears.

  Xuan sings the last line, spotting Oscar at the bar. Her initial unease is washed away by the applause. Blowing kisses, she laps up the admiration of the audience and walks off stage.

  The band begin to play and the whole venue brakes out into conversation as they head towards the bar. Finishing his drink, Oscar leaves and heads for the ‘Staff only’ door.

  Oscar walks through the back of the club unchallenged by the staff, most are too busy to even notice him, others simply pretend he isn’t there. Catching the smell of opium, he follows it down the hall to a dressing room. From outside he hears his son’s voice.

  “Hu, Hu, Hu!” Alexander cried in joy.

  “Not again,” said a woman disappointedly. “You are too smart for me to play with you anymore. I need to take you to the tables at Ning.”

  The woman playing cards with Alexander is startled by Oscar’s sudden presence. She quickly finds composure and stares directly back.

  For a moment, Oscar is certain he is going to have an argument on his hands. He studies the woman’s face. Her cheeks are full, giving her face a circular appearance. She looks as if she has money, but Oscar already knows how she earns such a living.

  “Child, collect your things and we will wait for your father outside,” said the woman to his surprise.

  Alexander, happy to see his father, holds up a bag full of sweets. “Look at what I won from Madame. She is not very good at cards.”

  His son’s comment breaks the tension between the two of them. She laughs at herself as she gathers her things. Kneeling besides Alexander, Oscar helps pack away the cards.

  Oscar picks up the last few cards and holds them out with a comforting smile.

  “When will we see mother again?” asked Alexander.

  “Soon. Mother just needs some time to get better,” he said.

  Alexander’s face drops, any sense of happiness he had in that moment is lost.

  “Is mother sick? She should come home so we can look after her.”

  “In time. Now go, wait outside for me.”

  With his well earnt bag of sweets in hand, Alexander is taken out of the dressing room by the woman. Oscar watches as the door closes behind them.

  Behind the curtain a silhouetted figure sits slumped over a dresser. Already he can hear the deep quivering breath of his wife trying to hold back her tears.

  Drawing the curtain back, Oscar is met with a sad sight of the room having been converted into an opium den. A half-naked young woman squirms about stoned on a bed of cushions, next to her sits a lamp and pipe. Though the woman gazes directly at Oscar, she does not see him.

  His throat becomes tight and he finds it hard to breathe. Knowing what to have expected, he cannot help but be overcome by a sense of hopelessness.

  Xuan sits to his right, her head in her hands and trembling in mortification. Oscar is conflicted, both furious and pitying her. Glancing back over to the half-naked stoned girl, Oscar finds his conviction.

  “You are taking him away again?” asked Xuan, raising her head to look at her husband in the reflection of the mirror. Tears carry mascara down her cheeks.

  A croak in the back of his throat upsets the rhythm of his words. “Do you really think you are fit enough to look after our child?”

  “At least I have time to look after him. That I love him enough to spend time with him.”

  “How could you let our son be in a place like this? If you loved him you would clean up and come home.”

  “Do you even still love me?” asked Xuan in the mirror.

  “We met so young,” Oscar replied vaguely, taken back by the question.

  “We were happy once, were we not?”

  “Yeah. I think we were happy once. But we could not keep drinking and p
artying. We were an embarrassment to the family,” said Oscar honestly.

  “Fuck your family,” screamed Xuan, spinning around to launch a bottle of perfume at her husband.

  It skims Oscar’s ear, shattering into tiny shards against the wall behind. The stoned girl is barely fazed by the commotion.

  Xuan throws herself at Oscar and begins beating him. Gradually losing strength, she falls into his arms.

  “Fuck your family.”

  Resting his head against hers, Oscar waits for Xuan to exhaust herself.

  “I thought I was so lucky. That is what all the girls would tell me. The Jung child prodigy was in love with me. How childish it was of me to ever think our love could be so simple. I believed that marrying a Jung would ensure my happiness for life. If only I knew how miserable we would make one another. It is a fruitless question, is it not? Do you still love me? It is the family name that must be kept from scandal and dishonour. Alexander is all that I live for now. To make sure he is happy and that one day he can escape your Grandfather’s shadow.”

  Xuan stands up straight.

  “Do you still love me?”

  Oscar thinks over his response.

  “Alexander would like for you to come home. Clean yourself up and we will always welcome you back.”

  Her husband’s words cut deep. The avoidance of the question is enough to confirm Xuan’s thoughts.

  Letting her go, Oscar leaves her. The door quietly closes behind him and Xuan falls to her knees. Weakened by the encounter, she does not have the energy left to even cry.

  Wesley Jung

  Rowdy screams and cheers come from the side of the ring as Wesley lands another punch. Still angry about the events of the morning, he proves his worth to the rest of his squad. His fists wrapped in tape. Sweat running down his shirtless back. His dragon on full display. He has already beaten two opponents.

  Bouncing around the ring, he allows the adrenaline to dictate his reflexes. Everyone watching is surprised at the endurance and power of the young man who came from privilege.