by Tash Aw
“I’m sorry,” Mamoru said, “but we will have to survive on tinned rations this evening. We shall reach the Seven Maidens before long, and we shall be able to prepare hot food over a fire there.”
“This is perfectly acceptable,” I said.
“I don’t mind it out here, actually. It’s rather wonderful,” Peter said. “Johnny was just saying earlier how exciting it is to be in Neptune’s realm.”
“I did not say that,” Johnny said, looking a little perplexed.
“Perhaps not in those words. But the sentiment was there, you must admit. You did say that it would be wonderful to die at sea, didn’t you? ‘If I had to die somewhere, this is where I would choose,’ you said. And I agree! Wouldn’t it be just splendid to fade into this vast expanse of water, to be nibbled by angelfish and sea nymphs? I should love to swim into the sun and simply dissolve into nothingness. How utterly ravishing that would be.”
I chuckled.
“How ridiculous,” Honey sneered. “You couldn’t possibly do that. What about your funeral? What about last rites? It’s an abdication of responsibility.”
“Responsibility? Whom to?” Peter said, his mouth full of food.
“Everyone,” said Honey. “God, for a start.”
Peter laughed heartily, making no attempt to stop little bits of food from falling from his mouth.
“I knew it,” said Honey. “Not only are you a Bolshevik, you’re a heathen too.”
“I’d like to say you were wrong on both counts,” Peter replied, “but I can’t bring myself to make the effort. It doesn’t matter what you think of me.”
“Do you believe in God, Peter?” I asked.
He looked at me and seemed somewhat surprised by my question. It took him a moment or two to gather himself. “In a place such as this—as perfect as this—who could not believe in God? Who can look upon this and say this is not God’s Earth? Even if I didn’t before, I think I would now.”
I cast a surreptitious sideways glance at Mamoru.
“All this,” Peter said, waving his gangling arms around him, “doesn’t it feel new, innocent, eternal?” I had never heard his voice like this before. It sounded grown-up and sad. “Gone is Babylon, Mother of Harlots and Abomination of the Earth. In its place is this, a place founded on something clear and pure. The new Jerusalem: ‘Its first foundation was Jasper.’ ”
“What’s Jasper?” Johnny asked.
“A kind of mineral, a precious stone,” Peter said. “Didn’t we bring some fresh fruit with us? I feel I’m about to succumb to scurvy. Now, that’s a real drawback to being at sea. I’d even be prepared to suck on a lime. Have we still got some of those delicious bananas from the guest house?”
“Yes, we have no bananas,” I said, “but we do have some chiku and guava. I’ll fetch them.”
Later, when I had retired below deck to write, Mamoru left Honey to steer the boat and brought me another lamp. “It’ll be better for your eyes,” he said, looking at my diary. “What beautiful handwriting you have.”
I blushed.
“Maybe you’ll write something for me one day.”
Up on deck, Peter was singing songs and attempting to teach Johnny the words and melodies. He sang in English, French, and—I think—Italian. I did not recognise any of the songs, although one or two of them reminded me of ones I have heard father play on his gramophone. Peter’s voice assumed a surprising range, from self-conscious baritone to flighty falsetto, always in perfect pitch. Johnny—whom I know for certain to be tone-deaf—could not keep up, his flat, nervous voice stumbling after every few words. This did not seem to deter Peter from running through his seemingly inexhaustible repertoire, however, and they continued to sing the most unusual, awful duets, Peter’s fluent notes floating above Johnny’s irregular monotone.
Mamoru was deep in conversation with Honey. “The waters are smooth and it is a very clear night,” I heard him say. “We’ll slow down a little but keep going through the night. We should encounter no problems.”
I did not sleep that night. In the next bed Johnny breathed heavily in his sleep, sighing often. I called his name to see if he was alright but got no response. I went to him, and when I touched his forehead I found it cold and damp. I stroked his hair—which usually calms him down—but I could not seem to soothe his troubled sleep. I returned to my bed and continued to listen to his shallow breaths. The steady drone of the boat’s motor and the constant rush of water in my ears eventually rose above Johnny’s breathing, but still I could not sleep. I drew my dressing gown over me and walked barefoot onto the deck. Everywhere was painted a brilliant white, illuminated by moonlight. Honey had wrapped himself in a thin blanket and lay sleeping on a low bench, curled tightly with his knees drawn into his body. Peter was asleep too, spread-eagled on a rug laid out in the middle of the deck, his face turned up to the moonlight.
I went to Mamoru and stood by his side, very close to him. When he put his arm around my waist and drew me to him I was not surprised. I felt the coolness of his body through my clothes. We remained in this way for some time, both merely looking at the shining sea before us, neither speaking. When, finally, he moved away to light a lamp and look at a map, I returned to my cabin.
As I padded barefoot over the sea-smoothed boards I knew that the time was at hand. I would tell Johnny as soon as possible.
When I got into bed I became aware that Johnny was no longer breathing loudly. I could hear no sound from his bed.
“Are you awake, Johnny?” I whispered.
From the absence of a reply I knew that he was.
I paused, feeling the pronounced throb of my pulse in my temples and throat. My hands felt hot and curiously light. It was just as I had imagined. I felt no fear, no hesitation, but a clarity and certainty that seemed unshakeable. Even now, writing in the burning light of day, I can feel that unclouded conviction running through my entire body.
In the half-dark I felt my way to his bed and sat down next to him. He did not stir. I said calmly, “There is something I have been meaning to tell you.” I waited for a response but there was none. I knew, though, that he was awake. I put my hand on his cheek and found it hot to the touch. I had to continue. “Johnny,” I said, “do you remember what you said to me not long after we first met? You said that if I ever died, or if I ever went away, you could not bear to live. You would let yourself die too, you said, rather than live without me. Do you remember how I laughed at that? Because it isn’t true, you know that, don’t you? If anything did happen to me, you would survive. There are other things in your life now—the shop, for one. Many things. Everyone in the Valley knows you now. If I died or disappeared into thin air, you would simply carry on and eventually you would forget me. It would be as if I had never existed. That is the way the human heart works. Death erases everything, you know. That’s right: death erases all traces, all memories of lives that once existed. It’s the same if someone goes away. After a while, they simply cease to exist in your memory.”
He did not move. I could not even hear him breathing. My voice filled that space completely, but I was determined to continue speaking. I could not stop now. “I just wanted to tell you something, Johnny, because you are my husband. The first man I ever loved.”
I became aware that my voice was echoing louder than ever. There were no other sounds—I could hear neither the boat nor the water. Nothing.
I stopped and listened. Footsteps on deck. Muffled voices: Mamoru, then Honey, then Peter. The orange glow of lamps flashing below deck for an instant before being moved away.
After a few minutes Peter’s voice called out at the top of the steps. “We’ve stopped,” he whispered urgently. “The boat’s broken down. We can’t move. We’re stuck.”
Johnny turned onto his side. “You were going to tell me something, I think,” he said. His voice sounded small and hollow. I could not tell what emotions lay behind it.
“You’d better come up and have a word with Kunichika,” Peter s
aid, “both of you. He’s threatening to climb overboard and swim under the boat to repair something—the propeller or the ruddy rudder or something like that. Meanwhile Honey’s falling to pieces. I think you two should talk some sense into them.”
By the time we got dressed and clambered on deck Mamoru was already poised by the edge of the boat. He bent his knees a little and then fell forward, arms stretched out above his head. He arched his torso as he did so and disappeared into the water. He did not make even the smallest splash. He simply vanished from sight.
Some time later—a minute or two, I presume, though it certainly felt longer—he climbed back on board. I had prepared a blanket and draped it around his shoulders. His body shone in the pale half-light. My eyes played tricks on me: his skin appeared pure, glowing white.
“Well?” said Peter.
“The problem lies here,” Mamoru said, lifting a heavy board of wood towards the bow of the boat. He peered into the hull. “The mechanical parts have failed. We will have to repair them. Somehow.” He sighed and, for the first time, seemed concerned. “I am afraid it might take longer than expected to reach the Seven Maidens.”
“Christ almighty,” I heard Honey mumble under his breath.
Peter said, “This shouldn’t be too difficult to repair, should it? It’s only a primitive little thing.” He spoke the words brightly but could not hide the slight tremble in his voice.
“I hope so,” Mamoru said.
“I hope you’re equipped to deal with such vagaries of travel,” Peter said. “Seeing as you are an academic.”
“I shall do my best.”
“Can’t you do anything, Honey?” said Peter. “You’re in charge of tin mines, for heaven’s sake. Who repairs all those monstrous dredging machines you have?”
“Not me,” Honey said. “I look after other things. More important things.”
“Such as?” Peter said with exaggerated incredulity.
“Money. Relations with the locals,” Honey replied, snorting his derision. “Things you wouldn’t understand. Isn’t this a case of stones in glass houses, coming from a jobbing actor?”
“I told you before: I’m not an actor. Anyway, actors aren’t renowned for their prowess with Malay fishing boats.”
“Why do you always look at me when things go wrong?” said Honey. “What about your little friend there?”
“You mean Johnny?” Peter said, raising his voice. “He’s a textile merchant, not a bloody mechanic. What do you expect him to do?”
Mamoru raised his hand suddenly. “Stop,” he said quietly.
We stood in silence for a moment. “What’s wrong?” I asked.
“The wind,” he said. True, a breeze had developed steadily, though none of us was aware of it until then. “And the moon.”
As I lifted my head to look at the clouded-over night sky, Mamoru shouted, “We must drop anchor now!”
“Mamoru, what’s going on?” I said, but he was running across the deck, searching for the anchor.
It was Johnny who spoke. “We have been drifting. The wind has pushed us off course. Without the motor we have nothing to resist it. Now that the light has gone, it will be impossible to navigate.”
I looked again at the ink-black sky. It had darkened rapidly, soaking up the night like father’s watercolours on rice paper. Not a single star was visible.
Mamoru said that we had not been blown too far off course and assured everyone that we would reach the Seven Maidens as planned. I tried to tell him it was not his fault, but he paid no attention to what I said.
“I lost concentration, just for a moment,” he said as he rattled various parts of the machinery. “I should never have let this happen.”
“Please, Mamoru, do not blame yourself,” I said. “There’s nothing you could have done.”
I watched him work. His strength surprised and scared me. He pulled at a metal shaft, which seemed to break in his hands. The noise it made screamed in my ears. He said very little, in spite of my attempts to engage him in conversation. Obviously, he was still upset for falling short of his high standards.
“Mamoru, calm down, this is not your doing,” I said over the uncomfortable noise he was making with the machinery. He put his arms around a part of the machine as if constricting, suffocating it the way a python kills a pig. I thought he was making a noise too, a low howl of pain that seemed to stay within his chest. Then he took a step back and kicked the machine. Small parts came loose and fell away. I did not know what he was doing. He seemed to be tearing it apart.
He stopped and glared at me. His face and forearms were dirty; the grease cut black streaks over his white skin. A fox peering from the dark. “I think you should get some sleep,” he said.
I returned to my cabin immediately. The others appeared to be resting or sleeping. I did not pay too much attention to what they were doing. I simply went to bed.
When I woke up it was light and we were still motionless. That was two hours ago. I joined the others on deck, sheltering in the shade of the little shack. No one spoke. Mamoru sat on the floor, his back leaning against a bench, his head bowed in exhaustion. He did not look at me even when my footsteps passed in front of him. The sun had burnt the cloud away; the light spread evenly across the placid sea.
I caught Peter’s eye. He shook his head and silently mouthed a few words I could not comprehend. I went back to my cabin and sat before my diary.
Now we are lost, drifting, it seems, to nowhere.
17th October (late afternoon)
STILL NO PROGRESS. Peter thinks something is very wrong. He says we are still being blown by the wind. He has been watching the waves all day and believes we are being swept away.
Mamoru still not speaking.
20th October (perhaps—I am not certain of the days)
HOW DID WE GET HERE? I can scarcely believe it. Nor do I recall exactly what happened. I do not know which came first, or which is stronger: the failure of my memory to record events accurately or the failure of my belief in what is true. All I know is that we are here and we are alive. I know, too, that we have no idea where here is.
We drifted all night, rocking gently on the waves that licked against the hull. Johnny lay in bed, sweating under a blanket. I went to him once, but he turned away from me.
I said to Peter, “Johnny is ill. He has a fever.”
Peter’s face was contorted in a deep frown. He had not stopped searching the darkness around us in the hope that some clue, some sliver of light, might suddenly appear. He looked at me and said, “I know.”
Mamoru sat quietly with his maps, examining them and making calculations. He had not cleaned his face or arms; the light from the lamp danced on his grease-streaked features, illuminating his troubled countenance (“He looks like a civet cat,” Peter said, attempting a joke). He remained this way for hours, isolated from everyone, including me. He looked so alone, so cast adrift and in need of comfort, yet I did not know what I could do. I did not dare approach him.
Honey had, with the help of the rest of the whisky, fallen asleep on deck. His body jerked violently now and then, and he mumbled loudly in a language neither Peter nor I could understand. When Peter laughed at this, it felt as though it was the first time anyone had laughed since we got on the boat, and I began to laugh too. We tried to suppress our laughter so as not to disturb Mamoru from what he was doing; the effort of doing this reduced us to tears. It was only when Peter stopped laughing that I realised I was still crying. I could not stop. Peter stood watching me awkwardly; I thought he was startled, even contemptuous of me. I suddenly felt ashamed and tired and disgusted with myself for this display but still I could not stop. Peter put his hand on my head, attempting to soothe me, but I drew away. I would stop crying and prove that I did not need his help.
“I’m sorry,” I said, but still the hot tears burnt my cheeks. I turned to go back to the cabin. “You just keep watching for lights, Peter.”
“I will,” he said, seeming to
smile. “What I’d give to see a passing ship. Even a pirate boat, for heaven’s sake!”
I fell asleep with my eyes and throat feeling sore.
The next morning I found Mamoru in better spirits. I saw him as soon as I climbed up the steps from the cabin. He had washed and changed into a fresh shirt and was standing over the broken machinery looking exactly like a schoolteacher: hands on hips, patient, a quizzical expression on his face. He greeted me with a silent “good morning,” which seemed to serve as an apology for everything that had happened the previous night. It was only then, when I stepped properly onto the deck, that I saw Johnny crouched over, kneeling at the base of the machine. He did not look up as I approached.
“Mamoru,” I whispered, “do you think this is wise? Johnny is ill, and besides, I have never seen him operate a machine in his life.”
He lifted his eyebrows in an enquiring manner.
“He dislikes all types of machines,” I continued. “Even the simplest mechanical task has to be delegated to a servant—changing the tyre on a bicycle, for example. He looks away whenever we go past a dredging machine. Honestly, sometimes I think he has a medical aversion to all things mechanical.”
“That is very strange, given his humble background—relatively speaking, of course. You would have thought that machines were essential to village life.”
“Apparently not.”
“Well, it was he who volunteered,” Mamoru explained as we watched Johnny at work. “I would not have dreamt of disturbing him. He simply came up on deck and said he had an idea; he felt luck was on his side. I was on the verge of despair, so I agreed.”
“Do you think he knows what he’s doing?”
“I’d say so, by the looks of things. As I said before, Snow, your husband is a surprising person.”