Map of the Invisible World: A Novel

by Tash Aw

  At a crossroads they came upon barricades that held the traffic at a standstill. The perpendicular avenue was empty, a ghost town in the middle of the metropolis. Adam and Din stopped amid a throng of pedestrians at the barriers, straining to see the convoy streaming toward them: five or six magnificent black cars, some bearing a fluttering flag on their hood. Adam did not know that such cars existed in Indonesia; or, indeed, that they existed at all. They swept past the crowd in an instant, and a few moments later, when they were nearly out of sight, the soldiers removed the barricades, and the cars and scooters and bicycles recommenced their labored journey. As they went past the soldiers, Din put his arm around Adam’s shoulders. “One day, you might be an important person—like those guys in the cars,” he said. He drew Adam close to him, as an older brother might a younger brother, and Adam felt the satchel between them, bulky and hard and uncomfortable.

  No trees lined the road. Adam could see no vegetation or foliage, just a forest of concrete structures built in fantastic shapes conceived in a dream. He was tired from the walking, he was tired of this city. It was not at all like the city he had once constructed in his imagination. He could barely remember that invisible world he had once known so intimately, a place full of love and possibility and promise. Walking along this interminable road, his ribs were beginning to hurt again, and the emptiness in his stomach reminded him once again that he was just like the millions of other people around him.

  “It feels strange, knowing that I’m going to look for my brother after all these years. I never thought I could talk about it, or even think about it,” said Adam. Contemplating this new future seemed the only way to alleviate the pain in his ribs and the sharp bite of blisters that were beginning to form on his heel and big toe. “In a way, I’m glad I can’t remember anything about him. That way I won’t be disappointed.”

  “Of course you won’t be disappointed. You’ll find your brother because that’s your only choice in life—and I’ll be there to help you, don’t you worry.” Din spoke with the same generosity as earlier, but he sounded brisker now, more distracted, as if he did not really wish to converse. Maybe he too was tired.

  At last they approached a roundabout built around a perfectly circular pool of water; it was so wide that Adam could not make out the faces of the pedestrians on the far side. In the middle of the pool there was a fountain and a statue of a boy and girl holding hands on top of a giant plinth. In the streets there were clusters of soldiers everywhere, on foot and in trucks, chatting calmly among themselves, or smoking cigarettes. Adam and Din walked past a group of half a dozen of them manning a barbed-wire barricade in front of a badly burned building. One of them threw his head back in laughter as his colleague told a joke (Adam heard something about “a buffalo” and “wife” as he walked past) and in his black sunglasses Adam saw the reflection of ocher-colored clouds. These soldiers were older and more strongly built than the ones who had taken Karl away, thought Adam. They looked calm, even relaxed, but there was a tenseness in the way they held their guns, slung tautly from their necks, the butts cradled in their biceps.

  “Are you admiring the Victory Monument?” Din asked, pointing at the statue of the blissfully innocent children above the fountain; frozen in full stride, they looked as if they were about to step off their platform and fall into the shallow water below. As they passed another group of soldiers, Din put his arm around Adam’s shoulders once again. “Bet you don’t have great monuments like this where you come from, out in the islands,” he continued loudly. “Come on, you’re impressed, aren’t you? Don’t try and act cool. This is a symbol of modern Indonesia!” He was still smiling, but as he continued Adam noticed the change in his voice, as if he were trying to conceal or suppress something. It took Adam a while to work out what this thing was: fear. He recognized it because it was something he had grown to know intimately over the last few days. He recognized it because, quite suddenly, he too felt a quick, inexplicable shiver of fear rush through him.

  “But in fact we have just passed the truest face of revolutionary Indonesia,” Din said as they made their way to the far side of the roundabout. “The burning of the British Embassy—that is what the revolution is really about.”

  “Look,” Adam said as they approached a majestic, modern building, “there are the cars we saw earlier.” A row of gleaming black cars stood waiting on the ramp leading to the building—many more than just the five or six they had seen before. “What is this place? It’s amazing. Is it the president’s palace?” he asked.

  Din laughed—a cold, hard, sneering laugh. “That’s the symbol of all that is wrong with our world today. It is the palace of corruption and hedonism and injustice and every other evil you can think of—so, yes, I suppose you could say it’s the president’s palace. That’s very clever of you, my little orphan. You see, I was right all along: You are a revolutionary at heart.”

  They seemed to be walking past it, away from the great roundabout, into the dusty side streets where the buildings were lower and more modest. Adam looked back at the palace, admiring its perfect angular construction. He knew, of course, that it was not a real palace, but it comforted him to think of it as such. He liked the way it looked solid, permanent, and comfortable, unlike the tin-and-timber shacks where he had passed the last few nights. He also knew that it was a place where he would not be welcome. Not so long ago, with Karl to look after him, he might have felt perfectly at ease in a place like that. But that was his Past Life. In this, his Present Life, he belonged to the other side, the side of the nameless and hungry who walked the dusty streets looking up at the great buildings and shiny cars of this great city, trying to imagine what kind of people might inhabit that world.

  They stopped in the shade of a concrete shelter surrounded by giant, rusty bins, emptied of their contents; the sweet stench of rubbish lingered in the air. Din reached into his satchel and took out a packet of 555s. “I didn’t know you smoked,” Adam said.

  “I don’t,” Din replied, striking a match and lifting it hesitantly to the cigarette he had placed between his lips. His hand was trembling, Adam noticed, the flame refusing to settle on the stubby point of the cigarette. When he spoke, Adam could barely make out his narrowed eyes through the cloud of smoke. “Now this is the moment I need you to help me. Inside this palace of sin there are many people, many important people, many foreigners. These foreigners are intent on wrecking the great Indonesian revolution by paying corrupt officials to sacrifice the future of the Indonesian people—good, ordinary folk like you and me. A party is about to begin, a celebration of all the things that are wrong with our country. In an hour, even the president will be there.”

  “How can I help you?” Adam felt the quick chill of fear run through him again, more violently this time.

  Din lifted the satchel from his shoulder and put it over Adam’s—slowly, as if it were a garland. And now Adam felt the dead weight of it against his own hips, bulkier even than before. “Just take this into the building. Make your way to the men’s toilet at the far end of the lobby, just beyond the place called the Batik Bar. The Batik Bar, got that? Go to the farthest stall and leave the satchel beside the toilet. Just leave it there. I have been there before, and it’s simple. If you lose your way, just ask for directions. Be confident. You’re not doing anything wrong, I assure you—you’re just being a true, responsible Indonesian revolutionary. Remember the president’s speech, when he said he loved revolutionaries? Well, you’re just one of us, doing your duty. You’re one of us now, my friend, one of us.” He dropped his barely smoked cigarette before grasping Adam’s shoulders with both hands and squeezing him gently. He wore an expression that spoke at once of tenderness and fervor and belief, and Adam thought, I really am his friend, I mean something to him. Adam nodded; Din’s declaration of friendship made him feel less afraid. Din had helped him and was going to help him find his brother. Adam had to repay him.

  “What will happen once I leave the satchel?” he
asked.

  “Nothing,” Din said. “Once it’s there, you just turn around and walk straight back out as if nothing’s happened. Our revolutionary friends who work in the building will do the rest, and I will wait for you right here.”

  “What’s in here?” Adam asked, feeling the straps of the satchel lightly with his fingers; part of him did not want to know the answer.

  “That’s not important,” Din said with sudden alarm. “Do not open it. Just leave it in the restroom as I instructed you. Don’t think too much about what you have to do—it’ll be over in a few minutes.”

  “Can I ask you, Din,” he began before hesitating. “Why me? Why do you trust me to help you?”

  Din smiled and shrugged. “Because, well, let’s just say it’s the way you look. When you go up there, you will see. There will be people manning the doors, unfriendly people. They would never let someone like me in. But you—look at you, your nice shirt and trousers and hair. As soon as I saw you, I knew you were perfect for the job. You look like a decent boy from a nice family—even though you are one of us now.” He looked at his watch quickly. “Okay, my little orphan, it’s time to go.”

  “What is this place, really?” Adam said as he began to move away.

  “It’s a hotel. The Hotel Java.”

  As Adam turned and retraced his steps toward the front of the building, he heard Din striking a match that stubbornly refused to light; he was whistling the same tune he had been whistling all day long. “Remember,” he called out to Adam, “just relax. Be yourself, little orphan boy. I know you will be fine. Come back quickly.”

  In the sunlight the hotel looked magnificent—a perfect oblong of smooth gray stone. Adam walked up the long, curving ramp that led to the lobby. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the darkened windows of the big black cars that lined the driveway; he looked older, he thought, older and sadder. It was not just his face but the way he carried himself—the hunching of his shoulders, the tired, shuffling walk—that showed how his life had changed in such a small space of time. He ran his fingers through his hair, hoping it would make him look neater. He remembered Din’s instructions and tried not to think about his simple task; he tried not to think about the satchel that chafed against his hip. Instead, he tried to focus on the future he would have with his brother; he tried to imagine the years of contentment that would stretch out before them: life waiting to be lived. But he could not conjure up this joy. That imagined future eluded him, wriggling away from his grasp, just as his past happiness had abandoned him.

  Finally he saw the beautiful glass doors that led into the lobby; their smooth, clean surfaces reflecting images of the city: the tops of buildings, the ragged leaves of a palm tree, a bit of sky. The doors opened and closed slowly, like something in a dream.

  Bloody bullshit. Our stupid badminton players can’t win any more matches. Lazy bastards. Bad enough losing to those bloody Indonesians all the time, but now we’re losing to Denmark, can you imagine? Cis. Country like ours shouldn’t be losing to a country of paupers like Indonesia. Ya, well, I suppose they have plenty of starving kids desperate to make a name for themselves. That place is one big rotten egg, so many poor people there. No hope at all for them. Some more they want to invade us. What a bloody joke.

  Johan picked up the newspaper his father had placed on the glass-topped table between them. The edge of the newspaper had touched a small pool of condensation at the foot of a long, cold glass; just for an instant, but it was enough to make it wet and soggy.

  So. Here he is, the big fellah himself. Hardly see you nowadays, Johan. The moment you come back from school you just disappear into the wilderness. At least when you were at Kuala Kangsar we knew you were in the dorm every night. Now we have no bloody idea where you get to.

  Johan did not answer. The paper had an article on the railways. It was always full of things that Johan did not understand. Modernization Scheme: 26 English Electric 1,500hp Diesel-Electric Locomotives Commence Service. Colombo Plan: Australia Donates 6 Railcars to Aid Boom in Malaysian Railways.

  Johan, I said I hardly see you nowadays.

  You’d see us more often if you spent more time at home. New Fares on Singapore Service. Weld Swimming Pool Complex: Photos.

  There was a hearty roar of laughter at the bar where a group of men stood drinking heavy mugs of cold, yellow beer. Most of the men were local. There were very few Europeans now, compared to before. There were palm trees in pots and framed sepia photos of cricket and rugby teams on the walls. In the middle of the room an Indian bartender was mopping up a spilled drink on the black-and-white checked floor. There were no women in this place.

  Put down the paper and talk to me like a man, Johan.

  Okay. He could not fold the paper properly. He had turned it inside out and now the insides were showing on the outside. He had drunk a long drink and he felt sick. His father had ordered it for him, something called a Gunner. He felt sick and he needed to urinate.

  You’re a big boy now, Johan, a big, strong good-looking fellah, but you know what? You’re still a mummy’s boy. Nearly a man, yet you behave like a child with no responsibilities. A spoiled, ungrateful child. What do you say to that?

  Nothing. Johan shrugged. Depends what you want me to say.

  Don’t be clever with me, young man. You better watch your mouth when you’re with me or else there’s going to be trouble. You got your poor mummy twisted around your little finger, but I’m smarter than that. You think you are one big-time genius, but one day you will learn.

  Johan did not answer. They sat on a long, deep veranda, and beyond them there was an expanse of immaculate lawn. In the dark it looked blank, limitless. It could have been anything, anywhere. Like the sea, Johan thought, it was like the sea. He felt sick and he needed to go to the bathroom.

  Here you are, you young people. You don’t know how bloody lucky you are. Just merry-go-round all day having a gala time. When I was your age, I tell you, I was already working three jobs at once. No schooling, no Dickens and algebra like you buggers, and yet look at me now. Life gave me nothing and yet here I am. Self-made. Everything I have, I earned with my two bare hands. You drive around in my fancy car, think I don’t know? Where do you think the money to buy that car came from? From Mars? Ya, you people don’t know a thing about hard work.

  We don’t know a thing about corruption either.

  What’s that supposed to mean? I can’t understand what you’re saying, young man. Your mummy says you’re so clever and so shy, that’s why we can’t understand you. You barely speak, and when you do, you just talk in riddles, and I ask myself, is it because you’re clever and I’m stupid? Bullshit, of course not. It’s because there’s so much twisted rubbish going on in that handsome little head of yours. Maybe I spoiled the three of you too much. Ya, it’s my fault. Mine and Mummy’s. Nice toys, nice clothes, holidays here, there, everywhere. You guys have no idea of the value of money.

  Yes we do. We know you have to earn it in proper ways, not abuse your position and take advantage of other people. Johan got out of his chair and went to the edge of the veranda. There was a low, wide balustrade and he placed his hands on it, leaning over the side to look down at the dark, empty space below. His eyes took a while to get used to the absence of light. And then he saw figures, shadows moving in the dark, silently, as though they were not connected to the ground. They would come together and drift apart again, here and there across the wide expanse of the playing fields. There was no wind in this city and he felt ill. He imagined himself in the car, driving fast with the windows open, and the thought of it made him feel better.

  Don’t listen to gossip, Johan.

  I don’t. I can make up my own mind. I know what you do. And I don’t care. He continued to gaze at the shadowy figures drifting in the dark. He liked the dark. He wished he were there, in that black space. He had never been afraid of the dark at the orphanage. At night, in that long, bare room with the rows of cots, there had never been
any light. Every evening, when day turned suddenly to night, the boys would stop moving because they were scared of what the night might bring. Some of them fell asleep immediately, but others would cry and talk and thrash around until they fell from their beds and hurt themselves. Johan never slept. When the Brothers blew out the candles and the kerosene lamps and the room became cold and empty and silent, Adam would come to Johan’s bed and fall asleep in an instant, just as swiftly as day had succumbed to night. Once, when Adam was still very small, he had a fever and his skin was hot, and then it became cold and clammy. There was no medicine in the orphanage and Johan knew that it was malaria. He knew that children could die of malaria and he did not want Adam to die. The Brothers tried to take Adam away, but Johan clung to him, and in the end a Brother said, Leave them, there’s nothing more we can do, they’re a funny pair, those two. Throughout that night and the night after and the night after, Johan smoothed Adam’s hair and blew on his brow to cool him when he was hot, and held him tightly against him when he was cold. Is this punishment? Adam asked, Is this punishment because I stole that fruit? Am I going to die because I am a bad boy? No, you are not going to die, Johan said. You are a good boy, the best boy in the world, and you are not going to die, you are a good boy. Adam drifted in and out of sleep; he could not control when and how sleep came to him. Late one night his body was so hot that Johan left the bed so that Adam would cool down. He was staring out the window at the blankness of the scrubby fields at night, and Adam called out to him. Johan, he said, are you there? And Johan said, Yes, don’t worry, I won’t leave you. Promise? Yes, I promise. Please don’t ever leave me alone, Johan. I promise, Adam. And this was why Johan never slept, and why he was not afraid of the dark. He could not sleep because Adam slept, and he was not afraid because Adam was afraid.