Decamaron

FOREWORD I vaguely remember how I became the traveler in the night, how I wiped away eternal emptiness through reading, following words through the thick fog.

As an exhibition, Decameron is the combination of ten short stories inspired by ten pieces of artwork drawn by Xevi Sola. At a certain level, you might call it a broader definition of reading. It is a process with two paths: feeling and understanding Xevi’s artwork, and the exploration of a self-constructed space.

Xevi’s works set the stage and lay behind various symbolic elements for my stories; different keys, allowing me to lay down threads connecting them to other drawings, movies, music, and literature.

The pleasure of writing comes from recombining perspectives and experience into something for others. When completed, it evokes a state reminiscent of drawing, like clues that welcome viewers to come up with their own interpretations, creating their own inner space.

Lu Yao-Chung

Beyond the Fence

Beyond the Fence

2

Beyond the Fence

My car died on me after I crashed it into a tree. The nose is caved in, wheels mired in mud, dense white smoke billowing from the hood. I unbuckle my seat belt, open the door, and take in my surroundings as I get out of the car, and only then do I realize that I am somewhere in a forest.

My eyes find sparse twinkling stars in the sky, obscured by the dense twigs that trap the sun from penetrating through the trees.

How did I get here? The smoke coming from the engine is still hot, and even in a forest, there must be a clear path of crushed weeds or marks in the soil… yet there are no marks, not even the tiniest hint of grime on the wheels or fender. It’s as if the car suddenly appeared here out of nowhere, no “before” – just the “after” - resulting in me crashing into this tree, like a surrealist collage, utterly perplexing.

I return to the driver’s seat, contemplating the current situation. There are several points of importance here – the first is that somehow, I’ve been placed in this forest, with no recollection of anything leading up to now.

The second follows the premise of the first – what next? Maybe figuring out who I am isn’t the most urgent order of action, since something that happens out of the blue is guaranteed to be trouble, but a lost memory… well, let bygones be bygones.

Night is coming, should I stay? There’s nothing here, so perhaps it’s better to go. Given that I have no recollection of anything at all, thinking takes a lot of time and effort. Right as I begin to feel pangs of hunger, a pleasant aroma wafts out from the car, as a plate of piping hot spaghetti appears in the front passenger seat.

After eating, I decide to stay and rest for a night, ready to leave tomorrow. At night, I have a dream, featuring two young girls. It’s like the plot of a school movie, with one preparing for a test coming up in ten days, the other obsessed with fun things to do; the two of them are reading and chatting in their backyards across a fence, enjoying the sun: “Hey, wanna go to a concert next week?”

“Dunno, aren’t you worried about finals?”

“Oh come on, it’s not that big of a deal!”

3

Beyond the Fence

“Um…” “Please, it’s PULP, your favorite! My treat?”

“It’s Jarvis Cocker, not PULP.” “What’s the difference? With the band members playing musical chairs, isn’t it basically Jarvis’ band?”

“You know that it’s not the same!”

In the dream, I know their names – Lita and Holly – and I know their relationship to each other, yet I cannot understand their feelings or thoughts. They’re chatting about pop music, and being omniscient in the dream allows me to overlook their respective back yards. They’re talking, yet their bodies are frozen in place, like the Egyptian princesses from “Mannequin”, turned into mannequins by the insertion of a third person me. With nothing better to do, I continue eavesdropping.

Holly says, “I thought about it, and I’m not sure if I can go to the show…”

Lita interjects, “First listen to this, it’s hilarious… Mahn stuffed it into my drawer yesterday: ‘I think of you as I pass by church. I think of you when I’m alone at night, and my heart beats faster as the night goes on, keeping me from sleep. It must be God’s will placing us together in this world! I can’t describe the feeling, how He has linked us together, making it impossible to describe my love for you. All I can say is: I really really like you a lot.’ The end. Isn’t this the funniest thing?” Lita can’t stop laughing at it, “It’s the worst love letter ever!”

The two collapse in a fit of laughter, but from my perspective, it’s as if two static mannequins are making noise.

“But Lita, I really really like you a lot~” Holly mimics exaggerated kissing noises.

“Oh give me a break!”

Their fossilized bodies give this conversation the sense that it is happening only in my mind, like a pointless, boring, rambling, narcissistic soliloquy before a mirror -

4

Beyond the Fence

I wake up.

As day breaks, I decide to head south, without particular hurry or dawdling, attempting to follow a sort of inner pace. The wind picks up periodically, bringing with it chilly moisture, and as fatigue slows my steps, I inhale the air into my lungs greedily, relieving my overheating body temporarily.

My surroundings turn from jungle to shrubbery. Thus far, I haven’t seen the slightest trace of any animal or person. Long periods of solitude speed up my brain, but the odd thing is, I still have no interest in uncovering my past. In fact, in this endless world of trees, plants, and flowers, I come to the realization that this greenery is utterly unfamiliar, with the names of even common plants eluding my tongue – it’s possible that they were erased together with my memory.

In passing, I pick a little white flower from the forest, and examine it closely in my hand; its scent brings a sense of peace, but still no words come to mind. I think coming up with a name for this plant in my hands is the first step towards establishing my brain’s database, and expanding from there.

For now, I call it little white flower, which is what it was before I picked it up.

A short while after, I pick another flower, a purple one. Besides the obvious difference in color, they’ve also developed differently as well; the purple flower is smaller, has a different scent, and grows in bunches of 3 to 5. Rest assured that I can safely deem these “purple flowers”, without worry of overlap with the white.

The sun high above isn’t particularly overbearing. In fact, the day is mired in a dim, dusk-like mood, but I know that night is approaching. The scenery changes once more, from shrubbery to underbrush, and as the view widens, I see yet another forest beckoning in the distance.

I walk until dark. As I reach the boundary between forest and underbrush, I come across another kind of flower, even whiter than the white flower, with tinges of pink and purple, like a sparkling star. “Little

5

Beyond the Fence

white flower? “Purple flower?” “Little white-purple flower?” I am suddenly at a loss, struck with the realization that I have been idiotically coming up with dumb names for flowers.

Entering the forest, I come across an abandoned car – and again, there is a plate of spaghetti in the front passenger seat. It’s time to rest, and after appropriate thanks to the Gods for this blessing, I eat and drift off to sleep.

The same dreamland visits me during the night; I float above Holly and Lita’s backyard, the two static girls.

Lita says, “Men follow each sashay of my dress, dance with me, and try to impress me, but they’re never good enough.”

Holly begins to sing “Disco 2000”. Upon noticing that Holly hasn’t been listening at all, Lita begins to sing along.

I like this song. Though the lyrics are a bit bitter, the brisk tempo makes swaying along irresistible. In the dream, there is a complete band, with electric guitar, bass, and drums, as if Holly is doing Karaoke, and I headbang along with them floating above.

The next day I awaken and head south. It isn’t long before I encounter civilization, albeit not what I expected. Standing before me is a fence, nearly three meters high, made from wood, stretching out and blocking my path as far as the eye can see.

I begin to shout, moving towards the east, “Hello? Anyone home?”

Following the fence is quite boring, compared to wandering the wilderness. Manmade scenery repeats itself, but no entrance is to be found.

Peeking through the slits, I see houses and weeds. After about two hours, I finally meet my first person – an old lady on the other side of the fence, collecting various plants and flowers with a wicker basket.

She is quite surprised to see me outside the fence, saying that I shouldn’t be there, but she can’t help me. I peer at the plants in her basket through the cracks in the fence, asking her how she recognizes and distinguishes each from the other. She shrugs her shoulders, saying, “You’ve seen them, smelled them – have you tried tasting them?”

I admit that I haven’t, and follow-up by asking her if they taste good.

6

Beyond the Fence

She replies, “Typically, they aren’t particularly tasty – in fact, you can’t even eat most of them. But how do you know for sure if you don’t try?”

I ask, “How do you remember them, what they’re called?”

“I know some, and there are a few that I don’t know, but it doesn’t matter.” She then recommends continuing east, and bids me farewell, continuing to collect plants.

I feel much better after meeting someone, something to be found in the wilderness other than broken-down cars and plates of spaghetti. Soon I meet another person on the other side of the fence. I know that she’s Holly, who I’ve seen in my dreams for the past two days, and she’s radiating a faint light.

I greet her, “Hi, Holly.”

“Hello!”

“Is there a way for me to make it over to your side, inside the fence?”

“Sorry, I don’t have an answer…” she pauses a bit, and says, “but I’ll be staying here for a few days, so if you’re lonely, perhaps you could tell me some stories?”

I consider it…

And think about it for a bit longer…

And I respond, “Sure, why not?”

7

Farm

Farm

8

Farm

“Sarah, food for table three!”

“Waiter, we’re ready to order.”

“Sarah, table five wants the check, what’re you waiting for?”

“Sorry, someone threw up all over your bathroom…”

“Hey! You wanna pay the rent? Then get over there and clean up the table.”

“Sarah… Sarah…”

Ten months ago, Sarah was still eagerly looking forward to life after graduation. Even if it wasn’t a particularly well-known school, four days a week at a chain restaurant with classes at night resulted in very few friends, much less a boyfriend. She couldn’t believe that after all that hard work, she still ended up working at this noisy, greasy restaurant.

The only bright spot about coming back to this job was getting to see Arthur again. He was twenty years older than her, a regular at the restaurant, and always sat at the bar. He was a parent-figure to her, and made her feel safe. A few days ago she was complaining to him over the phone, and he said he’d come over to the restaurant for lunch; there was something he wanted to tell her.

By 1PM, the lunch crowd had thinned, when Arthur pushed open the door of the restaurant and settled in his familiar spot at the bar.

“Hi Sarah.”

“Heya old man! What are you having today?” Sarah said jokingly.

“You know, the regular.” Yet Arthur’s body language was stiff, like it was his first time here. After a bit, he spoke, “Actually, this is the last time I’m coming here.”

“What?” Sarah was looking over his outfit, not paying attention.

Arthur was wearing a plaid shirt, nothing out of the ordinary, but she could tell it was new.

“I’m leaving,” Arthur said more loudly, over the din of the restaurant, “I came today to say goodbye. I’m never coming back.”

“What?!” the same word, but filled with surprise. “Didn’t you have a good job in the city? Where are you going?”

9

Farm

“I got fired. Anyway, this is just a place that chews people up and spits them out; I’m going home.”

Sarah was speechless, realizing that life could always get worse.

“I was thinking…” Arthur said hesitantly.

“Go on, if you’re not planning on returning anyway.”

“I was thinking, Sarah…” he suddenly grasped her hands, “Would you come back home with me? I inherited a farm – it’s not as prosperous as it was in the past, but I believe that with our hard work, it’ll be no problem.

Will you…”

Sarah froze for a moment before covering up her blushing face with the menu, replying, “I do, I do!”

They registered their marriage. There was no ring, no ceremony.

Two weeks later, Sarah and Arthur left the city, driving two days to go to his home in the country side. She was filled with anticipation, until Arthur said, “We’re here.” She looked up at the sign saying “King’s Farm” written on a rusting board on the side of the road. The “decline” Arthur spoke of was even worse than she had imagined. The farm he inherited was pretty much two old buildings and a barn in the middle of nowhere, as well as a few pieces of machinery that needed repairs. Disappointed, she looked at the house, with its peeling paint, trying to imagine what it might look like after they fixed it up – perhaps they could make it come alive again.

The two stood before the doorway, when he stopped. Sarah didn’t notice, and didn’t hear Arthur until she pushed open the door.

“There’s something else that I haven’t told you yet. Nothing special, just a youthful impulse…”

Before he finished, Sarah had already seen the boy watching TV on the couch. It was only then that she heard Arthur, still standing in the doorway, say, “I have a kid. Fourteen years, old – his name is Joe.” The boy said, without taking his eyes off the TV, “John said you’d be back today.”

Arthur poked his head out from behind the door, “Joe, it’s me. This is your mother, Sarah.”

10

Farm

“Hi…” Sarah was both angry and embarrassed.

He turned his head to look at her, “How old are you?” It wasn’t clear if he was making fun of her, or his father.

Arthur shot a dirty look at his son.

“OK, OK, Sarah, Mom, whatever!” with that, the boy turned back to the TV. Their first night at the farm. Before bed, Arthur promised her that everything would turn out fine. Sarah decided to make moving to the farm a new beginning, taking in and accepting everything.

There weren’t many other farmers near the farm. Or rather, there weren’t many people around at all; it was surrounded by wasteland and marshes, or abandoned factories, bringing the occasional wafting scent of kerosene. At first, she planned on finding a job in the city, but a few trips to town told her that it was just another manmade wasteland, just as poor as the farm. In the end, there wasn’t much else to do but go home and help Arthur.

The farm was enclosed with a simple fence. Just one day of neglect would see the fence overrun by weeds as the wilderness crossed its boundaries, with rats boldly making themselves at home, looking for food, followed by snakes. The couple spent their time tilling the soil, fertilizing, spraying herbicide, cutting weeds, followed by tilling, fertilizing, herbicide, weeding, harvest – a never-ending cycle, punctuated by occasional machine repairs. Sarah hated weeding the most – it felt like being punished together with Sisyphus.

After each day’s work, Arthur would always stand in the front hallway with a beer, as if protecting his Kingdom, looking out into the pitch-black farmland. When time permitted, Sarah tried her best to be good mother.

Joe didn’t have many friends at school, and it reminded Sarah of her own lonely college life. But Arthur always said that Joe was old enough already.

Sometimes, when Joe didn’t have school, he’d work in the fields, and she’d keep him company.

One day, in the fields, Joe said, “I hate it here. I hate the fields, and I hate this town.”

“But your Dad just came back, aren’t you happy about that?”

11

Farm

“Arthur didn’t do it for me. I’ve lived with my grandpa all my life – Dad never even came back for Christmas.”

“I don’t think so. I think he loves you, just… in his own way.”

“Ha!” that elicited a laugh out of Joe, like a child, “No father loves his children. He never could stand me, like it was just taking care of a problem he created.”

He paused. “It’s OK, I don’t need anyone.”

“Do you hate me, then?” Sarah suddenly asked.

Joe didn’t say anything, and went further into the brush…

She remembered that day clearly, because afterwards Joe yelled out loudly – at first, Sarah thought he had seen a snake, and rushed over – but it was a bunch of rats devouring a snake. It was still alive, but it was seemingly in hibernation, making no reaction even as it was eaten down to the bone.

A few days later, Sarah brought a Boston Terrier back from the market as a new friend for Joe. They decided to call him Itchy.

Winter passed, and Arthur said he was taking the tractor to the mechanic shop for a routine tune-up, but it was after dinner and there was still no sign of him, when the phone rang.

Arthur was calling from a bar. “I thought… choosing… to come here…” He was obviously drunk, and the noisy bar was playing “Lust for life”. Before she could hear what he was saying clearly, the phone was cut off.

At dawn, someone from the shop drove him back. He collapsed on the couch, completely knocked out. Sarah didn’t have the strength to pull him up to bed, and so she simply sat there looking at him. While he slept, tears began flowing silently, clutching Sarah saying, “King’s Farm, the beautiful King’s Farm... the fucking King’s Farm…” If Arthur wanted to burn the place down, Sarah wouldn’t have minded. They could take Joe and Itchy, and leave the place, she thought.

After daybreak, Arthur didn’t appear hungover, and didn’t say another word about the night before. He became a zombie, going to work each

12

Farm

day, looking busy in the field and working his business, but in actuality just aimlessly going through the motions, beer in hand as he looked over the pitch-black fields at night. Looking at him, Sarah wondered if he had been like this in the city – someone helpless and willing to give up easily, yet wanting control over their life? It was inexplicable; she had never thought that one day such despondent words could come out of his mouth. Sarah had always believed that she would be the one to abandon them…

On the day of Joe’s high school graduation, he told Sarah he was leaving this little town in the middle of nowhere.

“I knew that you would leave us one day – but Joe, I’m still proud of you.” Sarah said.

“Thank you, Sarah. Thank you.”

“So what are your plans?

“I don’t know yet, I just have to get out of here.”

Sarah didn’t say anything in response.

“Why are you staying here with Dad? All these years, you could have left, and no one would have said anything. Perhaps…”

“No, I have my reasons, just like Arthur loves us in his own way.”

“So where is he now, then? In the fields, or at that bar?”

A few days later, Joe left to find work, and never returned. At first he would send them letters every month, typically containing the standard greetings, occasionally talking about friends and work, sometimes with a bit of money in the envelopes.

This went on for little over a year. The last time he wrote them, there was a stack of money within, thick as a brick - and after that, nothing. She had tried to find him by following the postage stamps, asking the people in the area, putting up notices in the paper, but there was nothing.

The photographs on the wall began to fade, and were taken down as they began to attract mold. She took out the crucifix from storage, and began to pray, praying that Joe was safe and sound.

13

Golden Experience

Golden Experience

14

Golden Experience

Walking down a cold, damp, dirty alley in the night normally doesn’t result in anything good, but that day I met the most beautiful women in the world. Even without the shine of the moon, you could see her golden locks shining in the dark.

I had just finished a delivery, emerging from the backdoor of a shop.

With all the baskets I was carrying, I couldn’t see clearly as she suddenly emerged from the corner. I ran right into her and she stumbled to the ground, splattered with mud. I was still unintentionally blocking her way, and could see her eyes asking for help – without knowing why, I subconsciously moved aside to let her pass. She didn’t mind that her expensive-looking gown was dirtied; softly smiling, she got up and continued further into the darkness, until her eye-catching golden hair disappeared with her.

Exiting the alley, I saw a man wearing a dark suit and a fedora, clearly looking for something. I understood instantly. On the way home, I recalled the incident a moment ago, hoping that she was OK. Who knew that this was just the beginning? Just as I was preparing to go to bed, the doorbell rang. Through the peephole, I see the golden hair…

“Sorry, I followed you home…” she says. “My name is Christine. I don’t know how to say this, but could you please let me stay tonight…” and she handed me a bundle of cash from her pocket.

Maybe I’m just too tired. My instincts tell me that Christine is a good girl.

I turn down her money, give her some clean clothes, and let her sleep in my daughter’s room.

It’s still dark. It looks as if Christine hasn’t slept all night – she’s sitting at the table with a cup of coffee, and has made something simple to eat. The TV’s on, and a rerun of “Waiting for God” is playing.

She asks, “How old is your daughter?”

“Judy’s 19 years old now, in music school…” Christine looks to be about the same age.

“You must be proud of her.”

She takes a sip of her coffee, and tucks the hair behind her ear. It is only then that I see the bruising on her face – bloodshot eyes, scrape marks on

15

Golden Experience

her forehead. I am looking too intently, and before I open my mouth to say anything, she says, “Don’t ask… and I don’t need to see a doctor.”

“The man in the dark suit and fedora?” I ask.

“You met him?”

“Yes, but we didn’t talk.”

“He wants me to go back… to force me to do some things…” she says slowly, and an expression seeking recourse appears again.

I say, “OK, you can stay a few days longer.” I then leave to go to work, leaving her by herself.

I go hunting in the nearby wetlands, setting up my snares before going fishing. I clean whatever I catch right there, slicing from chest to stomach with a knife in a Y-shape, removing the lungs and other organs. After cutting it into pieces, I wash the blood off in the river – fish are relatively easier to take care of. I finish by selling them to restaurants in town, getting some weed in exchange as well.

Ever since yesterday, everything seemed like a fantasy. First was the appearance of Christine, then it was catching a large trout. Trout normally can be found in swelling rivers, not little wetland ponds; it struggled a bit after being hooked, its eyes gashed and bloody by scrap metal underwater, and it seemed oddly familiar… at any rate, I was able to get a good price for it.

During my evening deliveries, I meet the man in the fedora again. I inadvertently look away – I should have just gone about normally, but it’s too late. The man walks over, “Hey, you!” He takes a picture out of his pocket, and shows it to me.

Of course I remember Christine, but I lie to him.

When I get home, Christine is still there, but unexpectedly, Judy’s there – she says the semester ended early. The two were chatting in the living room, like BFFs. “Maybe you could come to my performance!” Judy is quite excited.

Christine says, “Sounds interesting! But I don’t know much about music, just a few hymns from when I went to church as a kid – I’m completely

16

Golden Experience

tone deaf.” And she laughs.

“We’ll be having our final performance in two weeks, a piece of chamber music by Schubert. Please, you have to make it!” Judy takes Christine’s hands in hers.

“What do you play?” Christine asks.

Judy stands up, raising her hand over her head, “Double bass, bet you didn’t expect that!” Christine shakes her head, as Judy continues, “It’s even taller than I am! During a performance, I feel at one with my instrument, and the music resonates right into my heart… please, you have to come watch us play!” Judy seems unusually passionate, and finding her difficult to rebuff, Christine agrees.

Two days later, Judy returns to school to continue rehearsing. Christine continues wearing Judy’s clothes, staying in her room, and has started helping out around the house, as I continue my daily routine.

My routine in the wetlands consists of setting traps and waiting in the car, with a few cigarettes to keep me company from time to time. Christine says she’s been at home too long, and wants to come to work with me. But there’s really nothing to do, so I ask her if she wants to try out the new stuff…

Judy calls home regularly to talk to Christine now; I’m fairly certain Christine doesn’t tell her about that day in the wetlands or what happened afterwards. I occasionally hear snippets of their conversation – it appears Judy has a new boyfriend. Judy describes him as stout and burly, and rather handsome. He even bought her an expensive new double bass…

And the man in the fedora? I haven’t seen him in town during my last few deliveries – he’s probably given up by now.

Tomorrow is the day of Judy’s school performance. Over the past two weeks, she’s spent most of her time rehearsing, rarely coming home. With Christine to keep me company, each day is heavenly. Hunting has gone smoothly – since the trout, I’ve caught two deer and a wild dog, and in the shower, I bask in the golden glow of Christine’s hair.

17

Golden Experience

I dig up my cleanest shirt and jacket from the closet; Christine wears the gown she had on when she arrived. We get up early, and drive four hours to the concert hall to listen to my daughter’s performance of Schubert’s Piano Quintet in A. The new double bass looks quite gorgeous, but somehow Judy’s performance is a bit off – the pace is slow when it should be quick, and quick when it should slow, as if her mind is elsewhere. Thankfully, there aren’t any major problems.

After it ends, Judy calls us backstage.

Upon seeing us, Judy suddenly holds Christine tightly and begins to cry.

Upon seeing her tears, I say quickly, “Don’t worry about it, you were just a bit nervous, a bit more experience and you’ll be fine.” She’s probably disappointed at her performance.

But Judy continues crying, her words choked up in Christine’s ear, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” scaring Christine, who does her best to be comforting, but still Judy continues to apologize.

After a bit, after Judy finally calms down a bit, she says, “My boyfriend… says he wants to meet you, especially Christine… but he said that I couldn’t say anything to you about it.”

Shocked, Christine asks, “Is this some sort of joke?”

“He said you two go back a long ways, and that you helped him out a lot in the past, and that he wants to thank Dad for taking care of you all this time…” upon which Judy resumes crying.

The curtain behind Judy rustles, and the voice of a man emerges from within, “Hello Christine, it’s been a long time.” I can’t help laughing at the sound, because it is the most old-fashioned way possible to make an appearance, but there isn’t anything funny about the man in the fedora, and his automatic handgun that is somehow pointing and both Christine and myself at the same time.

He has his arm around Judy’s waist as he kisses her, and she smiles through her tears, as I’m completely confused.

Judy says, “Christine, please forgive me, he said that I only had two choices, but I just don’t have a choice…”

“Christine, please come back with me!” the man says.

18

Golden Experience

“So now it’s Judy? Did you tell her about you’re up to?” Christine asks.

The man laughs proudly.

“And look and what you did!” Christine brushes away the bangs from her forehead, showing the scars.

“Don’t be like that, you know I didn’t mean to. I promise, it will never happen again. Besides, haven’t you been doing well for yourself over the past few days? Men are all like this.” As he talks with a face full of arrogance, the barrel of his gun moves towards me.

Christine falls into silence.

He continues, “That’s life. Sometimes you’re forced to act! But what’s important is the price you pay afterwards?”

“Promise me…” Christine says, and pauses. “I’ll go with you, let Judy go.” And she walks towards the man in the fedora.

He suddenly removes his hat in a salute to me, and I hear the gunshot before I have a chance to react.

BANG! Getting shot in the groin isn’t as bad as you might expect, though losing so much blood too quickly is making it hard to stay conscious.

I don’t remember, did someone scream? Judy, Christine? Upon waking up, I’m already in the hospital, and everyone’s gone. The man in the fedora, Christine, even Judy.

When I return home, Judy has already moved everything out, leaving behind only a double bass and a golden month.

19

I Have a Dream

I Have a Dream

20

I Have a Dream

"I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, and every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight; "and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed and all flesh shall see it together." Martin Luther King

21

I Have a Dream

“Hey! Hey Bud, look! It’s the glory of the Lord!” Davis has a magazine in hand, pointing to an ad with excerpts from Dr. King’s famous speech – no one knows what it’s trying to sell.

“Hahahahaha, I felt the same way when ordering a set, there’s no better feeling than enjoying it!” Bud says.

“Yeah, heh heh~” Davis laughs reflexively – it’s rather disgusting.

Of course, Bud’s laughter is also quite revolting.

Have you seen the kid’s show “Teletubbies”? It’s co-produced by the BBC and Ragdoll.

Bud’s set consists of any mix of hallucinogen, shrooms, mescaline, weed… followed by a viewing of Teletubbies. Like Renton in Trainspotting, he sinks into the velvet carpet, listening to Lou Reed’s “Perfect Day”. Of course, the background music for the set is the eternally repeating “goodbye, goodbye~” Davis and Bud are best buddies, blowing each day on weed and TV. Their neighbor, a girl named Sunny, lazes about all day just like them. Davis and Bud enjoy turning the volume on the TV up all the way, head-banging to the blinking screen and the beat of the music.

Bud lights a stick of weed, takes two drags, then two more.

Davis finishes it off, all the way down.

“Whew!” white smoke circles above their heads.

“I’m ready, oh yeahhh, oh yeahhh…” Bud is completely limp on the sofa, waiting for the buzz to start kicking. Davis starts surfing channels with the remote.

“Shit!” Davis curses.

“What?”

“Teletubbies aren’t on today. Don’t cartoon channels have any sense of responsibility?”

“Well what’s on?”

“Something called… Adventure Time. Haha, look at their arms, it’s like doing the limbo!” Davis imitates what he sees on the screen.

22

I Have a Dream

“Can you zoom in on that yellow dog? Hey, don’t move the camera!”

“Hahahaha” “Fuck! What kind of name is Avril for a vampire?”

“Yeahhh, yeahhh, our vampires, hahaaa” “Fuck, I don’t wanna waste this weed man, find something else to watch!” Bud tries to light what’s left of the weed, but can’t get it to light.

Davis flips to a music channel – it’s a music video of Davis Bowie’s “Afraid of America”.

“Hey look, David Bowie!”

“Whoa, I’ve gone back in time, this isn’t your ordinary weed, fuck yeah!”

“Niiiiice~” “Oh yeah! Dum dum dum, Afraid of America!” Bud sings along.

Davis asks, “Dum dum dum dum, doo doo~ who’s Johnny?”

“The guy running after Bowie? Ohhh! Bowie’s in danger, run!”

“Isn’t Bowie a Martian? Why’s he afraid of Johnny?”

“Johnny’s American. Hey, you got any more weed?” Bud makes a gun with his fingers and pretends to shoot.

Bud accepts the second stick handed to him and begins to smoke it, while Davis begins rolling a new one for himself.

“Oh hey, God’s American, cool!”

“Cool!~” “Davis, are you God?” “Yeah, yeahhh! I’m the Superman of Weed, haha!” Davis pulls his shirt over his head.

“And that’s all. Dang, this is a great channel!”

“Oh yeah, so much better than a set, haha!”

Two burning sticks of marijuana, illuminated by the holy light of the TV. A Michael Jackson concert is on.

“Who’s that? Oh cool, Michael Jackson! This stuff really can do time travel!”

“Heh heh, American Pie!” “Oh nooo! He said music is dead!”

“Hahaha, he killed it! He sang so many, what the hell?”

23

I Have a Dream

“Yeah yeah, he was trying to teach us The Truth! Ohhh dang, how the mighty have fallen!”

“Yeahhh go back and cry in your room, you morality cop!”

“Eh heh heh, Super Weed is gonna be a cop, yeahhh!” Davis pulls the shirt over his head again, acting crazily again.

His “handgun” takes aim at the screen – BANG! BANG! – then he points it at Bud, who jumps out of the way, “Hey! What the fuck are you doing dude, that’s dangerous!” he gives Davis a good slap on the face, which gets him back to normal. That is, normal for when he’s on weed.

The two continue soaking themselves in music.

“Yeahhh this song is long…”

“Heh heh, Don’s hungry – all this American Pie makes me hungry…”

“Yeah, yeah, I want some hot wings…”

“Oh yeah, that’s the stuff! Lemme ask if Sunny wants to get takeout.”

Bud slowly gets up, and immediately trips over the coffee table.

He fails no pain at all, “Heh heh. The ceiling is on the floor.”

It takes quite a while to get to the door. There’s a large ruckus in the stairwell, and then it’s as if all sound has been sucked into a black hole.

All of a sudden, “You inside, you’re surrounded!” followed by silence.

“Hey, is that the food?”

“Shhh, we’re surrounded!”

“Oh God, what do we do what do we do?” Davis breaks into cold sweat.

“Police, freeze! Sunny Seville, you’re under arrest for illegal possession of heroin! You have the right to remain silent; anything you say can and will be used against you!” the police shout.

“Yahhh that was close, good thing it wasn’t us, haha.”

Bud peeks out through the peephole. “Dang, Sunny’s a bad girl, doing heroin.”

“Yeah, yeah, heroin! Trainspotting is an English movie! Sunny’s bad!

Hahahahaha~” Davis laughs disgustingly.

“Heh heh, hooray for weed, hooray for Hollywood!”

“Yeah, yeah, let’s watch a movie!”

24

I Have a Dream

“Uh… maybe we could get the takeout guy to rent a movie?”

“Yeah, that sounds great! I wanna watch American Pie, the first one!”

“Oh yeah, oh yeah, movies and weed!” Bud stands son the coffee table, and makes a Nazi salute.

“Hallelujah, hallelujah!

25

Meeting at a Coffeeshop

Meeting at a Coffeeshop

26

Meeting at a Coffeeshop

Imagine you’re at a greasy roadside diner, the kind that shows up in the movies; standing in a desolate town with a sheet metal roof, a few letters are broken in the neon sign but no one has bothered to repair it. Entering from an entrance on the side, you see a long bar on one side, and couch seating on the other. The cook, cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth, pushes out a dark plate of deep fried chicken from the kitchen counter.

The wait staff consists of matronly ladies wearing stained aprons, pencils tucked behind their ears, pots of pitch-black coffee in their hands. There is an unspoken understanding among those who walk through the doors: I’m here to fill my belly, and I don’t really care how I do it.

This is exactly how you would describe Crab Claw Cafe, located on the town’s border, visited only by the occasional truck driver. You can ask for the daily special, but you’ll just be met with mocking laughter from the servers.

It’s two in the afternoon, and a few stragglers are still finishing lunch. A woman walks into the Crab Claw, and chooses a window seat at the end of the aisle. From here, you can see every single customer in the diner. She’s wearing a black trench coat, with a W – or M - shaped brooch at the collar.

She gets a glass of water from the waiter, and orders a cup of black coffee.

Twenty minutes later, she orders a second cup.

At about 2:50, she glances at her watch, noticeably upset, considering whether to leave or to order a third cup. Then, a middle-aged man in a plaid suit with a small briefcase enters, and heads over to where she’s seated…

“Diana?” he asks.

“I’m sorry, do I know you?” she seems a bit unsure.

“It’s me, Mr. K.” She appears ready to get up and leave, picking up the keys and remote from the table, pushing the button.

“Ah!” the man suddenly shouts, drawing the attention of everyone else in the room. After apologizing profusely, he reveals the same brooch from under his coat collar.

“You’re late, Mr. K!” Diana is indignant.

27

Meeting at a Coffeeshop

He relaxes a bit. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting. Something came up all of a sudden, but it’s all been taken care of. Also, call me Kent.” He removes his jacket and sets the briefcase down beside him. Taking a seat, he snaps his fingers twice to get the waitress’ attention.

Diane says, “You look a bit older than your picture online…”

“You don’t look like you’ve been working out either!” Kent words are betrayed by his happy expression.

By the way, the online website where Diana and Kent met - “Special Love for a Special You” - does not require membership fees. Kent’s profile photo is from at least ten years ago, when he worked out regularly, wore a sharp pair of glasses and sported a tidy haircut – in a word, perfect. Now he wears reading glasses, is in the later stages of balding, and has a severe case of sagging man boobs, propped up by his ample beer belly. Before arranging to meet, Kent mailed a set of keys and remote to Diana…

The waitress comes over languidly, and pours him a glass of water. Kent looks over the menu, ordering a bacon hamburger, an omelet with fries, and a glass of beer.

“Maybe you shouldn’t order something so greasy.” Diana says while looking over Kent’s figure.

“Oh come on, this is the best bacon burger for miles – that is, if you can find a second place that sells them, haha!” Kent answers.

Diana isn’t laughing.

Kent shifts his butt around trying to make himself comfortable. “When you reach my age you’ll understand – your figure isn’t everything, what matters is experience! There’s so much for you young people to learn from us. Plus, believe it or not, I was quite a looker when I was younger – people said I was a dead match for Dean.”

“James Dean?” Diana asks quizzically.

“No, Dean Cain! The guy from Lois and Clark, Dean Cain?” saying this, Kent brings his arms up and flexes his biceps.

“Huh?” Nothing comes up in Diana’s mind to match the image of this middle-aged man sitting in front of her.

Kent gives up, turning to look around at the other customers in the restaurant. Most of them just work on their food quietly. The restaurant

28

Meeting at a Coffeeshop

is filled with the sizzle of frying food, utensils clinking together, and the occasional announcement, but there is no conversation. After a few moments more of silence, he decides to change the subject. The waitress brings his beer, and Kent’s attention is entirely drawn in by the bubbling beer. He quickly downs half of it, foam sticking to his moustache.

“Anyway…” Kent continues where he was left off before interrupted by the waitress. He pats his briefcase, like there’s something valuable inside.

“Anyway…” Diana imitates him injecting, “I didn’t come all the way here to play games. Is there something in there for me?”

“Diana, Diana, my dear princess, this is a rare meeting, let’s not rush things! Do you draw? When drawing, you must first learn to observe. Then, you sketch, familiarize yourself the color table, composition, and after a bit you begin to see a symphony of color wherever you go…” Kent closes his eyes in rapture.

“I like Andy Hope 1930.”

“Um…” The symphony in Kent’s head is dispelled by images of punk rock.

The waitress brings his bacon hamburger with eggs and fries.

Kent takes a big bite out of the burger, “Take this hamburger. You’ve got bread, lettuce, cheese, bacon, beef, and eggs. Put together, they’re the Sistine Chapel, with each bite bringing me into the heavens. In comparison, Andy Hope 1930 is just an omelet-making boy.” He swallows, and stuffs a fistful of fries into his mouth.

“I like omelets, alright?” Diana loses her patience, placing a hand in her pocket and fiddling with the remote, causing Kent to spit out his half-eaten fries. Upon seeing this, Diane laughs, beginning to enjoy herself. She calls for the waitress, ordering a soda, as well as another beer for Kent.

Kent proudly picks up his prize and takes a big gulp. Then out of nowhere, he takes out a wooden clothing clamp from his suit pocket and plays around with it, saying, “I’ve built a Sistine Chapel of my own. It all starts with careful selection, all about the details. Look at this clamp, what do you see?”

She thinks of the red candle used only when the power is out.

Kent says, “I love wooden clamps. Look at the perfect three and a half

29

Meeting at a Coffeeshop

circles made from 2mm wire, creating just the right amount of tension. It’s like a brick used in building a church. Also, are you familiar with Pavlov’s dog?”

“Who?” “Pavlov conducted an experiment with his dog. Every time he fed it, he’d also play a noise; eventually, the dog would start drooling upon just hearing it. Although Aristotle had theories about this, Pavlov’s experiments helped us understand how it worked, with actual application. By conditioning the brain and connecting it with the world around us, you can essentially control basic bodily reactions, even emotions. Of course, you first have to find your Pavlov… like the Little Prince and his Rose, or the Fox. Oh, Love, let us enter heaven together!”

“You sicko… so does your Pavlov know you’re here?” Diana takes a sip from her soda, noticeably not as overbearing as before.

Kent looks quite satisfied, “My princess, this is just one of my many interests.” He strokes the briefcase, “I indeed prepared this for you, but since you didn’t say anything about material before, I had to make my best guess. Now, give me quick questions, just the first thing that pops into your mind. Ready?”

“Ready.”

“OK.” “Wide or narrow?”

“Narrow.”

“Dry or humid?”

“Humid…”

“Hot or cold?”

Kent stops, “Oh, my princess, I knew we’d be compatible!” Glancing at the waitresses and other customers out of the corner of his eye, he pushes the briefcase towards her. “Use the key I gave you to open the lock!” After opening the case, Kent slowly removes a bag from it, handing it over to Diana. “A customized Kent brand masterpiece.”

After Diana takes it, Kent points at the window and in his unchanging manner, mentions “take a look at the homes out there…” She doesn’t see anything particularly unusual. “Do you know what it is that makes the

30

Meeting at a Coffeeshop

neighborhood so peaceful and attractive?”

Diana shakes her head.

“The internet. It binds us together, my princess. It is what allows people of common interest and values to stand together, letting us feel that we are not alone, and it is this understanding that gives us strength. Remember Bruce, from the online forum? He’d always post dark and depressing articles, trying to start something. I knew him! Not just online, but in reality too. He was a real bastard in real life, always trying to make my life difficult.

But on the internet, I had to admire him, that he was able to face his demons and find strength in it.

This is what the internet has given us, by allowing us to show that which we do not accept, allowing life to look as if it’s normal, making it possible for you to go home, and face your parents, your friends…”

Diana patiently waits for him to finish, and then gets up from her seat, “Sorry, I have to go to the washroom to try it out.” And takes the bag with her.

Upon returning, she hurls a receipt on the table, furious: “Are you kidding me? This is what you call customized? You couldn’t even hide the receipt from Amazon properly, and you have the nerve to charge me double?”

She throws the remote control at his face. “Here, take it back! Not everyone has the same weird fetishes as you. Next time find someone else to play with you, sicko!” She then grabs the green ashtray from the table and smashes it on Kent’s head. He’s dizzy and unable to respond as he watches her storm out of the Crab Claw.

31

Burning House

Burning House

32

Burning House

I read a bunch of crappy fairy tales as a kid. One of them went like this: Once upon a time, there was a clever octopus. After finding a part of the ocean with a beautiful coral cave inhabited by all kinds of fish, it decided to settle down.

Afterwards, the humans fought a war nearby, and many bombs landed near their reef. The octopus loved this part of the ocean and didn’t want to leave. He thought, “I just need to be more careful from now on.” But one day, he inevitably ran into one of the bombs, and BOOM! He lost a limb. The octopus took every precaution possible, but still ended up accidentally running into bombs. It wasn’t until he only had two limbs remaining that he decided to leave.

But while leaving, he ran into another bomb at the entrance!

With only one limb remaining, he sank to the bottom, as two crabs walked by. One of them said, “Hey, I know you! You’re the famous ‘two-legs’ – now you’ve only got one left? Haha!’

The octopus wondered, “How could the crabs make fun of me so cruelly?”

The other crab said, “Besides coral, know what else we eat? The bodies of fish blown to little bits. Today we’re going to feast on fresh octopus! You don’t mind, do you, seeing as you’re going to die anyway?”

The octopus wept, spitting out black ink.

“Sir, I’m sorry to tell you that by the time the firefighters arrived, the house was burned to the foundations.”The building that I call home has been burned to ashes by the time I get back. In the pool, there are bits of broken wood floating on the surface, as well as a cooked frog – my pet Norman.

After putting out the fire, the firefighters prepare to investigate. I feel like Tyler Durden from Fight Club. All my things have been burned; my furniture, my clothes… perfect timing! I just had a big fight with my wife this afternoon, and she told me to scram. I did so, and look what we have now.

“Where’s my wife?” I ask.

Normally, she has friends over today; a bunch of people playing tarot

33

Burning House

cards, talking music, movies, gossip, spiced up with some wine. But given our fight this afternoon, I’m not sure if the gathering went as planned.

“Don’t worry, no one was home. The neighbors have already contacted your wife - she was at a friend’s place.” The firefighter replies.

I ought to go to her, but a peculiar sense of pressure surrounding the fight… I struggle a bit, but end of hailing a taxi to her friend’s house.

My wife tells me that after I left, she immediately went out to find a shoulder to cry on, so no one came over. She had had enough of my hostility and struck back, and was very sorry – it was only because she was feeling a bit under the weather.

She then says that she’s alright, if a bit tired, and needs some space alone to rest. She tells me to find a comfortable place to spend the night, and that she’ll call me if anything came up.

I know that in theory, I ought to insist on staying, but she appears even more steadfast than I am.

Upon leaving, I head to a hotel near the station.

The standard room consists of a single bed, a TV suspended on the wall, and a simple desk and table. It’s like a clean white box. You enter, give it meaning, do whatever you want to it, and it reverts back after you leave, just like new. I like this concept – without history, there is no oppression, no scars, forever new.

But history entangles you like a ghost, in the bars from which we are denied entry, in our credit cards, in the address books.

The phone rings - it’s the insurance company.

“First of all sir, we’d like to express our condolences for what happened to you. But we must inform you that the insurance you purchased cannot fully compensate for the house, and before the cause of fire has been fully investigated, we will find it difficult to approve compensation.”

“So how much will I get… I mean, in theory.”

“I’m sorry sir, we can’t make any promises.”

A pointless conversation. I hang up, thinking of the two hundred payments left on the house.

34

Burning House

The phone rings again at midnight.

“Do you remember our honeymoon? Under the Eiffel tower…” it’s my wife.

“Yes.” “Do you remember the story you told me?”

“About Hitler?”

“Can you tell it again?”

“Once upon a time, during World War Two, Hitler’s armies invaded Paris. To stop him from getting to up the Eiffel Tower, the French cut the elevator cables. It took three days for the Germans to fix it.”

“You’re utterly unromantic. At the time you even went online to show me a photo of Hitler in front of the tower… I remember you mentioning a philosopher. Who was it? I can’t remember, you said…”

“A long time ago, there was a man called Bentham, and he designed the Panopticon penitentiary. All the prisoners were enclosed in a building shaped like a Roman coliseum, with their doors facing the center, so that the watch tower could view all the rooms at once. A long long time after, at the World Expo, someone called Foucault said the Crystal Palace and the Eiffel Tower were the perfect representation of the Panopticon concept.

The Parisians had constructed their own Eye of Sauron, forever keeping them under surveillance, even showing it off to the world.

“This is the kind of unromantic thing you said at the most romantic spot in the world. Baby, that’s what I love about you!”

“Alright, didn’t you want to rest?”

“You don’t want to talk anymore?”

“No, it’s just… well, it’s midnight. It’s been a long day, get some rest.”

The phone is silent for a bit. “… OK, good night.”

Before visiting her the next day, I buy some flowers from a roadside stall.

My wife’s staying at a friend’s place, in apparent good spirits. She turns to me, saying that she just thought of the piano at our old place.

When we moved into the house as a newly married couple, she said she missed the piano from home, and wanted to bring it over if there was

35

Burning House

room. It was three hundred kilometers away, and she couldn’t drive. Of course I was free. After bringing it back, I put the piano in the garage.

After a month, the bridge was deformed, and the resonance box was cracked. She hysterically blamed me, crying about how important it was to her, how she had first performed for her parents, about her first performance on stage… and that I should think hard about what I had done.

I knew that I should have put more thought into this – everything, really – and not just agree like that. Maybe I should have gotten someone to deliver it, and if there was damage, we’d be united in blaming a common target. We’d complain about the delivery company, talking about compensation, and I’d take her, weeping, into my arms. But it was too late, and I was the one paying, a penalty of lifelong regret and introspection.

It happened over ten years ago. When she brings up the piano, I realize that my self-punishing mechanism still works. But this time there isn’t any blame – rather, she looks as if she’s… nostalgic for music, like the memories the piano left in her stopped when she was a kid.

“Can we make up? I won’t get angry at you anymore. I know that these were just moments of negligence, but you still love me, right?”

I nod…

“The neighbors next door are willing to take us in for a while. They have a room that’s been empty for some time.”

The neighbors are an old couple, quite nice. We didn’t actually interact much before our house burned down, but they still politely invite us over for dinner.

Everyone has something to say about the house burning down, and once the old man gets started at the dinner table, there’s no room for a word otherwise.

“Back then, we believed in buildings churches as tall as possible, bringing us closer to God. So we had towers, like the Eiffel Tower, and skyscrapers, like the Empire State Building, even artists like Brancusi… basically large phallic structures begging for God’s love and affection. Then

36

Burning House

what happened? 9/11, that’s what. These things are related! Buddhists, Muslims… all have learned the wrong lessons from Christians, and are building their own towers, and destroying other tall, firm phallic symbols.

These are the things that will inevitably be cut down, punishment and destruction against the arrogant!”

Skyscrapers aren’t in vogue anymore, not in this era of doomsday beliefs, with emphasis on coexisting with the environment. We have discovered that Mother Earth is the most destructive force, the one that compels men to kill one another. Postmodernism recognizes the defeat of the phallic era, and only upon understanding can we disguise it as something else.

Pretending is a part of nature, as is choosing to start over.”

“We just want a comfortable place to stay…” I say.

The man says, “Son, you want a home, you want to start a family. How many documents have you signed, that restrict your freedom? How many jobs have you worked at? Broadly speaking, property is the best way to unconsciously limit yourself. You work for most of your life, the house burns down, and you’re left with a pantload of debt – only then do you realize that your life belongs to the bank, or maybe the country. Isn’t that funny?”

“Dear!” the old lady thinks her husband has gone too far.

Honestly, I don’t feel offended, though I’m not sure what he’s trying to express.

He continues, “What I’m saying is, life is the hardest fact of reality. No one died in that house, but sometimes you have to play dead, to pretend, to lie – and to do so, you need a partner – right, old lady?”

Our host says graciously, “Sorry, he’s had a bit to drink today, don’t take it personally.”

All of a sudden, I feel like I’m in Thelma and Louise, as I look at my wife.

She raises her glass, “To life!”

“To life!” we clink our glasses together.

“I was burning some of our things in the garage. I was really disappointed, and wanted to start over.” As I hold her in bed, she suddenly

37

Burning House

speaks. At first I’m shocked, but strangely enough, no anger appears.

The police call the next day, and the results of their analysis indicate that someone intentionally started the fire in our garage (which I already knew), and that they found a bucket of gasoline. I tell them, “My wife and I are utterly shocked! You know I was out, and my wife was visiting friends… this home is all we have, it’s not just the furniture, clothing, photos on the wall… you’ve got to find out who did this!”

I grow more and more agitated, filled with rage towards this imaginary arsonist!

Living in the ocean, I am a crab!

38

Burning House

39

Black House

Black House ─ Wise and Brave ─

40

Black House

Henry once told me, “Each and every adventure starts at the bar.

You know why? It’s a dark, noisy, dirty place that collects all of life’s problems, and helps you find the answers; news from the grapevine, shady connections, and my main man, McAllen.” Picture a Private Investigator - Henry Rimes looks to be the exact opposite. He’s greying, wears glasses, doesn’t have much of a physique to boast of, and possesses a rather homely appearance. His head seems overly large, but it does reflect his extraordinary intellect. I’ve been working with him for more than a year now, as a detective trainee. I assist with cases, by chronicling and organizing all relevant records and information. As such, I get the opportunity to carefully analyze every case that Henry works on – everything he says, I record verbatim, hoping it will be of use when I start my own practice.

This afternoon, Henry has a tricky case. An old gentleman clad in a white suit and using a cane walks into our office, accompanied by two burly men.

The gentleman sits down, taking a cigar out of his pocket and offering it to Henry, who declines, saying that he doesn’t make a habit of it. The man lights his own cigar without a word, quite elegantly. In contrast, the two men are the exact opposite, exuding an intimidating presence. After confirming Henry’s detective credentials, the man explains why he has come – he wants to retrieve a briefcase that is only of value to himself.

He resumes smoking his cigar, as the two men elaborate, indicating that the perpetrator is likely to be a young man that once worked for the old gentleman. In response to Henry’s inquiry, they reply that the gentleman is a benefactor of the young man, and took good care of him. Still, he decided to quit, and on that same day the old man noticed that his briefcase was missing. The two bodyguards pound the table in anger, and I’m afraid the old coffee table won’t last much longer before collapsing.

When Henry asks why the contents of the briefcase are of such commemorative value and what contents can be found within, the gentleman continues smoking his cigar quietly and avoids answering, citing privacy. Henry attempts to get a few more clues, but unfortunately, McAllen isn’t here, so all the questions are like an uncalibrated handgun, missing by just a hair. Regardless, Henry decides to accept the case.

41

Black House

He sits in his leather chair, waiting for the gentleman to leave before propping his feet up on the table and spreading the morning’s newspaper over his face to block the sunlight filtering in from the blinds. He says, “Rest a bit, kid! We begin after dark!” It appears that Henry has already put together various clues from this seemingly clueless case, and has an idea of what happened. Well, live and learn, I have a long way to go.

When night falls, I follow Henry into the “Elder Scrolls” bar. He directs me to a seat with a good view, finding himself a seat at the bar. He’s not here for McAllen today, but orders a glass from the bartender nonetheless.

Henry is looking for someone – someone strong, both physically and mentally, someone who thrives under the pressure of death breathing down his neck every second.

At the other end of the bar sits a man about 30 years old, a veteran. It’s easy to tell, based on his hulking physique, crew cut, and dog tags around his neck. Though his muscles may not be as cut as they once were, they’re definitely still noticeable. Henry indicates to the bartender to pour the vet a glass of gin, and walks over, glass of whisky in hand.

Sitting down next to him, Henry says, “God gave you two hands, both of which you use to wield weaponry. You’re a brave man.”

The vet gives Henry a look, saying calmly, “No, those young brats are the brave ones. I’ve seen too much – now, I’m just a god-forsaken sinner.”

Saying that, he downs the gin in one gulp, ordering another whiskey to put on Henry’s tab.

He continues, “We had set up an ambush in the desert, a town called An Kuila, the sun beating down on my men and I, hoping to intercept an enemy resupply unit. I first killed their commanding officer, leaving them leaderless, and we then finished each and every single one of them.” He finishes another glass, motioning to the bartender to pour him another.

“Who knew it was a double ambush – the enemy knew we were there. By the time we realized it, it was too late. My men fell one after another, their blood spraying into my face, into my eyes.”

At this point, he stares off into space, as if returning to the hail of bullets in his memory. Panic flashes across his face, and his hands begin to

42

Black House

tremble, spilling whiskey from the glass.

“But I wasn’t afraid.” He is calm again – a peculiar light appears in his eyes. “I raised my rifle to my shoulder in one hand, pulling out my handgun with the other, firing wildly, without restraint. I thought it had begun to rain somehow, in this dry desert. I saw the bodies of my enemies turned to pieces, flying through the air, and only when the rain stopped did I realize that it wasn’t rain, but their blood. I took vengeance for my brothers, but I was a failure, unable to protect them!”

He looks at Henry, sighing, “I used to be an adventurer like you, until I took a bullet in the knee.”

I just notice that the bar has fallen silent – everyone’s drawn into his story. Though retired, his deeds still demand respect. What better time than now for my phone to ring, it’s my old man! It’s an awkward situation enough as it is, made worse by my fumbling with the phone and accidentally activating speaker mode, so the entire bar hears my Dad, “Hey son! I defeated Alduin, haha! Say goodbye to the devourer of worlds, hahaha!”

Besides the cackling laughter of an old man, the victory music from a video game is audible in the background. Oh man, if I had a knife, I’d commit seppuku right then and there!

Angry at being rudely interrupted in the middle of his war stories, the veteran throws his glass at my head (almost hit me!), yelling, “You think I’m a cheap thrill to blow some time with?”

Henry quickly realizes things aren’t looking good. He downs a glass of whiskey, and brings out his ace, revealing the Medal of Honor from his pocket. Henry says, “We need you, soldier.”

Seeing the Medal, the vet’s fury turns to respect immediately, quickly standing and saluting sharply, “Corporal Marv Marchant at your service!”

Yes, Henry could have done this right from the start, but he didn’t. He won the respect of this veteran not through rank, but by listening. I have learned yet another lesson.

Marv has joined our ranks, and we begin our meeting in the bar. He asks, “Let me guess, someone’s briefcase was stolen!” I’m completely caught by

43

Black House

surprise, while Henry nonchalantly begins his explanation.

Henry has deduced that the old gentleman who came to the office during the day wasn’t involved in legitimate business, or else he would have gone to the police. In other words, the two men beside him must have been either bodyguards or thugs. The whole thing must have something to do with money.

“But where do we start?” I ask.

Henry says, “I noticed that the two bodyguards had the same reddish mud on their shoes, but the gentleman didn’t. So they must have gone somewhere dangerous to investigate, probably the place belonging to the young man. We just need to figure out where we can find the same mud, and we can begin our investigation.”

In all these years living in the city, I have never one noticed the ground beneath my feet, unless I’ve stepped in shit. I’m utterly useless here, as my mind comes up blank. As I lower my head to think harder, I notice that Marv’s shoes… also have stains of red mud.

“I live in a place with red dirt!” Marv says. “There’s a dark house there, creepy as hell, but it seems like people go in and out regularly… maybe the old man and his bodyguards were looking for the young man there?”

It’s as if a light has illuminated our path. We finish off our drinks, and Henry, brimming with confidence, says, “To the dark house it is!”

At first light, we head to the dark house. This two-story building looks fairly normal, aside from its color – it’s hard to imagine what might be awaiting us. All of a sudden, a dark shadow flashes across the second-story window! If we don’t hurry, there goes our lead! Though it’s safer to work as a group, Henry decides to split up. Marv enters from the front, Henry takes the back door, and I am told to stay ready to back them up.

The back door of the dark house leads directly into the basement. All of a sudden, we hear Marv shouting from the front door. At the same time, Henry slips and falls into the basement – the stairs have been coated with tar. He’s in a lot of pain, but I’m afraid to follow him down, so I head to the front door to help Marv.

By the time I get to the front door, Marv has successfully snuck into the

44

Black House

dark house via a side window. He doesn’t mention what he was shouting about before. I follow in his footsteps, hearing the pieces of broken glass and lightbulbs on the floor give away our position. Only now do I realize that our opponent is well prepared.

Henry emerges from the basement, and continues searching the kitchen and bathroom. We meet up at the stairs of the second floor – the two of them are particularly careful heading up the steps. We expect our adversary to be hiding somewhere in the darkness, but the shadow from before appears in front of us, greeting us brazenly. Henry motions for us not to make any sudden moves.

The shadow says, “Go back and tell the old man that I respect him! But you have to face the facts, and stop bullshitting! That’s right, I stole the case, just like he only made it to where he is today by pulling any dirty tricks necessary!”

Henry responds, “Sonny! We mean you no harm! We just want to come to an understanding – maybe there’s a win-win scenario here?”

The young man doesn’t respond, turning and fading into the shadows.

Before Henry can stop him, Marv impatiently rushes up the stairs to the second floor. He sets something off, and is hit by a hidden trap, hurled backwards and landing on the first floor with a THUD! Henry yells at me to take care of Marv as he rushes up the stairs.

Dragging the unconscious Marv outside, I’m worried about Henry.

Twenty minutes later, he’s back, defeat written all over his face. “He already planned his escape route.” Marv stirs a bit, but he keeps blinking uncontrollably, unable to control his facial expressions as he twitches.

If it was a simple robbery, why did the young man set all these traps for us in this house? Or risk getting caught just so we would pass a message to the old man? The utter lack of logic leaves me confused. Henry is disappointed – even the best detectives have their moments of failure. Will he stick with this case, or give up? I keep my mind occupied with these unanswerable questions.

Henry says to me, Don’t forget to write this down when we get back!” I pick up my camera and take a photo of this strange moment in time. A bolt of lightning slashes through the sky, hitting a tree near the house.

45

Farm II

Farm II

46

Farm II

Sarah married straight out of college, moving to work on her husband’s farm. After all these years, she’s learned to run the place, but her husband ironically can’t get used to it. Sarah has come to the conclusion that men are pitiful creatures that are simultaneously weak, yet suffering from overblown egos. In contrast, boys experience the world with a childish bravery – it’s rather cute. But what happens to a boy when he becomes a man… well, that’s a puzzler.

Sarah had a dream last night, of a Boston Terrier she had ten years ago. She’s naked, and it’s rubbing against her leg – it’s not a dream she particularly enjoys.

She’ll be 40 years old tomorrow. Sarah prepares dinner by herself in the kitchen; her husband is in a bar – it wouldn’t be a stretch to say that he actually lives there, without plans to return. She’s just done setting the plates when the sound of footsteps appears on the front porch, and the doorbell rings. Their nearest neighbor, John, lives five kilometers away, and she has no idea who it could be, as she dries her hands to answer the door.

“Hi! Miss me?” the man says.

Sarah can’t believe her eyes. It’s her son Joe. (technically, speaking, sonin-law) She feels faint, and Joe steadies her just in time.

He doesn’t have any luggage, and his shirt and shoes are stained with mud, like a kid returning from an afternoon of baseball. Sarah’s feeling confused; how long has he been gone?

She wonders if she should give him a hug – but her body can’t move.

Sarah ends up turning back into the kitchen, placing another set of dinnerware on the table. The two of them sit down, and there is only the clinking of utensils and sound of chewing. She can’t put her finger on what’s different about him.

“How long has it been?” she breaks the silence.

“Hm… six, seven years? Where’s Dad?” “… oh you know, the same as usual.”

47

Farm II

“Ah, OK. But… well, you still made it, all this time. I shouldn’t have left.

I should’ve stayed to help Dad, helping you run the farm.”

“No, you were right to leave.” Sarah thinks of her life here. “How’s life on the outside?”

“It’s alright.” Joe puts a piece of steak in his mouth.

“Want to talk about it?”

“I dunno Sarah, where would I start?”

“Well… have you met anyone? What work do you do? Or… anything, it’s all good.”

Joe thinks a bit before getting up to see if there is beer in the fridge.

“I went west. When I reached a city, I stopped and found work. I washed dishes in a restaurant before I met a big shot. I was lucky – he was good to me, and I learned a lot from him. He treated me like a son, and I’d do some deliveries for him, or take care of some business-related things, nothing much.”

Joe doesn’t seem willing to go further. Sarah changes the topic, “How about… girls?”

“Right, girls! Man, I didn’t know that they’re all crazy.”

“Joe!” Sarah says in surprise.

“Sorry, Sarah. I just… I wasn’t talking about you.” Joe drinks some beer, and scoops up some mashed potatoes.

“I want to come back. Maybe city life really isn’t for me…”

“What about your job?”

“I quit already. I’m tired.” Joe puts down his fork and knife, puts his hands into his pocket, takes out a jewelry box, and places it on the table.

“Anyway, Happy Birthday, Sarah!”

She opens it up. It’s a set of diamond earrings.

Joe says he’s come back home to help, but he’s rarely around. Three days have passed, and Arthur hasn’t called back once. They call John, who says that Arthur went home early, leaving him in the bar.

They go to the police station to file a report, though no one pays her any mind.

“Ma’am, people file reports here every day,” the police officer with a beer

48

Farm II

belly says, “women saying their men have vanished – somehow we always find them in someone else’s bed, ha!” he takes a sip of coffee, props his feet up on the table, and continues, “I think it’s best if you go home and just tidy up the house, he’ll be back soon…”

A week has passed, and Arthur still hasn’t come home. Joe helps out occasionally, but most of the time he disappears into the brush without a trace.

One evening towards the end of summer, Sarah decides to put her work aside, tailing Joe. Following his trail, she heads south, walking over a ridge, climbing the fence, into a place where the vegetation is chaotic yet full of vitality. Joe’s pace is unsteady, sometimes stopping to look around before swiftly proceeding forward. Somehow, Sarah is able to keep up with him, always latching onto clues just as she is about to lose his trail.

He finally stops by the water. It’s still light out. Sarah has never walked so far before…

He looks as if he wants to dive in. He takes off his clothes and folds them in a pile to one side. She peers at him through the grass, as his muscular body shines from the reflection of the sun on the water’s surface.

Only now does she realize that her son has become a man.

He dives in. She can’t see clearly; the ripples on the water distorting everything within. There appears to be something – a car? Joe brings things up from the water, burying them in a hole dug beforehand, repeating this until sunset. Sarah quietly leaves and follows the original path back home before Joe notices her.

At dinner, Sarah doesn’t dare look directly at him, like a bashful girl. The scent of wild grass lingers in her nose, and the evening sun has left her slightly dazed, with face and forehead radiating head.

Joe asks, “Sarah, are you OK?” “I’m fine, just a bit dizzy… maybe heatstroke from the sun.”

Joe feels Sarah’s forehead, and she feels her ears heating up – but Joe doesn’t say anything.

“I’m… very worried about your father.” Sarah says haltingly. “I don’t

49

Farm II

know when he’ll be back.”

“He won’t. He left us.”

“How do you know?”

“I just do. That’s how Arthur runs away from everyone.” Joe takes Sarah’s face in his hands, looking into her eyes, “But we still have each other.”

As they prepare to head out into the fields the next morning, the phone rings.

Joe picks it up. “Hello?”

“This is the police, is this Sarah from King’s Farm?”

“This is her son speaking, you can talk to me…”

Joe gets in the car after hanging up.

“Who was it? Sarah asks.

Joe responds, “Didn’t John say the harvester wouldn’t be fixed for another two days?” Looking at Sarah, Joe sees the lines that ten years on this farm have left on her face.

She nods.

He grips the steering wheel, suggesting, “Since we’ll be waiting anyway, why don’t we do it somewhere away from this god-forsaken place?”

Looking at the greying skies, Sarah says, “Looks like it will rain…”

50

Farm II

51

Don’t Stop Me Now

Don’t Stop Me Now

52

Don’t Stop Me Now

At three o’clock on a Friday afternoon, Leo parks his police car by the road and sets up the speed radar. He adjusts the seat a bit so it reclines back 15 degrees, takes out his donuts and a cup of coffee, and waits. The tree is the only source of shade on this freeway, and it also happens to perfectly block his car from sight. He spends most of his lazy afternoons here, hoping to catch 2 or 3 speeders before the coffee cools and he goes home.

In the nearly twenty years that Leo has worked as a cop, he’s never fired a single shot. In fact, he often forgets where his service pistol is; after six or seven years on the force, he’d push the tricky cases to junior officers. In this remote town, nothing ever happens, and promotions aren’t something to worry about, just a simple matter of asking the wife to send a pie or gift to the chief ’s house as needed.

Of course, you can’t go around stopping each and every single car on the road – that’s a great way to get shot! Leo’s a smart guy, so he doesn’t pull over luxury cars, or cars with custom modifications. If there’s anything suspicious about it, he retreats in the interest of self-preservation.

Leo has two preferred targets. The first is the large family SUV, driven by the typical white guy with wife and kids in the back, who they think they’re saving money on a motel but end up camping in the wilderness and spending even more on gas to fill up their gas guzzler. These guys typically see themselves as master of the house, fully confident in their own abilities, and love to show off. Getting pulled over and ticketed isn’t particularly painful financially, but quite scarring to the ego. Leo loves it when the wife in the front seat has the “I told you not to drive so fast” or “Didn’t you say there wouldn’t be a problem” expression on her face. He shows them who’s the boss, as a demonstration of power – he is the law.

The other target is his favorite – economy cars, preferably full of scratches. Their owners are generally on fixed salaries, aren’t particularly well off, and generally exchange time and labor for money. They rush from here to there to get some more hours in or two avoid getting pay deducted, and if they’re unlucky, they run into Leo. In contrast to the SUV drivers, economy drivers are always quite chagrined, or utterly servile, attempting to get Leo to go easy on them. Otherwise, they act like they’re completely

53

Don’t Stop Me Now

in the right and leave the car to debate. Regardless of beginning, the end result is always a plea about how tough life is, and that they’ll never do it again, blah blah… of course, as a cop, it is Leo’s responsibility to teach the citizens a lesson, demonstrating the reach of justice. He never lets a single one go!

After returning to the headquarters, the chief rounds everyone up (no more than fifteen of them in all), “First of all, I’d like to thank everyone for the good work they do every day to keep this town safe. As you all know, I’ve been at this job for 33 years now, and it’s time to get some rest. As such, I’m retiring next month, and I’ve already sent my recommendations to the committee of public order.” At this point, the chief winks at Leo. “I’m sure we will have the results shortly. Thank you everyone, dismissed!”

The chief calls Leo over after the meeting. “Leo, you’ve been here for how long, twenty years? Good work. I’ve already arranged things with the committee – just a little more work to make your numbers this month, and no one will have any complaints.” Leo nods as he listens, feeling like he’s finally been validated after years of hard work. The salary of a chief will be enough to pay for the home theater set he’s been dreaming of, and allow him to take his wife out for some nice dinners each week. He rubs his donut-fueled belly contentedly, eager to share the good news with his wife after going home.

Leo calls his wife, “Beauty”. She looks like a lawyer – tall and thin with an educated and solemn appearance, wearing large glasses and a professional haircut. She acts like one too, adjusting her words for detail and clarity depending on the circumstances. Normally Leo’s word is law when he’s out on the roads, but he’s utterly helpless against her, subject to her verbal or physical abuse each day.

They have no children. Leo is actually most proud of the fact that, after over ten years of marriage, they still have sex quite frequently. They do it everywhere – in the bedroom, bathroom, living room, kitchen – every corner of the house. As long as she’s up for it, they go at it.

It was ridiculously hot one summer. Far from the ocean and blessed

54

Don’t Stop Me Now

with only a single dirty river, everyone brought out their inflatable pools for the kids to play in. Leo did the same, filling his pool with water and immersing himself in it, wearing sunglasses and boxers while enjoying a beer, with a book for appearances. After a while, Beauty came out in a onepiece nightdress, and that was enough for him. He tossed the book aside immediately, rubbing against her like a kitten. He felt like he would burn up, and begged her until she finally agreed, and they did it in the pool with her riding on top.

Their blatant debauchery was within full view of the neighbors, as curious neighborhood children peeked over the fence, promptly traumatized by the appalling scene in front of their eyes, as parents rushed out to cover young eyes and ears, shooing them into their homes. Within days, the entire neighborhood was talking about the couple, and when Leo got word of the gossip, he angrily ran into the streets brandishing his gun, yelling, “The next asshole to talk about this gets a bullet!”

Their neighbor Tom somehow didn’t get the message, patting Leo’s shoulder saying with a creepy smile, “Hey man! Nothing to feel embarrassed over, great job!” while giving him a thumbs up. That only made Leo angrier, and he smacked Tom in the face with his pistol, drawing blood. Upon seeing this, Beauty rushed out immediately to stop anything further. In the end, Tom was in the hospital for three weeks, and narrowly avoided losing his sight. It was only due to the intervention of the chief that things got settled down.

Anyway, Leo is finally going to be the highest ranking man of the law in town. Thinking back on Tom, how amazing a feeling it would be to throw him behind bars! If the incident had happened next month, Leo would have sprinkled some drugs from the evidence room in Tom’s house before calling for a search – that would have been the mature thing to do!

Leo tells Beauty the news over dinner. She reasonably understands that she will become the most powerful person in town - Leo controls the town, and she controls Leo. Without even bothering to finish dinner, they do it on the dinner table. After the swimming pool incident, Leo cares even

55

Don’t Stop Me Now

less for the neighbor’s sensibilities, as plates shatter on the ground, and the tranquil evening is filled with their ruckus. They move to the bedroom, loudly playing Queen’s “Don’t Stop Me Now” from the stereo.

“Yeahhh” Leo sings along, “Tonight I’m gonna have myself a real good time… don’t stop Leo now I’m having such a good time… he’s a sex machine ready to reload… a satellite out of control…” he humps along with the music, truly feeling unstoppable. He sings so poorly that Beauty can’t stand it, slapping him across the face, “Shut up and focus!”

That night, the neighbors drew their blinds closed and smothered their ears, hoping to block out the noise with their blankets. Only Tom, eager for another chance to see Beauty naked, peered through their window with a pair of binoculars.

In order to leave a better impression on the committee, Tom went to his tree extra early the next day, hoping to break a new record. Besides a sandwich for lunch, he’s also prepared two donuts and two cups of coffee, one in a thermos.

Silver SUV, 77 miles per hour.

Dark green Ford, 79 miles per hour.

Several hours have gone by, a not a single car has been caught speeding.

The only thing out of the ordinary has been an old car breaking down; the driver walking two miles to Leo’s police car asking for help. Leo says he’s busy, and points a finger towards the auto repair shop.

It must be a test from God! Near dusk, Leo finally catches a car speeding – it’s a familiar red Ford Escape. He mutters to himself, “You’re not getting away!” as the siren blares and the police car rushes out, chasing for about 800 meters. When the window is rolled down Leo is delighted to see that it’s Tom. This is his lucky day!

“Hi Leo, who would’ve thought we’d meet here. How’ve you been?”

“Thanks to you, never better.” Leo says as he takes a look at the number on his speed radar. “82 miles per hour, eh. What’s the hurry, Tom?” “Don’t be like that, man! We’re neighbors, aren’t we? I called it square

56

Don’t Stop Me Now

with you before, didn’t I?” Leo makes an incredulous face, “Are you trying to sway me here? You think that’s right for a proper American man of the law?” he takes out his ticket book and begins to write.

As Leo proudly writes out the ticket, Tom is getting upset, “Don’t push it too far, Leo! This town isn’t all that big, and we all know that the chief ’s retiring soon. You’re not worried at all about word getting out about before, or maybe last night?”

Unluckily for Tom, he’s stepped on a minefield. Leo immediately punches him in the face, breaking his nose, as blood gushes out. Leo drags Tom out of the car, cuffs his hands behind his back, and presses him against the car as he searches Tom for weapons. “Enjoy your stay in prison tonight!” He pushes Tom into the backseat, driving back towards the station.

There are few cars on the road. Tom watches as a grey Toyota Camry approaches at breakneck speed, headlights blinding him from seeing clearly.

He says, “Fuck, that dude has to be doing at least 90!” As they pass each other, he continues, “Oh almighty protector of the people, why the fuck aren’t you going after that guy?”

Leo acts as if he didn’t hear a thing, munching on a donut and driving with one hand on the wheel. He glances at the clock, turns to Tom, and says, “Sorry, I’m off-duty now!”

57

Welcome to Eckleburg

Welcome to Eckleburg

58

Welcome to Eckleburg

The town of Eickleburg is situated between two large metropolitan areas, and was once a prosperous place, at least before the completion of the interstate freeway. It enjoyed a large number of hardworking immigrant workers, and was filled with energy and prestige; now there is little left but gas stations, restaurants providing food of questionable quality, and motels with stained yellow sheets. Other than that, there are also a few stores that provide the bare necessities, with eyes hiding behind window blinds, trying their hardest to think of ways to extract every last bit of cash from travelers on the road.

The town is surrounded by muddy swamps and wasteland, with manhigh reeds sprouting among the groves. The air is dusty, with a tint of mold and gasoline. Humidity causes the town to possess a feeling of constant stuffiness, and a thin layer of dust is always to be found on things indoors.

Some bring their things to the wasteland to throw out, and it takes them in like a fairy tale wishing pool, helping these objects disappear into history.

Others hunt and fish here, selling the meat to restaurants in the town, or curing it at home.

John drives a Ford Model-T truck in the day through the dirt and overgrown grass to his job at the auto shop, going home via a small road devoid of streetlights. For dinner, he takes out some beer and a frozen dinner from the fridge – accompanied, of course, by the television.

Today, John’s wearing a pair of sunglasses and white dress shirt stained at the collar, chewing tobacco as he sits in the air conditioned shop looking out at the parking lot. It’s still uncomfortably sticky and humid, but at least it’s a rare blue in the sky, rather than the typical trashy grey.

He continues to wait, from day to dusk, until the phone rings.

“Hello!” a man’s voice can be heard in the phone.

“Auto shop, how can I help you?” John speaks in a slow and unhurried manner.

The man says, “I need help, my car just skid on the road and my tires are

59

Welcome to Eckleburg

stuck in the mud. Can someone come over and help me out? Maybe a tow truck or something… anyway, get me out of this place!”

“Hey man, no hurry. Where are you at?”

“Oh yeah, I was heading east on the old freeway, just passed the large billboard with a cartoon pig, maybe an hour or so out of town. I don’t know if I ran over something on the road or what. Anyway, I just suddenly lost control and ran off the road; couldn’t do anything…”

John interrupts, “OK, we’ll get someone over to help you, please stay where you are.” and then he hangs up without waiting for a response.

He locks the door to the office and prepares to leave, because there’s no one else here.

The road that the man spoke of is actually the one that John takes on the way home. He’s passed that stupid billboard with the cartoon pig countless times. Two or three years ago, huge statues were the vogue, replacing memorial plaques and bronze figures. Eickleburg was no exception, and after applying for and receiving a large amount of money, the town hired an artist to design something, but ended up getting this pig in a sailor uniform, complete with nighttime lighting.

After passing the pig, there are few people to be seen. John drives for two hours until dark, as fog overtakes the swamp, until he finds the grey Toyota Camry amongst the wild grass, the door on the driver’s side half open.

“Sir?” John gets out and shouts, shining his flashlight at the car, as mosquitos dart about in front of the beam like snowfall.

There is no response.

“Hey! Anyone there?” he walks over, hoping to find the driver to at least make the trip worthwhile, and to scare off anything unfriendly.

The driver’s seat is empty, and there’s a large suitcase in the front passenger seat.

“Why didn’t you just drive into the damn swamp…” John curses the man who has somehow vanished.

60

Welcome to Eckleburg

There’s a grey blanket covering the back seat, rising with the reeds in the night wind. John tenses, instantly regretting not bringing the handgun in the passenger seat (together with his cell phone, albeit out of power). He hopes to find nothing as he lifts the blanket…

He’s utterly caught off guard by the sight of a woman, who had been using the blanket as her only cover. She’s deathly pale and bone thin, lying naked in the trunk. She shivers slightly, as if shocked by the flashlight, but otherwise it’s hard to tell if she’s asleep or unconscious.

The moon is full overhead; no one would pass by at this time. And even if someone did, it wouldn’t do anything. John can’t think of anything else to do but to go home.

He pulls the cable from the winch, hooking it to the tail of the car, and tries to pull it out. He steps on the gas, and the roaring engine pulls the front wheels out from the mud. It appears to go well, but when he tries again to get the rest of the car out, the cable detaches from his truck, sinking into the swamp together with the car.

“FUCK!” his curse disappears into the dark together with the car.

He quickly dashes out to rescue the unconscious woman.

Farther from the road and closer to the swamp, John finds his feet stumbling, steeped in mud all the way to the knees. By the time he finds the car, it’s half-submerged in the water.

The briefcase has cracked open, and wads of cash are floating on the surface…

She’s unhurt in the backseat, immersed in the water and still completely unresponsive. He wraps her in the blanket, hoists her onto his shoulders (he can’t recall the last time he touched a woman), and brings her back to the truck after much time and effort.

Walking through the mud, his mind keeps flashing back to the suitcase…

The indented tire tracks fill with muddy water immediately. Weeds block the road, and only a few markings are visible as he sweeps his flashlight around. He tries to follow them back to the case, but the remaining footprints are inexplicably messy, seemingly human yet animal, like someone was running in circles on purpose, trying to get him lost.

61

Welcome to Eckleburg

It’s as if the swamp is alive, healing its wounds rapidly. Within two days, it will be as if nothing happened. Still, John takes an axe out from the truck, chooses the tree closest to the road, and makes two marks upon it.

John returns to the truck and starts the engine, turning the vehicle around. He decides to head home, because he’s tired, and feels the cold beer and pizza beckoning.

Back on the road, it feels surreal, as if in a dream. The world appears grayscale and without color – the white moon, foggy wilderness, even the blue Volkswagen appear black. The only dash of color is the pink from the woman’s skin…

After returning home, he settles her on the couch, taking food from the fridge and heating it in the microwave. He then goes for a change of clothes in his room, emerging with an extra set of pajamas for the woman.

Her skin looks even drier than it did under the moonlight, as he begins drying her red hair with a towel. When he reaches her face, he notices that her eyes and cheeks are sunken; her shoulders and arms are full of bruises.

He continues down her flat chest, down to the legs.

After wiping her off, he helps her change into pajamas, and spreads a new blanket on her; she remains unconscious the whole time.

He turns on the TV, but the game’s long over. John takes a beer out of the fridge to go with the now heated pizza, and continues flipping through the channels until they’re all playing static. He turns to look at her, noticing that she looks much better than before. A sense of pride swells within him, as if he has given her a new life.

“Welcome to Eckleburg!” he raises his beer towards her in a toast, and finishes it in two gulps.

62

Editor Exhibition Translator Publish Publisher Curator Design

Lu Yao-Chung Decamaron Xevi Solà Serra×Lu Yao-Chung Steven Chen YIRI ARTS Orton Huang YIRI ARTS Anderson Hong