Cheng usually slept like a rock, barely moving once sleep stole over him, and this worked well for the sleep-challenged Ang. He would snuggle against Cheng, an arm draped over him. Lately, his lover felt warmer than normal, and Cheng had tossed and turned the entire night, making sleep impossible.
Ang groaned, pulled a single ear plug out, “Cheng? What are you doing?”
There was no clear answer, not much more than a series of complicated grunts. Ang tried to go back to sleep. He reached into the inky soup of sleep, tried to pull it back over him, back into a dream. He almost succeeded.
The sound of the refrigerator door dinging, warning that the door had been left open, pulled him back out again. He sat up, pulling the other ear plug out and sliding his sleep mask high up onto his forehead.
“Cheng?”
The apartment was mostly dark. Tiny strips of bright sunlight stole through the edges of the blackout curtains. The open door warning on the refrigerator continued to chime.
“Cheng? Close the refrigerator, honey, our power bill is already too expensive.”
Ang could hear Cheng rummaging through the shelves, opening what few containers remained. These past few weeks, Cheng’s normally spare appetite had abruptly increased, and Ang had found the cabinets and fridge emptying at an alarming rate. It was nice, at first. Ang loved the feel of more than skin and bone when he pulled Cheng close. His lover was angular, even gaunt. At least he had been until recently.
Cheng still hadn’t responded and Ang could hear him slurping something down.
Ang frowned, what would he eat if Cheng finished off the leftovers from his shift? “Cheng! Are you eating those noodles I brought home last night? Hey!”
The air was cool on his bare skin as he pushed aside the covers and padded over to the kitchenette. His lover was sitting there, bare assed on the cold cement floor, shoveling the noodles into his mouth.
“By all the gods, Cheng, you are going to choke! At least stop long enough to chew and swallow!
Cheng’s voice was difficult to understand as he muttered around a large mouthful of cabbage, “Sorry. I’m just, I’m just so hungry. I eat and eat and nothing makes it better, I’m still as hungry as when I started.”
Ang stared at him a moment, thinking of the rumors that had been hot and heavy about Guiyang and how travel to the city had been completely shut down a week after Cheng’s return. And then there was that man who had been shoved out of the restaurant last evening after he began gulping down the soy sauce, fish sauce, and any other condiment in reach when his food hadn’t come out soon enough.
“You have been this way since you came back from your mother’s funeral.” Ang reached out and felt Cheng’s forehead, “You feel a little on the warm side, but not too bad. I’ll go talk to Mama Han, maybe she will have some idea.”
“I’m just so hungry Ang, I don’t know what to do.” Cheng ran his finger along the bottom of the paper container, desperate to get the last bits of sauce and vegetables.
He laughed sadly, “My mother would have loved this; she was always trying to feed me.”
Ang felt a thick rope of fear coil inside of him. He had loved the new look at first. He had teased his lover, “I’ll fatten you up like a pig,” Cheng had smiled then, the first smile Ang had seen since Cheng had returned from Guiyang after the funeral.
“If you fatten me up like a pig, I’ll never meet a nice girl like my mother wanted me to.”
Ang had laughed and kissed him, “I’ll send that nice girl packing, you are all mine my darling Dayezhu, and don’t you forget it!”
Ang hadn’t been worried then. A better appetite had smoothed out the hollows under Cheng’s eyes, filled out his cheeks, and helped the ribs and hips look softer and less gaunt. But now? With the whispers of the city of Guiyang quarantined and under a communications blackout, the whispers of some mysterious virus had cropped up. Now he was very much afraid.
“I’m going to get dressed and go see Mama Han. Perhaps she will know what to do.” Ang said, staring as Cheng began to pull out a jar of pickled fish, something he normally hated.
Cheng said nothing, just nodded, and dug into the jar with his fingers.
A few minutes later and Ang was out the door, exhausted and rather hungry himself as he headed for the dingy shop on the corner. Mama Han was the local herbalist, well-known for her traditional Chinese remedies. She was ancient, her tiny body hunched, the wrinkles cutting deep into her face, one eye clouded with cataracts, and the other beginning to film over. Despite this, she knew where everything in the store was.
When the bell above the door dinged, rousting Mama Han from a half-doze in her easy chair near the window. Dressed in black pants and a black top with frog closures on the shoulder, she could have been at home in a 19th century tea shop. Her clothes were neat, but worn. She was taking in the weak morning sunlight, a ragged cat in her lap and another curled at her feet, keeping her aged toes warm. Her great-grandson, a boy of ten, possibly younger, sat in a corner reading from his iBook. He looked up briefly when Ang entered before returning to his reading.
Ang bowed to the old woman. He and Cheng had seen her on a regular basis when Cheng’s parents were still alive. Cheng had sent packages to his parents every week. Teas to strengthen his father’s immune system, powders to ease the pain from his mother’s spreading cancer, and other various compounds. Mama Han had made Cheng’s parents suffering markedly less over the months, dispensing the wisdom she had accrued from more than five generations of Chinese herbalists, all here in this tiny shop.
“Ang,” the old woman croaked at him, “this is early for you.”
Ang nodded, “Yes, Mama Han. It is Cheng.”
He proceeded to tell her about Cheng’s slight fever and hunger, which had been growing steadily over the past few weeks. Mama Han listened to him, nodding occasionally.
“I hear bad things out of Guiyang. Some sickness, with scores dead.” She said, shaking her head, “No one knows what this mystery illness is, or where it came from.”
Ang felt the dark fear coil within him further. Here in this small, nondescript shop, which stank of the myriad of herbs and decoctions, even here he felt hungry, a place with more off-putting smells than the docks which constantly reeked of fish.
“Cheng was in Guiyang last month. He said that the last day he was there, something wasn’t right, people acting crazy.” His stomach gurgled, twisted in hunger. “Do you think he...” he couldn’t even finish the thought.
His love, his world, possibly sick?
The old woman cleared her throat, a thick, bubbling sound. She reached into a greasy paper bag on her right. It sat on a black lacquer table, next to a half full teacup, which contained a greasy-green liquid inside of it. The bag was filled with spring rolls, two of which she held out to Ang and one which she took a bite from, slowly chewing. Ang ate one spring roll, it helped quiet the yawning growl of his stomach somewhat, and then the other, as he waited for Mama Han to speak.
“You bring him here. Let me examine him, maybe I find a better answer than just lotus leaf tea. This illness, whatever it is, is something I have not seen before. So, you bring him here.”
Ang nodded and left the small shop, stopping only to purchase more spring rolls from a street vendor along the way. He bought two dozen, the two that he had eaten had barely dented his appetite. The apartment they shared was in a tall modern building, all concrete and glass. There were dizzying views from every apartment, which helped make up for the oversized shoebox feel of the place, just three hundred square feet in all. The scene which greeted him, however, caused him to drop the bag of spring rolls. There were thirteen still remaining. They rolled about on the floor as Ang stared.
The tiny apartment was typically immaculate, both men obsessive about keeping the small space as neat as possible. It helped it to not feel quite as small. The pillows tastefully arranged on the small couch were the first thing Ang noticed. They were shredded, limp, their inside fiberfill
missing, the cloth torn. But they weren’t the only thing, someone had cut into their sofa, and there were huge holes of missing stuffing.
A small row of pots near the window that were usually filled with lemongrass, Thai basil and fennel were on the floor, the plants missing and dirt scattered in clods across the room.
Ang stared, taking in the scene before him, his brain struggling to understand what his eyes were showing him. Cheng was nowhere in sight, his shoes still neatly set on the mat by the door. His jacket as well. Who would break into their apartment and tear up the pillows and furniture? Hands shaking, he left the spring rolls on the floor where they lay and reached for a knife in the tiny kitchen. The refrigerator hung open, the empty container that had held the pickled cabbage was empty on the floor. He could hear thumps coming from the door to the bathroom.
“Cheng?” Ang’s voice was barely above a whisper.
The Triads were still alive and well in parts of Hong Kong, but Ang had never crossed paths with them. Cheng had mentioned seeing several a few weeks ago at Feng, the popular nightclub he worked at, and there had been an altercation of sorts, one in which Cheng had needed to step in between a pretty girl and a member of the Hei Triad. Could this be some kind of payback? Ang inched slowly down the length of the kitchen, closer to the bathroom door which was partially closed. A crash of pill bottles came next, pills rolling on the floor, out of the bathroom and into the hall.
Ang’s heart hammered in his chest, his palms slick with sweat and his stomach twisting, still hungry despite the spring rolls he had gulped down. He rounded the corner, peering into the bathroom, and let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. The only occupant in the bathroom was Cheng. His skin was gray, shining with sweat. He choked on the handful of pills he had been attempting to dry swallow.
“Stop! Cheng, stop!”
Ang dropped the knife and reached for his lover, knocking the bottle of pills out of his hand. Bits of fiberfill were caught in Cheng’s teeth, while broken bits of pills stuck to his tongue and mashed into his molars. Ang glanced at the pills, some were harmless, or nearly so, although one large bottle had been emptied in its entirety. His lover reached desperately for the pills that were now rolling around the floor like a set of demented dominoes.
“Oh God, Cheng! What have you done?” Ang tried dialing emergency services, his fingers shaking as he dialed 999 and was rewarded with a busy tone. “La shi!” He dialed again, only to hear a dial tone.
Cheng began pulling at the stuffing stuck in his teeth.
The third time Ang dialed, it rang once, “All emergency services are under triage. Report to the nearest health center for treatment.”
“Go tsao de!” He slammed a finger down on the disconnect button.
“Cheng! Please! Get up, get up, I’m taking you to Mama Han!”
It was a struggle, one that he barely was able to win. First Ang found himself wrestling with Cheng who, with extra meat on his bones, was a force to be reckoned with. By scooping up the pills, and insisting Cheng dress before he could have any more, he managed to lead his lover to the doorway, where the bag of spring rolls still stood. He doled them out, one at a time, leading Cheng down to the bank of elevators, then out of the apartment building into a heavy downpour. It soaked them, but it also gave them some level of anonymity as others hustled by, hunched under umbrellas and oblivious to the two as they lurched down the street. Mama Han’s tiny store was less than a block away and Ang heard the bell clang in protest as the door swung open and he hauled Cheng, now out of food, into the store.
It was too late. In the quiet darkness of their empty apartment hours later, Ang huddled alone in their bed and cried. Seconds after crossing the store threshold, Cheng had begun to convulse, the sheer number of pills and whatever effects they were designed to elicit had been too much for Cheng’s already ill body. As Ang and the old woman had tried to help him, one set of convulsions after another racked his body, and sent Cheng’s head slamming down repeatedly on the cracked marble floor.
Much to Ang’s dismay and despair, there was no autopsy. It was Hong Kong, after all. A city with over ten million people in it. One death was lost among many and by the time someone thought to read over what was initially labeled as a drug overdose, the city had already been consumed by the ESH virus.
Say Goodbye
“Probably the most neglected friend you have is you. And yet every man, before he can be a true friend to the world, must first become a friend to himself.” –– L. Ron Hubbard
Date: 05.27.2098
Earth – Seattle, Washington
The night was still cool, despite it being late May.
“Look there, Toby, next to Virgo, but before Scorpius, those faint stars there,” the man crouched next to the little boy, as they both stared intently through the telescope at the sky.
“That’s Libra.”
“I don’t see it,” the boy whined, he shivered and huddled close to Daniel.
Daniel pulled off his jacket and wrapped it around Toby’s tiny frame. Daniel sighed, he knew he should have bought the more expensive telescope.
“You can’t go, Uncle Dan,” Toby nuzzled Daniel, dwarfed by the jacket, “You can’t go somewhere I’ll never see you!”
Daniel’s heart thudded painfully. He looked down at Toby’s mop of blond curls, knowing every moment he spent with Toby and Janine risked exposing their secret. Toby had a father after all, and Luke adored the boy. Daniel, on the other hand, was a third wheel at best. He was great at weekend visits and taking Toby to the circus and carnivals, good for filling the kid up on sugar and greasy foods. He thrived at spoiling him rotten at every opportunity. That was his job, after all. Be the indulgent uncle, the fun guy who swooped in and gave Mommy and Daddy alone time and looked like Toby’s very own personal superhero.
It wasn’t really his style to be a dad. That was what Janine had said early on when she had broken the news to him that she was pregnant and pretty damn sure it was his and not Luke’s.
“You aren’t really dad material, Daniel.” She had looked at the ground when she said it, “It just isn’t your style.”
“Luke doesn’t have to know,” she had said as Daniel struggled to think of something to say. “Besides, it was only once, and really, who would know for sure that Luke wasn’t Toby’s dad?”
Even though the brothers didn’t look anything alike, Luke was dark-haired, while Daniel was blond. But their mom had sported curly blond hair. When Toby popped out seven months later with the same curly blond looks as his paternal grandmother and his uncle, who was to say it wasn’t just a throwback to the past generation?
But Daniel knew. He knew it when he looked at Toby, when the boy sat with him for hours in the dark, peering at the sky. Beyond a doubt, Toby was his flesh and blood, his son.
The little boy leaned against him, “What’s it like up there on Mars?”
“I’ve never been. They live in domes, though, there isn’t any air, and won’t be for hundreds of years. It’s still pretty cold too.”
“Will it be cold on the spaceship?” Toby asked.
“Nah, they’ll keep it warm.”
So how could he go? How could he leave his own child behind? Janine had asked him that too. The “just this once” had happened again, moments after he had broken the news to her two months ago.
Afterward, as they lay naked in bed next to each other, sweat beading on their skin, she had begun to cry, “How can you leave us, Daniel? How can you leave your own son? How can you go so far away, and never return? My God, Toby will grow up without you. Why would you go to such a desolate place?”
Daniel’s tongue had felt thick and swollen. Telling her the truth was impossible. He loved her. But Luke loved her, had married her, damn it.
“And what about gravity Uncle Dan? Will you have gravity or just bounce around in the spaceship?” Toby was full of questions.
“There will be artificial gravity. The gravitational rings around the spa
ceship will make it so that, except for the far ends which are only used for storage, the entire ship will have the equivalent of Earth gravity.”
Luke deserved better than to hear that his wife had cheated on him with his beloved big brother, the guy he had looked up to all his life. He didn’t deserve to hear that Toby was Daniel’s kid and that Janine had married Luke when she got tired of waiting for her true love to stop traveling the world and return to her. Luke didn’t deserve the vision of Daniel and Janine in this bed, making the child he loved and believed was his own.
“Will Zarb...Zarb...” The little boy struggled to pronounce the word.
“Zarmina’s World?”
“Yeah, Zarbeena’s World, will it look like here, Uncle Dan? Like Earth?”
He ruffled the boy’s hair, “It’s different. The sky isn’t blue, more of a white to red, and some of the plants are nearly black. We can breathe the air though. It is tidally locked, as well, because it so much closer to its sun.”
“What does that mean?” Toby asked.
“Tidally locked? Well the planet only shows one face to the sun, kind of like our Moon or Pluto and Charon.”
Toby turned around and stared at Daniel in consternation, “But the Moon is either super-hot or super-cold!”
Daniel laughed, “That’s true. But Zarmina’s World is much bigger, and while there is a light side and a dark side, we won’t be living in either, we will live in the meridian, the half-lit space between the two.”
How could he explain that he had no other choice? That it would destroy all the trust and love and admiration his little brother had ever had for him?
I’m the screw-up here. Not Luke, not even Janine, and certainly not Toby. If I go, I can start again and leave them to their lives. They will be better off without me.
All of this swam through Daniel’s brain as Janine had lain there sobbing next to him. “He’s not my kid, Janine. He’s Luke’s and yours. We agreed on this eight years ago, remember?” His voice sounded remote and hollow. He sat up and gathered his clothes, slipping his jeans back on and searching for his other sock. He had to be gone before Toby and Luke returned from their fishing trip.
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