Revenge

by S. L. Lim

  She wonders: is it noble, this infinite forbearance, this tendency of not seeing wrongs that others do to him? Or is it just contemptible, self-abnegating, absurd?

  For a moment her vision blurs, and she thinks that she must be about to go under. Years ago, when she was having a cyst removed, the anaesthesist asked: ‘Where were you happy?’ But before she could answer she was drifting away, aimless and formless: a mind without borders, going nowhere at all. This time, the submersion is different. There’s still the tug beneath the water, the body freighted and weighted – but no sense of freedom, no joyous release. Instead she is burning up, submerged in a corrosive pool of rage. She’s on the floor again, lying beside the door with the melting stars, her brother leering over her, fourteen and murderous. She’s up against the wall, his fingers indenting her throat. She is wiping the sweat from her palms, waiting for her exam results, eighteen years old and filled with hope; she’s cleaning the dirt from her father, smeared with his own shit, giggling like a toddler. Her mother’s voice, coming from very far away: ‘Their lives weren’t very meaningful in the scheme of things.’ All the cities she might have walked in: gone. The words she might have written, the insights she might have reached if only her mind hadn’t been nibbled up by the menial, petty business of survival. She only had one youth, given up to morality, the care of old people growing older. She might have had beauty and truth, sex and drugs and young people’s music – Shuying with her back arched like a young gazelle, suspended at the apex of the high jump. And all the while her brother stuffed his face with wonderful experiences, took whatever he could and made for the horizon, treading on the feeble and the dying as he went. She wants to give off a howl that goes on and on, loud enough to shatter the walls of the universe: at sickness, age, unfinished dreams; at time itself. And at her demon brother, his smirking eyes – the sick, leering fourteen-year-old who said that he had power and she had none. The eyes she never gouged out of his skull. The throat she never slit.

  ‘Before I go into my grave,’ she says out loud, ‘I will kill that man.’

  ‘What was that?’ Jun looks at her quizzically, holding a glass of water. He must have fetched it from the kitchen. He looks her full in the face, trusting, as innocent as a rabbit, and for a moment she feels unspeakably sorry for what she is about to do to him.

  ‘Jun,’ she says. ‘How would I go about booking a ticket to Sydney, Australia?’

  1

  The Flying Crumpet

  Some people, Yannie reflected, know how to hide who they truly are. If you are angry enough, your soul sufficiently corroded and acidic, this can paradoxically give rise to a certain evenness of tone. A smooth external mien, which can well be mistaken for stability and well-roundedness. Other people have their histories and selves written on their faces. Evelyn, her brother’s wife, was one of those. She looked like a happy, well-adjusted, loving person. It made Yannie want to throw shoes at her.

  ‘Hello, Yannie! So good to meet you at last. I’m so glad that you could make it! Did you have a good flight? Did you –’

  Yannie tuned out and gave monosyllabic answers. She tried to imagine life as it had been for her sister-in-law. Evelyn Huang was born rich and it showed. Her family owned a Kuala Lumpur based export business and, having no sons, had sent their oldest daughter to England to pursue a law degree. It was there that she met Shan. They went punting together at the age of twenty-two and twenty-three respectively, fell overwhelmingly in love, and had remained so ever since. At some point they migrated to Sydney, two Malaysians sick of London weather. There Evelyn bore their only child, a daughter, Katherine. Today, all dressed up for some cousin’s wedding, Kat looked confident and beautiful. She looked possessed of life in the careless way of someone who has never really considered it might come to an end.

  Yannie watched Evelyn admiring her child, looking as contented as a human being could be. She, too, had been invited to the wedding, as a matter of form more than anything else and presumably without the expectation she would actually come. She took a small pleasure in making everyone pretend they were happy to see her.

  Evelyn was still talking. ‘It’s so wonderful to see you at last. I’m sorry we haven’t had time to talk yet … I’ve been helping out, the whole family has been conscripted putting all of this together. But even so, it’s been so much stress! So much organisation!’ She fanned herself theatrically. Yannie noticed the years abroad had given her a strange mix of an accent – Malaysian, cut-glass English and a touch of what she supposed must be Aussie, although she hadn’t met enough of them yet to be able to really tell. ‘Well, thank God it’s almost over. Where are you staying? How is your teaching business going? Uncle Ah Ming said you were doing very well.’

  Yannie, struck by the onslaught of questions, took a moment to respond. ‘Thank you for asking, Evelyn. Well, Uncle is kind. Actually, I’m not a trained teacher, I tutor students privately. One-on-one teaching is easier.’ She gave a small, breathy laugh, and was immediately embarrassed. Evelyn was sophisticated. She didn’t need to laugh just to break some imaginary awkwardness.

  Evelyn, too, gave a laugh, smoothing over her discomfort. ‘Yes, yes, I know, that sounds just right! My daughter, Kat, is fifteen years old now. But these kids, especially these Aussies – well, you should hear the way they talk. Kat, you know, is very clever – also lazy – she needs to learn to work! I tell her every day, you must make sure that you live up to your potential!’ Evelyn’s fist closed as if to mime her child grasping opportunities. ‘It’s both good and bad, bringing them up over here. There are so many choices, opportunities. But also, so many ways for young people to go off the rails. For our generation, it was different … I remember when I was first working at Allwick’s, I was walking on eggshells! I never expected it would be fun – I was just looking for a way to pay the bills.’

  Yannie noted the studied casualness with which Evelyn had said ‘Allwick’s’. ‘Oh, wow!’ she said dutifully. ‘Is that the big law firm?’ She somewhat doubted Evelyn’s interpretation of her own experiences. She thought that Evelyn had never really had to worry about paying bills in all her life.

  ‘Yes, it was, actually.’ Evelyn dropped her eyes modestly. ‘Still, their generation has its challenges as well. So many bad influences … These days there are so many things which can distract them from their studies. That’s the problem – Kat gets sidetracked very easily.’ Evelyn paused, suddenly anxious, glancing round the room to see if all visible guests were enjoying themselves. Reassured, she turned back to Yannie. ‘But Yannie, I haven’t caught up with you in years. How much longer are you planning to stay in Sydney?’

  ‘Not very long – about one week. I would like to stay longer, but the Aussie dollar is still so strong at the moment. Because of the mining boom, you know.’ Immediately on saying this, she wanted to kick herself in the ankle. The reference to the mining boom came from the in-flight newspaper – she had only the faintest idea of what this actually was. ‘Tell me, how long did you work at Allwick’s?’

  ‘Oh, only two, three years. I was doing very well – they said I could have made partner if I had stuck around!’ Again Evelyn gave a little laugh. ‘But then I had my daughter, you see –’ she looked pious – ‘and I chose to stay at home. So that I could be there, for her education – at very least until she finishes school.’ She dropped her eyes virtuously. ‘Family is most important – all parents want the best for their children! Of course, if you were in my position you would do the same.’ Too late, Evelyn glanced sideways at Yannie, seemingly worried that she’d hit a spinster’s nerve. ‘But don’t let me yak on about myself! Now, Yannie – I want to ask you for a favour. This is very forward, but I would appreciate it if you could have a good chat with my daughter Kat. She needs a good influence. Someone to motivate, encourage her to work hard for her goals.’

  ‘Well, I would love to. But I don’t know why she would listen to me.’ Except as a cautionary tale? Yannie thought but did not say.


  ‘No, don’t be modest. You are a teacher, a professional. You know how to communicate these things.’ Evelyn gave another tinkling laugh. ‘Now, where are you staying? Oh, that’s too far! No, you must stay at our house – at least just for the next few days. Australian hotels are not so comfortable. No Yannie, I insist – you have come so far, it would be a pity not to spend more time together.’ Before Yannie could respond, Evelyn took her arm impulsively. ‘Look, it’s time for them to cut the cake!’

  They observed as the bride and bridegroom climbed a huge platform in the centre of the room, which bore an architectural white cake. The bride was carrying a knife which to Yannie’s eyes looked more like a sword. It was so big she had to wield it with both hands. When the blade was sunk up to the hilt, everyone clapped. Yannie had an urge to yell, ‘Excalibur!’

  Then the cake was wheeled away and moments later a trolley emerged, bearing individually plated slices.

  ‘How did they carve the whole thing up so quickly?’ Yannie asked Evelyn, genuinely impressed.

  Evelyn laughed. ‘It’s not the same cake,’ she explained, not unkindly. ‘The big one is just for display purposes.’

  Against her will, Yannie found herself liking her sister-inlaw. I have had friends, she thought, I have had classmates and students and colleagues, but it is long since I have had a companion.

  *

  The bed smelled crisp the way beds in the tropics rarely do. Too much sweat comes out of their inhabitants, or else the air is too moist and the sheets don’t dry properly, or fast enough. Yannie felt drained, exhausted with impressions and food. The bride and the bridegroom had danced, and everybody was happy, and now all she wanted was sleep; she felt like she could sleep for a year.

  At the last minute she’d got cold feet about staying with her brother, and Evelyn offered to drive her to the hostel. But Shan, not looking at either of them, said: ‘That’s a stupid idea. I’m not going halfway round the bloody city in the opposite direction at this time of night.’ Evelyn said nothing, and Kat said nothing, and it seemed oddly strange and familiar all at the same time.

  Inside their home Yannie saw gleaming tiles and great expanses of dark wood, with moonlight pooling on the floorboards. The sheer magnitude of the place was frightening – you could put your jacket down and never find it again – and Yannie thought, Is this my brother’s normal now? Are there days when, just woken, drowsy, still half-sunk in unreality, he reaches out expecting to find a mattress on the floor, and their parents stirring in the room beside them? Does he open his eyes only to be shocked by the alien radiance, the dazzle of the unfamiliar morning?

  She rolled over in the bed, clutching the warmth of her own thighs. Through the open door she could hear faint sounds coming down the corridor. A snuffling sound – she imagined her brother in his dressing gown, burying his face in Evelyn’s neck. The thought was off-putting.

  There were footsteps in the hallway, and then Kat’s teenage voice.

  ‘Why is she sleeping here?’

  ‘What?’ Evelyn made a sleepy sound of uhhhh in the base of her throat. ‘What are you talking about, Kat?’

  ‘That woman. What is she doing in our house?’

  ‘Shhh! Speak softly, Kat – don’t disturb your father!’ Evelyn’s voice took on the universal exasperated-mother tone. ‘Don’t call her “that woman”. That’s your Auntie Yannie from Malaysia – your father’s sister. I asked her to come and stay with us.’

  ‘But she booked a hotel! I heard her say so. She’s already paid for it, even … I don’t see why you had to give her my room. I like my space. I like my bed.’

  ‘For goodness sake, Kat, you have the guestroom. It’s almost as big. You used to beg to stay in that room when you were little. Anyway, we cannot leave Auntie Yannie in some poky hotel. She’s your aunt – you don’t remember her, you haven’t seen her since you were a baby. She’s family.’

  ‘She’s not my family. I’ve never even met her before. I …’

  ‘Well, better late than never. You can meet her now.’ Evelyn sighed. ‘Anyway, it’s late, Kat. I don’t want to argue with you now. Go back to bed. You can complain more about it to me in the morning.’

  ‘Blah, blah, blah, blah.’ Yannie could tell that Kat was pouting. ‘OK, OK. Goodnight then, Ma.’

  ‘Love you.’

  ‘Love you.’

  Feet on the floorboards. A flicker of light, and the sound of a door closing. Yannie lay with her eyes open, letting them adjust to the darkness, looking up again at the shapes which formed gradually in the space around the ceiling. She kicked out her foot, felt it collide with something hard – the sound reverberated, accentuating how large the bedroom was compared with her bedroom back home. She thought of Jun in his apartment, drinking his three-in-one coffee sachets without her. She thought of Shuying. She thought and thought, and drifted off, with the thoughts winding round one another, in a house built from unconsciousness.

  *

  When she woke it was already late, her body not yet accustomed to the time difference. A hard beam of sun grabbed her through the window. She lay on her back for a while, letting her eyes adjust to the unfamiliar brightness.

  ‘Good morning, Auntie Yannie!’ Kat was at the door, covered in smiles. ‘Will you have breakfast with us?’

  She climbed slowly out of bed and made her way to the dining room. She found Evelyn laying plates on the table, scrambled eggs and strips of bacon wafting tendrils of fat into the morning air. She wondered when they had started to eat Western-style breakfasts; whether they did it every day, or if it had been put on for her benefit. The eggs seemed brighter, more yellow somehow, than the eggs back home. She hadn’t thought to take her sleeping clothes off, and was embarrassed by how put-together Evelyn seemed, in a crisp T-shirt that seemed to ostentatiously proclaim its own casualness.

  ‘Good morning!’ Her brother was emerging from the bathroom. ‘Hmmm, what’s this, bacon and eggs?’ He came up behind Evelyn, still standing at the stove, and planted a kiss on the back of her neck.

  ‘You know it is, Shan,’ Evelyn said. She sounded rather weary but was smiling all the same. ‘Go on, sit down. Kat, put the crumpets in the toaster.’ Shan took his place at the table, leaning his chair back and stretching out his feet, so that Yannie had to squeeze sideways through the gap in order to sit down.

  They ate mostly in silence, a companionable quiet rather than an awkward one. Occasionally Evelyn would make some friendly, inconsequential remark, but you could tell it was for Yannie’s benefit. Kat ate voraciously, rapidly, posting parcels of egg and toast down the cavern of her throat and into her stomach. Evelyn cut her food into neat, uniform little pieces, which she then inserted into her mouth with minimal tongue exposure. Yannie watched in admiration. She looked at the space around her own plate and realised with shame that it was already sprayed with crumbs. She’d hardly ever eaten with a knife and fork. Usually at home, she just bit things into pieces off the prongs of her fork or sawed them in half using the edge of a metal spoon.

  ‘So, Yannie.’ She almost jumped. Shan was looking at her jovially while buttering a crumpet. ‘How’s the teaching going? Evelyn mentioned you’d set up some kind of home-based business.’ He took a moon-shaped bite, squirting butter onto the plate. Kat muttered, ‘Uh, gross,’ and picked up her plate to take it to the sink.

  Yannie cleared her throat. ‘Well, it’s not bad. I think I provide a good service. I have regular students, so it’s a decent extra income, although not enough by itself – I still work at the office. And it’s all in cash, so I don’t pay tax –’

  ‘Money under the table, eh? Ah, yes, I see.’ Shan guffawed, not looking at her. Even as a child, she remembered, he had always loved evidence of venality, corruption. ‘Education, that’s a growth area. Nothing that parents won’t spend for their children. Not just spending – it’s an investment strategy. Paying for your own pension.’

  Yes, but not always the most successful strategy, Yannie was tempted
to say. But Shan was no longer listening – abruptly he had started to hum and fiddle with his phone. Abruptly, still jovial, he turned around to Evelyn. ‘Darling, have you sent off my envelope to the superannuation people?’

  ‘Sent what?’ Evelyn looked blank, and then slapped her forehead. ‘Oh, the one that was by the door.’ Yannie and her brother both turned to see an orange A4 rectangle leaning next to the shoe rack. ‘Alamak! No, it’s still there. I’m sorry, ah.’ Yannie noticed how, under stress, Evelyn’s accent turned notably Malaysian. ‘I’ll do it first thing today.’

  ‘You haven’t posted it.’ Both Evelyn and Kat had gone extremely still. ‘Well, you see, this is a problem, because it was actually due last week. The due date is in four days’ time. When, pray tell, did you plan on doing this?’

  ‘Sorry, ah, sorry. It just slipped my mind. I’ll go and post it right away this morning –’

  ‘You’ll post it today, will you? On a Sunday? Idiocy.’ Shan’s face was almost comically distorted. He enunciated syllables with force. ‘Well, that’s just wonderful, isn’t it? You have all day sitting on your backside here. How hard can it be, one simple action … for fuck’s sake!’

  Yannie flinched as she saw Shan’s hand move through the air. She saw an object flying, a hot golden blur. The crumpet sailed through the air, collided with some force against the sliding glass doors, and slid to the carpet.

  ‘There’s no need to do this,’ Evelyn said softly, not looking at anybody’s face.

  Kat, legs folded on the couch, also avoiding eye contact, said: ‘If you hadn’t left it until the last minute, you could have posted it weeks ago. Who says that it’s Mum’s job to post the letters? You didn’t have to just leave it there on the floor for her to pick up.’