Three Sons

by Saxon Keeley

  As Jack said, one of the vendors approaches their table. A young and handsome man, he lays out two tall glasses and cheekily raises an eyebrow at her. Receiving a shy nod, the mixologist begins his spectacle, launching a glass bottle over his head whilst spinning another in his hand, he catches the first behind his back with expert timing. Juggling them over and around his body he then pours the two liquids, blending them to make a sweet orange concoction. A dash of something purple rises to the surface and the drink is finished off with a leaf that sticks out from the top. Thoroughly entertained, Jessica gives him a soft round of applause. He slips the bill and two metal straws on the table before moving on to the next.

  The cocktail is more a work of art than something to wet your pallet, and Jessica feels a little guilty of having to drink it. Never having tried alcohol before, she tentatively sips enough to coat her tongue. A burst of flavours awakens her taste buds, sour fruity blends with a hint of spice masks the bitterness of the liquor. Unsure of what to make of it, she can feel the warmth of the alcohol traveling through her. It will be a drink she must take slowly.

  “It’s better if you mix in the purple,” said Jack arriving at the table with many plates and bowls balanced in his arms. Helping him unload the dishes, Jessica keeps one eye on their stools sensing the moment she stood up someone eyeing them. “I didn’t bother with any of the meat dishes, everyone knows it’s all fake.”

  “Wow, this is so much. How can you afford all this?”

  “I don’t look after the boarders for free, you know. The Academy pays me a tidy sum for what I do, beats having to find a part time job in the city.”

  Money is not the reason why Jack took the job, he would have done it regardless. The students living at The Academy know they can always confide in him. After lights out he leaves his door ajar for half an hour, many of the younger children often come to settle their thoughts before they head off to sleep, the older students who remember the Revolt come to offload the lasting trauma. Once a night he walks the corridors to make sure no one is crying or suffering night terrors. Jessica, having been hiding in the wardrobe during those upsetting conversations, and not intentionally trying to listen, is taken by Jack’s compassion and patience.

  Jack passes over a pair of chopsticks that he’d kept safe in his pocket, then they take their seats. The food smells as good as it looks, it tastes even better. In one bite Jessica falls in love with Lotus Garden street food, reminding her of her uncle’s cooking.

  “This is so good,” she moaned with her mouth still full.

  She makes her way around each of the dishes, both sharing their favourites and suggesting what goes well with what. Devouring a bao, Jessica notice’s that Jack has slowed down and hasn’t taken his eyes off her for a while.

  “What’s the matter?” she asked self-conscious.

  “You’re amazing.”

  She can feel the glow of her cheeks as she blushes, wiping her lips with her sleeve she hides herself until she feels less red. It is probably just the alcohol speaking, but it is what she has wanted to hear from him for a while. In her guarded manner, a manner which she never used to feel was part of her, she dismissed him, “You’re making a fool of yourself.”

  “If being a fool is what I am, then it’s all I’ve got.”

  “And it is all that you shall have,” Jessica said this time more teasingly.

  “Well,” Jack laughed, not sure how to respond. He takes his chopsticks and picks at the food again. She worries that she was to blunt and decides that she didn’t really mean it, but the awkwardness is only felt on her half and before she can retract what she said, Jack passes over a bowl. “Try the crispy seaweed. I mean it’s not actually seaweed but it’s tasty.”

  Jack pays the bill and the two stay to watch the end of the band’s performance. The set only lasted for a couple more songs, enough time to get one last cocktail in.

  Lamps are replaced by stars as they walk through the Lotus Gardens ending up along the canal. A blue hue blankets Maia. Although their breath is visible there is no snowfall yet. Drunk off the euphoria of the evening, Jessica feels as though they are the only two people in the city. The only two people in the Charted Systems.

  She playfully nudges Jack and runs along the canal. Over the middle of the nearest bridge he catches her, holding her in his arms. Inches away and still she wants him to lean in closer. Her lips touch his. Her heart beats so fast, like the shock of missing a step that is not there. Then, she allows herself to fall, kissing him again.

  No time at all is taken getting back to The Academy and he helps Jessica climb through the window. Their bodies as silhouettes in the pale blue light. She kisses him softly, leading him over towards the bed. In his ear, she whispers to him what she wants. She unbuttons her top. His touch is gentle. They spend the night laying together.

  Neo-Shanxi

  Alexander Jung

  His father checks his watch again as if it would bring forth the Vice Chairman. “He was supposed to meet us here.”

  “Perhaps he got caught up at the Assembly,” suggested Alexander, bored of waiting on the landing pad when the city he was born in waits for them at the end of the ramp. It has been almost a decade since he last saw the colony, none of his memories serve Shanxi any justice being far more exquisite than he remembered. Towering into the clouds is The Assembly, surrounded by the distinctly beautiful architecture of the Political District. Even the Trading District where the landing pad is, is more sanitary than when he spent evenings with his mother in the nightclubs.

  “I suppose you are right. Come on, let us go and meet him.”

  The streets are narrow and crowded, his father weaves in and out of the large crowds like it was second nature, but people barge into Alexander almost knocking him off the pavement and into the dry waterways. For the most part Alexander finds the people rude, lacking in manners as they plough down the street with no regard for anyone else. Occasionally someone will mind where they are going and tip their hat at his father. In fear of not wanting to upset anyone, Alexander does not say anything when he is bashed into again.

  It is a busy city with a high concentration of people. Train lines are filled with commuters. Teahouses and salons don’t have a single empty seat. Because of the drought, the air is stale and there is a strong whiff of body odour wherever they go. Rain has not fallen on Shanxi for months.

  As they pass through the gates into the Political District a group of female students from the university hand out flyers. Five of the girls are dressed in torn cheongsams, their hands painted red. They shout over the disinterested crowds, chanting about the loss of Shanxi mothers, sisters and daughters. One of the five girls manage to catch Alexander’s eye and before he can slip away she passes him a flyer. In bold red it reads:

  THE SPECIAL WEIGHT OF THE WORD WOMAN

  Nothing like this happens on Maia and Alexander is all rather baffled by the situation, not sure whether to thank her or ignore her. Instead he stands there holding the flyer pretending to read it. His feigning interest is enough for her to strike up conversation.

  “You are Alexander Jung, are you not?”

  “Yes, but how did you know that?” he asked.

  “Everyone on Shanxi knows who the grandchild of Dr Charles Jung is,” she said with a hint of excitement. He is puzzled at the notion that a whole colony of strangers would know who he is, especially when he is not a public figure. “Tonight, we are having a meeting at the university, you should come.”

  “I will try to make it,” he said only to be polite. She gives him a hopeful smile and her name, which he instantly forgets, before returning to her fellow protesters.

  When he catches up with his father at Liang Huazhi Square a sickness stirs at the pit of his stomach. Being back on Neo-Shanxi is bizarre, the city and the people are not how he remembered. Here though the feeling is different. Emotions long since buried and forgotten resurface. Vivid memories of the ceremony that took place come flooding back to him.
Last time he stood in this square he was with his father, uncles and cousins while countless names where being read out by a beautiful woman with an unusual accent that reminded him of his grandparents, whose native tongue was not Chinese. At the time he couldn’t comprehend what was going on. When his mother’s and grandparents’ names were read aloud he knew that he would never get to see them again. After the ceremony people kept using the word ‘liberation’ like it should hold some intrinsic value, however nothing would bring them back. His father and uncle took him to a quiet part of the Imperial Gardens where a large hole in the ground and a coffin waited for them. He was told his mother was inside but they refused to let him see. For the whole time they were there he cried. For days he cried. Months after on Maia he cried. He cried so much his father didn’t know what to do with him. It wasn’t until The Academy where he met a boy the same age as him who too had lost his mother did he stop crying.

  At the foot of the steps to the Assembly a tear rolls down his cheek.

  “Alexander, over here,” instructed his father.

  Met by the imposing Neo-Shanxi Dragon, the entrance hall is grand but empty. Once a bustling hub of politics and economic matters, it is now not much more than an extravagant waiting room. Even the pond around the dragon is bone-dry, Alexander wonders what happened to the orange and white fish that use to populate this little pond.

  The receptionist announced their arrival then explained that the Vice Chairman will be with them shortly and to take a seat.

  From the elevator, out steps an impeccably dressed middle-aged man. Although he wears the Neo-Shanxi Dragon on his chest it doesn’t carry the same significance it once held. Since the liberation all other parties have been dissolved and the Assembly is seated by a select oligarch of families loyal to the colony and to the Chairman himself, Uncle Alistair. The Assembly Hall does not see the lively discourses it once did under Chairman Zhang. Hobbling down the stairs Lin Zongren greets Alexander’s father with a smile.

  “Oscar, it has been too long. You look well.” Lin then turns to Alexander with the same smile.

  “Vice Chairman Lin Zongren, let me introduce you to my son.”

  “Little Alexander Jung,” he said bowing at the same time Alexander went to shake his hand. Lin ignores the Western greeting and continued, “Well, not so little anymore. I heard that you have a gifted mind, just like your grandfather.”

  “I do not know about that Vice Chairman, but I do have an interest in many scientific fields,” said Alexander.

  Lin spots the flyer sticking out of his pocket and chuckles. “I see you have already become acquainted with some of our impassioned students. The young women on Neo-Shanxi are strong willed, it is inspiring to see them take a hold of their future. During your stay, we should make point to visit the university, I think you will be impressed with our facilities.”

  “Yes, that would be nice.”

  Turning back to his father, Lin apologised, “I would ordinarily suggest freshening up before dinner but, as you may have already figured out, water reserves are low and the whole colony is rationing what little we have left while we wait for the shipment to arrive from Mu. The Families are leading by example on this matter.”

  Although Alexander does not want to accuse the Vice Chairman of being disingenuous, he does not have the same waft of body odour following him as the other colonists do. Alexander decides he shouldn’t be so quick to judge as perhaps it is coincidentally his wash day.

  “We completely understand. Besides we took the opportunity to wash before departing the ship. Skipping straight to dinner sounds perfect,” Oscar accepted.

  Across the square, they enter Salon de Ning, the former Chairman’s favourite place to unwind Alexander is assured. Hung on the walls of the entrance are framed posters from the occupation in perfect condition. Slogans champion the young. Unflattering caricatures of the Gang of Four are branded as criminals. People standing in defiance under the morning sun with the characters ‘Three Sons’ in the centre. None of them are familiar. The sense of nationalism also eludes him.

  The waiter shows them to their table, with a clear view of the stage these are the best seats in the Salon, then explains that everything on the menu is compliments of the house. Having spent such little time with his father in recent years, Alexander has forgotten the power, respect and favour he commands amongst the Loyalists. Straight away Oscar orders the hardest drink they serve and to bring out whatever the chief’s recommendation is. In keeping with rediscovering his childhood Alexander orders his old favourite Kung Pao and a bottle of beer.

  Around the room an ethos of elites dinning, drinking, gossiping and exchanging anecdotes plays out, something he considers hasn’t changed very much over the years.

  Dinner is nice, but not as nice as he remembered. The bottle of beer goes untouched. His father on the other hand takes advantage of the free drinks, though he laughs and jokes with the Vice Chairman he does not seem to be happy to be back.

  It took a long time for Alexander to place the lady performing on stage, when he last saw her perform it was during the ceremony. For such a large colony it seems so small, wherever he goes the past haunts him. She finishes her rendition of a classic C-pop song then brings the applause to an abrupt end. She looks directly at them. Alexander shrinks in his chair.

  “Good evening. I hope you are all enjoying yourselves, allowing the drink to flow and conversation to lift your spirits. If I can ask for your attention just for a minute or two. For those who are not aware, we are joined tonight by a very special guest. Please give a warm welcome to Oscar Jung,” she announced. Everyone in Salon de Ning claps and a spotlight swivels around in their direction. For a horrifying moment, their table is the centre of attention. “We may be at war with Separatist colonies, but lest we forget Neo-Shanxi before the Three Sons. On this very stage I protested the exploitation of my fellow sisters. The CERE stripped us of opportunity, education and liberty. Our only worth was our bodies. So few of us had any sort of future. Lest we forget how that manifested itself. Mothers, daughters and sisters all lost. Now I see a new path, not just for women, not just for Chinese, but for the whole of Neo-Shanxi. The young have carved a new history, the young are led by the Three Sons.”

  The crowd cheer, clap and bang on the tables. Under the noise, she whispers something to her band and they flick through their music sheets.

  “The university was shut down by the CERE and my education was cut short, as a young woman I was determined not to fall into the same cycle as my sisters so I began working in nightclubs and salons across the city, aspiring to one day perform in front of crowds such as this, powerful and influential, just to get my voice and the hundreds of other silent voices heard. I was fortunate during that time to see one of Neo-Shanxi’s brightest stars perform. Her golden voice enraptured the hardest of hearts, how she captured a room was paramount,” she said, then paused for effect. “My next song, ‘Wandering Songstress’. Dedicated to the memory of Xuan Jung.”

  The sickness stirs again. Alexander feels a lump in the back of his throat. She sings the first line into the microphone mimicking his mother’s voice, the likeness is uncanny. His father simply shuts down throwing back his drink in one.

  “I am stepping outside for some air,” Alexander whispered into his ear to no response. It was as much as he could say. His bottom lip trembles and he hides his tears from the waiters standing by the exit as he leaves.

  Nights on Shanxi are warm, a stark contrast to Maia. He learns that he knows the city layout better then he thought he did and makes his way to the gate leading to the Imperial Gardens. On the other side of the low cream walls that separate the two districts is a lustrous garden that has been maintained even during this drought. A garden like this could never survive on Maia, its beauty too delicate and its nature too mercurial. The flowers’ sweet scent is another thing that brings him back to his childhood.

  His mother’s grave has been well tended too. He has never witnessed
the season on Earth they would call ‘spring’, but the colours that surround her headstone remind him of the paintings he has admired and the poets verses he has studied. Something he thinks she would appreciate. The black granite has withstood the weather and the gold engravings have gone untampered.

  What surprises him is the lack of room beside her. In life, his mother was always lonely. His father used any excuse to stay at work. On stage, she was only ever the one in the spotlight. She never really did fit in with the family. In death, nothing has changed. She is alone and will spend the rest of eternity in this garden accompanied only by the blossoms.

  Knelt in front of her grave Alexander cries. “I am sorry Mother. I should have come to visit you sooner. It is just…just so hard being back,” he let out aloud. “I miss you. So much. Everyone who ever truly cared for me has gone. I am by myself all of the time and I cannot bare it.”

  Having thought that he was alone he is shocked to hear a rustling from the bushes. Two bug-like-eyes watch him from the darkness. Either foolishness or fear makes him hold his ground staring back at the shadow.

  The shadow steps out from the bushes yet his figure is still not fully visible. Any light that touches the black figure is absorbed into the void. The two eyes look down upon him from inside the hood. His rain mac flutters in a breeze that Alexander cannot feel. The shadow carries a Jian loosely wrapped in cloth and the blade is covered in dried blood.

  “Do you miss her?” asked the shadow in perfect Chinese, the voice muffled behind a mask. When he gets no reply, he asked again, “Do you miss your mother?”

  “Of course, I do,” croaked Alexander. “There is not a single day that goes by that I do not wish for her to still be alive.”

  The shadow turns his head and looks towards the city. “At least your father is around to carry some of that weight.”