by Vann Chow
The House of Life
Part I
Vann Chow
Copyright © 2019 by Vann Chow
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
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Contents
Part I
Background
1. The Girl
2. A New Friend
3. A Lost Diary
4. The Dog at the Spanish Resturaunt
5. Basketball Game
6. The Chamber of Life and Nutrition
7. An Old Woman
8. The House of Siu
9. The Truth
10. Dying
11. Master Siu
12. Ghosts and Saints
13. The Psychic Engineers
14. Eclipse
15. Interlopers
16. Alternative Reality
17. Reading of Rights
18. Drunken
19. Banquet with the Living, the Dead and the Unborn
Part One
Background
According to traditional Chinese belief, every year on the fifteenth day of the seventh month on the lunar calendar, the gates of hell would be opened to let the suffering ghosts enjoy a day of rest from the hellish punishments, and be back on earth among the livings to receive offerings by their families and friends, or attend to some unfinished business. Every year on this much-awaited day, these restless spirits would roam free on earth for as long as the gates are opened until the end of the month. This month is celebrated by both the living and the dead, and is called the Yulan Festival or the Hungry Ghost Festival.
In neighborhoods across Hong Kong, on the days that lead up to and during the festival, you’ll see the more superstitious people offering sacrifices to their ancestors, as well as any wandering ghosts, burning incense and joss paper which would be in turn their food, and their currency in hell. The richer, more prominent communities would hold up big banquet and invite everyone to join in the celebration, distributing free rice, and performing live Chinese operas and dramas for the living and the dead in need of a bit of entertaining. All this is to placate them, or distract them from doing any harm to the living during the long month when the two worlds mix.
The story begins on the day before the Hungry Ghost Festival.
Note: For those interested to see photographic reference of the Hungry Ghost Festival, you may find them here: Getty Images.
The Girl
Ian Bennett was staring at nothing in particular from his seat on the MTR, the subway system of Hong Kong, when a girl had approached him. At that moment, he had been trying to avoid eye contact with other riders for about half an hour already although it felt longer than that. It had finally become natural to him to be the constant object of scrutiny in public transportation. It was painful to have to train your eyes not to wander when the crowds around you kept throwing curious and sometimes hostile glances at you but he had learnt to deal with it over the years.
Ian was not especially ugly, physically disabled or the kind of mentally sick patient with involuntary jerks that zip through his spine from time to time which made him impossible to miss. He was perfectly normal in every possible way. The only problem about him was that he was living in the wrong place, hanging out with the wrong kind of people. Wrong not in the ethical sense that they were bad or corrupted. Perhaps it was more appropriate to use the word ‘mismatched’. In a society where genuine connections were scarce, everybody judge everybody by their appearances. So, whenever he spoke to his Chinese friends in perfect Cantonese, random passer-bys would never fail to turn their heads or express a badly concealed countenance of disbelief. One certainly started to ignore them after a while.
He now had a way of diverting his mind from these uncomfortable glances. He learnt to attribute these lingering interests by women and men alike to the fact that he had a very handsome face. But of course, he knew better than that.
Ian was British. He was born looking every bit like one ---- a melancholic set of blue eyes hidden in the deep on his face above a huge crooked nose and protruding cheekbones ---- all these features, he had received thanks, and no thanks, to Scott Bennett who divorced his mother, Mary Sullivan, when he was about 4 months old. He had never seen anything other than the sole surviving picture of Mary kissing a young man on a beach, whom he took as his blood father. The photo was kept in the bottom of the yellowed Bella Donna shoebox together with all the spare changes. He had stopped stealing coins from the shoebox for useless trinkets after he discovered that picture. For a period of time he loathed himself for even committing such a terrible crime, however petty it was, because it put him in line with the hairy monster that had left him fatherless and his mother without a husband.
He had grown up to be a good boy according to most. But his mom, like any responsible caring parent, knew all about her son silly attempts, growing up without a fatherly figure to be his role model. When only a few days ago Ian had returned from the US after two semesters of engineering classes for the summer, sporting a head of awfully spiky hair dyed in thick petroleum black, his mother was somehow not surprised. However, she was not at all approving either. When Ian saw her expression of disapproval hidden underneath a smile of a good woman, he tried to remedy it.
“Mommy,” he said, giving a big hug to the old lady.
He thought his mom must consider him naïve to think that he could disguise himself as an Asian in an ‘Asian’ hair style and hair color. But to him, he simply found this color a lot more attractive than the original dirty brown.
“It’s just the hair.” He assured her. “They will grow back out.” And he gave his mom a warm squeeze. He was still the same old brat. The sole joy of Mary’s life. The only thing that had held her together all these years in this foreign land. They hugged again in front of the arrival gate. One year seemed so long.
Back on to the train, Ian was so bored that he started to amuse himself by observing how uncomfortable other people were. Then he realized that he kind of miss life in the States where everyone was so much more energetic and friendly. He could easily come up with topics for small talks with strangers and they would usually reward his friendliness with the polite amorosity between two neighbors in the States. Here, however, nobody talked to nobody and almost everyone, in their own secrecy, was desperately trying to find something to read as if they might die from a moment of idleness. Of course their demands were fulfilled with plenty of supplies. There were tons of vulgar advertisements stuck onto the walls of the train about new financial services, some magical cosmetics surgery procedures, the best wireless network deals. The sitting benches were not spared the advertising frenzy.
At the moment, Ian was sitting right on top of the face of a clown from Cirque Des Solei who belonged to the famous circus touring Hong Kong in the coming August. Then there was the overhead electronic news display and the newly installed 3D video projectors that let images floated outside opposite glass panel in the darkness of the tunnel like magic. The magic, to most dismay, was selling mutual funds plans that were not in the least a bit romantic as it reminded people of their unprepared financial futures. The most interesting sight though, was how many people were holding electronic entertainment devices. There were men in business suits reading emails from their palm pilots; there were women typing feverishly with two fingers on the tiny pad to reply text messages from gossipy friends; then there was a dozen of students fighting
virtual demons in the world of Kingdom Hearts and the latest version of Final Fantasy in their PSPs.
Knowing how to enjoy oneself was a crucial part of living in a city where 7 million people cramped into a space that was only one-third the size of San Francisco —the constant unwanted closeness, the repulsive breathes of others, the enveloping buildings that seemed to be closing in by the minute — one needed to learn to grow numb and insensitive, and Ian understood this just as well as anyone else living in a city. Hence it was a first for him, after all these years of emotional containment, to react this badly that he almost blushed when the girl had entered the MTR and coincidentally sat on the freshly emptied seat right next to his.
Not only did he stare straight into her large brown eyes when the train door had closed behind her, he also perused her like his favorite novel. In that quarter of a second, his eyes stuck to that girl like butter on bread. It was as if she was an exquisite, perfectly shaped pearl acquired from the Far East and he was a jeweler examining his goods. He sensed that he wasn’t the only one. In fact, there was a change of dynamics in the train cart. Very subtle change but he sensed it. Now the girl was the center of attention. She had stolen away the limelight from him and he was not at all unhappy about that.
The girl had a fair complexion. When her long lean legs crossed he caught a glimpse of her perfectly manicured toes. And she was radiating with such strong aurora of confidence, Ian thought. “I am the lucky guy today.”
Out of all the times this girl had stepped in at the right moment and sat beside him. To others what seemed like an extremely trivial event was to Ian a magical split-second that had totally made his day. And he found himself grateful, to whom he didn't care, for how little room there was between him and his neighbors on this tiny advertisement-splattered sitting bench that was only large enough for five rather skinny Asian even though the six delves on the metallic painted bench suggested the manufacturer seemed to have planned otherwise.
The place where her right arm was brushing the sleeve of Ian’s light blue polo shirt was already burning a hole on his skin. He felt embarrassingly hot. He made an effort to fix this feeling by stretching his neck left and right but he felt stupid when he realized that his squirming must have betrayed him. On the other hand, the girl had been especially still. Ian stole a quick glance at her which unexpectedly landed his sight on her pearl white chest, only barely covered by the tiny blue spaghetti strap top from this angle.
Then he saw the eagle. The blue iconic eagles embroidered at the left chest of her spaghetti top of the American Eagle brand. He was wearing a pair of AE jeans too. The beloved pair of washed out jeans that his new dad, Edwin Fung whom his mother had remarried to when he was 17, had threaten to throw into the trash can if he sees them again because it looked far too worn out, with the shredded rims and hole on the left knee, and far too unfit for the son of a successful man. The girl must have come from the States too, or at least recently visited there, he deduced from what she was wearing. He fancied that she must have family who lives in one of the beautiful townhouses he had seen near the Kingston Club in the suburb of Boston mostly owned by successful professionals like lawyers, cosmetics surgeons and bankers. Judging from her genteel appearance, she very well could have been a student of an extravagant boarding school where students were required to wear catholic school girl uniforms. White button down shirt, blue plaid pattern skirt that allowed her to show long lean legs while sporting a pair of white cotton socks over her black and white saddle shoes that intensified her innocence. And Ian imagined, with her hymn books in hand, she was always the dangerously late to the assembly every morning and had to run through the huge mall of manicured grass between her dormitory to the assembly hall because she, whose beauty was overwhelming even to herself, would always end up spending way too long prancing about in front of the full-length mirror fussing over her silky black hair.
That was the kind of milieu that the girl belonged to, he thought to himself. Well, could she possibly be a college student from my university too? Perhaps we had walked past each other a million times before but never actually met. But that would be absurd, he replied himself. A girl of her caliber would certainly be hard to miss. For a young man in his early twenties, surely no cute face on campus could escape him nor his equally testosterone-charged friends.
Entranced in the imagery of college life, with the girl in the center of the picture, his almost out-of-control mind and body intoxicated with possibility of romance had accidentally nudged the girl on the elbow as he squirmed about in his own seat in his daydreaming.
“Sorry,” he said in embarrassment. He felt his face burning up. He has committed an inexcusable crime. To make acquaintance of a pretty girl is all men’s desire, yet translating that into reality took mental preparation, some strategic planning and possibly the involvement of a few most trusted wingmen that could dutifully keep you focus on your object of desire. However, Ian had none now. And he was, he found out about himself, the type that lost all courage in the face of the mysterious opposite sex.
“That’s okay,” the girl replied in perfect English with a smile. How wonderful was her voice! Ian thought. How gracious was her character to forgive his imprudence of a boy blundering haplessly in her world.
The girl was now holding her head down in deep thought. Ian wondered what the girl was thinking. He secretly hoped that she was lusting for him as much as he did for her. Somewhere someone’s cell phone went off with a widely popular song, ‘You’re Beautiful’ by James Blunt. Ian snorted for it was the most cliché of all to live one’s life through a romantic love song. Yet the melody rang in the depths of his ears and found their echoes in him when the train jerked into motion towards the next station.
“The next station is Tsim Sha Tsui.” The public announcer declared as the train door zapped close and everyone resumed what they were doing while Ian was completely lost in his fantasy world.
A New Friend
When Elise Chow stepped out of the MTR, the clock on her cell phone had cried her failure to make her appointment on time. She sighed and rushed out of underground station to her office. She had intentionally arranged with her new boss so that she could go in right after lunchtime but she was still late even without the issue of having to struggle with waking up early. She had tried many different ways to force herself to be more punctual---setting the alarm clock an hour early, preparing the outfit she had to wear the night before, eating cereal bars instead of a full ham-egg-and-toss type of breakfast — they alleviated the problem but preventive medicine cannot cure a spreading illness. Elise deemed that it was because she had a fluidic view on time. For her type, 8:30 was no difference from 8:35, 8:35 is no different from 8:40. In her mind the extra 5 minutes did not give much of an extra margin. However, the time-fixated people had a very different perspective on time. They saw time as a point and were very inflexible about it. They were the type that would set up meeting at odd minutes like 3:22 pm and be there right when the minute hand stroke twenty-two —not a minute early, not a minute late. It was what made the world run smoothly without a glitch, for these people adhere to their non-negotiable schedules so diligently that our society remained in order under control. And because of them being in charge, Elise was now panicking for she was really worried about her first impression to her new boss and colleagues.
While it did not start as early as planned, everything went smoothly during her first day at the new office as an intern. When Elise packed up at 5:30pm, her flimsy designer’s handbag was weighed down by a thick company’s catalogue, a huge stack of documentations and a couple sixty-page each research papers her manager had given her this afternoon. He wanted her to finish reading them by the end of the week and write up a summary. She sat her heavy bag on her desk for support. The secretary has piled her desk up with so much company stationery that would last her the rest of the summer to use them all. Each one of them had the company sealed of Bilious Electronics on it. Elise picked up
a silver bullet pen from the top of the pile and took a careful long look at the seal. Just as she was doing so, she sensed a shadow looming over her lowered head, she looked up and realized that there was a young man standing next to her. In a moment of shock, her flailing hands shoved her handbag off her desk. It felt to the ground and its content spilled out everywhere.
"Let me help you," the young man said as she bent down to pick up everything from the ground. When they finished, he said, “My name is Michael. Just thought I would come over to introduce myself.” He extended his hand towards her.
“Ohh. Elise Chow. This is my first day at work in Bilious. It’s very nice to meet you!” And she shook his hand. “Which department do you work for?”
The young man contemplated her question for a few seconds before answering with one simple yet stifling word, ‘Legal’.
“Umm…I basically deal with import-export trade laws. Tedious work. Not very interesting.” He added when he saw the curious look in Elise’ face. “Hey, are you leaving the office now? Let’s walk together.” He asked, adjusting the shoulder strap of his leather computer case strung on his right broad shoulder to indicate that he was ready to go.
“Sure.” Elise quickly reordered the chaos on her desk, locked the overhead cabinets clumsily with the new key for the first time and took a quick look around for any odds and ends that needed to be take care of before she left. Seeing that everything was in place, Elise strung her heavy handbag on her right lower shoulder and pronounced to her new colleague with a smile, “I’m ready.”
