Map of the Invisible World: A Novel

by Tash Aw

  “But what are you doing? We aren’t allowed here. We should be asleep.”

  “I know. That’s why you should have stayed in bed.”

  “I couldn’t sleep. I’m excited about tomorrow.”

  Johan did not reply. All Adam could hear was the sea breeze that had picked up a little; it carried the sound of the water beyond, and suddenly the sea seemed close by, attainable. Johan sighed. “Idiot,” he said, but he did not sound angry. “Come on, it’s not far.”

  They stumbled over rough ground, their ankles scraping against rocks. Ahead of them they could hear the foamy rush of the retreating tide, the froth and pull of the waves on the shore; and underfoot they could feel the thorny grass giving way to sandier ground. But still the sea remained out of sight, beyond a screen of scrubby bushes and a thick barrier of rocks. There was light in the night sky, enough to make out the thin tidal rivulets that snaked toward the sea; but when Adam and Johan looked up at the sky they saw it was shrouded in cloud and they could not tell where the moon was. They reached the foot of a mound of sharp volcanic rock that was silvery with brine. Johan went first, picking his way nimbly amid boulders that were powdery to the touch. Sometimes loose shards fell away beneath his feet, but he was quick and sure and did not slow down. From time to time he would stop and wait for Adam, reaching out to guide him and make sure he did not fall. He did not like it when Adam fell. But the sea was close by now, and Johan and Adam could smell the freshness of the breeze and hear the rumble of the waves that grew louder as they scrambled up the slope; even when they slipped they did not feel the sharpness of the rocks underfoot.

  “There, Adam,” Johan said when they reached the top of the rocks. “There it is.”

  Adam sat on the low, flat boulder beside him. He was out of breath from the climb, and his eyes took time to adjust to what lay before him: an immensity of darkness, flecked now and then with glimmers of light on the crests of waves. He had not expected the color of the sea, either, an inky blackness that matched the color of the night sky. He could not make out the horizon.

  Johan put his arm around Adam’s shoulders. “We’ve done it. We always said we would see the sea one day. Together.”

  Adam nodded. He pulled at Johan’s arm and Johan felt how small his hand was. “On the other side of the sea,” Adam whispered, “is that our new home?”

  Johan did not answer.

  “Our new home is far away, I guess,” said Adam, “all the way over there.”

  “Yes,” said Johan at last. “Somewhere over there.”

  “Really?” Johan felt the tug of Adam’s hand again, his quick shallow breaths that always came when he was excited, or scared. “We won’t be able to see the orphanage from over there, will we?”

  “I don’t suppose so. The sea is very wide.”

  “I don’t think I like it. The sea, I mean. It frightens me.”

  Johan continued to stare into the distance. “It’s time to go now, Adam. You have to go to sleep and be up early tomorrow. Be a good boy. It’s a big day for you.”

  “Okay.”

  “You can find your way home. Don’t look back, just keep going until you’re at the orphanage, okay? I’ll be along soon, don’t worry.”

  “Why don’t you come back too?”

  “I just want to stay here for a while, look at the sea. I like it. Anyway, I’m older than you, remember?” He laughed and Adam felt better. “Go home and sleep. I’ll be back soon.”

  Adam got up and began to pick his way between the rocks. He did not like being on his own, but he had always done what Johan told him to do, and Johan had never been wrong. He began to think that maybe he was silly to have been frightened by the sea. Johan was not frightened by the sea; Johan was not frightened of anything. Adam paused at the foot of the rocks. He had been silly to tell Johan that he was afraid of the sea; perhaps he would go back and sit with Johan and show that he was not so afraid after all. He would climb the rocks again, and they would sit together for a while, and then they would walk back to the orphanage and in the morning they would travel to their new home; there was nothing to be afraid of.

  Johan was not there when Adam traced his way back to where they had been sitting. He looked down along the line of boulders, but there was no movement. Out to sea: Halfway along the wide, flat beach Johan was walking slowly toward the dark water, to the area where the sand was not light-colored but gray and wet from the outgoing tide. The shallows were scattered with rocks that protruded from the water like sea creatures emerging from the depths. Adam did not want to venture into the water; he was seized by the urge to call out to Johan. Don’t go there, Johan, don’t go there, he wanted to shout. But Johan was already too far away and the wind had picked up again and Adam knew Johan would not hear him.

  Adam ran toward the sea. Suddenly he knew that Johan should not go into the water. “Johan!” he cried. He ran across the sand; tiny sharp things pricked his feet but he did not stop running. It was difficult to run in the thick sand. He slipped and fell. It did not hurt when he fell. At some point it turned damp and muddy and sticky underfoot and there were rocks everywhere. Still he did not stop running. Johan was far away now, wading in the shallows, the water up to his calves. Adam slipped on a rock. He felt it slice through the side of his foot like a sharp, thin blade but it did not hurt. The sand turned to mud, and he could not run quickly. Johan. He looked ahead but Johan did not turn around. The mud was cold and there were things in it, cold, hard things that Adam could feel on his feet and he did not like it. Shells, maybe they were shells. He felt water between his toes, then up to his ankles. The water was warm and made the mud feel less cold and Johan was standing still now, looking out at the emptiness of the sea before him. The water came up to his knees but sometimes it would swell and rise to his waist before falling away again. Adam waded deeper into the water. He could see Johan’s back, the white shirt streaked with dirt. The people at the orphanage had made them put on shirts that morning, him and Adam, because they were to be presented to those nice foreigners who were going to take them away. The shirts had been fresh and clean, but now they were dirty.

  “Don’t go there,” Adam cried as loudly as he could. “Don’t leave me, Johan.”

  Johan turned around slowly. It was dark and Adam could not see his face properly. The waves washed around his knees and made him feel unsteady.

  “Go back, Adam. I told you, you shouldn’t have followed me.” He spoke calmly, but Adam knew he was not calm. Adam waded toward him; the sharp pebbles and the mud did not bother him anymore.

  “Adam, don’t.”

  “But why? What are you doing?”

  Johan turned away from him, looking out to sea as if searching for some invisible object. Adam could feel the water rising to his rib cage.

  “Johan, what’s wrong? Come back. I can’t see your face. I can’t see your face.” And it was this faceless Johan that terrified Adam more than the sea and the dangerous things that lurked in the mud.

  Johan did not move. “Don’t look at me, Adam. Go back. Please.”

  Adam did not want to cry, he did not want to upset Johan even more, but his eyes were already cloudy with tears. He stopped trying to reach Johan. He would never be able to get to him. He knew that now. His brother wanted to go away from him, and there was nothing he could do. He said, “You said you would never leave me, Johan.” The waves washed gently around his waist and made his shirt damp and cold. He rubbed his eyes and they smarted from the saltwater on his hands. He was right to have been afraid of the sea. He did not want to be here. He wanted to forget this place, this time, forever. This world, he thought, was not a good place, for in this world you could find yourself alone in an instant. You turned away and all was lost, washed out to sea. He wished he were in some other world, someplace other than this.

  “Don’t cry, you idiot,” Johan said. He was alongside Adam now; he smacked Adam on the back of the head and pulled his ear. “Silly boy,” he said, “I only wanted to g
o for a swim, see what it’s like. I’ve never been swimming. You don’t like the sea. That’s why I said you shouldn’t have come.”

  “I was frightened. The sea. I was afraid.”

  Adam could not stop crying. It was stupid, but he could not stop: Johan was with him now, and everything would be all right. Everything would be all right.

  “You idiot,” Johan said, putting his arm around Adam. “Just forget about it. Just pretend it didn’t happen.”

  They reached the shore where the sand was dry and not muddy. They climbed the rocks again and found that it was not so difficult this time. They walked home in the murky darkness, and when they reached the orphanage they found it just as it had always been. They took off their wet clothes and slept in Johan’s bed. Adam felt safe again; he felt the unchanging warmth of Johan’s body and he was no longer afraid. Tomorrow their lives would change, but he was not afraid.

  Johan said, “Go to sleep now, Adam. Forget it all. You’re a good boy. Don’t worry, I won’t leave you. Go to sleep.”

  · 34 ·

  The Great Post Road stretches a thousand kilometers across the north coast of Java, from Anyer in the west to Panarukan in the east. It is surprisingly smooth, especially given the terrain through which it runs: It cuts determinedly across the mosquito-filled marshland on the coastline of the Java Sea and does not flinch when it begins its ascent into the hills around Sumedang. It is all the more remarkable when you consider that it was built in less than a year, in 1808. What is less surprising is that thousands died during its construction—of malaria, sunstroke, famine, and simple exhaustion. Even with modern cars it is a long journey. The road is sun-baked and the air that comes in through the open windows is warm and dry and does little to alleviate the discomfort of the traveler. There is plenty of time to think about the things that may have taken place on this route in days past; all the things that may have happened in your life.

  The road ends in the far east of Java. Farther along there are ferry ports to the islands, like Ketapang, just a short hop away from Bali, and then on to the outlying islands that few ever visit. In these ports that lead to nowhere it sometimes feels as though you are at the very edge of the world, at the end of all things familiar. Small boats sail toward a barren horizon, toward emptiness it seems. The places that lie beyond will, you think, always remain invisible.

  ADAM SAT BETWEEN Margaret and Karl in the back of the Buick. They had both fallen asleep; the hot, dusty air swept in through the open windows and made Adam’s eyes itchy and teary. In the front passenger seat Z was asleep too, her head lolling sideways. From time to time Mick would look in the rearview mirror to make sure that Adam was all right. Adam would nod an acknowledgment before returning his gaze to the long, constant road ahead of him.

  Adam had plenty of time to think about his conversation with Karl the previous night when, exhausted but lucid, Karl had wanted to tell him things.

  “I promised myself that when you turned sixteen I would take you to find your brother in Malaysia,” Karl had said.

  “You always said you didn’t know where he was.”

  “I … I wanted you to be happy with me. I thought that if you rebuilt your life with me you would be able to make a choice later, when you were old enough to make those decisions yourself. Please, don’t say anything, hear me out. It was selfish of me, I know that. But you were so happy when you came to me, and I didn’t want to spoil that happiness. I wanted you to have a life, to know what it was like to be safe in your own country and not spend your childhood thinking you belonged somewhere else. Does that make any sense to you?”

  “Yes.”

  “I hated keeping the truth from you. I hated lying. But you were happy. Weren’t you?”

  Adam nodded. “So where was Johan all along?”

  Karl reached for his trousers, which were folded neatly at the foot of the bed. He took out a piece of paper from one of the pockets and gave it to Adam. There was a name written on it. “That is the name of the family who adopted your brother. They are Malaysian. That is all I know.”

  Adam took the piece of paper and looked at the words on it—someone’s name followed by Kuala Lumpur. He stared at the name for a long time but he did not feel anything. He folded the scrap of paper into a neat square and put it in his pocket.

  Karl sighed. “I was going to take you on a holiday to Malaysia for your sixteenth birthday. I imagined it all: We would go for a nice dinner and I would tell you everything when we got there and let you make the decision. But then all this happened.”

  They both managed to laugh.

  “I guess it’s true what you’ve always said,” Adam said. “You can’t control life. You just have to let it take you where it takes you.”

  Karl nodded and sank back to a reclining position. He closed his eyes and looked as if he had slipped into deep sleep. “I know you want to find him. I know you want to do it without me.”

  Adam did not reply. He shook his head, but Karl could not see this.

  “You must, Adam. Go without me. I hate feeling that I’m holding you back.” His voice began to trail off into slumber.

  “Don’t talk anymore. Rest now,” said Adam as he left the room.

  “I forgot, Son,” Karl said as Adam paused at the door. “Happy birthday. I’m sorry I missed it.”

  AT THE JETTY where the ferries depart for the islands there were not many people, it seemed. Margaret stood with Karl, watching the small boats loaded with logs arrive at the flimsy pier. He said, “Are you sure?”

  “Oh, quite certain,” she replied. “I want to follow you. If the idea doesn’t repulse you, that is. At least for a short time, while you recover and find your feet.”

  “Are you sure you won’t be bored? I mean, what will you do? You’re a person who needs challenges and variety. I’m sure that hasn’t changed.”

  “You forget that I grew up in the sticks, so I’d just be going back to my roots. Island life isn’t exactly foreign to me, you know. I thought maybe I could just spend time with you and Adam, helping around the house. I don’t know. I wouldn’t be entirely domestic, of course—I don’t think that is ever going to come naturally to me. There’s also the matter of an unfinished thesis. I could pretend to do some fieldwork, write up my notes, produce articles that no one will ever read. Who knows? I’d just be close to you, that’s all.”

  When she looked at him she saw how much older and calmer he was now. It was not merely a question of years, but something else she could not quite define. She knew this because she too was older and calmer. He said, “I have the feeling that we’ve had this conversation before, haven’t we? A long time ago, not so very far from here.”

  “I didn’t think you remembered that sort of trivial thing.”

  “I do, Margaret, I do.”

  Zubaidah was already sitting in the car, sunglasses shading her eyes. She hated good-byes, she said; she had no time for them. She had held hands with Adam for a long time before saying, “No, you need to go home with your father. I’m not going to argue with you—remember, I’m cleverer than you, and older too, so I’ll win any argument! You can’t make decisions like that overnight. What would you do if you came back to Jakarta now? Where would you live? If in a few years’ time you still want to come, then I’ll be there. I think.”

  “Come on, kiddos,” Mick called. “I need to hit the road again. Bill will go nuts if I don’t bring this car back on time. Even he can’t hide the fact that he’s pilfered an embassy car for personal reasons.”

  “Thank Bill again for me, won’t you?” said Margaret, giving Mick a hug. She held him close and rubbed his back. “And thank you, Mick.”

  “Will you be okay?” he asked.

  “Yup, don’t worry. I’m just going to take a little time off, I don’t know—travel, as young Americans keep saying nowadays. It sounds so vague, doesn’t it? Finding myself, and all that nonsense. I might as well do it now, before I’m too old. Besides, I have a lot of catching up to do.
” She looked over at Karl and Adam.

  “You’re not going to come back to Jakarta, are you?”

  “Oh, I might, one day.”

  “And if you don’t?”

  She had begun to walk toward Karl and Adam; she turned around and said, “I’ll just marry a good man and bear good children.”

  He drove through the silent city at speed, neon lights staining the night with color. At darkened intersections he ran the lights without looking. He never looked out for other cars, he never looked out for anything. In this fast, young city he did not want to stop, he did not want to sleep. Rain was falling. It made the streets slick and muddy, and the buildings were quiet and empty. Out in the new suburbs the stretches of scrubland that separated the clusters of houses were blank with darkness and he could imagine they were not filled with heaps of rubbish but with trees and ponds. Sometimes he could imagine the sea. And this was when he felt the happiest, but also the saddest, for the night seemed long and deep and silent. He wished that this place had no past. He wished that last night were just a dream, that last month had never existed. He had to keep moving. As long as he did not stay still he would be okay. Rain was falling. Sometimes he could imagine the sea. He drove through the silent city at speed.