We, The Survivors. Tash Aw

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СКАЧАТЬ too ready with their smile, too interested in you. She looks me in the eye when I talk, as if what I’m saying is the most important thing in the world. Every so often she nods, like she truly understands what I’m saying. Sometimes she makes a noise, like Um … umm, as if to say, Yes, I’m with you. She frowns and looks at me as if she’s absorbing every single word I say, even when I’m just talking about unimportant things – the kind of underwear I once bought in Sungai Wang Plaza, what kind of noodles I ate one evening in 2003, that kind of thing. Sometimes I do it on purpose. I want to see if she gets bored and hurries me along to talk about other stuff.

      But she never loses her composure, always pretends to be fascinated. Never yawns, never checks her watch. Her Samsung Galaxy is on the table in front of me, recording everything I say, but she rarely looks at it. She just scribbles notes in her notepad from time to time. I feel like I’m a politician giving a press conference on live TV.

      I’m the one who keeps glancing at the phone, just to make sure it’s still recording.

      When I got her first email about two months ago, I thought it was junk, like the rest of the stuff in my inbox. Beautiful China Bride, USA Diploma Online, Viagra Direct. That day I noticed a message headed Request for interview. I ignored it – it was as meaningless to me as all the others. About a week later, I noticed another email from the same person, headed: Fw: Please indicate your response. Who actually clicks on this kind of email? Every day I read about people being scammed. You click on a link and your whole computer is infected, a hacker in Russia gets all your bank info. Someone takes your hard-earned cash. They even take your identity.

      However, I am the kind of person who clicks on these links. I have no online banking, no credit card, no spouse to discover the stuff I look at on the computer – I have nothing to lose. I waited for a week, then two, reading the email a couple of times each day. Finally I thought, She’s confused me with someone else.

      But there was no mistake. She had been doing research for her studies in America, and had heard about my case. Now she was returning to Malaysia to spend some time conducting field work. She wanted to interview me, to try to understand the circumstances and events surrounding the case. A fraudster, I thought immediately. Someone pretending to be someone else. I’d say yes, and ‘she’ would come into my house with ten armed men and rob me of what little cash I had left.

       I would like to talk to you on an informal basis, to build a portrait of you as a human being. I am interested in your personal history. We could have an initial chat and see how things progress.

      I wrote back because I was bored. She replied, with a reference letter from her university as proof. I Googled her and saw her college photo. Tan Su-Min. I asked the pastor at church to ring the number on the letter, just to be sure. New York, ah? he said. He read the letter slowly and said, doctorate in sociology – wah, no joke. It’s OK, it’s genuine, no need to call.

      The first day, she rang the bell once and opened the metal gates without waiting for me to come to the door. She had crossed the small concrete porch before I could even make it out of the kitchen. I thought, She isn’t scared at all. The dog next door started barking – lots of people round here have dogs because of the break-ins. You wouldn’t think there’s anything to steal in a neighbourhood like this, but these days robbers do anything for a TV or a stereo set. The slightest thing that happens – a motorbike pulls up in front of a house at night – all the dogs start barking. But she wasn’t at all bothered by them.

      She should have been apprehensive, but instead I was the one who hesitated. I stood watching her through the grille of the front door. Hair cut short, like a boy’s. Or like Faye Wong’s in about 1995. (I told her this a few weeks later, when I felt comfortable enough to make jokes with her.) The same height as me, about five foot seven, wearing shorts so long they looked like army trousers, with big pockets down the side. More cheerful than in her college photo. She took off her sunglasses and put them on the top of her head.

      You’re OK with chatting in the house? she said. We could always go out and have our first conversation somewhere else if you’re more comfortable that way. Whatever you prefer. Her question felt more like a command to me.

      It’s OK, we can stay here, I said.

      As soon as she stepped in, she started to look around. She turned to me and tried to be polite by making small talk – Thank you for agreeing to meet, I hope it isn’t too inconvenient, isn’t it hot, there’s been no rain recently – but her eyes didn’t focus on me, she kept gazing at things around the room, so often that I turned to see what she was checking out. But there was nothing there, just the same room I’d known all these years, the old rattan furniture that people from church donated. A Korean drama was playing on the TV. I’d forgotten to turn it off when she arrived, and the actors’ voices filled the room. Oppa, myo haeyo. On the table across the room, a pile of newspapers. Nanyang Siang Pau and Sin Chew Jit Poh. A bible. A small cookie tin that I use to put my Magnum 4D and Big Sweep tickets in. I couldn’t figure out what she was looking at.

      I offered her a drink, as I do when people from church call round – a carton of Yeo’s chrysanthemum tea. Good for hot weather, I said.

      She laughed and took the carton in her hand. She looked at it as if she’d never seen one before. She took a photo of it with her phone and studied it for a while before peeling away the little straw glued to the pack. Very high sugar content, she said.

      Her first few questions were simple and dull. How long had I lived here, what was I planning to have for dinner that evening, was she interrupting my daily schedule – that sort of thing. I’d been nervous beforehand, wondering if she was going to ask me uncomfortable questions that I wouldn’t be able to answer. Maybe I wouldn’t even understand them. But all at once I felt I had nothing to fear.

      Yes, you’re interrupting Legend of the Blue, I said, pointing at the TV set. She turned to look at the screen. A man and a woman sat astride horses, looking at the sky. She laughed, as if what I had said was really funny.

      So you like Korean shows? she asked. I do too.

      I wasn’t expecting that from someone like her – foreign-educated, clever. A rich girl with fancy leather sandals. I wouldn’t have thought she’d watch Korean TV. I started talking about the things I watch to fill my days, about Scarlet Heart and Descendants of the Sun, and also my favourite series from previous years, like Secret Garden and Moon Embracing the Sun. I told her about the time a couple of years back when I had spent a whole evening drinking beer and eating fried chicken wings while watching My Love From the Star just to feel in tune with Jun Ji-Hyun’s character in the show, and that I’d loved my chimek-and-TV night so much that I had another the next day, with more beer and wings and Korean romance, right up until the street lamps went off and the skies began to lighten. When the church group called round that morning they were shocked to find me surrounded by beer bottles and looking a bit sick. They thought I was slipping back into bad ways, so they made me go to church with them to see the pastor, who talked to me about how the devil can get inside me without my even knowing it. If I wasn’t vigilant at all times, and didn’t pray for God’s protection, I would be vulnerable, and though I felt sorry and knew what he said was true, I also knew that I wouldn’t stop watching Korean shows. I would just stop the beer – it was too expensive anyway.

      All that time she was nodding in agreement, occasionally laughing – a soft giggle that encouraged me to talk even more. She scribbled some words on a notepad now and then, and set her phone down on the table, recording.

      But I’m just talking rubbish, I said.

      No, no – it’s really interesting. СКАЧАТЬ