“Do you still want them?” Ai Ling said, putting the shoes into his hand and stepping back. Wei Xiang adjusted the laces and chuckled to himself, as if amused by his impulsive decision to buy the tiny shoes. Ai Ling bit her lip. She wanted to laugh, all of a sudden, at this scene playing out in front of her, at the absurdity, the irony. She let out a choking noise.
“Let’s keep them. It’s a waste to throw them out,” Wei Xiang said, tearing away the price tag. “Just in case we plan to have kids when the time is right.”
Ai Ling said nothing. Then she turned away and returned to the task of clearing out the drawers.
Wei Xiang kept the shoes, hanging them by the laces near the dresser table, where Ai Ling could not avoid them. She decided one day, when Wei Xiang was at work, to throw them out. She put the shoes in a plastic bag and left for the neighbourhood park.
It was late afternoon, and the park was quiet except for several runners and a few mothers pushing strollers or chatting on the benches near the children’s playground. Ai Ling walked past them and avoided looking into the strollers. She headed for the large pond located near the south exit of the park. The water was jade-green, overrun with water lilies, arrowheads and duckweeds, giving off a raw, earthy smell. There was no one around as Ai Ling made her way down to the edge of the pond. The water touched the tips of her toes, darkening the fabric of her sandals. She could step in and sink right to the bottom, and nobody would notice or save her.
Ai Ling stirred the water with her fingers and watched the ripples rouse the clump of duckweeds. Taking out the pair of infant shoes, Ai Ling placed them on the surface of the pond, making footsteps on the water. She relaxed her hold—the shoes seemed to float for a moment—and then quickly pulled them out and put them beside her on the soggy ground. Slipping out of her sandals, Ai Ling sank her feet into the water, feeling the coldness permeating her skin. Stirring the water, she could imagine the disturbance her feet were causing, scaring away the tadpoles and fish. She waited for something to bite her, to pull her down into the depths.
But all she could feel was the slow, heavy movements of her kicks. She picked up the infant shoes again and dropped them into the pond. The bright colours of the appliqués on the shoes—of an elephant and a bear—were quickly darkened by the water. The shoes suspended for a breath of a second in the water before sinking. She stared at the spot, watching the bubbles form and then pop.
Ai Ling heard a cough and saw an old man with a cane looking at her from the pebble-strewn path a few metres away. She withdrew her feet from the pond, the sensation of chilliness lifting off her wet skin. Without looking back, or paying heed to the old man, Ai Ling walked away. It was only when she was almost out of the park that she realised she had been walking barefoot, having left her sandals beside the pond. She considered heading back to retrieve them, but gave up the thought. She could always buy a new pair. There was no rush.
As Ai Ling had hoped, Wei Xiang did not notice the missing pair of infant shoes, and she did not care to remind him about them. He was forgetful, she told herself, and it was not necessarily a bad thing.
9
CHEE SENG
It was Christmas night, and I was alone. The moment I stepped from Exotica’s main hall into the tight space of the toilet, the sound of loud dance music became muffled. My battered eardrums hummed, as if a field of insects were chorusing inside. No matter where I turned in the dance club, the volume of the music was uniformly deafening; it would take a few days for the humming to fade. I checked my watch; it was almost two, maybe time to make my way back to the hotel. The amount of alcohol I had consumed numbed my thoughts, but still I wasn’t ready to face Cody just yet. I washed my hands at the shallow aluminium trough that functioned as a wash basin, and splashed my face with water. I dried off, then made my way through the thumping music and writhing bodies to the front door of the club.
Cody and I had planned to check out Exotica together, but he suddenly changed his mind. We were back in the hotel after dinner with Ai Ling and Wei Xiang—they had headed off for a walk—lazing around and watching the local news on TV. He wanted to stay in and rest, claiming exhaustion from a whole day of activities.
“Come on, it’s Christmas,” I said. “There’ll be lots of people there, it’ll be fun. You said you wanted to go just now.”
“I’m pretty tired though. Why don’t you go and enjoy?” he said.
“It won’t be the same without you,” I said. “So typical of you, agreeing to something and then backing out in the end, so fickle-minded.”
“I’m just really tired now. Anyway, you know clubbing is never my thing. I only ever went because you wanted me to go.”
“Fuck, now you tell me this.”
“Chee Seng,” Cody said, but I had turned away, storming into the toilet.
I sat on the edge of the bathtub, waiting for the anger to run its course. My mind was a train wreck from the events of the past few days, after discovering the chat messages on Cody’s computer. The guise under which I kept my emotions in check had been rudely ripped away, and all the old hurts had resurfaced. More than anything, I was angry with myself for losing my cool yet again. I closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths, but it was hopeless.
When I opened the door, Cody was standing right outside. He stared at me, and said, “Okay, I’ll come with you.”
“No, don’t. I don’t want you to go. I don’t want to force you to do something you don’t want to do. I’d rather have a good time at the club, without you sulking and hating every second of it.”
“But I want to go,” he said weakly. And because I knew he was doing this only to pacify me, it infuriated me even more.
“I don’t want you to go, you understand? Just fucking do what you want to do.” I grabbed my wallet and watch from the bedside table, slipped past him and left the hotel room.
Outside the club, someone took my hand and pressed his mouth to my left ear. “Hey, what are you thinking?”
I turned around and looked at the young man, the same one I’d been dancing with for nearly an hour; with the thunderous music sweeping over us, I could not get his name—was it Danny, or Benny? He had approached me at the bar, where I was downing my third bourbon and Coke, and pulled me onto the dance floor. Danny or Benny, twenty-six, Malaysian, was holidaying in Phuket (“second time here”) with some friends (“all straight, and boring”). With his toned frame and pale, smooth complexion, he looked much younger than his supposed age.
“I thought I lost you after I came back from the bar,” he said, gripping my hand. “Are you leaving already? It’s still early.” His face was flushed. I kissed him on the cheek; my head was spinning from the alcohol I had consumed. Even standing on my feet was becoming a challenge; the world shuddered under my feet, seemingly about to give way.
“Yes, this old man needs to have his rest soon. He’s not getting any younger,” I said.
“Aw, you’re not that old. I like you. Come with me,” he said, pulling my hand, dragging me onto the sidewalk. A few locals, chatting and smoking under the club’s bright signboard, looked in our direction; one of them laughed and threw his cigarette to the ground, crushing it under a heel.
“Steady, steady,” Danny or Benny said, pulling me closer to him. I detected faint cologne, mixed with the scent of cigarette smoke. Exotica’s house music gradually softened as we moved away from the club. Under dimly-lit lampposts, the busy streets, lined on both sides with bars, clubs and drinking holes, were still choked with people at this time of night—a bevy of drunk Caucasians arguing outside an Irish pub, two locals haggling with a youngish-looking prostitute at a corner, the street hawkers hollering and delivering food orders to customers sitting around rickety, makeshift tables. In the muggy air, the smell of pungent spices, diesel oil and dusty tarmac mixed in my nostrils. Someone called out. I glanced back to see where the sound was coming from: a crash, and a burst of laughter. The bright neon lights scorched my retinas, and the music continued to ring in my ears. The night was alive in a thousand ways, fragmented into light and music and movement.