20. The Story of Hafay’s Island
I opened the Seventh Sisid because I wanted to have a dwelling with windows on all four sides. Because I’m afraid of houses without windows.
Dwelling places are really important to the Pangcah aborigines, because we think houses are for spirits to inhabit. Me and Ina drifted into the city, spent so long living there, but all the houses we lived in were haphazard, more like shacks. So the first thought I had when I made some money was to build a house of my very own, right by the seashore.
I remember Alice and Thom started building the Seaside House just when I broke the soil on the Seventh Sisid, so our houses were twins. Their house was really special, like nothing I’d ever seen before: it had solar panels on it, and the shape of it was unprecedented in these parts. I didn’t have relatives or friends in the local Pangcah village, but when I was building the house everyone still came out to help. Remember? When it was finished we held a mitsumod. You were there, weren’t you? You even helped me slaughter a pig Ah Jung’s family raised. Time sure flies.
Would you mind if I ask you about Millet? Ahem. I mention her because hearing you talk about her reminds me that I used to do the same kind of job. Maybe I understand how Millet felt, more or less. Besides, maybe at the same time as I was working she was doing the rounds in a place with little rooms somewhere else. You know? The worst part about the job is when you’re standing in the doorway, about to knock, and you don’t have any idea what kind of man is waiting for you on the other side. You can’t refuse, even if you don’t like him, even if he’s disgusting. You knock, the door opens, and you’ve got to spend an hour with a stranger.
I had a close friend at work at that time. Her name was Nai. She told me, try pretending you’re a real masseuse, not someone doing “dirty” work. Every guy who comes here must have some aches and pains. So when you massage a customer, ask him what needs special attention, where you should press harder, and when you massage those places it’s like … it feels like there’s something alive inside. Nai said that if you give those places a serious rub, the customer might initially say it hurts but eventually he’ll relax. Some guys go to sleep, others open up and start confiding in you. If you show him some tenderness a customer usually won’t be too demanding, because lust will have been replaced with something else.
But there are all sorts of difficult customers, and some are sick with you-know-what and they’re not too happy if you don’t want to touch them or let them touch you. Some guys really make a scene. Sometimes when you’ve done half the massage, the wife or girlfriend will call and you pretend you’re not overhearing, but it’s really awkward. Some customers who haven’t been able to come when time’s up will try to pay half price and leave. Some will toss the money on the counter downstairs and jump into a cab. And when the bookkeeper counts it there’s not enough. And other customers will even make harassing phone calls.
When I was doing you-know-what with the guys, I would turn off the lights and the TV. The room would get real dark, and I’d imagine I was on a small, deserted island somewhere.
I often thought: If I ever make enough money I’ve got to move someplace that’s sunny and bright.
Nai always told me, whatever you do, don’t fall for a customer. She told me for my own good, and for her own good, too. But there was one time when I almost did. I still remember the way his back looked. He had broad shoulders, with a long, tapering line from his neck to his waist, like this boy I knew in elementary school. He often came exhausted, with numerous knots or clots in his energy flow. I had to struggle to work them out. He hardly ever spoke, but you could sense his breathing was labored. Even though I almost never talked to him, I felt he wasn’t a happy guy.
When it was time, I would turn off the light and tell him, “Mister, you can lay on your back now.” He would turn over quietly, and I would sit by the bed with my back to him, holding his thing and relieving him. Sometimes he would gently touch my back with his big hands. Maybe you don’t believe me but a woman’s body can sense the emotion in someone’s touch. Even when you just lay a hand on someone or someone lays a hand on you, you sometimes get a sense of what the other person has on his mind, though you’re not real clear what it is. It’s kind of elusive, whatever it is that’s communicated through the skin. It’s hard to describe, but you know it when you feel it. You can sometimes tell whether another person loves you or not, just by touch.
He visited almost every other week, and he always asked for me. I came to recognize his scent and physique. He wasn’t like most guys who go to a place like that. I mean … most guys want to get their rocks off, whether they’re young soldiers or middle-aged married men. Many of them start pawing you right after you go in because they’ve paid their money. But he wasn’t like that, for some reason. He was always very gentlemanly, and regarded me as a masseuse except when I “relieved” him. Lots of times he didn’t even ejaculate. The alarm would go off and he’d wipe himself down with a hot towel, say thank you, and leave.
He kept coming for about half a year I reckon. It sounds funny but in the last few months I started pretending that I had just gone for dinner with him, or for a stroll at the seashore, or that he’d just gotten off work and was so beat he’d just collapsed facedown on the bed as soon as he came in the door, and I would walk over and give him a massage without a word. I would imagine scenes like this. Sometimes I would even stare at his long pale back and imagine him suddenly turning over and saying something like, “You look great today,” in that deep voice of his, like it was nothing special.
Of course, nothing of the sort ever happened. I hardly ever said a thing to him face to face, and all he would say to me was thank you. Then he’d put on his hat and leave, not looking up.
The only time we ever talked was this one time I started singing along with the MTV channel. After I was done, when he was putting on his clothes he asked me whether I liked singing. I said I did. From then on every time he visited he brought me a CD, all English songs I’d never heard before. He said they were all popular songs and that I could learn these songs since I had such a great voice. I can still sing all of them now, because he was the one who gave me the CDs. I even remember the names of the singers. Those singers were really good. It was like each of them had a magic trick only he or she could do.
Just like Nai said, any guy who comes here is someone else’s husband, boyfriend or dad, so whatever you do, better not get any illusions. But Nai fell in love with a customer who later became her boyfriend, all the same. And I started to look forward to that man’s visits, counting the days until he’d come see me again. I never asked him what his name was or what he did for a living. During the day I put my earphones on and listened to those CDs he gave me until I fell asleep.
He stopped coming in November of that year. The last time he appeared was the last day of October. I didn’t have his cell phone number or any other way to reach him. All I remember is his back, and all I have are the CDs he gave me.
When I was massaging the bodies of strange men in those dark little rooms, the rooms you entered when your number was called, I would often wonder what was going on in the next room. I didn’t even know what was going on next door. The wallpaper in the room I usually used was a picture of the seashore, but it was the sea in Greece not here. It was a sea I’d never visited. Anyway, it was just wallpaper the renovator had stuck up for no special reason. You could only see it clearly with the light on, but if you did that you’d discover damp rot in a lot of places. A big sheet of it had peeled away from the wall, and the sea didn’t look the least bit real. It looked the most real when you turned the light down low. In those days, I was living right by the sea, but I rarely went to the shore, because I was sleeping days and working nights.