Winfred Wong: Son of the Tank Man

He was speaking with a weird tone of voice, one like what your children would make when they receive a new toy. It seemed obvious to me that he was some sort of a deranged lunatic by then, though, looking back, I can understand that he was just too thrilled about what he was going to tell me. But at that time, I just wanted to get rid of him and went home. So I scrutinized his vessel dramatically, placing my right hand right over my two eyebrows and said, “Wow that looks awesome man. Where did you buy it?”

“Is it?” he shrieked and grinned like an overjoyed kid.

“Why don’t we go on board your ship?” I asked. “It’s much better over there than staying here, isn’t it?”

He looked oddly but sincerely gleeful when I was speaking, as if he couldn’t believe I actually liked his vessel.

“Sure. I am more than happy to have you on board, you know what, my only daughter is getting married tomorrow, but I am still unsure about how I should decorate her cabin. I am thinking maybe you can give me some ideas regarding that matter.”

“Well, of course I can. I have actually worked for a decoration company before.”

“Really? My daughter is working for a decoration company as well! And that’s why I am so confused!”

“Well then, let’s go. What are we waiting for?” I said enthusiastically. “After you.”

He then nodded, headed to the stern and leapt over to catch a badly frayed rope ladder, which only extended down to half the height of the ship, after a few preparatory bounces. I didn’t really know how he managed to jump so far and high, but I was sure even if I had wished to follow him, I would only have ended up drowning myself in the salty sea.

As he was climbing up the ladder nimbly – he was already halfway through it when I acted – I went back to the helmsman seat, ignited the engine and lifted the handle up to speed up the boat, and I remember a deceleration had never taken place until I had disembarked at the pier behind the high-rise at where I lived; of course, I had already given up on looking for that dock after meeting the man.

The tiny little pier was still as shabby-looking as it had been for the past few decades; the roof was rusted, the paint of the six supporting pillars with moss growing in some cracks was worn off, the stone staircase that acted as a junction between sea and land at the end of the pier was eroded. But overall, it was still intact, though when I was young, I had once wondered foolishly if I could hammer it down myself or not, but that wasn’t the most foolish thing, not at all. The most foolish thing had to be that I had actually spent a whole sunny evening testing its firmness with a wood ax a few days after, instead of going to Brian’s birthday party – he had only forgiven me for not going after a month – and it directly resulted in the largest crack at the very bottom of the first pillar. I used to think of it as one of those daft things that everyone would do at our younger age and had never told anyone about it. But back then, when I later laid my eyes on it, I realized that this kind of foolishness was exactly what made up the major part of my precious good old days in this place and this would never fade away, no matter how this place was changing. And so, the thought of emigrating has never come to me again for the rest of my life.

Then, as I heaved myself over the gunwales and landed on the eroded staircase in a batman way, I suddenly realized I had forgotten to moor it to the pier side. It was too late. The boat had already drifted away as though it was a giant piece of garbage thrown into the sea, yet I wasn’t too upset about it. I thought it was better for it to disappear in my life because I had absolutely no interest in owning a boat; however, it later occurred to me that maybe I was just averse to it as it would become a constant reminder of what had happened in Felomeim, which was a shard of memory I would like to bury.

And so, I strolled across the pier to the first pillar, bent down and examined it for quite a long while before heading home; the crack was still there but was filled with overgrown moss. And I found it weird that now I was finally back home, I wasn’t really as happy as I’d expected. I am not saying that I was unhappy, but I remember there was a gloomy feeling hijacking my heart.

Soon when I was moving in a flat, dingy tunnel connecting the seashore and the pavement in front of the high-rise, my phone buzzed. The default ringing tone echoed down the entire tunnel. I was a little bit shocked since it had been quite some time after it had last buzzed, but I still managed to slip it out and pick it up immediately after the third ring.

“Ashton? Can you hear me? Ashton? Ashton?”

I failed to recognize this impatient male voice at first, so I had to take a quick glimpse at the name of the caller displayed on the screen before answering.

“Brian?” I said.

“OH, thank God you finally picked up the phone. Thank God,” he said, then let out a big sigh, which was supposed to come to my ear before he spoke.

And then, strangely, I could hear a muted chime-like ringing, like what you would hear when you accidentally crashed your ring into the back of your phone. I surely didn’t know he was going to marry Oli back then – I had only realized this after a year or so – so I was slightly baffled by that sound, let alone the head-scratching immense relief he had demonstrated.

“What happened? You are scaring me.”

He huffed out a gust of eerily soundless air. “Shit. Where to begin? I’m not sure how to put this. Shit.”

The relief he had a moment ago had suddenly dissipated wholly and was seemingly replaced by a newly developed anguish.

“Calm down, Brian. Calm down. Just tell me what happened.”

He huffed out another gust of air, probably making up his mind, and said clearly, “Listen, Ashton. What I am going to tell you is about your sister.”

“My sister? What about her?”

“She is… f… e… d,” he faltered.

“I can never understand you if you keep on stuttering. Say it clearly.”

After huffing out one more gust of air, “She was found dead last night,” he said.

I can still remember how the dismaying distress had then attacked me at that time and how I had refused to believe in it at first. The devastating impact on me had me knelt desperately in the tunnel and had deprived me of my ability to speak for almost ten minutes; the longest ten minutes in my life.

“Ashton? Are you all right? Ashton? Hello?”

“How? What do you mean she was found dead?”

“She was gang-raped, murdered and… dismembered. A bartender found her body this morning in an alley right behind the bar she works in, and she found my contact in your sister’s phone. I have been trying to reach you for a couple of hours, but I just can’t find you anywhere.”

“Where is her body?”

“King’s Bar. At the rotary on the Queen’s street.”

Then I hung up the phone, sat on my heels, had my eyes riveted on the ‘fe-fee’, which I was going to give her back, and tittered bitterly.

Thank you so much for reading. I hope you have enjoyed this book, and so please kindly leave a comment on Amazon so that I can know what you think about this book.

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