Tash Aw - Map of the Invisible World

Margaret did not honestly see any difference, but she nodded anyway. He laughed and pinched her cheek. “I told you it was silly,” he said. “I don’t suppose you’ve ever had childish imaginings.”

She shook her head. “No, can’t think of any. I’m really pretty boring. I told you: Childhood just passed me by.”

They stood up and began walking. The dappled shade of the trees cast intricate patterns over Karl’s face as he talked. “I’ve never told anyone what I’ve told you,” he said, “and I don’t expect I shall ever repeat it to anyone. I don’t think I shall ever need to.”

Margaret shrugged and poked him in the ribs. “No one else would have the patience with you.”

“That’s just it. You … I don’t know, you seem to understand me. We’re similar, don’t you think? I used to feel I was all alone in the world, but maybe I’m not.”

“You’ve finally found someone as bizarre as you are, you mean?”

Karl laughed. “Do you think I should get married to a local woman and have lots of children? I want to have an Indonesian child. A boy. He’ll be my alter ego, except better, and happier — all the things I could have been, but wasn’t. We’ll live in a house by the sea, just like the one in Buru that I remember as a child, only this time there’ll be no unhappiness, just laughter and gifts.”

“I think that is a really, really bad idea,” Margaret said, laughing, as she linked her arm into his. The path began to descend, curving around to point them back in the direction of the village. There were clove trees on either side of the path; and in a field there was a plump cow that looked up at Margaret with big, bright eyes. The houses on the edge of the village began to come into view, perched on the far side of the ridge, half-hidden by vegetation. The sun was still high, its reflection flashing now and then in tiny starbursts on the surface of the river below.

Karl said, “I never believed I could be so happy.”

* * *

Johan, wait. Don’t let go of me .

They went into the bar. At the end of the narrow corridor, away from the noise of the street, there was another door, and on the door there was a poster of a young woman wearing a wet T-shirt. REACH FOR FLAVOR WINSTON OF AMERICA, she said. It was dark, the corridor lit only by a single fluorescent strip that glowed and flickered, and Johan could not make out if the girl was Chinese or Malay or Eurasian. Maybe she was just a Westerner pretending to be Asian. There was quite a lot of that nowadays.

It was not a big room, but there were many people there, and the air was heavy with cigarette smoke, a silvery veil that made it difficult to discern people’s faces, and even when he blinked he could not tell who was who. He thought he recognized someone — a face here, a long sweep of hair there, a flash of shiny beads on a handbag that he thought he had seen before, but then again maybe not.

Johan, wait, don’t go too fast, Farah whispered. She was holding his hand tightly and staying very close, so close he could feel the hesitant warmth of her body against his, her knee knocking into the back of his thigh as she said, Don’t let go of me, please don’t leave me alone.

Don’t worry, I’m right here.

There was music now, something bright and brassy, a trumpet or a saxophone starting up, then some tin drums and castanets. Not this mambo rock shit again, said Bob as they eased into an alcove deep in the shadows where they could not be seen. A row of lights came on, one by one, and the chatter of the audience turned into a rowdy cheer. There was clapping and some men were whistling. There was no curtain, no elaborate introduction, just some girls onstage who appeared all of a sudden through the smoke, moving their hips from side to side, out of sync with the music, as if it was their first time and they were not sure what to do in this place. They were wearing only panties decorated with gold beads dangling from the end of thin filaments of thread, and when they shook their hips the beads shimmered through the hazy blue smoke in the room. Over the powdery whiteness of their bare torsos there seemed to be a thin slick of sweat, only more viscous, as if it would be cold and almost firm to the touch, Johan thought. Over their nipples the girls wore silver stars that shone in the harsh glare of the lights and appeared to Johan almost like real stars shining through clouds. He remembered the Christmas they had at the orphanage, just that once, in the year before he left. Some foreigners had come to the village and they had presents for all the children, old toy cars and clothes and bags of hard candy wrapped in colored cellophane. They gave Johan a globe filled with fake snow and a miniature Eiffel Tower. At the base of the tower there were tiny people playing in the snow, children, maybe, and when he turned the globe upside down the children did not fall but remained glued to their places. And when you returned them to their upright position it would be snowing on them, the flakes swirling around before settling at the feet of the motionless children. Adam spent hours looking at this miniature world, turning the globe on its head and then back again. He set it on the windowsill and watched the sunlight refracting through the glass, bathing the children in rainbow colors. Don’t be stupid, Johan said, laughing, there can’t be snow and sun at the same time, but Adam did not mind. Do you think we will ever see snow? he asked, and Johan said, No, probably not, because you don’t like being cold.

Afterward, the foreigners who had given them the presents put on a play about the birth of the baby Jesus. They dressed up as shepherds and donkeys and they chose one of the orphaned babies to be Jesus and wrapped him up in cloth. Above them, a bright silver star they had made hung from the ceiling against patches of damp and mold, but if you stared at it long enough you could just about pretend you were looking at the night sky. Adam asked, What is going to happen to the baby? And one of the foreigners said, Well, he will die to save mankind from sin. To sin is to do something bad, something wrong, the foreigner explained. We are all sinners, you and I both. And Adam was so sad afterward that he did not speak. He sat staring out of the window, at the fields that were dry and barren that year, scarred by patches of ash where there had been fires. Johan gave him the snow globe to make him feel better. Adam said, We are sinners, aren’t we? That is why we are orphans. That’s why we are alone and no parents want us. No, said Johan, no, you’ve done nothing wrong. Don’t worry, you’re not alone. I’m right here.

Johan, hey , stop staring. Farah squeezed his hand sharply. Hey, why are you staring? Hello? You’re disgusting. This is so horrible . Can we go now? Please. I don’t want to stay.

But the main attraction hasn’t even begun, Bob said. Oh wait, my god, here she comes.

The music changed suddenly to a cha-cha and some men in the audience stood up and whistled. The clapping was louder now and people were smacking their hands on the tables. Johan could barely hear the music. The girls hurried offstage, shoving each other as they disappeared into the wings, and all the lights went out, except one, which was trained on a high, wooden stool. A woman walked onto the stage, dressed as the girls were, but she had her arms crossed across her chest, hands delicately touching her neck to form a W hat hid the top half of her torso. She turned her back to the crowd, twisting her head to glance over her shoulder, smiling a coquette’s coy smile. Then she slowly spread her arms and held them outstretched. The flesh on her arms drooped and her thighs were ample. Two men appeared from the wings dressed in cheap dinner suits. They were holding a snake, a python whose skin was patterned with black and gold diamonds. They draped the snake across the woman’s shoulders and across her chest, and she turned to face the audience, the reptile curling itself languidly around her breasts, its tail flickering downward, reaching for the space between her thighs until she halted it with one hand. To catcalls and applause she threw back her head and closed her eyes, feeling the smooth, cold touch of the snakeskin with her cheek, thrusting her chest forward in fake ecstasy.