Tash Aw - Map of the Invisible World

“How can I help you?” Adam felt the quick chill of fear run through him again, more violently this time.

Din lifted the satchel from his shoulder and put it over Adam’s — slowly, as if it were a garland. And now Adam felt the dead weight of it against his own hips, bulkier even than before. “Just take this into the building. Make your way to the men’s toilet at the far end of the lobby, just beyond the place called the Batik Bar. The Batik Bar, got that? Go to the farthest stall and leave the satchel beside the toilet. Just leave it there. I have been there before, and it’s simple. If you lose your way, just ask for directions. Be confident. You’re not doing anything wrong, I assure you — you’re just being a true, responsible Indonesian revolutionary. Remember the president’s speech, when he said he loved revolutionaries? Well, you’re just one of us, doing your duty. You’re one of us now, my friend, one of us.” He dropped his barely smoked cigarette before grasping Adam’s shoulders with both hands and squeezing him gently. He wore an expression that spoke at once of tenderness and fervor and belief, and Adam thought, I really am his friend, I mean something to him. Adam nodded; Din’s declaration of friendship made him feel less afraid. Din had helped him and was going to help him find his brother. Adam had to repay him.

“What will happen once I leave the satchel?” he asked.

“Nothing,” Din said. “Once it’s there, you just turn around and walk straight back out as if nothing’s happened. Our revolutionary friends who work in the building will do the rest, and I will wait for you right here.”

“What’s in here?” Adam asked, feeling the straps of the satchel lightly with his fingers; part of him did not want to know the answer.

“That’s not important,” Din said with sudden alarm. “Do not open it. Just leave it in the restroom as I instructed you. Don’t think too much about what you have to do — it’ll be over in a few minutes.”

“Can I ask you, Din,” he began before hesitating. “Why me? Why do you trust me to help you?”

Din smiled and shrugged. “Because, well, let’s just say it’s the way you look. When you go up there, you will see. There will be people manning the doors, unfriendly people. They would never let someone like me in. But you — look at you, your nice shirt and trousers and hair. As soon as I saw you, I knew you were perfect for the job. You look like a decent boy from a nice family — even though you are one of us now.” He looked at his watch quickly. “Okay, my little orphan, it’s time to go.”

“What is this place, really?” Adam said as he began to move away.

“It’s a hotel. The Hotel Java.”

As Adam turned and retraced his steps toward the front of the building, he heard Din striking a match that stubbornly refused to light; he was whistling the same tune he had been whistling all day long. “Remember,” he called out to Adam, “just relax. Be yourself, little orphan boy. I know you will be fine. Come back quickly.”

In the sunlight the hotel looked magnificent — a perfect oblong of smooth gray stone. Adam walked up the long, curving ramp that led to the lobby. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the darkened windows of the big black cars that lined the driveway; he looked older, he thought, older and sadder. It was not just his face but the way he carried himself — the hunching of his shoulders, the tired, shuffling walk — that showed how his life had changed in such a small space of time. He ran his fingers through his hair, hoping it would make him look neater. He remembered Din’s instructions and tried not to think about his simple task; he tried not to think about the satchel that chafed against his hip. Instead, he tried to focus on the future he would have with his brother; he tried to imagine the years of contentment that would stretch out before them: life waiting to be lived. But he could not conjure up this joy. That imagined future eluded him, wriggling away from his grasp, just as his past happiness had abandoned him.

Finally he saw the beautiful glass doors that led into the lobby; their smooth, clean surfaces reflecting images of the city: the tops of buildings, the ragged leaves of a palm tree, a bit of sky. The doors opened and closed slowly, like something in a dream.

* * *

Bloody bullshit. Our stupid badminton players can’t win any more matches. Lazy bastards. Bad enough losing to those bloody Indonesians all the time, but now we’re losing to Denmark, can you imagine? Cis . Country like ours shouldn’t be losing to a country of paupers like Indonesia. Ya, well, I suppose they have plenty of starving kids desperate to make a name for themselves. That place is one big rotten egg, so many poor people there. No hope at all for them. Some more they want to invade us. What a bloody joke.

Johan picked up the newspaper his father had placed on the glass-topped table between them. The edge of the newspaper had touched a small pool of condensation at the foot of a long, cold glass; just for an instant, but it was enough to make it wet and soggy.

So. Here he is, the big fellah himself. Hardly see you nowadays, Johan. The moment you come back from school you just disappear into the wilderness. At least when you were at Kuala Kangsar we knew you were in the dorm every night. Now we have no bloody idea where you get to.

Johan did not answer. The paper had an article on the railways. It was always full of things that Johan did not understand. Modernization Scheme: 26 English Electric 1,500hp Diesel-Electric Locomotives Commence Service. Colombo Plan: Australia Donates 6 Railcars to Aid Boom in Malaysian Railways.

Johan, I said I hardly see you nowadays.

You’d see us more often if you spent more time at home. New Fares on Singapore Service. Weld Swimming Pool Complex: Photos.

There was a hearty roar of laughter at the bar where a group of men stood drinking heavy mugs of cold, yellow beer. Most of the men were local. There were very few Europeans now, compared to before. There were palm trees in pots and framed sepia photos of cricket and rugby teams on the walls. In the middle of the room an Indian bartender was mopping up a spilled drink on the black-and-white checked floor. There were no women in this place.

Put down the paper and talk to me like a man, Johan.

Okay. He could not fold the paper properly. He had turned it inside out and now the insides were showing on the outside. He had drunk a long drink and he felt sick. His father had ordered it for him, something called a Gunner. He felt sick and he needed to urinate.

You’re a big boy now, Johan, a big, strong good-looking fellah, but you know what? You’re still a mummy’s boy. Nearly a man, yet you behave like a child with no responsibilities. A spoiled, ungrateful child. What do you say to that?

Nothing. Johan shrugged. Depends what you want me to say.

Don’t be clever with me, young man. You better watch your mouth when you’re with me or else there’s going to be trouble. You got your poor mummy twisted around your little finger, but I’m smarter than that. You think you are one big-time genius, but one day you will learn.

Johan did not answer. They sat on a long, deep veranda, and beyond them there was an expanse of immaculate lawn. In the dark it looked blank, limitless. It could have been anything, anywhere. Like the sea, Johan thought, it was like the sea. He felt sick and he needed to go to the bathroom.

Here you are, you young people. You don’t know how bloody lucky you are. Just merry-go-round all day having a gala time. When I was your age, I tell you, I was already working three jobs at once. No schooling, no Dickens and algebra like you buggers, and yet look at me now. Life gave me nothing and yet here I am. Self-made. Everything I have, I earned with my two bare hands. You drive around in my fancy car, think I don’t know? Where do you think the money to buy that car came from? From Mars? Ya, you people don’t know a thing about hard work.