Tash Aw - Map of the Invisible World

You still haven’t told me where you are taking me, Johan.

If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise, would it?

But I can’t stand not knowing. Don’t torture me. Jahat sekali . She smacked him on his shoulder.

Wait, just wait. It’s not far now.

The road was getting rougher and the axle of the Merc was squeaking as the car stumbled along.

It’s like being at the playground. Farah laughed. God, I hope you don’t wreck the car, Daddy will be furious. You’ll be grounded for life.

Johan laughed too. I’m going to be long gone, so what do I care? I won’t be grounded because I won’t be around. He’ll just have to take it out on you and Bob.

What time are you leaving tomorrow?

Lunchtime. Daddy’s driving me himself.

They could hear the squelching of mud as the car went through a shallow puddle, and ahead of them the headlights lit up swarms of insects that floated dreamily in a river of light that seemed almost opaque.

If you wreck the car, maybe you won’t be able to go.

Maybe.

They stopped in a clearing and Johan got out. He walked around to Farah’s side of the car and opened the door.

It’s all right, it’s not muddy here.

Ahead of them they could see a stretch of water, a wide bend in a river that did not flow very fast. It was black and still and quiet. On the riverbank the trees grew out over the water, low and squat, as if they were floating on the surface. Farah looked up at the sky and said, I can’t see the moon.

I know. It’s cloudy. That’s why I chose tonight.

Why? What does that mean?

You’ll see. Come on.

They walked along a path that followed the curve of the riverbank and disappeared now and then into long grass. Sometimes the sharp edge of the grass caught their hands and Johan yelped with pretend pain. He wanted to make Farah laugh, but she didn’t. He stopped and turned around to take her hand, leading her down the path that had disappeared once more. They walked through a thicket of trees and for a few moments there was no light at all, and when they emerged the path curved sharply and brought them around to an old pontoon.

Johan. Farah spoke in a whisper. Johan .

That’s what I wanted to show you.

Johan. She stepped onto the pontoon with him. My god.

Before them there hung a huge mass of fluorescent green light, like the beginnings of a raincloud on a hot, windy day, billowing slowly, expanding here, contracting there. It stretched out languidly as if pawing at an invisible fly, and then pulled back again, illuminating a stretch of black water and then casting it into darkness once more.

Fireflies, said Johan. I really wanted you to see them.

There were clusters of the same glowing light on the trees, shimmering. Johan took Farah’s hand and walked along the path, and all along the riverbank there were clusters of this gold green light in the trees, even on the very highest branches where they colored the night sky.

It’s like Christmas, Farah said. Christmas in some Scandinavian country.

How would you know? It’s not as if you’ve ever been to Lapland.

I don’t know. She laughed. I just imagined it this way.

Johan thought of the Christmas tree they’d had at the orphanage, which never had any lights on it and wasn’t even a nice Christmas tree, just a half-dead sapling with its branches cut to make it less messy. Sometimes there would be a few trinkets hanging on it, palm leaves woven into balls, or some fruit on short lengths of string, but it didn’t matter, because none of the children knew what Christmas was. There were presents, like an old pair of socks or box of biscuits or a toy that some rich city kid did not want anymore but you did not know better, and when you do not know better you are happy for what you have.

Later, when Johan was with his new family, he had learned all about Christmas and he knew what it was really like. He saw the kinds of presents that people gave each other, the nice things that parents put in boxes and wrapped up, like the tricycle that Bob once got. Mummy would always say, Oh, we can celebrate too, even though we’re not Christian. Christmas belongs to everyone! Daddy would come back from the club in a good mood, singing “I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas,” trying to make his voice sound like Bing Crosby’s, and Mummy would laugh and say, Eh-ey, darling, I hope you haven’t been drinking. And Johan would know what it meant for people to be happy, even though he was not. He realized too that his Christmases at the orphanage had not really been happy, because when you don’t know the truth you can’t be happy, not truly. And he would think of Adam, who had never known what Christmas was. He wished that Adam had never known that fake Christmas with its fake tree and fake presents, like that snow globe that he loved so much. He wished that Adam had never known all that. They stopped to look at a cloud of fireflies that clung to a branch over the river, dipping toward the surface of the water.

I shouldn’t feel bad, but I do, said Farah. It’s so stupid of me.

Yup, it is stupid. Johan squeezed her hand.

You’re not going to come back, are you?

The mass of fireflies curled slowly toward the water, and Johan wondered what would happen if it touched the river, whether all the lights would suddenly switch off and they would find themselves plunged into darkness, or maybe night would switch suddenly to day.

And because he did not answer, she said, Are you going to find out what happened to your brother?

No, he said firmly. He’s gone and I don’t want to know any more.

Good. Promise me you’ll come back safely.

He felt her fingers wiggle in his hand. You’re crazy.

She turned to look at him and there was enough light in the moonless night for him to see that her eyes were clear and wide. Thank you, she said. Thank you for bringing me here.

He could smell the richness of her breath, a slight saltiness, and her hand began to feel hot and slightly sticky in his.

He leaned toward her and when he kissed her he found her lips were cooler than he had imagined, and firmer too. She did not press against him but she did not draw away either, and Johan wondered whether for these few seconds he was happy. He wondered if feeling her lips on his, and smelling her and touching her waist, whether all this meant that he might be happy.

No, she said at last. He could feel her breath against his neck. It’s wrong, Johan.

Why?

You know why. She did not move away from him but let her head rest against his collarbone.

I’m not your brother, he said.

Don’t say that, Johan.

When they looked at the trees on the bank opposite they saw a mass of fireflies, rising and curling like a wave reaching out for some invisible, unattainable shore, a wave in some dream where everything was black and silent.

It’s beautiful, Farah said.

He nodded, but it was dark and he did not know if she could see him. He said, I’m going to take you home, Farah. Then I’m going out for a drive by myself.

T he ride home from the palace took longer than usual. Roadblocks and demonstrations choked every other street, it seemed, and the car would crawl along for a while then pause for twenty minutes without moving. Everyone turned their engines off, starting up only when there were signs of movement. It was a nice car, a Buick, and the driver whom Bill had sent spoke English with an American accent. He had been an engineer, he said, in Malang, and had followed his wife to the States when she won a scholarship, but she had left him for an American man because she wanted to stay there, so now he was back home, working as a driver for the embassy, but it was okay, he spoke English, he had a good job. Not like everyone else out there, he gestured.