Tash Aw - Map of the Invisible World

The road ends in the far east of Java. Farther along there are ferry ports to the islands, like Ketapang, just a short hop away from Bali, and then on to the outlying islands that few ever visit. In these ports that lead to nowhere it sometimes feels as though you are at the very edge of the world, at the end of all things familiar. Small boats sail toward a barren horizon, toward emptiness it seems. The places that lie beyond will, you think, always remain invisible.

ADAM SAT BETWEEN Margaret and Karl in the back of the Buick. They had both fallen asleep; the hot, dusty air swept in through the open windows and made Adam’s eyes itchy and teary. In the front passenger seat Z was asleep too, her head lolling sideways. From time to time Mick would look in the rearview mirror to make sure that Adam was all right. Adam would nod an acknowledgment before returning his gaze to the long, constant road ahead of him.

Adam had plenty of time to think about his conversation with Karl the previous night when, exhausted but lucid, Karl had wanted to tell him things.

“I promised myself that when you turned sixteen I would take you to find your brother in Malaysia,” Karl had said.

“You always said you didn’t know where he was.”

“I … I wanted you to be happy with me. I thought that if you rebuilt your life with me you would be able to make a choice later, when you were old enough to make those decisions yourself. Please, don’t say anything, hear me out. It was selfish of me, I know that. But you were so happy when you came to me, and I didn’t want to spoil that happiness. I wanted you to have a life, to know what it was like to be safe in your own country and not spend your childhood thinking you belonged somewhere else. Does that make any sense to you?”

“Yes.”

“I hated keeping the truth from you. I hated lying. But you were happy. Weren’t you?”

Adam nodded. “So where was Johan all along?”

Karl reached for his trousers, which were folded neatly at the foot of the bed. He took out a piece of paper from one of the pockets and gave it to Adam. There was a name written on it. “That is the name of the family who adopted your brother. They are Malaysian. That is all I know.”

Adam took the piece of paper and looked at the words on it — someone’s name followed by Kuala Lumpur. He stared at the name for a long time but he did not feel anything. He folded the scrap of paper into a neat square and put it in his pocket.

Karl sighed. “I was going to take you on a holiday to Malaysia for your sixteenth birthday. I imagined it all: We would go for a nice dinner and I would tell you everything when we got there and let you make the decision. But then all this happened.”

They both managed to laugh.

“I guess it’s true what you’ve always said,” Adam said. “You can’t control life. You just have to let it take you where it takes you.”

Karl nodded and sank back to a reclining position. He closed his eyes and looked as if he had slipped into deep sleep. “I know you want to find him. I know you want to do it without me.”

Adam did not reply. He shook his head, but Karl could not see this.

“You must, Adam. Go without me. I hate feeling that I’m holding you back.” His voice began to trail off into slumber.

“Don’t talk anymore. Rest now,” said Adam as he left the room.

“I forgot, Son,” Karl said as Adam paused at the door. “Happy birthday. I’m sorry I missed it.”

AT THE JETTY where the ferries depart for the islands there were not many people, it seemed. Margaret stood with Karl, watching the small boats loaded with logs arrive at the flimsy pier. He said, “Are you sure?”

“Oh, quite certain,” she replied. “I want to follow you. If the idea doesn’t repulse you, that is. At least for a short time, while you recover and find your feet.”

“Are you sure you won’t be bored? I mean, what will you do? You’re a person who needs challenges and variety. I’m sure that hasn’t changed.”

“You forget that I grew up in the sticks, so I’d just be going back to my roots. Island life isn’t exactly foreign to me, you know. I thought maybe I could just spend time with you and Adam, helping around the house. I don’t know. I wouldn’t be entirely domestic, of course — I don’t think that is ever going to come naturally to me. There’s also the matter of an unfinished thesis. I could pretend to do some fieldwork, write up my notes, produce articles that no one will ever read. Who knows? I’d just be close to you, that’s all.”

When she looked at him she saw how much older and calmer he was now. It was not merely a question of years, but something else she could not quite define. She knew this because she too was older and calmer. He said, “I have the feeling that we’ve had this conversation before, haven’t we? A long time ago, not so very far from here.”

“I didn’t think you remembered that sort of trivial thing.”

“I do, Margaret, I do.”

Zubaidah was already sitting in the car, sunglasses shading her eyes. She hated good-byes, she said; she had no time for them. She had held hands with Adam for a long time before saying, “No, you need to go home with your father. I’m not going to argue with you — remember, I’m cleverer than you, and older too, so I’ll win any argument! You can’t make decisions like that overnight. What would you do if you came back to Jakarta now? Where would you live? If in a few years’ time you still want to come, then I’ll be there. I think.”

“Come on, kiddos,” Mick called. “I need to hit the road again. Bill will go nuts if I don’t bring this car back on time. Even he can’t hide the fact that he’s pilfered an embassy car for personal reasons.”

“Thank Bill again for me, won’t you?” said Margaret, giving Mick a hug. She held him close and rubbed his back. “And thank you, Mick.”

“Will you be okay?” he asked.

“Yup, don’t worry. I’m just going to take a little time off, I don’t know— travel , as young Americans keep saying nowadays. It sounds so vague, doesn’t it? Finding myself, and all that nonsense. I might as well do it now, before I’m too old. Besides, I have a lot of catching up to do.” She looked over at Karl and Adam.

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

“Oh, I might, one day.”

“And if you don’t?”

She had begun to walk toward Karl and Adam; she turned around and said, “I’ll just marry a good man and bear good children.”

* * *

He drove through the silent city at speed, neon lights staining the night with color. At darkened intersections he ran the lights without looking. He never looked out for other cars, he never looked out for anything. In this fast, young city he did not want to stop, he did not want to sleep. Rain was falling. It made the streets slick and muddy, and the buildings were quiet and empty. Out in the new suburbs the stretches of scrubland that separated the clusters of houses were blank with darkness and he could imagine they were not filled with heaps of rubbish but with trees and ponds. Sometimes he could imagine the sea. And this was when he felt the happiest, but also the saddest, for the night seemed long and deep and silent. He wished that this place had no past. He wished that last night were just a dream, that last month had never existed. He had to keep moving. As long as he did not stay still he would be okay. Rain was falling. Sometimes he could imagine the sea. He drove through the silent city at speed.

I am greatly indebted to Nicholas Pearson, as sensitive and wise an editor as any writer could hope for; his hand-holding helped me weather numerous storms. Thanks, also, to everyone at Fourth Estate and HarperCollins worldwide, especially Michelle Kane.