Wu Ming-Yi - The Man with the Compound Eyes

Hafay did not herself run a B&B, not because she was on her own or because she did not need the money, but mainly because she felt the B&Bs here weren’t what B&Bs were supposed to be like. They were mostly little inns operated by pretentious people from Taipei. Most people who chose to stay in such places were boring, run-of-the-mill. The vulgar and garrulous greatly outnumbered the pleasant and engaging. There were middle-class families who would not tell their noisy kids to shut up and big clans who wanted to spend the whole evening singing karaoke. Then there were couples who had just started seeing each other. They would come for a holiday but end up locking themselves in the room and spending the whole day in bed. Of course, there were also quite a few middle-aged couples. Some hoped a vacation would rekindle the flame, others were just having an affair, and Hafay could tell which was which at a glance.

Another reason why Hafay did not operate a B&B was because she hated having her picture taken with customers. At first she would let them, but then some of them would post the pictures on the internet, and a few would even send them to Hafay. It disgusted and irritated her to see herself posing with a bunch of people she’d known for all of an hour or two. Forgetful Hafay usually wouldn’t be able to remember who they were. So Hafay often told regulars who encouraged her to open a B&B that, “Hey, I’m not cut out for it. Neither are most people who run B&Bs, mind you, but the difference is, I know I’m not and they don’t.”

To be honest, Hafay did not really care for some of the professors and students from the university, especially students who would come around to do fieldwork for some silly class project. Hafay knew that the only reason old-timers in the village were willing to tell stories to these university people was because loneliness had overwhelmed them, left them longing for the good old days, not because of any highfalutin notions like cultural heritage or anything of the sort. It was loneliness that made their stories flow like water from an open tap. Hafay often thought that if she ever wrote a thesis, she would argue that the true source of culture is loneliness.

Alice was a regular customer, that was for sure. The past year she had been coming to the Seventh Sisid once in a while all by herself, but always at dawn when the place was empty. Very few customers knew that the Seventh Sisid never closed. Maybe it’d be better to say that Hafay would always leave a little door open on the sea-facing side. Regulars could stick their hand through the hole in the door, undo the latch, come in and pour themselves a glass of wine or brew a pot of coffee anytime they wanted. Of course the café would be closed. Outside opening hours, Hafay might be out and about or in her room sleeping, but the Second Rule of the Seventh Sisid was, “Please make yourself at home: for the purpose of a Pangcah house is to entertain friends.” The First Rule of the Seventh Sisid was, “Help yourself to the wine.” Hafay thought that anyone who didn’t know the door was always open for regulars and tried to force his way in was a thief.

The reason why Alice became a regular was simple: it was less than a five-minute walk from the Seaside House to the Seventh Sisid. At first Alice came alone; later she and Thom often came together, always sitting at the table to the far left that everyone called the Lighthouse. They called it that because Hafay had put a teardrop lamp on the table, supposedly positioning it so that sometimes even distant ships could see it at night, if the weather was clear.

Alice liked to order salama coffee, while Thom always had millet wine. Thom was never stingy with his time, helping folks in the nearby villages, mostly old people, fix this and that around the house. He was a forthright and intelligent fellow. Hafay thought that he might well be the first Dane to be able to speak Pangcah. So when Toto was born everyone living along the coast was happy for them. Having no time for Taiwanese child-rearing taboos, Thom was taking Toto everywhere less than half a year after he was born. Toto had the most beautiful blue eyes. But they had a hidden depth that made the boy look at once innocent and aged.

After Thom went missing, Alice would still sometimes come alone to the Seventh Sisid, but she always came when no other customers were around. Every time, she would sit at her usual seat at the Lighthouse and gaze out to sea. One time it was really late at night. Alice did not even turn on the light, maybe for fear of waking Hafay. From her room, Hafay saw Alice pour coffee cold from the pot and drink it looking out the window toward the Seaside House. No, now that the sea had risen the name had changed: it was now called the Sea House.

Hafay knew that Alice had stepped into a kind of spirit trap. For the time being she was only watching, figuring out a way to get her out. She knew that at a time like this she could not try forcing it open or she would only end up tearing Alice apart.

Hafay eventually decided to put on her nightgown and go out and have a drink with Alice. She quietly made a fresh pot of coffee. They did not even make eye contact in the darkness. Hafay brought out a candle holder a friend had carved out of a piece of driftwood and lit a candle, giving the two of them something to stare at. Hafay had a funny feeling that kawas was near, which she found reassuring. The two of them faced the firelight, and the sea. Finally Alice said, “Hafay, I’m sorry, I’ve barged in again to steal another cup of coffee.”

“Barge in any time you like. Whatever you see here is yours.”

Alice’s spirit had left her body. She was just sitting there, living off lingering warmth. The day she cooled off completely might be the beginning of a new life, or the end of everything. It was like the millet: it might ripen or wither, depending. Hafay could tell that was where Alice was at. She could just tell.

“Hafay, I don’t mean to be nosy, but do you have family somewhere?” Alice turned her cup around in her hands. “If you don’t feel like talking about it, forget I asked.”

“Yeah, I had parents, and I loved a fellah once. I often thought about having a kid, no matter who the father was.”

Alice was looking out to sea, and Hafay too. They both knew that sometimes it’s better not to look right in someone’s eyes. “Hey, you know no one’s alone in this world. Don’t look at me now: when I was young I weighed all of a hundred pounds, and all male eyes would veer my way whenever I walked on by. But now time’s passed, and I’ve lost everything I had, ’cept I’ve gained a few extra pounds.” Hafay laughed cheerfully. Her laughter was contagious, and Alice even managed a laugh in return, just to be sociable.

“But you’ve got this restaurant.”

Hafay nodded. Yes, figuratively speaking, the Seventh Sisid had given Hafay a skeleton on which to hang her thoughts and memories.

The two of them were drinking salama coffee, a fusion of Brazilian beans with a dash of sorghum, and certain fragrant herbs picked wild in the hills. The typical customer didn’t pay too much attention to it at first sip, not expecting to be drawn farther and farther, sip by sip, into the salama trap. Customers would smell the aroma left in the cup after the last swallow, a melange of rainforest, dusk and the burnt smell after a forest fire, and from then on would drink nothing but salama at the Seventh Sisid, almost without exception. Alice put the cup under her nose and her face opened up, like a window that had always been shut but was now letting in a bit of light.

Hafay was still gazing out to sea when a gecko stopped on the glass. A glimmer appeared in her eyes. As if awakening from a long dream, she started to sing.