Chang-Rae Lee - On Such A Full Sea

Seeing her skepticism, Oliver asked her if Old Yellow was still there, something he could have viewed but could not have known the name of; it was what all the children of the household called the ancient lion-head knocker on their front door, and always would, as long as it was there. But if he was Liwei, maybe she couldn’t know, for she had never known him and had never seen his picture. And then it was generally acknowledged that those promoted changed profoundly after leaving (and rightly should), that they became thoroughly transformed, just as happens, say, if you let a pink farm pig out into the wild, they grow hairy and tusked and feral, though people will say perhaps the opposite holds here, any B-Mor coarseness and deference subsumed under the pressure of Charter stresses and expectation, which not only clarified one’s character and views of self but recast your very posture, your color, the now ever-fronted way you held your chin.

You want to know why Vik left without you? Oliver said, the question clearly still evident on her face.

She nodded.

I told him to. I said, You should leave her here with me. She’s my sister, after all. Plus, you’ll probably only get in trouble.

There was no trouble, Fan said.

I didn’t mean that , Oliver said. I know that. He told me you were from B-Mor. But it’s funny, and totally Vik. How many people does one ever encounter from B-Mor? He didn’t even know that people were talking about you back there. You and this “Reg.”

Fan didn’t reply.

But that’s the thing about Vik. He’s as smart as anyone I know. Probably the smartest. He could have done anything he wanted. But he can’t do something as simple as say your name to a handscreen. Oliver showed Fan his, her name and household address and then countless links to discussion strings about their whereabouts, to all the theories and rumors about Reg and the directorate.

It would never occur to Vik. That’s why he’ll always be stuck in the ER. He gets on to something particular, and if he’s satisfied, he won’t bother to look up, he won’t go beyond.

Fan said: Maybe he doesn’t want to go beyond.

Oliver sort of chuckled, or suppressed a chuckle, as if to say where should he begin. There was a long-seeming moment in which they simply stood there, these putative siblings, the straight roofline of the brand-new house framing them, if Fan could see it, in a way that indeed suggested like blood, perhaps the shared squareness of their shoulders. But he was looking at her now as he did when Vik was driving away, a pain bubbling up.

You know about them, don’t you? he said. He was about to say something else when his expression changed, and she turned to see Betty behind the glass storm door. Betty opened it enough to poke out her head, wave her hand.

Would you come in now, Ollie! We’re nearly done with the presents and everyone is wondering where you are!

He called, All right, and Betty smiled, and gave them another hurry-up wave. Then she disappeared back inside.

Oliver rubbed his chin. He said: I discovered it last month, just as we were setting up for the sale. Her handscreen must have fallen out of her bag in the kitchen and it was buzzing below the chair because it was nearly out of power. I plugged it in and a message from Vik came up. I know his number. Then I found all the rest, hundreds and hundreds of them. Maybe a thousand. It was amazing. Do you know how innocent most of them were?

Fan shook her head.

They were. They were almost all like that. Essentially just versions of What are you doing, I’m fine, This is on my mind. Truly nothing. You would think that would count. But of course, there were other kinds.

He paused, letting out a trapped breath.

Well, it doesn’t matter now. It’s over between them. At least Vik made that clear. Over for good. It’s nothing that should be thought about again, right?

He wasn’t really asking, but nevertheless Fan did not know what to say. And whether or not Oliver was truly her brother didn’t seem paramount at the moment, either, for how stricken he was, if almost undetectably. He just kept slowly blinking, like his eyes were too dry, the sole stirring in the impassive pane of his face. Did our Fan wish to reach out? Did she want to comfort him with an embrace? Of course, yes. So she did. It took him by surprise, but then he reciprocated with a firmness that surprised her.

When he let her go, he started heading toward the house, but Fan simply stood there.

Oliver turned to her. What are you doing?

She said she thought she should go.

What do you mean, to Vik’s?

She said yes, though in truth she didn’t quite know. Hadn’t she seen him drive off like he wouldn’t ever be coming back? The curving street before her, which led somewhere deeper into the development, was densely quilted by kempt lawns and houses, by cars and tidy young trees. No one else was around.

Listen, Oliver said. You should at least spend the night with us. There’s no place else to go right now. You can stay with us, with Josey and the twins. Josey would love it, I bet. I’ve been thinking about something since the sale. We can do whatever we want now. We can make everything happen. We can look after our family, our kin, all the time. I don’t want only helpers around us, not anymore. Now you’re here. Of course, it’s up to you. But think about it. Whatever the reasons that you’ve come out from the walls. Who else would ever help you? Who else would ever care?

That night, we know, after the party, after everyone (the guests, the caterers, Betty’s parents, all their helpers save the two who slept with the twins) had left, Betty and Fan made up her bed together in the companion bedroom to Josey’s, the one in which Fan had overheard her and Vik. Oliver was on a conference call with the pharmacorp’s scientists from their labs in Kuala Lumpur and Palo Alto. Josey had, of course, gone crazy when she learned that Fan would be staying with them, giddy with the assumption that Fan would be sharing her bedroom, but there was no other bed to bring in easily and Betty didn’t want Josey up all night playing or talking, and it took both of them a long time to calm her down after her tantrum and refusal to brush her teeth and a bout of forced sobs and the books each had to read to her and her last-gasp entreaties before her little body finally relented and she fell dead asleep. It had been a long day and it was late and even Betty, Fan could see, looked exhausted as they stretched the sheet over the mattress, strands of hair loosely screening part of her face, the slightest crook to her back. Fan insisted she would do the rest and Betty thanked her but instead of leaving she plopped herself into the downy armchair beside the bed, taking up the very large glass of wine she’d brought up and placed on the night table. It was as big as a bell. She was absently slow-swirling the ruby liquid but not yet drinking it as she watched Fan spread the top sheet and pull on the pillowcases.

After so many years, Betty said. I know you never even knew each other but it’s wonderful to see you together. Oliver seems so happy. This was going to be a happy day, for him especially, but not like this. I was afraid there would be a letdown after the sale because, frankly, what would we do with ourselves now; it’s like winning the lottery, but I don’t feel that way anymore. There’s suddenly a new shape we can see. And we have you, in part, to thank for it.

Maybe Vik, too, Fan said.

Yes, for sure, Betty said, taking a drink of her wine. I’m sorry he had to leave so abruptly. I didn’t even know.

That’s okay, Fan said, thinking as fast as she could to make sure not to cause any undue trouble.

Did he say why? Betty asked, as if asking most casually.