Short Story
(3-minute read; 1,000 words)
Defined by Choice
Wei had just completed his degree when he fell in love with Li – daughter of his mentor. It was an innocent romance, but his passionate kisses were unrestrained – her lips were those of his future wife. That’s why the news of her family’s sudden relocation from Beijing to Shenzhen sucked the air from the room and the colour from his life. The happy home he’d envisaged clearly enough to ‘smell’ the jasmine in its yard, lay in ruins. Tightness in his chest consumed him. He neither ate nor slept until the act of packing his bags for Shenzhen eased his pain.
Convinced he’d find a job there; Wei announced his departure – ticket in hand – to horrified parents. So distressed was his mother at the thought of her eldest child leaving that she’d collapsed on the sidewalk the following day while walking home from work. His father, equally rattled by his son’s impending departure, lost control of the car and spent three nights in hospital. Playing with fate like high court judges, the family convinced Wei that these were omens. Pressure for him to maintain filial piety came from everyone – his parents and extended family, and so he stayed home, withdrew into himself, and robotically played the dutiful son.
He didn’t know it then, but that decision would weigh him down for years – a cloak of melancholy and shattered dreams that repelled any would-be bride his parents tried tirelessly to arrange. Every weekend, they’d attend the downtown marriage market. Amid what he saw as farcical attempts to marry him off, all that sustained him were shards of a memory – lying under cherry blossoms in full bloom with the warmth of her lips on his.
The years passed. News had arrived of Li’s arranged marriage and two years later the birth of a son was announced, a child that should have been his. That was the final blow. Numb to all emotions, Wei got a job driving a delivery van distributing unlabelled packages to addresses given him by a party official. He had no interest in his cargo and after driving all day he’d walk off his stiffness, in warmer months, for hours on end, blind to the beauty of willow trees along the riverbank, impervious to impressive Confucian temples and unaware of smiles from passersby. It was different in spring when, unbidden, the abundance of cherry blossoms would penetrate his awareness. Then, he’d clench his jaw and will his heart to turn to stone. At home, sleep was a welcome relief that provided escape from his hovering parents. Sleep filled in time, months, even years. He’d given away the guitar he’d enjoyed playing for Li and stopped challenging friends as the best Go player in town; he no longer connected, and they had long ago begun finding his company depressing. On his fortieth birthday, on an impulse driven by the realization that life had brought him little of significance, he booked a flight to Thailand.
The unfamiliar landscape of Bangkok had lifted his spirits and the long-forgotten sensation of his lips forming a smile at a waitress surprised him. When she smiled back, he’d felt his cheeks burn. Enjoying the salty shrimp and peanuts of a Pad Thai at a table for two in a crowded restaurant, he’d been caught off-guard, and unaware – when a tall blonde approached asking if the chair opposite was taken – that his life was about to turn on its head. Had he known, he might have fled. It would later bemuse him that culture shock so intense that it penetrated the core of one’s soul could be distilled into corporeal form – a woman’s sky-blue eyes that threatened chaos.
And now, retired at sixty-five, he’s found a table in the same corner of the restaurant where it all began – those years that had him catapulting between heaven and hell until his wings grew too singed to fly. He notices the changed décor, now less Thai, more Chinese, so too the menu, and there’s no unoccupied chair. He orders Pad Thai, for old times’ sake, but is suddenly unsure. Taste sensation is subject to mood and attitude. If regret is all he tastes, he hopes it won’t spoil the day, there’s much to do: a detective to employ, a child to find, and enough paperwork to make even the best accountant, Sompong, cringe. The Thai had been her friend first, then his for the past decade. He needed him now to jump the hoops of Thai bureaucracy. This morning he’d called on the police; the third time this week. He knows they’re suspicious but keeps hoping they’ll help.
An older, thickset waitress brings his meal. She doesn’t smile. She not Thai, but Chinese. He knows from once-painful experience that she’s read him and has understood that she’s safer keeping her distance. He wonders whether he’d turn the clock back if he could. When he’d discovered that those blue eyes were military-trained and looked at more than scenery, could he have escaped the mesmerizing hold they’d had on him? They’d been living together for a year when that soulless party official had followed him into an isolated laneway. Wondering whether saying ‘no’ was ever an option, he pushes the plate away; he’s lost his appetite.
A mirror on the opposite wall reflects a white-haired Asian male – he’s never cared much for dye. He dislikes the deep lines that frame a mouth not easily coaxed into laughter. For a moment, he sees himself as a wise Chinese sage, but then scoffs; wisdom would have helped back then had someone taught him to choose wisely. He pays with cash; being untraceable is a hard habit to kick. At the exit, a choice lurks like a challenge. Left is the public phone he needs to use. Turning right would lead him back in time to where they’d rented a flat. He wonders whether he’d be consoled or crushed by the flood of memories that await him there. Taking a deep breath, he turns.
