Still Life

The guest in the next room practising scream therapy at someone named Ron slowly stirred him from his semi comatose state. If the walls had been any thinner he surely would have been in the same room as them. How he would hate to be Ron. Poor bastard.

Very slowly he opened his eyes. The light hurt. There must be a window open somewhere because the Hong Kong fog had invaded the room and made everything hazy so he could not see properly. As he began to focus on the room around him the fog cleared. Blurred vision. It was not the weather. It was him.

A clock on the nightstand. 7.20 a.m. Okay, so it’s not too late in the day.

Someone must have attacked him while he was sleeping, knocked him unconscious and poured shit in his mouth. It tasted awful.

As hangovers go, this one felt pretty bad.

It wasn't a feeling of pain, more a deep emotional scarring. Everything felt suspended in time. He was sure the pain would creep in through the haze soon.

Nausea, headaches, shaking hands. All these could be dealt with by the usual plop-plop-fizz and a quick trip to the Union Bar and Grill at IFC at lunch time. What he was more concerned with was the wiping of his memory from the night before.

Memory is a funny thing. It holds back information. It protects us from the horrors of reality. It allows us only an edited version of events. Yet the mind knows. It has to, in order to know what to hold back. And that's what troubled him.

He went through the events leading up to his system shut-down.

Firstly there were the congratulations in the office on winning the new contract. Then there was a pub after work for a few too many celebration drinks. He knew they would go for dinner so he called his helper and asked her to take special care of his daughter.

Then a taxi with some colleagues to Wanchai and listening to the band in the Amazonia. Loud but good. Those Filipinos sure knew how to play. Then he recalled a girl. What was her name? Lisa? Then dancing. He never did that.

They did a bar crawl and ended up in the Red Bar downstairs. A few glasses of red wine followed by being shown to a table, and then served with a starter followed by more glasses of wine. Then - nothing.

No wait, he thought, there’s more.

Dinner was okay. More red wine. Lisa had joined them. Then the others had left. Lisa had stayed. He knew that she was a hooker, a Hong Kong mattress for hire. Okay, he recalled thinking, maybe this time.

He had checked into a room. The Chinese hotel receptionist was less than impressed. Typical Western guy who had obviously been drinking together with a Filipino hooker in tow. This was a quality hotel but she couldn’t refuse so she had handed over the key and send them up with the porter. What was the room number? Who cares? Somewhere on the fifteenth floor.

Lisa was petite; twenty eight years old, great looks. Short, low cut black dress. Nice girl. Great chest. How did they defy gravity?

She had gone through the usual moves to get him interested but he had just asked her to sit down and relax. In his state he doubted whether he would have been able to perform anyway. He wasn’t drunk but he was on his way. He just wanted to talk. Besides, he wasn’t ready yet to be with someone after Mai. It was still too early. The pain was still too raw, like poking an open wound with a stick. He just wanted some company. Lisa didn’t mind. It would be an easy night for her. After all, he had paid her well.

He had ordered some drinks on room service. What were they again? Doesn’t matter. They were doing the job.

Lisa had asked him what was wrong. She had learnt earlier at dinner about his company winning the new contract. He was supposed to be so happy yet he looked so sad.

He didn’t know why he had opened up to her. Maybe it was because she didn’t know him. Maybe it was because she was warm and friendly. Whatever, it didn’t matter. It had come spilling out of him.

He told her about Mai.

He told her how he had been living and working in Hong Kong at the time he met Mai. Originally from Sydney, an architect, he was well respected at his craft. Young, early-30s, good-looking, good social life, great future prospects. He had it all going for him. Nice bachelor apartment, great lifestyle, sure there was no girlfriend at the time but that would change one day.

He told Lisa how he had met Mai when mutual friends had met for dinner in Tsim Sha Tsui to welcome Chinese New Year and watch the fireworks on Victoria Harbour. Chinese, born in Hong Kong, English speaking, slightly younger than him, medical degree and practising as a doctor, Mai wasn’t bad on the eye either. He had immediately been smitten with her. After a lot of indecision on his part because he wasn’t sure whether she would say yes or not, he had finally asked his friends for her cell phone number and had called her to ask her to meet him for a drink. To his surprise and after some initial hesitation on her behalf she had agreed. Their friendship had developed into a deeper relationship and they had both decided to see where things would lead.

It was only a few months later when they were married and receptions were held in both Sydney and Hong Kong. They had moved out of their single accommodations and into an apartment together in Pok Fu Lam.

He remembered aloud how their first two years together had been bliss. She had filled his life with joy. They had solidified the foundation of their relationship, learnt how to compromise on cultural issues, to laugh at themselves individually and at each other, learnt how to share thoughts and feelings with each other as well as to blend as a couple.

Then the unresolvable had entered their lives.

It wasn’t that Mai had fallen pregnant, that was fantastic news. That was what they had been hoping for. That was going to be a miracle in their lives. The perfect blend.

It was the news that Mai was diagnosed with leukaemia that caused the complication.

Mai had been five months pregnant when the leukaemia had been detected. The medical team had done all they could and the specialist had had to give them a choice to make. Either Mai or the baby. Only one could survive. If Mai continued to take her medicine the baby would miscarry. If Mai didn’t take her medicine, her life would be at peril.

Lisa listened intently as he told her how they had wrestled with their own consciences at what to do and they had cried together in despair. He didn’t want to lose Mai, his wife, the love of his life. It was Mai who made the final decision. The baby would live. Mai reasoned that her situation was terminal at best and that she wanted him and the unborn baby to have a life together after she was gone.

The pregnancy had continued without medication for Mai. She had survived long enough to welcome her little daughter Samantha are into the world and hold her in her arms. He had cried with her. Tears of joy along with tears of sorrow. Mai had died one week later.

That had been one year ago last week. 53 weeks, longer than a year, a lot shorter than a lifetime. It had been on his mind every day, not just for the past week but for everyday since she had gone. Even when he had visited her shrine at Bo Fook Shan it had not helped. He missed Mai so much.

There was an emptiness that nothing seemed to fill.

After Mai had died his head had been a mixture of anger and self-pity. Those feelings had slowly evaporated.

It was all the other memories that kept tormenting him. The unfulfilled plans.

The shared places they had been together still froze his heart: Temple Street Crabs outdoor seafood restaurant in Jordan where they had talked, laughed and even argued; the dining room table at their apartment across which they had faced each other to make sense of their worries and talked about future hopes; even the Wellcome supermarket where they had routinely lingered once a week to refuel their happy lives, smug with the expectation of a lifetime together. They had taken these places for granted, never thinking of tragedy or loss.

For them, misfortune occurred elsewhere and in other people lives, with their sympathies honestly given but couched behind selfish relief. And then Mai was gone and he was alone with Samantha.

He told Lisa how, at first, friends had shown support and love. Eventually he was left to his own devices. His initial meetings with friends and colleagues would elicit friendly nods and smiles but as he passed, those smiles would turn to frowns and heads would slowly shake. Everyone was so sad for him. They felt pity for him. But he was lost to them and to himself. For a time it was if he was in a trance. He inhabited a dream-world where the past and future had evaporated into an endless state of cold endurance within the present. He had simply gone through the motions of living. He had to.

Lisa heard how he had contemplated taking his own life early in his grief so he could join Mai but he decided that would be unfair to his little daughter. For her sake he must endure the pain of living.

In his mind he could always see Mai and feel her, her smile and her soft black hair, and Mai scolded him for clinging on to what was not real. Even when he was in the street he could see her face in the expressions of passers-by. Mai was everywhere.

No wonder he was screwed up.

But Mai was gone. No matter how much he hoped and wished, she would not be coming back.

When he had finished talking he remembered looking up and seeing that Lisa had been crying. She had said some things. What were they again? Can’t remember. Brain fade due to too much alcohol.

The last thing he could remember was telling Lisa she could go. She had understood. She had given him a kiss on the cheek, smiled and told him he was a nice guy and then left.

He couldn’t remember much after that. He could tell he was still dressed in his business clothes, tie done up nearly strangling him, shoes on, that much was obvious. He must have passed out while sitting on the end of the bed and just laid there like a corpse until 10 minutes ago when Ron’s wife had started telling Ron how much she loved him. Not very much apparently.

He lay afraid to move and stared at the ceiling. Why are all hotel room ceilings always painted white he pondered. Why couldn’t they paint them some other colour? What’s wrong with light blue for example? At least people could pretend it was the sky.

Three light fittings, one smoke detector, one sprinkler fitting, and one air conditioning register. The total number of services hanging from the ceiling.

He lay very still. His mind wandered.

One year after her death and he was still numb and indifferent to life and to those around him. He didn’t want to become close to anyone again, to risk the pain of hurting or losing someone else who mattered to him. From time to time he would have nights like last night, numb the pain for a while and maintain his emotional isolation.

He grieved in public yet only wept in private; Selfish ego would not permit his heart to lay itself bare. That was private. Untouchable. Not for public view.

At least he had her memory. He had had his special love in his life and nobody could touch that. Nobody would ever take that away. If he just got up from this bed and kept moving perhaps he could leave the pain behind him so it couldn’t catch up with him.

He cried. He was alone. For the first time he didn't cry for himself; He cried for Mai and Samantha and that they would never know each other.

He opened his eyes. His vision blurred with the tears. The smoke detector came back into view.

What was the time now? he thought. He turned his head.

8.00 a.m. Time to go.

Not yet.

Breath in, breath out.

I will leave in a moment, he thought.

More from last night came back into his memory. What was it that Lisa had said just before she had left? That’s right; she had asked him what Mai would have thought about his behaviour and his attempts to blot out his pain. She had wondered whether Mai would want him to accept what had happened and get on with his life and honour her.

Acceptance is the key, Lisa had said. Acceptance is the key. What does that mean?

Honour her? What did she mean by that?

What would Mai have said about his behaviour last night? He pondered.

Perhaps she would understand that getting drunk last night was just his feeble attempt at forgetting, at least for just a little while. She would understand that the forgetting wouldn’t last long. It never did.

No, Mai would not say that. Lisa was right. He knew that Mai would tell him to stop trying to blot her out, to smile when he thought of her rather than feeling sad and sorry for himself. She would tell him to accept what had happened and get on with his life. Mai would also tell him to honour her and her memory by being happy, living fully, and being a proper father to their daughter.

That’s hard my love, he thought. Its easier to keep trying to forget. Or is it? Trying to forget is such hard work.

Acceptance is the key.

A long sigh.

A pause.

A heartbeat.

This has to stop. I need to accept what has happened and get on with my life.

A deep breath in.

A longer pause

Another heartbeat.

Okay my darling. If that’s what you want. That’s what I’ll do. As long as there is still life in me that’s what I’ll do.

A long slow breath out.

Movement.

He struggled up off the bed. Stood up gingerly while the room spun then slowly settled. He would shower later he reasoned as he just wanted to get away from there. He needed to get outside and get some fresh air rather than keep breathing in the dry stuff coming from the air-conditioning system.

He straightened his clothes, adjusted his tie, smoothed his hair with the flat of his hand. The bottled water on the table made him feel semi human again. Passable.

He opened the door. A short balding guy in spectacles dressed in a yellow polo shirt and grey shorts over black walk socks and runners came walking by. A much larger woman in permed red hair and a floral dress who was clutching a black carry bag was with him. Her face was all screwed up as if she had just eaten a lemon. The guy must be Ron he thought. He really is a poor bastard.

The door to room 1510 closed quietly behind him as he left. He wasn’t going to work. He was going to spend the day with his daughter, to start getting on with his life and to remember his wife with a smile.