"There is something sad about him, for, unlike Basil and Dorian, he fails to commit himself. His life is vicarious."
~Alex Ross, Deceptive Picture, a piece about Oscar Wilde from the Aug. 8, 2011 issue of The New Yorker.

Thursday, September 29, 2011

Turning Signals

C
arla didn’t finish her cigarette. She shouted from the door.
            “Okay, girls. I’m leaving without you.”
            Carla walked to the end of the stairs, listening to the shrieks and giggles of the girls as they chased each other around the house.
            “Mommy, mommy!”
Steps stumped down the stairs. Britney was ahead. Her eyes lightened up when she fixed her stare at Carla. Carla knew she’s going to do that again. She called it the Kamikaze attack. Britney jumped into Carla’s arms. Carla thought to herself: this must be what playing football was like.
“What did I tell you? Don’t ever do that again.”
“But mommy, Nellie is…”
“I did not! She’s…”
“Okay, okay, okay, I don’t want to hear it. Now get in the car, your grandfather is waiting. Nellie, get the bag.”
            “Why!?”
            “Fine, Britney, get the bag.”
            “No! She asked me!”
            “She asked me!”
            Carla walked to the kitchen and checked the door which she locked five minutes ago. She checked the windows. She checked the dishwasher. She unplugged the toaster. She walked up to the second floor to make sure all lights were off. But after a second thought, she flipped the bathroom light on.
            She checked her purse again, checkbook, papers from the court and Mike’s lawyer, money. Then she remembered her cell phone, so she went back up to the bedroom.
            When she walked down, she found the girls at the door.
            “Get in the car, girls.”
            “Mommy, I need to pee.”
            Carla sighed, “go. Nellie, get in the car and stay with the baby.”
            “I need to pee, too.”
            “Pee in the back yard.”
            “No!”
            Natalie rushed up the stair. After a spare seconds, she started pounding on the bathroom door.
            “Natalie Williams! Stop it!”
            “Mommy! She locked the door!”
            Carla could hear Britney shouted something back. She walked to the kitchen and decided to pack some snack.
            After the girls were done. Carla walked back up again, and absent-mindedly, turned off the light.
            She apologized when she got in the driver’s seat and secured the seatbelt.
            “Sorry, Sam.”
            Carla expected Sam to offer to drive. Not that she’d accept it, but he should at least ask. But Sam said nothing. The baby was wide awake. She looked with her curious big round blue eyes at Britney’s finger which she grasped with her tiny little hand. The girls were still fighting. Carla slowly pulled out of the driveway.

S
he must be seven or eight, or maybe even older, although she felt small. She remembered it’s a long way. They drove for days. Carla’s grandfather just died and left Paulo a sum of money that funded the trip. Had she been a boy, they would have had two shares, Carla’s mother argued. Carla was sitting in the back seat, feeling ashamed.
            Carla was not talking to Paulo who’s complaining loudly how boring it was to sit next to his sister and how much he missed his friends. Carla’s father focused on the road and did not say anything. He just smoked. Carla’s mother was painting her nails and once or twice said something short and smart to Paulo’s whining.
            “You can get out of the car if you want. Just ask your father to stop the car. We will probably be home at the same time you walk back.”
            “Why don’t you ask Carla to get out? She’s useless.”
            If father stopped the car, Carla would get out and start walking, taking only her bear and nothing else, Carla thought.
            “She’s not the one who’s complaining. Go stay with whoever you like, go stay with your friends, or strangers. At least I wouldn’t need to wash your dirty clothes no more.”
            Paulo said nothing but turned and punched Carla on her arm.
            “Paulo Cunha!”  mother scolded.
             Carla did not feel defended. They are all her enemy, father included, who betrayed her with his silence.
            They drove on. And soon Carla fell asleep. She couldn’t remember how long. Carla remembered looking out the car window at the bug like ashes half asleep. Then suddenly realized it’s not ashes and it’s not bugs. It’s snow.
            “Mama, it’s snow!”
            Mother was asleep. So was Paulo. Carla shook him.
            “Paulo, Paulo, it’s snowing.”
            Paulo mumbled and slowly opened his eyes.
            “Look, it’s snow.”
            Paulo looked out. Quietly, he reached and held Carla’s hand.
            Paulo puked when he got out of the car. Mother said that it’s because he didn’t wear his coat while father kicked snow to cover the vomit, a cigarette in one hand.
            It seemed like they were on the road for a long time. Carla was now very used to living in a car. She’d stuff their bags before the seat and put coats and blankets over them, making it a nice cushioned corner. Then she would sit against the back of the driver’s seat with her face facing the road they traveled so she could stretch her legs.
            One day. They got out of the car and drank from the icy stream. The water was cold and sweet. Across the road was an endless field with acres and acres of tall sunflowers staring at the sun.
           
C
arla put on her sunglasses and pulled down the shield. The sun was now hurting her eyes. Sam switched the radio to some country music which was irritating her the more. But it would be rude to suggest they tune in to another channel or turn off the radio. It didn’t really matter, the girls were too loud anyway.
            “Mind if I smoke?”
            Sam asked.
            “Sorry, Sam, no, not with the girls and baby in the car.”
            Carla looked at Sam. But Sam just stared before him.
            “We can stop at the store if you want.”
            “It’s okay.”
            “You sure? We need to get some water any way.”
            “Yeah, really, I’m okay.”
            “Mommy, are we going to the store?”
            “Can we get some ice cream?”
“Quiet, girls.”
“You promise?”
Carla ignored the girls and drove on pass the blocks.
“Mommy?”
Carla said nothing.
“Mommy?”
“Yes?”
“Are we going to see daddy?”
“Yes.”
“Did you bring my drawing?”
“What drawing?”
“I want to give it to daddy.”
“We’ll give it to him next time.”
“But…”
“Mommy?”
“What?”
“Is daddy coming home?”
“Yes,” Carla felt a shiver, “but not after a while.”
“But you said,”
“Daddy is coming home, just a little while.”
They drove on. It reminded Carla of the trip they took when she was young. How she wish it would never end. But not this time, right now, Carla wished she could stop, slam the door and run, away from home, away from the girls, who are forever asking questions, even the baby, who just made her feel so tired and guilty.
“What does Mike plead now?”
Carla said nothing. They had no money. And what’s the use? Mike probably did it. There’s nowhere out of it.
“We are not pleading anything.”
After Mike was arrested, the man who also called himself Frank stopped by, with another bulky man that claimed to be a friend of Mike’s. Carla assumed he’s the man Mike worked for, and who put him in the prison, away from his real responsibility.
That Frank said that he’ll take care of everything, and that Mike’d be home in no time. Carla thanked him with the baby inside her.
It’s been more than a year now. Mike’s going nowhere. And Carla, was going on her way down.
            These days, after Mike’s whisked away, Carla had been thinking. Perhaps, when Mike proposed that they move here, away from the city, was to run away from it all. Maybe he tried. But Carla never asked him.
            Whatever it was. It’s not working. Even after two kids, Mike’s still doing it, and finally got himself caught, or sold out before they had the unexpected third.
            Carla stopped at the store.
            “Okay, I’m gonna get something to drink on the road. Sam, you need anything?”
            “No, I’m good.”

            Carla looked into the rearview mirror, at the girls and the baby, then she got out of the car.
            “No, Nellie, stay in the car with your sisters, I’m gonna be real quick. Britney, get in the car.”
            “I want to go with you.”
            “I said, get in the car.”
            Carla slammed the car door and walked to the store. She looked back before she went in. The girls were still outside the car, looking at her. Sam climbed out, and slowly lighted a cigarette, and blew out, a visible deep breath.

C
arla fished out a cigarette, her hands were shaking, she couldn’t hold a cup. She flipped the lighter, once, twice, the third time. It didn’t light.
            “what…”
            Carla mumbled. She put down her hand, the unlit cigarette still in her mouth. Then she tried again, and finally smoked.
            Carla stood outside the café. She didn’t want to encourage customers to speak to her. She edged to the store front, turned her head to the other side, away from the comfy light inside and the exhausted or excited crowd on the street. She pulled her coat tightly and blew out nervous, quick little puffs.
            Carla put out her cigarette on the wall. Immediately, she heard knocks on the glass. A regular tipped his head and waved goodbye in one simple gesture. Carla smiled and blew him a kiss. Then she adjusted her purse and headed home.
            It’s six thirty. Carla was supposed to finish her shift thirty minutes ago. There’s an one hour ride back to Brooklyn.
            Carla pushed the turnstile and quickly walked out of the subway. Her boots were wet and the soles were hurting her feet. She walked in the apartment building, accidentally slammed the door behind her. A neighbor down the hall made a likewise noise. Carla rushed up the metal stairs.
            It made Carla mad. She could tell that Paulo was sleeping in her bed, probably with his dirty clothes on. She flipped on the light.
            “Paulo!”
            Paulo was startled and immediately sat up on her bed. He looked at Carla with his eyes red and a frightened and lost stare. Paulo slept on his coat. The bed was otherwise made. Carla felt sorry.
            “I didn’t know you were here. You scared me.”
            Paulo mumbled apologies and something about couldn’t sleep in the living room.
            “You can sleep in my bed. I don’t care. Come.”
            Carla gestured to remove the covering and to take off Paulo’s shoes. But Paulo stood up and walked in the bathroom.
            Carla handed Paulo a towel.
            “Did you go out today?”
            Paulo shook his head.
            “I was so exhausted.”
            “From what? All you did was sleep.”
            “I am so tired.”
            “Well, do you still want to go out tonight?”
            Paulo said nothing.
            “Come on, I’m starving.”
            When they walked out the door, onto the littered street, Paulo reached and held Carla’s hand, as if they were still kids. It made Carla feel like a lover. Carla hooked Paulo’s arm, and pressed her breast to his arm.
            “Are you mad?”
            Paulo shook her off.
            “What?”
            Paulo walked ahead.
            “Nothing.”
            They had Chinese food. Paulo didn’t want to take the train, and didn’t want to spend too much money.
            “Mama said she wants to come.”
            “No.”
            “She wants to see you.”
            “No. You can just tell her no. I’ll never hear the end of it.”
            “You can’t live like this. New York is dangerous. This place is dangerous.”
            Paulo lowered his voice suddenly, and looked nervously at the man just walked in.
            “I like it here. Paulo.”
            “What? I can’t sleep for the last two days because there are always cars…”
“You’re just paranoid, there are no cars…”
“There are cars, and noise, and who knows, maybe gunshots and siren, and noise.”
            “It’s perfectly safe. New York is crowded. So is every other city. You are saying that because you haven’t really seen the city yet. All you do is sleep.”
            “What’s there to see? I can’t afford it. We can’t afford it.”
            “I like it here.”
            Anna said she would join them. But she’s out all night. So the next day, Carla and Paulo went out by themselves. Carla took Paulo to downtown Manhattan and Brooklyn Bridge. The day was clear and sunny, the blue too rich behind the sun washed structure. They walked past a photo shooting on the bridge. And they stopped to gaze at the Statue of Liberty yearning for new comers out from the graying sea.
            Paulo complained about everything, the walking, the bagel and coffee they had in the morning, the subway, and the bikes on the bridge. But Carla remained cheerful. It’s nice to have someone around.
            Paulo stopped at a store and bought a bottle of beer. The clerk wrapped the beer in paper bag. Paulo said he didn’t need it. But the clerk did it any way. Out of the store, Paulo threw out the brown paper bag and finished the beer in what seemed like a minute. Finally, Carla got depressed.

C
arla got Sam a cold beer. Sam thanked her. Natalie were grumpy because Carla decided not to get them any ice cream and candy. Instead, she handed Nellie juice which was now lying on the car floor while Britney slowly sipped on hers. Carla changed the baby’s diaper and watched Britney feed her water. Natalie slammed the door. Carla said nothing.
            They drove in silence for a while. Then Carla stopped again for lunch. Still, Carla ordered no dessert, and Natalie refused to eat.
            Before they hit the road again, Sam asked if he should drive. Carla didn’t answer and said nothing.


“M
ind if I drive?”
            Carla asked. Mike looked at Carla, said nothing first, but finally made a go-ahead nod. Carla took the keys and hopped in the driver’s seat while Mike slowly walked over to the other side.
            Carla liked Mike. He’s quiet and didn’t talk much. He might not be handsome, but he’s adorable and had a boyish quality that made Carla want to feel his arms, his back, his bottom and his strong thighs, or simply just rob him all over.
            Mike was patient, too. He didn’t say anything when Carla made a few wrong turnings.
            It’s Thanksgiving. And they suggested they should spend it together on their first date. They went to a Greek restaurant in Midtown. The old lady kept touching Mike on his shoulder and on his back while casting suspicious looks at her. The meal was not particularly good. The turkey was dry. The pumpkin pie was too sweet and had a weird chemical taste to it.
            After a few drinks, Carla started asking several more daring questions. When asked about his first experience, Mike said it was with a boy from school when he was nine. He also talked about his first job at an adult video store.
            Carla, on the other hand, decided to remain discreet but technically honest about her story. She didn’t tell him it was till when she’s twenty-two. And she didn’t tell him she once did it for money, nor did she plan to, ever.
            After dinner, they went back to her apartment. And they fucked.
            When Mike came, he didn’t scream or yell. He just breathed, heavily, on her ear, and then he kissed her cheek. It made Carla want to marry him right then.
            The next day, Carla tried to make breakfast. But she kept burning the eggs. Finally, she decided to toss out the eggs, and crept back to bed, and hugged Mike, across his hairy chest, like a prize.
            They went out for a few weeks. It might end had it not been the attack. One sunny day, the planes hit the twin towers.
            The café was closed for a few days. But Carla was not worrying about money. She’s worrying about something far more surreal. After the attack, there’s the war. Then the subway started to look like scenes in sci-fi movies, instead of perverts and rapists, monsters now lurked in the dark. Carla started to lose sleep, but gained some weight.
            One day, Mike proposed they get married and have a baby, maybe move out of town, all at once. Lost, Carla said yes.
            She supposed she, on some level, never really realized it was a person till Natalie started to scream.

T
he baby couldn’t stop crying. Carla stopped the car to change her diaper again, but it was clean. Carla tried to feed her, but the baby wouldn’t eat, wouldn’t drink, even Natalie started to look guilty.
            Carla held the baby in her arms and rocked her. The baby was too big now, her arms hurt. The sun was high. Carla was agitated and started to sweat. It was nearly one in the afternoon. There’s still a long way to the prison and she’s going to miss the hour. Sam did not ask to drive again. Carla pulled out the baby carrier and turned the radio off. She sat back in the car and turned the baby to face the road. Carla sat in the car and tried to put the baby to sleep.
            When the baby finally slept, Carla slowly started driving. Sam said he should better drive. But Carla paused for two seconds, and said it’s okay, didn’t turn her eyes off the road.
            It’s too crammed now with the baby on her lap. Carla couldn’t drive properly and she started to get scared. Her cell phone rang. Carla asked Britney to get the cell phone from her purse. The ringing stopped, but then it started again.
            “Yes?”
            “Good afternoon, This is Nasha from Sergeant Commercial Bank. May I please speak to Mrs. Williams?”
            “Yeah?”
            “Hi, Mrs. Williams. How are you?”
            Carla said nothing.
            “I’m calling regarding a recent purchase you made on May twen…”
            “Yeah, I know. I told you I bought no such a thing.”
            “Yes, we understand. We…”
            “Listen, you guys called and said I bought a three hundred dollar bathrobe in Kentucky. I don’t even live in the state.”
            “Yes, we…”
            “No. I have three kids to feed. There’s no way I’m gonna enjoy the luxury of something like that.”
            “Yes, we completely understand.”
            “Good.”
            There’s pause at the other end.
            “We’d terminated the payment of this particular purchase. However, we fear that since your credit card information had been used by a third party other than yourself, you privacy might had been invaded. We strongly suggest you terminated this credit card and apply for a new card.”
            “Good.”
            “Should we enclose a new application to your former billing address?”
            “Fine, that’d be great. Thanks.”
            “We also need an affidavit denouncing this purchase, just for the record. Should we also include it in the mail?”
            “Yeah. Thanks.”
            “Not a problem. Mrs. Williams, we apologize for the inconvenience. But we do feel that it’s our obligation to remind you that credit card fraud is a criminal violation against federal laws.”
            Carla said nothing.
            “Thank you for your time, Mrs. Williams. Is there anything else we can be of assistance?”
            “No, that’d be all.”
            “Thank you. Have a good day.”
            Carla left the earpiece on. She gently rocked the baby on her lap. She kept her eyes on the road and quietly pushed the gas.
           
“H
ello?”
            “Yeah, Frankie.”
            “I’m sorry?”
            “I need to talk to Frankie. Just put him on the phone, will ya?”
            “Er, sorry, there’s a.., there’s no Frankie here, must be a wrong number.”
            Mike took the phone from Carla and mouthed ‘I got it.’
            Carla looked at Mike, with the new born Natalie in her arms. Before Mike shut the door completely, he said:
            “This is Frankie.”

“T
hey are after a man called Frankie.
            Carla threw the cigarette out the car and turned to look at Sam. Sam looked back but didn’t say anything. The girls were asleep. The baby is fastened back on her seat in the back. They were just a few miles from the prison.
            “Yeah, Frankie.
            Carla nodded to no one.
            “Mike called himself Frankie.
            Carla looked at Sam again, but quickly turned back on the road.
            “An undercover agent was missing. And the last information he pitched was about a man named…”
            “Frankie.”
            Sam finished the sentence. Carla nodded.
            “After Mike was arrested, two men showed up at the house. One of them called himself Frankie.”
            “You think they got the wrong guy?”
            “I don’t know what to think.
            Carla sighed.
            “Sam, I don’t know Mike anymore.”
            Sam said nothing.

M
ike didn’t answer.
            “Mike, who’s this Frankie?”
            Carla asked again.
            “It’s business. Trust me, there’s nothing wrong.”
            “Yes, everything is wrong.
            Carla started crying.
            “I just want to know what’s going on. You are away, like a lot. And Mike, I’m frightened.”
            Mike held Carla in his arms and robbed her arm.
            “It’s okay.”
            “Mike, I’m exhausted.”
            “I know.”
            “No, I’m tired.”
            “I know.”
            “Maybe we can move back to the city?”
            Carla looked at Mike. Mike paused.
            “No, honey, I have to stay here to take care of the business.”
            “No! Mike, it’s just, it’s just not making sense anymore. I thought we moved here to have a family, our family! But ever since the baby was born, you are always away. And when I say we should move, you say you have to stay?”
            “Trust me, everything is fine.”
            “No, it’s not. Mike, are you having an affair?”
            “No.”
            “Just tell me, Mike, please. Do you still love me?”
            “Of course, I do.”
            “Are you still attracted to me?”
            “Of course.”
            Mike kissed Carla on her forehead. But Carla broke away and went upstairs to the baby’s room.
            Carla didn’t turn on the light. She just sat on the floor, against the wall.
            Mike went in and led Carla out to their bedroom. He put Carla to bed and locked her, with his arms, tightly around her waist.
            The next day, shortly after Mike pulled out of the garage. Carla got in her car. But she didn’t turn on the engine. She could hear a police siren went off in the back, somewhere down the road.

C
arla put her hands on the wheel.
            “License, please.”
            “Sweetheart, give me my purse.”
            Carla handed her driver’s license to the officer and heard him talk to the radio.
            “Was I speeding, officer?”
            “No, ma’am, just a regular checkup.”
            The police officer circled the car. He looked at the back seat, at the girls and the baby, and eyed Sam from the rear window.
            The radio said something. Then the officer handed Carla back her driver’s license.
            “That’d be all, ma’am, safe trip.”
            “Thank you, officer. Have a good day.”
            Carla hit the gas.
            The police officer stood and watched Carla drive away. He put the receiver back and fished out a cell phone from his pocket.
            “Sir, Mrs. Williams is here.
            “No, I didn’t.
            “Two packages, a purse and a bag, probably for diapers and stuff.
            “No, I didn't.
            “Yes, sir.
            “Three kids and a man.
            “Yes, sir.
            “No…, yes, sir.”
            The police officer hanged up the phone and looked before him. It’s an open field. The car hit the right turn signal.

I
t’s quiet in the car. They could see the prison from the road, still a good distance away. Carla looked at the rear view mirror and saw the police officer still standing where he was then hit the right turn signal.
            They waited at the registration, Carla with the baby and Sam filling out the form. Then the guard led them to the hall. There they waited some more, with families and girlfriends talking all around them, at the greasy table.
            “Daddy, daddy!”
            “Ar, big girls now.”
Mike lifted Natalie and gave her a sounding kiss on her cheek. Natalie giggled.
“Let me see how much you weight now.”
Mike in turns lifted Britney and kissed her. Mike gave Sam a quick hug. Sam patted him on the back. He then gave Carla a quick kiss on her cheek and took the baby from her.
“Jesus, big girl.”
The baby’s eyes widened. She started turning and reaching out, finally resolved in crying out loud.
“It’s okay, it’s daddy, baby.”
Carla stood up. But Mike rocked and started giving the baby wet kisses on her face.
“I’m so sorry, baby, it’s daddy. You took her to the shots yet?”
Mike asked Carla. Carla answered quietly and sat down.
“June.”
“Come, Nellie, Britney.”
Mike held the baby in one arm and put a wrapped package on the table.
“I have something for you. But I want you to share it, okay?”
The girls nodded. Mike sat down and put the baby on his lap.
“And I want you to listen to your mother, okay?
Mike took one look at Carla.
“Listen to your mother. Be a good girl, and help her take care of your sister, okay?”
The girls nodded.
“Now, go and give your mother a kiss.”
Mike handed Natalie the present. They danced around, gave Carla a kiss each on her cheeks and tore up the package.
“You know what that is, Nellie?”
“It’s a camera.”
“Camera.”
“Smart girl.”
Mike taught the girls how to use the film Kodak.
“Where d’you get that camera?”
Mike looked at Carla and shrugged.
“Here’s the paper from the court. Brad Molinsky sent them to me.”
Carla took the paper from her purse. But Mike pushed them aside.
“He didn’t say how long it’s gonna be. He didn’t say anything at all. He couldn’t even tell me what it is.”
“Carla, just let him handle it. I’ll take care of it.”
Carla sighed and turned to look at the girls.
“Mike, it’s not going anywhere. And we don’t have any money.”
Tears flew down her cheeks. Carla quickly wiped them away.
“I’ll take care of it.”
Mike said. The baby started screaming.

C
arla could hear her winding the film when they stepped out the prison. She looked back and Britney pushed the button. That day, as shown in the picture, was not as clear and bright as how Carla remembered it.

#28, fiction- turning signals


One day. They got out of the car and drank from the icy stream. The water was cold and sweet. Across the road was an endless field with acres and acres of tall sunflowers staring at the sun.

Dear friends,

Have you ever had this sort of panicking realization, that you’ve reached a certain age, but all that you’ve accomplished is nothing but circling around, aimlessly, fruitlessly and pointlessly?
I haven’t finish anything in two months. At first, I felt kinda nervous about it. But then, I just felt plain exhausted. At certain point, I just stopped thinking about it. But that’s not entirely true, for something is always stirring, itchy deep down and on my skin.
            This piece is short, incomplete in a way, but it progressed really slowly when I was writing it. I started it on April 24, didn’t finish it till June 6, and it’s only a couple thousand words!
            I was working at a translation company at the time. The workload and exhaustion must have affected the way I expressed my ideas. Ironically, I had long since stopped working for the company, but now I’m not writing anything at all.
            Don’t you wish that you could just catch a break? Just finally, entitled not to care any more? “What you own ends up owning you.” How convenient would it be, if there were a more minute way to self-liberation, so the dramatic freedom could be experienced and shared without burning down the house.
            But don’t you mind me. I’m just saying.

Preview- Fish
Scott climbed out of the car, still breathing heavily. When he tried to put on his pants, he realized there’s blood over his lower body. When he looked up. He saw a girl killed, head twisted, limps twisted, all covered in blood, another crawling away on the ground, naked, except a piece of cloth around her waist that’s to be her cheerleading skirt, real or not. And three blood stained monsters looking straight back at him, before zooming out to be his death-taking brothers, thicker than blood.

Wednesday, September 14, 2011

#27, cigarette for the road

Lately, I grew fond of an iced tea called Arizona. It comes in beer cans, and can easily make the drinker a seemingly inappropriate alcoholic. I sometimes take two at a time. I especially like to fondle the emptied cans: it was made in Woodbury, NY. I like the state initial, New York, new year, nude yeah.

Dearest friends,

I was assigned to a place called Mount Da-han shortly after I turned eighteen. I can still vaguely recall my first ride there. I had just finished my three-year military training/high school education. I still remember how I kept hoping that there might be something that would whisk me out of my destiny. But three years had passed, I could not get out. So you can probably imagine how doomed I must feel when I got on that mini bus, and sat staring out the window as the bus rocked its way deep into the woods, onto the very top of the mountain.


It was a radar station. I worked there at the decipher department. The place was freezing all year round, except in summer, when it could be just tolerably cool in the afternoon. I used to put on six layers of clothing just to keep myself warm. The air always smelled of fresh grass. The water was sweet and icy, you can drink directly from it. And when you use the water to brew tea, it tastes divine.

There was no female member at the base. Because it was stationed too remotely out of civic contact, it was kept strictly a men’s place due to personnel safety concern. But what do they talk about when two hundred men were shut off behind tall walls and away from home? Women. Sometimes, I was relieved that my job required me to work alone in a sealed off two feet square space so that I wouldn’t need to endure the embarrassment when someone tells the story of how he barebacked a hooker. It seemed like a jail cell, but it felt like a protection.

I started learning English by myself when I was here. Because I couldn’t sleep, like always, I spent a lot of time reading.

I found out I had always had insomnia. It had gotten worst when I couldn’t sleep at all that I finally seek professional help only to find out that it’s not normal for a man to spend two hours awake in bed trying to sleep ever since he’s a child.

Every thing was built solid heavy for a reason. When a storm blows, the place was a crazy show. One night, I had to make to the decipher room during a typhoon. I couldn’t see a thing. All I saw was the wind blowing, taking physical form, visible like mad, as if conducted by charm. I couldn’t stand up straight. I accidentally fell, and the next thing I knew, I was fifty meters away, on the edge of the helicopter hanger where the invisible deep void of the mountain was just a few steps away.

When the day is clear, really clear, I could see miles and miles of tree land lining till the far end of my sight, and I wouldn’t see a trace of human civilization. At night, I could see the milky way, and piles of gem-like lights from the far away cities. Or the moon, sitting above the cloud, like a king, demanding awe and worship.

Sometimes, the base would get gulfed by the cloud, and I would feel like that I was the only one in the chaos, breathing water from the air, eye lashes wet, but strangely peaceful and content, like a fish.

There was an accident a few years back before I got there to Mount Da-han. A truck couldn’t manage the narrow path and tumbled down the mountain. All men on board were killed. No rescue teem could come to aide. So the men at the base had to do the rescue themselves. They said several bodies were flattened, leaving nothing but the skin, bones and skin. And they said they couldn’t wash away, the smell of blood.

I liked it when it turns into Fall. The leaves would turn to red, yellow, brown, and gold. Then I could imagine I was in a Bronte story. It helped if I closed my eyes, and felt the bus rock its way down. People sleep during the trip. But I didn’t. I stayed awake and imagined.

Nearly three years after I was assigned to the post, I got transferred to an even further away island. There was a tradition: whoever leaves the base, either retirement, resignation or transfer, had to bid the brothers died in the accident goodbye. The driver let me off and waited for me a few feet from the stone plate that marked how many people were killed but no names. I lighted three cigarettes for the departed and put the rest of the pack before the stone. I said farewell and thought to myself how horrible it would be to be on the trip riding on and on, with no end, no light, and no cigarette.