“I remember you. It’s good to see you safe and sound. It suits you very well, your sunglasses,” I said.
“Get in. I have some bad news for you,” he said.
“What?” I said, confused, guessing what he was up to.
“Just get in. I need to tell you something.”
It seemed much more like a swindle this time, so I just glared at him.
After a brief moment, “Okay. I see you don’t want to be in the same car with a fugitive, but you have to listen to me. You have to leave this country as soon as possible. A mask won’t save you,” he said.
I torqued my face into a grimacing look. “What? What are you talking about?”
“Recently, there has been a resurgence of xenophobia among the people, and the government has a plan to close the border in roughly two days, three days max.” He shifted his focus swiftly and peeped into the rear view mirror with a distraught look, then looked back at me. “You don’t have much time left. You have to go back to where you came from before they execute the plan, or you’re never getting out of here,” he said solemnly.
Intuitively, “Are you crazy?” I asked, as my confusion was changing into a black cloud of doubt in my mind, and so I walked off with a flounce, considering him as a lunatic.
“Well, maybe I am crazy. But you have to listen to me. You know I’m telling the truth, don’t you?” he almost yelled.
In fact, a part of me, mostly my intuition part, was somehow persuading me to listen to him at that time, maybe he was right, maybe I had already gained so much insight into how things work in this place to a point that I could tell he was telling the truth without the need of conscious reasoning, but another part of me just wouldn’t allow me to believe in such implausible and bizarre nonsense.
And he continued, moving his car ahead slowly so that the distance between us didn’t grow too much and he didn’t need to speak too loud, “Look, I can help you. Just listen to me.”
“I don’t need any help.” I walked faster and kept my pace for a while despite my intuition before realizing it was impossible to outrun a car.
So I came to a stop and marched toward him. “What makes you think I will believe in a stranger, or just as what you have said, a fugitive like you?” I said, reflexively turning the corners of my mouth down like I was looking at Frankenstein’s monster. “I mean, yeah, I am well aware of the people’s xenophobic attitudes, and I have to admit they don’t look too friendly to me, but I honestly don’t think they will close the border. Locking down the whole country to stop foreigners from coming in because the people are xenophobic just don’t make any sense. And besides, who would show up like this and say something like that to a man he barely knows? Do you really think I will listen to you?”
“When does anything in this country make sense?” he retorted quickly like he knew in advance what I would say.
Scratched my eyebrows, then my head, I attempted to stammer out some words, but paused, not knowing what to say, maybe he was right and was just offering a helping hand to me. I didn’t know, but I thought it’s always better to be skeptical in times of doubt like this.
“Look, I have a plan to get people like you out of this country, and it will be carried out on that day when they officially announce the closure of the border. Take this.” He then snatched up a paper plane from somewhere and propelled it to me, and I caught the left wing of it midair. “Call me if you need me. It’s the only chance you have if you ever want to go back home after they seal the border. But before then, try to buy yourself an airplane ticket and leave the country in a legitimate approach.”
With multitude of doubts wandering in my mind, I unfolded the plane, saw a series of numbers on it and asked on a whim, assuming what he said was somehow true, “But why are you doing this? It doesn’t make any sense. Risking your life for others, for someone you hardly know?”
He didn’t say a word before pressing the accelerator pedal down, but a yellow headband that came into view at the last second in his palm explained everything. I bet he must be one of those foolish freedom-pursuers who was bamboozled into believing in some sort of a far-fetched story fabricated by conspiracy theorists and was naively trying to act like a hero, and that what he said would happen was by no means real. Thus, I simply put the piece of paper into my pocket and resumed moving along the quiet street until I walked past by a well-lit, three-story convenience store, which looked like a lighthouse in small scale from outside, and that’s it. I went in, grabbed a handful of potato chips, cup noodles and a newspaper that had a job section, paid and went straight back to the hotel, and I was glad that I hadn’t raised too much attention during this short trip in spite of his unwelcome appearance.
And after I returned to my room and gobbled up my dinner, I lay down sprawled on the bed, stretching my sore legs, pulled out my phone from somewhere and suddenly began missing home. I expected the first day to be the hardest, but I never knew the rising melancholy and ruminative loneliness would be so overwhelming that it nearly outweighed my resolution to start a new life here, and somewhere deep down, I knew it would have crushed me if not for the heart-warming noise of the radio. Then I thought that it would be easier if I could talk to someone I knew, so I phoned my sister, who was most likely hanging out with her party friends.
“Sorry, the number you have dialed is not available at this time.”
The automated message proved me concretely right. And, not knowing who to call next, I went through my phone’s contact list until Oli’s name appeared and magically seized my attention, reminding me of her fascinating voice and the intimate feeling of the hug, which galvanized me into action; I did skip Brian’s contact before finding Oli’s – it’s in alphabetical order – but perhaps I was still unsure about how I should explain this to him.
“Sorry, the number you have dialed is not available at this time.”
Although the call didn’t go through, I could feel my heart beating faster and faster when I was waiting, and that’s when I first admitted to myself that I had always been in love with her. The softness of her voice, the warmth of the goodbye hug, the tenderness of her fragile skin, she was perfect. So I dialed her number once more.
“Sorry, the number you have dialed is not available at this time.”
So I exhaled a sigh that weighed more than just an eddy of air and subdued an instinct to call her once more when the disappointment mingled with drowsy enchantment was taking over me, and I yawned and simply gave in to sleepiness.
The next morning I was roused by someone rhythmically knocking at the door and yelling, “Room service.”
After several fruitless attempts to get up, partially awake with my eyes blurred, I yelled back, “I don’t need any room service,” then laid my head back down on the pillow like gravity was solely acting on me.
However, before my mind could drift back into dreams, a resounding but firm knocking alarmed me again. I felt like being badgered to open the door, and it did stir up my desire to do that due to the level of annoyance. Swaying slightly, I dragged myself to my feet and staggered to the door as whoever outside kept on knocking more urgently, and right before I reached out for the door knob, the door was bashed open, and I had to step back quickly to avoid being hit.
“早晨,” (Good morning,) a young, brawny man with broad shoulders and short trimmed beards, wearing a black suit that had a dragon-shaped badge attached to it, said.
He didn’t seem like a staff working in the hotel, and I couldn’t understand a word he said, so I asked, “Who are you? Do you speak English?”
“Yes. I’m a police officer,” he answered in a robotic tone with that particular accent and had his eyes wandering all over me.