Jess lanai

‘In the year 1860, the reputation of Doctor Wybrow as a London physician reached its highest point. It was reported on good authority that he was in receipt of one of the largest incomes derived from the practice of medicine in modern times.

One afternoon, towards the close of the London season, the Doctor had just taken his luncheon after a specially hard morning’s work in his consulting-room, and with a formidable list of visits to patients at their own houses to fill up the rest of his day – when the servant announced that a lady wished to speak to him.

“Who is she?” the Doctor asked. “A stranger?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I see no strangers out of consulting-hours. Tell her what the hours are, and send her away.”

“I have told her, sir.”

“Well?”

“And she won’t go.”

“Won’t go?” The Doctor smiled as he repeated the words. He was a humourist in his way; and there was an absurd side to the situation which rather amused him. “Has this obstinate lady given you her name?” he inquired.

“No, sir. She refused to give any name – she said she wouldn’t keep you five minutes, and the matter was too important to wait till tomorrow. There she is in the consulting room; and how to get her out again is more than I know.”

Doctor Wybrow considered for a moment. His knowledge of women (professionally speaking) rested on the ripe experience of more than thirty years; he had met with them in all their varieties – especially the variety which knows nothing of the value of time, and never hesitates at sheltering itself behind the privileges of its sex. A glance at his watch informed him that he must soon begin his rounds among the patients who were waiting for him at their own houses. He decided forthwith on taking the only wise course that was open under the circumstances. In other words, he decided on taking to flight.

“Is the carriage at the door?” he asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“Very well. Open the house-door for me without making any noise, and leave the lady in undisturbed possession of the consulting-room. When she gets tired of waiting, you know what to tell her. If she asks when I am expected to return, say that I dine at my club, and spend the evening at the theatre. Now then, softly, Thomas! If your shoes creak, I am a lost man.”

He noiselessly led the way into the hall, followed by the servant on tip-toe.’

From ‘The haunted hotel’ by Wilkie Collins

Love the Wilkie.

I stumbled upon this story in a random collection of short stories and read it all the way through without realizing it was Wilkie Collins.

At the end of reading it I thought, gosh I love this writer I must read more of him or her. Turned out to be Wilkie Collins and I was like oh! Makes sense.

Below the picture of my cat being an ass is a short story I attempted to write and never finished entitled ‘81 cells’

What is the short story about?

I don’t actually completely know. I have a vague idea. It’s a science fiction suspense. I love science fiction suspense.

I got like, five thousand words in and I’m still not really sure what I was on about.

But I know I wrote less for the story and more to practice giving information through a reaction instead of explaining information.

I also wrote as a way to practice copying real people I know. Every character in this is based on real people.

And I had so much fun attempting to copy people’s vibe and manner and translate it into a story that I wrote about a dozen more bizarre science fiction short stories based on people I know.

It was tremendous fun.

I don’t know that this is a story I’ll ever bother to finish but it was a good practice attempt.

And rereading it was interesting for me because I’ve become much more aware of my blind spots. Which is incredibly satisfying.

The writing I put on these blogs will have a great many flaws but the flaws are the point.

It’s a way to track them through out time. Not just for me, possibly for other people.

I stepped into the dark of the corner. Jon’s wide shadow was spread out across the hall. I felt confident that even if he’d seen me, he was too polite a man to confront me. But then, he was also a desperate man and might be willing to step outside the boundaries of his nature. My chest constricted at the thought. What could I say to him? 

But his large round shadow drifted to the side, stretched out and disappeared and my chest relaxed. I took that opportunity to dart out the corner and get to the exit. 

“Uh oh. It’s the boss.” Joked Joseph as I came out into the thunder. It wasn’t yet raining but it be would soon. 

I gave Joseph a glance. He had his hair scrunched together into a bun on his head. How ridiculous, he barely even had enough hair for a bun. Half of it was falling out and the other half was pointed straight to the sky. “It’s just nicotine.” He must’ve been referring to the cigarette. “Am I in trouble?” 

​I shook my head at him. “You’re allowed smoking breaks.” But I had so hoped to have a moment alone.

​He took another puff and looked out into the thunder. Then he looked back and held out a cigarette to me. I felt a deep impulse to reach for that cigarette but I resisted. “Benny dude, are you alright?”

A laugh escaped me. No employee had ever called me dude until I came to America. I couldn’t tell if it infuriated me or not. I took my eyes off the cigarette and looked at Joseph. He had some tribal pattern tattoo sprouting through his shirt and climbing up the base of his neck. 

This was the guy operating at above five percent in the algorithm. 

It made no sense to me. 

And then there were the people dragging at nine percent. 

I felt a prickling of pins in the lower cavity of my stomach to think of that nine percent. 

“Yo Benny, are you alright?” Oh yes. I hadn’t answered Joseph. His face had gone out of focus, all I could see was the thunder clouds gathering behind him. I let his face come back into focus and I smiled at him only to hide my troubled thoughts. 

“I’ll take a cigarette.” 

“Hell yeah man.” He handed me a cigarette. “Isn’t Sonny in there giving his goodbye speech?” asked Joseph as he handed me the lighter. 

“Yes, I’m taking him to the airport in about thirty minutes.” I said. 

Joseph dragged the embers of his cigarette all the way to the butt and nodded as he exhaled lost in his own thoughts. “Is it a mandatory thing?”

“What?” 

“Am I going to get in trouble for ditching?” 

I stifled an involuntary laugh at the word ditching. The bluntness of American employees was still shocking.

“You would benefit from listening, he’ll tell you how to avoid becoming a ten percent.” I paused my inhale of that cigarette and choked on it. Why did I say that? I’m too tired for this conversation.

“Cool.” Joseph tossed his cigarette butt into the bush. “I already clocked out. Is it cool if I take off?” 

I knew he hadn’t gotten permission to clock out so I shook my head. But then I remembered how desperately I wanted my moment alone and I stopped. Then I nodded. “Yeah, go ahead.” I said.

“Thanks Benny. Say bye to Sonny for me.” And he wandered off into the parking lot just as the rain started and put out what had been left of my cigarette. 

 #

Visibility was grim. The heavy layers of water on the windshield were blurring the red brakes lights and magnifying the flashes of lightning. I wasn’t paying my full attention I must admit. My mind was lost in a shock wave. Sonny was in the passenger seat talking to me but I was barely listening. 

He was reminding me of the procedure for promotion. That I could only promote the people operating at over three percent and if no one managed that (which we both thought likely in America) I’d have to wait until they could move a manager permanently which could leave me there another few months. I knew all of that. But Sonny didn’t know the prospect of staying longer in America wasn’t what had my mind. 

I tried to slow down too fast and the tires must’ve caught a film of water. I realized in that small instant how exhausted I was, for as the car wobbled I let the steering wheel slip right through my hands. I had not even an instant of panic. That’s probably what saved us. 

The car veered around the car in front of us into the shoulder, found some traction and I was able to slow with the rest of traffic.   

“Sorry.” I said.

“You already drive like an American.” Laughed Sonny in attempt to lighten the mood. I fell a bit too bitterly silent at that comment I suppose and Sonny misinterpreted my silence in the same way he had the entire drive to the airport “Don’t worryBenny. Worst case its three months.” 

Sonny and I had developed a very good working relationship over the past month, I did consider telling him what was really on my mind. 

​I do feel that Sonny could be trusted on it and he’d have given me sound advice. But we were already taking the exit to the airport. 

​We hadn’t exchanged any more words as the airport came into view and I did keep trying to think of things to say, but my mind kept wandering off track.  

​When I did pull up to departures Sonny hopped out without a word. He gathered his bag and shut the door. Then he stood there. Out in the rain and looked at me through the droplets collecting on the window. 

He bent down and tapped on the window, I rolled it down. “When I make it home, I’ll have a Kopi Gao for you.”

That got a laugh out of me. 

Little inside joke we Singaporeans had developed while stranded here in America. Wondie, the only Australian born Singaporean among us, had developed it. He used it as a way to describe types of American women employees. Wondie was a vulgar man to be sure.

Sonny didn’t give me a chance to say anything, he only offered me a wave then turned and disappeared into the airport. 

It kept raining heavily on the way back. But it was the lightning and thunder that was carrying my thoughts and magnifying them.

​There’d been thunder and lightning exactly like this on the day I got the news of this job and again I was having that feeling that I was facing the end. As though all that made me was about to be executed.  

​It was odd to get back to empty flat. Everyone was gone. Jimmy was the first to leave. Then Wondie. Now Sonny. I’d lived alone since I’d finished college and I’d always considered it a freedom. But living alone in America felt like a cell. 

​My coffee from the morning was sitting on the counter, it was cold and bitter but I kept sipping at it anyway.  

​It had only been three weeks. Three weeks in America and my psyche was breaking. But it’s not entirely the fault of America. This had started in back home in Singapore.  

I blame Yan. 

Not because it is logical to blame Yan. 

Yan is just a twenty five year old junior associate recently transferred from the Vector training program. A fellow Malaysian born, Singapore grown that was overly eager to gain my approval and he went about it all the wrong ways. 

I’d been finishing up the last of my report on the Toa Payoh stores progress, just about to go home when Yan knocked on my door and excitedly informed me that he had convinced Rodgers to set up a toured visit to the center for us. 

The second I managed to coax Yan’s head away from door frame long enough to shut the door, I phoned Rodgers. 

Rodgers like all competent bosses was very good at communicating indirectly. For example, I could say, “I wanted to thank you for setting up a tour of the center” and if Rodgers really expected me to go, he’d say something like ‘My pleasure.’ And he’d go into a brief description of how mind blowing the center is and the incredible work they do there. 

​If he didn’t expect me to go, Rodgers would grunt at me and tell me I interrupted his golf game before hanging up.

But Rodgers did not answer. 

And saying no risked being impolite and seeming ungrateful. Impoliteness and ungratefulness can be serious offenses. 

I didn’t feel I had the freedom to say no I suppose.

The others were very excited to see the research center.

I don’t know if they were actually excited.

The young people in the company are so good at seeming excited. As I used to be, but the older I get the less energy I have for it. They thank endlessly for the opportunity. Difficult to say where the line is actually drawn. Their enthusiasm could be genuine. 

The center is the sort of place that does interest some people.

Some people got into this company because they couldn’t get into the research center and they want to be as close to it as possible. 

​I want nothing to do with it. I find the entire thing unsettling and mildly nauseating.

​I can say this, the building itself was impressive. 

​Great care had been taken to the entry way. It was like stepping from the city straight into a forest. Filled with plants and the sounds of water. It resembled a spa far more than it resembled any kind of research center.   

Don’t be fooled, this is the main facility. The rest of them are no more than office buildings tucked into the cheapest corners of town.

We were checked in by a young lady and then handed over to a middle aged woman that introduced herself as Dr. Roderick’s research assistant and led us into the ‘waterfall room’.

Which was exactly as it sounds. A high ceiling room with a waterfall at its center and vegetation surrounding. 

Greatly resembling the one at Changi airport on a much smaller scale of course.  

She said the waterfall and plant room was to make the patients feel comfortable. 

​I found I could easily slip to the sidelines, admire the waterfall and let my thoughts drift to my day off while our host indulged herself in explaining the research. 

​I thought I’d get away with it. With keeping to myself and not having to converse. That I wouldn’t have to waste any of my time faking interest and forcing smiles or nodding fervently to these intellectual types that always want to dive so deep into complicated conversations.  

But I was spotted. By a man a whole head shorter than me and at least a decade and a half my senior. 

“You must be with the tour.” He smiled at me a most gracious and eager smile. He had that professor’s smile, the kind that predatorily assumed it’d caught something in its trap that it could impart wisdom on. From that smile alone I guessed he was not a patient here, but an employee and his interest in me was likely a desire to educate me on his job. 

I was in no mood for a neither a conversation nor a lecture. But I was there on business. I could not afford to be rude. I was as careful with my body language as I was with my words.

I turned to face him fully, not only did I smile, I looked him straight in the eye and gave him my full focus. The very thing I was not wanting to part with. 

“Yes, I’m with K Company tour.”

“Your second time here? Third?”

“No, it’s my first time.” My English is flawless, as though I was born in Singapore. I have all the quirks of a native. His English was not. He had the accent of someone over pronouncing the words. My best guess was French. 

​“It is your first time? You look very bored.” He chuckled.  

​I chuckled with him, so he didn’t know he was right. “Intimidated. It’s not what I expected. It seems like spa, makes me want to apply here myself.” 

“Your salary and sanity couldn’t afford to apply here. We take the deeply rich or the deeply troubled. But if you want to trouble yourself, it might be worth it. There’s incredible things that we could do to you.” He chuckled again. “Do you know how it works?”

I felt a rather painful sting of hatred in that moment that I had to smile through. This man was forcing on me the very thing I had hoped to avoid. “I have an idea.” 

“You should know a lot about it. Your company uses our technology.” 

“We only use a ghost of your technology. A very cheap copy.” 

“A ghost of our technology.” He chuckled again. “Never heard it put that way. Still, you realize what it is we do here?” 

“Sort of. I’m in management. All I do is set up stores and monitor progress. I’m not on the tech side of it at all.” 

“Six percent.” He said. “Isn’t that what it was? Six percent of your employees end up in these facilities. You don’t know what happens to them?” 

It seemed there was no way out of this conversation. I tried to appease my worn nerves by reminding myself I’d have the next day off. “I don’t. I’ve never much thought about it.” 

He smiled again and I did not like that smile. It was a little twitch in the corner of his mouth that curled upward and his eyes were too focused on mine. “Do you believe in hell?” 

​Do I believe in hell? That didn’t matter. What mattered is whatever it was he wanted me to say. And I do have that business sense. I knew he wanted me to say no. He wanted me to say no so that he could argue with me and then prove me wrong. It was an easy game to play and easy way to appeal to the ego of a man like this.  

And yet, I couldn’t bring myself to say no.

“Do you?” He asked. I suppose I had been staring at him with my mouth agape for quite a few moments.   

Conversations like this were common with men such as this. I considered them old and bored. Near retirement and continually longing to start conversations that made others uncomfortable. Unable to give up the hierarchy. 

Maybe my patience was too thin. But I think it was more than that. It was rather like the time I visited my grandmother. When she made us a sauce out of fermented fish stomach and I tried so hard not to show my disgust, but I could not hide it.

​And she laughed at me. 

​This man laughed at me too with his eyes. At the disgust on my face that I could not hide. 

​“Have I asked too personal a question?” He pressed, the laugh in his eye still gleaming.

“No.” I said. “Yes. I was raised Muslim.” 

At that he chuckled. “Really?” He said. “Do you still practice?” 

Why had I said that? I hadn’t really been raised Muslim, just my mom’s side of the family and they were loose about it anyhow. And I didn’t believe in hell. I believed in science. I just wanted to defy this man. 

“I haven’t practiced as much, no.” 

“Well, grab yourself a coffee and we’ll take a tour of the real hell.” And then he stepped in front of us all and introduced himself as Doctor Roderick and the real tour began.