Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1 — BOOK I

 

Letters Across Water

 

(1996–1999)

 

Letter

 

Geoffrey → Embong

1996

 

Dear Embong,

 

My name is Geoffrey Douglas. I think we met before at school when we were younger. My teacher said we could write to someone from another place.

I live in Los Angeles. My dad is Australian and my mum is American. School here is different. We wear uniforms every day and there is a lot of sport. I am still learning where things are.

What is your school like?

Do you like sports?

 

From,
Geoffrey

 

Postmark

 

Geoffrey walked to the mailbox alone.

 

It was an ordinary walk, one he had taken many times before, though never with this purpose. The envelope was already addressed, his handwriting careful, slightly smaller than usual. He paused only once, reading Embong’s name again—not to check it, just to see it written there.

 

The slot opened without resistance.

 

The letter disappeared.

 

Geoffrey stood for a moment longer than necessary, then turned back toward the house.

 

Letter

 

Embong → Geoffrey

1996

 

Dear Geoffrey,

 

Yes, I remember you.

My school is smaller. We also wear uniforms. We have assembly in the mornings. Sometimes it is very hot.

I like football. I am not very good yet but I am learning. My cousin plays better than me.

Sydney sounds big. Is it near the sea?

 

From,
Embong

 

Receipt

 

The envelope arrived folded into the afternoon.

 

Embong recognised the handwriting immediately. He did not open it straight away. He carried it inside, set it on the table, finished what he was doing, then sat down.

 

He read it once. Then again, more slowly.

 

Outside, someone called his name. He folded the letter neatly before answering.

 

Letter

 

Geoffrey → Embong

1997

 

Dear Embong,

 

Sydney is near the sea. We can see the water from some parts of the school. It is blue but cold.

I play baseball sometimes but not here. Here everyone plays rugby or football. I don’t always understand the rules but I try.

Do you have brothers or sisters?

I have cousins but they live far away.

 

Your friend,
Geoffrey

 

Between

 

Geoffrey wrote this one late.

 

The house was quieter than usual. His school bag lay open on the floor, books half-removed. He stopped once, erased a line, rewrote it smaller.

 

When he finished, he folded the page carefully, as if alignment mattered.

 

Letter

 

Embong → Geoffrey

1997

 

Dear Geoffrey,

 

I have one older sister. Her name is Hijau. She studies a lot and notices everything.

 

I also have cousins who come to our house often. It is noisy but not bad.

 

Football here is different from rugby. We kick more than we run.

 

Thank you for writing again.

 

From,
Embong

 

Transit

 

The house is full.

 

Someone is always talking. Someone else is always moving. Embong writes at the edge of the table, shifting his paper when an elbow comes too close.

 

He finishes, folds the letter, and hands it over without ceremony.

 

Letter

 

Embong → Geoffrey

1997

 

Dear Geoffrey,

I went to America with my family during the school holidays.

We stayed in Washington DC. My mother’s older brother lives there. He works at a bank. His wife is American. They have a baby son who was born there. My uncle’s brother-in-law also lives with them.

Their house is quiet.

Washington is different from other cities I have seen. The buildings are wide and white. There are many museums. People walk slowly but look serious.

We went to New York for a few days. It is very busy. The buildings are tall and close together. The streets feel loud even when people are not talking.

I liked the train. It goes underground and comes up again.

I think New York is exciting but tiring. Washington feels calmer.

Have you been there before?

 

From,
Embong

 

Between

 

New York is louder than Embong remembers.

 

Two men on bikes are arguing in the street, voices sharp, words overlapping faster than meaning. One blames the other. The other swears back. A horn cuts through them. Neither moves. This, apparently, is normal.

 

Awan watches without reacting.

 

“It was always like this,” he says, not to anyone in particular.

 

For him and Delima, the city does not arrive as spectacle. It arrives as memory.

 

Awan remembers studying in New York, moving between classes with books under one arm and hunger under the other. He remembers cheap pizza folded in half, eaten standing, because sitting cost time and time cost money. He had come on a scholarship. He had not come from a wealthy family. He had learnt early how to stretch what little he had.

 

Delima remembers Queens.

 

The apartment was small. The locks were not optional. One, two, three—always in that order. On rainy days, she walked with her umbrella angled just so, alert to footsteps, to glances. Once, a woman stared at her too long. Delima stopped, met the look without blinking.

 

“What are you looking at?” she said.

 

The woman looked away and walked on.

 

At a crossing, the lights change. Cars hesitate, then honk anyway. Awan steps forward without breaking stride.

 

“Hey!” he calls. “We’re walking here! Quit honking!”

 

They cross.

 

Later, other places return to him.

 

A small town in Pennsylvania. A restaurant they should not have entered. The manager did not bother to lower his voice.

 

“Get out,” he said. “You’re not welcome here.”

 

No explanation followed. None was needed.

 

They left without being served. Glasses still half full on the table behind them.

 

Outside, a boy on a bicycle slowed as he passed and shouted a slur—“Ching Chong Chinaman”—as if it were something he had learnt rather than invented.

 

Awan did not turn around. He did not need to.

 

They never went back to that town.

 

The street in New York keeps moving. The bikers separate. The noise rearranges itself.

 

Embong walks beside them, listening.

 

Some cities introduce themselves loudly.

 

Others tell you exactly where you stand.

 

Letter

 

Geoffrey → Embong
1998

 

Dear Embong,

 

School is harder now. There are more subjects and more rules. Sometimes I forget which books to bring.

I like English class. We read stories and write about them. I am not sure if I am doing it right but my teacher says effort matters.

What do you like at school?

I hope you are well.

 

Geoffrey

 

After

 

The letter sits on Geoffrey’s desk for a day before he sends it.

 

He reads it once more in the morning, then folds it without changing anything.

 

Letter

 

Embong → Geoffrey

1998

 

Dear Geoffrey,

 

I like English also. Some words are difficult but I like learning how they fit together.

School is busy but normal. I help my cousin with homework sometimes.

Sydney sounds cold in winter. Here it only rains more.

 

From,
Embong

 

Letter

 

Geoffrey → Embong

Late 1998

 

Dear Embong,

 

My parents are arranging for me to move schools.

I do not know yet where I will be, but it may be in Sydney.

If I do come, I hope I will not get lost.

Thank you for writing to me all this time.

 

Geoffrey

 

Threshold

 

A suitcase stands open.

 

It is not full yet.

 

Letter

Embong → Geoffrey

Early 1999

 

Dear Geoffrey,

 

If you come to my school, I can show you where things are.

Some places look confusing at first but they make sense after a while.

 

Good luck.

From,
Embong

 

Interval

 

Embong folds the letter and sets it aside.

 

Someone calls him from another room. He answers, then goes back to what he was doing.

 

Outside, the afternoon continues.

 

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