Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction 2020complete | Page 530
Call My Name
Heep Yunn School, Tsui, Yu Hei Iris - 15
The first time I heard her name was on the radio, among a cluster of other meaningless names, pronounced
in the monotone voice of the unknown speaker. Even then I felt my spirits leap as her name rang in my ears
like an ocean wave foaming to shore, like the wind in the starlit trees, and my spirit flickered with unbridled
joy.
‘Bringing together the cities of Qianhai, Guangdong, Hong Kong and Macao, the
championship is hosted by Greater Bay Area Homeland Youth Community Foundation, targeting those
ready to commit themselves to innovation and entrepreneurship,’ continued the speaker. ‘The above names
have been taken down for the competition. There are 43 places left for registration.’
“Not a bad opportunity,” said my father, looking up from his newspaper. “Li Wen, want to
give it a shot?”
My brother, occupied with his work at Harvard Business School, barely looked up from his
laptop. “I’ve got enough work, Father.”
“Ah.” Disappointment was etched across my father’s face, but it could not compare to the
misery that rested against my heart, forcing down the golden spark of light that had lit up my soul. Everyone
knew Li Wen, son of the renowned Li Qian, businessman and billionaire, lord of the marketing economy.
No one knew the younger son who dwelt in the shadow of his brother, nor did anyone ever witness my
father’s eyes glint with pride as he looked toward the son he was ashamed of.
***
The listlessness churning in the cavity of my chest led me to the empty streets as dusk closed down. The
street-lamps lit up the darkness with their pulsing golden glow, igniting the lonely space that was the
domain of those who were young and haunted by dreams they could never fulfil.
My footsteps paced the streets, the pavement shining silver in the moonlight that battled the
reflecting glow of the lamplight. They stopped in front of a bar, where a bartender caught sight of my face
and reached immediately for a frosted glass bottle of wine on the counter. I had been there enough times for
him to recognise me, and call my unknown, insubstantial name.
“Mr. Li Jian,” he said. “Out for another night-time walk?”
I nodded, accepting the bottle and cigarette he handed me.
I made my way into the pub, lighting the cigarette. The yellow sulphur burned like candlelight.
Electric lights flickered and pulsed around me, the purple lights weaving their swirling patterns on the floor.
They lingered on the faces of the same phantoms that came to haunt the pub at night, the dreamless ones,
the aimless ones, who had somehow lost purpose.
Through my blurry vision, I sought in the misty wreath of the drunken, hazy world another
soul that would curb my loneliness. The pub’s lights flickered, turning it into a revolving lantern, and the
faces of the lost souls that wandered here were gone, wandered there and were gone again. They whirled
and danced, and — with a sudden purposeful move — focused on the face of the girl that stepped through
the door.
The bartender cried out her name.
My head jerked up.
Her name resounded sweetly through the musk-smelling, drunken air, a note of clarity amid
the chaos that whirled through my chest and roared into my thorax. My lips moved, mouthing that name
over and over, while no sound escaped my lips. Her body shone with the aura of self-assuredness and
purpose.
She rummaged in her purse, trying to find her wallet, I assumed — her features twisted into
helplessness. My heart lurched with pity, and without knowing what I was doing, I was out of my chair and
making my way towards her.
“I’ll pay,” I said to the bartender.
“No, sir,” she said, her voice like fingers running upon the silken strings of a harp that was my
every gesture and word. “I can go
home and retrieve the money.”
I ignored her and pushed the bills across the counter. “No change,” I said.
I felt her eyes linger on me, on the gold watch on my wrist, my crisp white shirt, the jacket
thrown over my arm. Her hair was in an ebony braid thrown carelessly over her shoulder, shining in the
golden lamplight of the empty streets.
“Thank you, mister,” she said.