Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction 2020complete | Page 533

I saw her again a few nights later at waking hour, at the place where we first met. She looked very much
like the same girl I met months ago, when the bartender cried her name.
Her shadow fell across the counter. She drained her cup of liquor in one continuous swallow.
“You betrayed me,” she said.
“You betrayed me,” I echoed.
She shot me a look of dislike.
“You took my findings,” she said, “and you used them for yourself. You stole my future from
me. I could have done much more for my village. Instead you took my work for fame.”
Her eyes burned with anguish and anger; I had not wanted her beside me to feel her rage, I had
wanted to listen to her laugh, feel her warmth against my body, feel the love that drifted here and there
among the people of Greater Bay Area, but never lingered, never stayed —
“You took my money,” I answered. “You never wanted my love. You pretended to be in love
with me so you could make money off me.”
Silence hung between us. The purple lights flashed on her face, illuminating it for an infinite
moment, before plunging it into darkness again.
“I suppose that’s what’s going on everywhere in Greater Bay.” I kept my eyes on her raven
braid. “All you care about is yourself. Once you see something that will give you an opportunity, an
advantage, you drop everything — even the ones you love — so that you can grasp on to it.”
“And we linger as ghosts,” she said.
We sat in silence again. My eyes fell on the gold watch on her wrist and rested there.
She rose from the table. “Goodbye.”
I called her name.
It resounded endlessly, hopelessly, in the space of the pub. She did not call my name.
Outside, a streetlight guttered out like a dying flame; I could smell the stale cold fragrance of
morning. My cigarette flickers and goes out, its smoke drifting into the empty void.
Irresolutely, tears filled my eyes. She was right. We in Greater Bay lingered here, ghosts of
forgotten dreams and genuine feelings. We sold each other for wealth and fame. For that we paid the price
of unconditional love. What was worse was that we did not regret it. If given the chance, we would betray
each other all over again — and again — and again —
***
She returns after many years to wander the moonlit streets.
Greater Bay Area. She remembers the way the sun always struck the shore first, highlighting the
glistering circle of cities that ringed a shining centre they called Beijing. Thunderclouds disperse on the
horizon, its underbelly swollen like a pink udder; daylight shoots through it and the land beneath it glows
with an artificial light.
The wind whispers; withered leaves collect at her feet. The streetlamps are dying; she waits for
the sunrise.
In her hand she clutches the piece of parchment that arrived at her village a week ago. She
unfolds it for the umpteenth time, mouthing the words as she reads.
Ten years ago I loved and lost you under the anticipating breath of the sunrise over Greater Bay
Area. I was in love with a girl who loved me. But she forced me to see the lack of profundity in the world I
was born into. We passed our days adrift on the river of time, trapped in a dreamy world forged of our
dwindling breath and smoky days. Greater Bay was a dream of economic prosperity, where all people of
different cultures dwelt in love and equality, and technology served to give us a life of comfort and luxury.
You forced me to re-evaluate that golden, perfect utopia.
Greater Bay Area is a shallow world. Those who dwell in it desire only fame and wealth. True
love that was born in youth, like ours, could not survive in a world where trust was built on business
transactions, and was torn apart by economic propositions. Any love that came to life was snuffed out as
easily as the guttering flame of the streetlights at dawn.
I once desired that my father should call my name with pride and jubilance. I dreamt that
everyone in Greater Bay would call my name everywhere I went. I did not realise that one voice was more
powerful and more precious than any other. I finally recognise that the only person I want to hear call my
name is the love I lost the day I waited, endlessly, for the sunrise.
So call my name, love — and I shall hear it as the moonlight wanes and the candlelight dies. I
shall wait for your dear, known, well-remembered call as I wait for a new day: eyes and ears expectant,
senses awake and trembling, flesh quivering on my bones. Oh, love — call my name!