Kallang Basin Adagio Read online

  Kallang Basin Adagio

  A Novel

  Khor Kuan Liang

  ISBN: 978-981-47-8515-0

  First Edition: August 2018

  © 2018 by Khor Kuan Liang

  Author photo by Marco David Santos Salazar. Used with permission.

  Cover art and design by Yong Wen Yeu

  Published in Singapore by Epigram Books

  www.epigrambooks.sg

  All rights reserved

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Kallang Basin Adagio

  PART ONE

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  PART TWO

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  PART THREE

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  PART FOUR

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  ALSO FROM THE EPIGRAM BOOKS FICTION PRIZE

  WINNER

  The Riot Act by Sebastian Sim

  FINALISTS

  Sofia and the Utopia Machine by Judith Huang

  9th of August by Andre Yeo

  Nimita’s Place by Akshita Nanda

  LONGLISTED

  If It Were Up to Mrs Dada by Carissa Foo

  18 Walls by Teo Xue Shen

  Band Eight by Tham Cheng-E

  2016

  The Gatekeeper by Nuraliah Norasid (Winner)

  Fox Fire Girl by O Thiam Chin

  Surrogate Protocol by Tham Cheng-E

  State of Emergency by Jeremy Tiang

  Lieutenant Kurosawa’s Errand Boy by Warran Kalasegaran

  The Last Immigrant by Lau Siew Mei

  Misdirection by Ning Cai

  Lion Boy and Drummer Girl by Pauline Loh

  2015

  Now That It’s Over by O Thiam Chin (Winner)

  Let’s Give It Up for Gimme Lao! by Sebastian Sim

  Death of a Perm Sec by Wong Souk Yee

  Sugarbread by Balli Kaur Jaswal

  Annabelle Thong by Imran Hashim

  Kappa Quartet by Daryl Qilin Yam

  Altered Straits by Kevin Martens Wong

  “Music expresses that which cannot be said and on which it is impossible to be silent.”

  —Victor Hugo

  “And those who were seen dancing were thought to

  be insane by those who could not hear the music.”

  —Friedrich Nietzsche

  Kallang Basin Adagio

  A bright, secluded garden was her home during the earliest years of her existence. The sunshine, golden and diffused through the garden’s glass canopy, sparkled upon her being, which seemed to materialise only in the concentrated spectrum of natural light. She was a centrepiece enveloped by a gentle mixture of sound: the soft sprinkle of the fountain’s waters and the occasional fluttering of butterfly wings; the chirping of animated insects and the croaking of bowl-eyed frogs that floated on the lily pads.

  At specified times she would add her own harmonies to the symphonies around her. This was her function. The moment would arise when she leaned forward and placed her hands upon the keys and the notes would flow from her mind, onto the keys and across the garden, a tender caress of sound.

  It was sound as transient as a trickle of tears, as ethereal as the lingering sensation of a last kiss.

  The man would come and observe her regularly. He would never announce his arrival and she would never acknowledge it. He would listen to her play and often he would sob to himself. But this she did not see; could not see. All she knew was the sound, and even that knowledge had limitations.

  So, she would play when she was supposed to, oblivious to any audience that might be present.

  One day the man had brought another with him, and the two stood quietly in the garden, amidst the glow of sunlight and the soft chorus of sound, listening while she played. The men talked to one another as she executed her task, and there was quivering exhilaration in their voices that she could not hear. When she was finished with her performance the men left, exchanging excited whispers.

  Days passed before the man came again. Quietly, he opened the panels that led into the garden. Then the man came for her.

  Gently he lifted her from the podium where she usually played. Her porcelain face stared up at her surroundings, unseeing, unknowing of the passions that burned in the places beyond the garden’s canopy. And in the man’s heart.

  He kissed her cheek, softly, affectionately, for she was special to him.

  “Time to wake,” he whispered, though she would not hear.

  Then, cradling her in his arms, he carried her out of the garden and into the world beyond…

  PART ONE

  Chapter 1

  The rising path disappeared into spirals of white blurriness. Withered trees, their blackened and skeletal trunks spiked with icicles, jutted from the frosty ground. The gale hissed between the leafless branches, sending the exhalations of a wrathful storm whistling through the wreckage of ancient ruins, and over the frozen grave of destroyed technology. Thunderheads raged above while, on the tremulous horizon, tunnels of black clouds shot intermittently from the skies, smacking the earth and then moving rapidly over the barren rocky surface before dispersing, once again, into the violence of the storm. The raw furies of the Gods were unleashed on the defenceless earth, heedless of the wanderers lumbering through the frosty landscape.

  Kenji leaned his rugged body against the combined forces of wind and snow, his head bent low. The coming storm seemed to be a particularly fearsome one, a Boomer, and it had advanced upon them without much warning. But they had survived such storms before. Adamantly, the man burrowed his way through the onslaught. Behind him the others did the same, the lining of their heavy fur coats barely keeping the winds at bay. Their voices reached Kenji over the rage of the storm as they called their names and positions, so none would be lost.

  Sofia called out first, her statuesque frame thrust against the stinging snow. She pulled her hood up when she called, to ensure she was heard, and then dropped it quickly to keep the winds from lashing at her face. She dragged a sled behind her, carrying the dwindling provisions the travellers had to live on until the next hunt.

  Tommy called next. He walked in the rear of the group, supporting his gangly frame with a long spear. The wind whipped his fuzzy beard from the sides of his hood and it fell back, revealing a wrinkled, angular face.

  Rosa yelled into the storm. Her voice was almost consumed by the roar as her wavy ginger hair undulated like flames at the edge of her hood.

  After a moment Ling called wearily over the chaos. She moved her lean body forward in a quick leap, and then stopped for the others to call their positions.

  Otter called out after her, raising his spear above his head to show his position along the edge of the trail. Then “Miguel!” barked his name, voicing his location near Kenji, who stood expectantly, waiting for the count to be complete. With these calls, two of the Tribe’s young men were accounted for. But a final voice failed to join the procession, and Kenji turned to check. Wrapped in
their furry cloaks, the Tribe appeared to him as indistinct ghosts in the frenzy of snow that was descending from above.

  He counted. Then he counted again, to be sure, confirming the numbers with his fingers.

  “Six,” he said to himself. “Enrique!” the Chief yelled, hearing his call fail on the braying winds. There was no reply.

  The procession knelt down as Kenji counted them. “Damn to you, Enrique!” he muttered. “Stay where you are!” he ordered, walking among the kneeling Tribesmen, recounting their numbers. Enrique was definitely missing.

  “Tommy! What were you doing back there?” Kenji asked irritably. Tommy was a senior, like himself; he was supposed to assume this responsibility.

  “I didn’t see anything!” Tommy yelled against the unrelenting wind. “You know how he is,” he added after a tense moment.

  Kenji only grunted and waved his hand as if to bat off a pesky insect. He knew too well how Enrique could be. He wanted to be angry with Tommy; it was easier to have a target to vent his frustration. But he knew it was unjust. He hurriedly scanned the horizon.

  “This is the last time,” he muttered to himself, knowing it was not true. “When I find that boy, I will…” But Kenji ceased his complaints when something caught his eyes. The others followed their Chief’s gaze to see a dark shape, silhouetted against a snow bank.

  “It’s him!” Sofia yelled. They rose from the snow, relieved that the count was complete. Enrique had been found. All that was left was the scolding he was bound to receive from Kenji.

  “Damn to you, Enrique!” Kenji shouted, the exasperation evident in his voice despite the surge of relief he felt. He waved his arms, commanding the young man to get back in line. But Enrique did not come. Instead, he made a beckoning gesture. Perhaps he had discovered something, Kenji reasoned, maybe food or a useful artefact.

  “Stay here!” he said to the others before he trod towards the vague outline of ruins that lay shrouded in snow.

  Sofia caught Tommy’s attention and made an urgent gesture with her hand. Tommy understood. She wanted him to follow. His presence would prevent Kenji from inflicting any undue punishment. The man rose on shaky legs and moved quickly after their Chief, who had already vanished behind the ancient, crumbling walls.

  Tommy arrived not a moment too soon, for, as he dashed around the corner and beyond the shrill whining of the wind, he heard Kenji’s raised voice and saw him shaking Enrique with one strong arm, rapping his knuckles against the young man’s hooded head with the other. Enrique made no move to deflect the strokes, but Tommy could see the annoyance in the smooth darkness of his face.

  “I am telling you what again?” Kenji yelled as he struck. “Is your brain in there now? Can anybody hear me call?”

  Enrique’s lips curled and he snarled like a cornered animal. But he still made no move to divert Kenji’s blows.

  “Stop that, Kenji!” Tommy shouted. “It is enough!”

  Kenji glanced over his shoulder, as if awakening from a daze. He yanked his hands away from Enrique, his expression and body language uncertain for a moment. But his anger returned almost instantly, and he thrust an accusing finger at Enrique’s face.

  “To lead you must first learn to follow! To command you must learn to obey!” Kenji felt as if he’d repeated this phrase every single day of their arduous journey from Melaka Town. “Shelter is that way,” he said, pointing at the caves that dotted the higher ground towards which they were headed. “Searching around for you only leaves us in the storm longer!”

  “Are you finished now?” Enrique said. His voice was calm, his body language submissive. But his eyes were aflame, his pupils contracted with frustration. Kenji waited for some sort of defiant retort, but after a moment it was apparent that Enrique had more important concerns.

  The confrontation was over. For now.

  Kenji took a deep breath. “What?” he asked.

  Enrique nodded towards a section of the ancient wall before them. “It’s a door,” he said.

  Kenji walked to the spot where the young man had gestured. At the end of the enclosure lay a broad bank of snow that nearly blanketed a low set building. From the trail outside, it had appeared as mere wreckage. But from here he could see the building was mostly intact. Set in the middle of the ice-encrusted mass was a wide door. It was blackened by age, and looked as if fire had once scoured its gnarled surface. At the foot of the door the snow was cleared and a crystal sheet of ice lay like a walkway before it. Enrique did not have to explain his urgency. The area had been trodden upon recently. A set of small footprints led away from the door while another set of similar footprints led towards the door; someone had left and someone had entered this place.

  Kenji made a hasty hand signal to Tommy, indicating the need to act with covertness. Enrique snorted. “Anyone around here would have already heard your big mouth, Kenji!” he said, not bothering to mask his contempt.

  Kenji glared at the younger man for a moment before fixing an eye on Tommy, who knelt to inspect the icy tracks.

  “Only one…maybe two people,” he said, after a moment. “Small feet; a child, perhaps.” He rose then, stepping away from the footprints. “Definitely since sunrise.”

  “Get Miguel and Ling,” Kenji said, parting his bear-hide fur and reaching for his sheath. “Tell the others to come and wait for us here.” Enrique started to move but Kenji grabbed his arm. “Stay,” he ordered as Tommy left.

  Kenji turned his attention back to the door. Sealed on its surface were upraised letters embossed on a plaque of rusted metal, which may have once glittered in the light. Kenji fingered the inscription. “A message?” he asked.

  Enrique stifled his frustration again and studied the writing. “It says: Gallery of something, Kenji. I do not know this last word. There are many letters that make no sense together.”

  “Is it like the ‘danger’ or ‘keep out’ words?” Kenji asked cautiously.

  Enrique shook his head. “No, no. It is no warning. I have not seen this before. It is not the common talk, whatever it says.”

  Kenji raised a sceptical brow. “If you do not know what it says, then how do you know what it does not say?” he reasoned.

  But Enrique dismissed the point. “Kenji, why would someone write something as important as ‘danger’ in words that no one can make sense of?”

  Kenji considered this. It was practical thinking, he decided. It satisfied his concerns. He held a gloved hand out to Enrique. “Light,” he commanded.

  Enrique reached into his coat and extracted a small silver-grey orb, just about the size of his palm. Kenji took it promptly, and gestured for Enrique to stand away from the door. As if on cue, Tommy, Miguel and Ling rushed around the corner, stepping quickly but quietly, their breaths forming a frosty mist in the air. They surveyed the scene, nodded to their Chief and swiftly withdrew sharp blades from their heavy furs. They were ready.

  Just before he moved on the old door, Kenji turned and fastened his followers with a stern look. “Remember that we are not Raiders,” he said firmly. “We do not strike unless attacked.” When they had acknowledged this, he waved them back from the door. Storage places were known to have traps for inattentive explorers, and he would not allow anyone to get hurt. He wrapped his hand cautiously around the thick metal handle in the centre of the portal, and pulled.

  There was a squeal of complaints from the rusted hinges; the sound filled the enclosure like the cries of a tormented creature. Kenji pushed and pulled until he felt the door give way. Then he shoved his weight against it, and ducked as it fell open. He stood on springy steps, his stance defensive; poised to dodge anything that might fly towards him he raised his sword, ready to strike. Behind him the others were in their positions, watching for anything shifting in the darkness beyond the door, listening for the sound of feet pattering, or the hiss of an arrow slicing through the frosty air.

  But they were met only by an odour from the dark interior of the ancient structure.

 
“Something’s dead in there,” Enrique pointed out. Kenji shushed him with an impatient look. He knew that odour. They all did. The reek that smacked their nostrils was sufficient warning to leave this place, and he could tell by the expression of his followers that they were eager to take off. But Kenji had to consider the storm outside. He cast a confident gaze on his followers. “If someone died here, then someone lived here,” he reasoned. “And if someone lived here, there might still be food somewhere inside.” No one spoke as this point was considered. Eventually they nodded.

  Kenji moved to the opening. The silence beyond was as thick as the stagnant air that hung throughout the room. He flicked his thumb against the orb in his hand and it sprang to life, illuminating his immediate surroundings in a silvery glow. He cupped the light in his palm and turned it, so that it would not hinder his vision. Then he held it up, into the darkness beyond the door, and passed through.

  The storm was instantly muffled by the thick walls. In the orb’s glow, Kenji could see that the floor beyond was level, so he knelt and rolled the light into the room. The darkness seemed to consume its radiance at first, but then his eyes adjusted and the Chief gasped. So vast were the dimensions of the place that the light was barely strong enough to reveal the towering walls and ceiling. The room seemed much too large in comparison with its exterior, but this must have been an illusion of the frosty dimness. Kenji stepped forward, his blade thrust before him, his palm raised behind, signalling the others to wait.

  The massive room whispered of ancient elements: of forgotten sciences scrolled into indecipherable patterns on microfiche and shrivelled paper; of protocols hardwired into the brains of machines that could no longer accept requests from the descendants of their creators,their batteries drained or stolen, their access codes lost in a mire of forgotten languages. The only sound was that of the wind moaning beyond the enclosure, and the scuffle of his feet on the tiled floor. Around him, revealed in the silver glow, Kenji could see walls lined with cluttered shelves, stacked high with the cobwebbed relics of a more literate age.