The Weight of Our Sky Read online

  The closer I get, the louder and more hectoring the Djinn’s voice becomes. Ready to see what happens when you’re a selfish coward? He sends image after image shooting into my mind: Saf slumped low in a theater seat, her arms splayed awkwardly; Saf with blood trickling from the gaping stab wound in her chest; Saf, staring at my retreating back, her eyes wide with fear and betrayal. Your mother’s next. She came looking for you and she’ll pay the price for it. Everybody pays a price for loving you.

  I duck and weave and dart through empty shophouses, behind and between the charred carcasses of buses and cars, trying to avoid the keen glances of patrolling soldiers, counting in threes and tapping my tongue against my teeth as I go to silence that wicked voice.

  And then, finally, I’m here.

  The Rex.

  Some of the brightly colored posters have been ripped off the walls, and the pavement before it is littered with both kuaci shells and dark stains that look suspiciously like blood. But otherwise, the bright red block letters stand as tall as ever, and Paul Newman’s piercing blue eyes gaze soulfully from the one poster that remains intact by the main entrance. “It was a hell of a story, Paul,” I whisper to him before I push against the heavy double doors.

  Inside, the only relief from darkness comes from the sunlight that filters weakly in through the dusty windows. Beneath my feet, the floor is littered with debris; I can’t see exactly what I’m stepping on, but I feel the crunch. As I walk toward the doors leading to the movie hall, my foot lands on something that rolls beneath its weight, sending me toppling to the floor with a shriek. I feel around with my hands (it’s the usher’s flashlight), evaluate my injuries (a bruised tailbone and a heart pitter-pattering erratically from the shock), then get up, dusting myself off.

  “Let’s try this,” I murmur, pushing the button on the flashlight. It’s a small one, nestling in my palm just so, but its beam is bright and true, and I feel myself daring to breathe again. It’s amazing how reassured you can feel just by the presence of light.

  Armed with my flashlight, I turn to face the movie hall.

  Here’s where the magic happens! The Djinn resurfaces, and I can see his lazy grin as we contemplate the closed doors. What if they’re all still in there? He uses my heart to bang out a fast and furious drum sequence; the pounding is almost more than I can bear. What if they didn’t collect these bodies?

  I can feel my body tighten, my hands clenching themselves into fists. I can’t walk through this door. I can’t.

  Maybe I should check the rest of the theater first. That’s reasonable, right? That makes sense. If Mama came here, she could be anywhere. She doesn’t necessarily have to be behind those doors, in that hall.

  So I turn away from the doors, barely containing the sigh of relief that escapes me, and start combing through the rest of the building. I shine my light into the box office, where bits of paper are scattered all over the countertops; I search the snack bar, where someone has spilled an entire vat of the sickly sweet orange cordial they sell to quench moviegoers’ thirst; I even sidle into a door clearly marked EMPLOYEES ONLY, feeling a spark of rebellion as I peer inside. There are stacks of papers and files, but no Mama.

  Every place I search that comes up empty takes me one step closer to the inevitable: the movie hall. Even thinking about it makes the Djinn stir restlessly and my pulse quicken.

  And then he begins throwing questions at me, relentless, like bullets. What if Saf was just wounded, but you were too much of a coward to come back for her and so she died, in pain and alone? What if Mama came to look for you here and ended up coming face-to-face with the gangsters who murdered Saf? What if they murdered her, too?

  Quickly, I begin to pace: three steps at a time, first to one side, then to the other. Then I tap each corner of the door frame three times, then each handle. I can’t seem to get it right, so I set the flashlight aside, making sure to keep the beam pointing toward the door. Then I begin again, over and over and over again. Step, tap, step, tap, counting every time. I’m sweaty and shaky, and I feel like I may throw up, but I can’t get around it—I can’t step through these doors until it feels right. Until it feels safe.

  Somewhere inside me, the Djinn reclines luxuriously and chuckles to himself.

  I hate him.

  I hate me.

  It must be more than twenty minutes before I can finally, finally push the doors open.

  It’s all there, just as it’s always been: the wooden seats; the big screen at the very front of the room, now blank and gray; and in the middle of the hall, the one lone seat covered in bright red cloth. The spirit of the Rex. Whoever he is, he certainly isn’t alone now.

  I stand there at the threshold, taking it all in. How many movies have I watched here, giggling with Saf as we sipped on sweet sugarcane juice and crunched through handfuls of nuts? I close my eyes, the image of Saf’s dimpled smile playing in my mind. The air here has the stale quality you only get from a room that’s been sealed off from the rest of the world for a while, and I’m suddenly finding it hard to breathe. I sink into the closest chair, and the creak as my weight rests on it echoes deafeningly in the silent hall.

  Deep breaths, Melati.

  Out of habit, I find myself counting them off—breathe in, one, two, three, breathe out, one, two, three, breathe in, one, two, three—and then I hear it.

  The soft but unmistakable sound of an answering creak.

  I freeze, straining my ears to hear it again. There—another little creak. I reach into my pocket, my fingers stroking the smooth handle of the little knife.

  “Who’s there?” I call out, and immediately regret it. How stupid can you be, Melati? A city full of hostile rioters, and you call attention to yourself like this? But even though I wait and wait, there’s no response. For one wild moment, I wonder if the spirit is real, and after my journey through the city I’m about to be murdered by a vengeful ghost.

  Then I hear it again—and something else. Light, quick footsteps, so light you would barely notice them, if you weren’t really listening.

  Immediately, I spring up out of my seat, as light as a cat, and sprint out of the door and up the stairs to the first-class section, two by two, knife in one hand, torch in the other. I know I may be putting myself in danger, I know there’s no real way of knowing what I’ll find up there, but for some reason I’m driven by a powerful urge to see it for myself. For some reason? The Djinn scoffs. Please. You think it might be Saf. You think she’s somehow alive and waiting for you.

  Shut up.

  The upper tier is closed off to the rest of the world by a heavy wooden door, and as I hesitate before it, I think of all the times Saf and I schemed and hatched elaborate plots to make our way through it and take our seats high above the rest of the commoners. Slowly, I push the door open.

  Rows of seats stretch out before me, just the same as the ones downstairs. I play my torch along their wooden spines and feel a little pang of disappointment. We’d always imagined something grander: velvet seats, plush carpets underfoot, intricate murals painted along the walls. It turns out that all “first-class” means is a different point of view and marginally cleaner floors.

  Slowly, I scan my torch across the space. I’m not sure what I expect to see, but since nobody’s come out and attacked me yet, I figure I’m pretty safe. Maybe it was just a rat.

  And then the beam of light lands on something unexpected, and I pause.

  Rats don’t wear shoes.

  These are small and pale pink, though caked in parts with grime and flecked with stains. Little pink-and-white polka dot bows adorn the tops. And the feet encased in them belong to a little girl, no older than seven or eight, I’m guessing, crouched low at the very end of the third row, her eyes squinting in the bright light of the torch, every muscle poised to flee.

  I soften immediately—I know what that feels like. “Hello,” I say, turning the beam away so that it doesn’t blind her, flicking the knife shut and putting it away. I make my v
oice as soft and gentle as I can. “Hello there. Are you all right? Are you hurt?”

  The little girl shrinks back even farther, so that her back touches the wall. “Don’t be afraid. I won’t hurt you.” I inch my way closer to her, trying to make my movements as slow and deliberate as I can, as if I’m approaching some kind of wild animal. “What’s your name? My name is Melati. You can call me kakak. Do you know what that means? It means ‘big sister.’ ”

  “I’m . . . I’m May,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper and cracking from disuse.

  “Well, hi, May, it’s nice to meet you. Can I come and sit by you?”

  She hesitates, then nods, and I quickly make my way over and sit cross-legged beside her, my back against the wall.

  “Are you alone here, May?”

  She nods, her big eyes never leaving my face.

  “Okay. How long have you been here?” I have a million questions, but I know I can’t rush her, and I force myself to ask one at a time.

  She shrugs. I take in her crusty face, the discarded food wrappers and beverage containers piled neatly in the nearby corner. She’s been scavenging from the snack bar, I realize, hiding in here while the chaos raged outside.

  “Was there anybody else here when you came in?” I ask softly. She shakes her head. “I was with my mummy,” she volunteers timidly. “We were buying tea at the tea uncle’s shop. She said she needed a special kind of tea because my daddy wasn’t feeling well.”

  I nod encouragingly. “That’s right; there are teas that can help people feel better. Then what happened?”

  “There was a lot of banging and shouting suddenly. I don’t know what happened. The tea shop uncle said he had to close the shop. He told Mummy to stay in the back room with me and keep quiet until he said we could come out. Mummy said it was like a game. So I stayed really super quiet because I like to win.”

  I swallow a sudden lump in my throat. “I’m sure you’re very good at games,” I say, and she nods vigorously. “I am,” she tells me solemnly. “I always beat my mummy at checkers and snakes and ladders.” She pauses, then adds reluctantly, “I think she lets me win at checkers, though. But only sometimes.”

  “I’m sure there are lots of times when you beat her fair and square.” I smile at her. “What happened after that?”

  She frowns. “Mummy kept peeking through the door to see what was happening. There was a lot more noise outside, more crashing and banging, so I thought we’d win for sure because the uncle was being so loud. Then Mummy grabbed me and told me we had to leave. The back room had a door that could let you out, so she used that, and then we ran away. I was mad because Mummy carried me just like a baby, and I am NOT a baby anymore. Mummy said I wasn’t fast enough. But I am! I can run really, really fast.” She scowls deeply at the indignity of it all.

  “I bet you can,” I say, and she relaxes a little. “Is that how you ended up here?”

  She nods firmly. “When we came in, there were lots of people sleeping in the chairs downstairs. Mummy said they were so tired from watching the movie. We stayed in a room downstairs and Mummy would lock the door and put a chair in front of it. The floor was soo hard, I couldn’t sleep properly and I really wanted to go home. But I did get to eat all kinds of yummy snacks Mummy doesn’t usually let me buy. . . .” She trails off, contemplating the pros and cons of cinema life.

  “Where’d your mummy go?” I ask her gently. Her face falls. “There was a lot of loud noises outside, so she went to go see. She said I had to stay quiet and hide in our room and not let anyone inside at all. She said it was like another game. And if she didn’t come back, if I won, then someone would come find me and bring me home.” She looks down then. “I cheated, though. I got hungry, so I had to come out.” Her lips tremble slightly as she looks up at me. “Can I still win? Are you going to take me home?” she asks.

  My heart wrenches. I can’t leave her here to fend for herself.

  Everybody who’s around you gets hurt, the Djinn says warningly. You’re toxic, Melati. You’re capable of protecting nothing and no one. You’ll get this girl killed, just like you got Saf killed. The mention of Saf’s name sends a stabbing pain shooting through my chest, and I waver for an instant.

  Then I feel a little hand work its way into mine. May looks up at me trustingly, and I know right then that there is no way I’m leaving without her. “That’s right,” I tell her. “I’m going to get you out of here, and we’ll find a way to get you home.”

  And I squeeze her hand and smile reassuringly at her as the Djinn screams and scenes of death swirl around my head.

  • • •

  So I haven’t found Mama, and I’ve managed to saddle myself with a child that I’m somehow supposed to cart around the city while I look for her.

  You, Melati, are a fine, fine fool.

  I sigh and look down at May, who is sitting on a bench in the lobby munching contentedly on the bun I’d managed to fish out of my bag.

  The bun. The bun that I’d gotten from the police station. That’s it! The police station isn’t too far away; I’ll take May there. She’ll be safe, they’ll be able to get her back home, and I’ll slip away again when they aren’t looking and go find Mama on my own.

  Satisfied with my plan, I kneel down so I’m eye level with the girl. “May, we’re going to get you to the police station, okay? The uncles there will know how to get you home.” She looks at me with those big brown eyes and nods. Her hand hasn’t left mine.

  When she’s done eating, I take her to the bathroom to wash up. “Do you need to go?” I ask her, hearing echoes of my own mother. She nods and slips into one of the stalls. While waiting, I stare blankly at my own reflection. This entire situation feels unreal.

  The sound of the flushing toilet echoes through the tiny bathroom, and she opens the door and steps out. The yellow dress she wears is a touch too long for her, and I imagine I can hear her mother’s voice parroting what all mothers say: Better to make it big, so she can wear it for a long time more. All it does is make her look even smaller, more vulnerable than she already is. I suddenly want to hug her.

  Instead, I lead her to the sink and help her wash the worst of the smudges and smears off her face. Then we head back out to the lobby.

  “Okay,” I say, looking down to make sure she’s listening. “We don’t really know what it’s like out there, so you need to listen to me and do what I tell you, okay?” She nods, her little face serious. “If I tell you to run, you run. If I tell you to stay still, you be as quiet as you can be. Okay?” Another nod, and she slips her hand firmly back into mine and clutches it as though she’s never letting go.

  “Okay. Stay close to me.” I take a deep breath. “Here we go.”

  Slowly, carefully, I push open the heavy theater doors and glance up and down the street. All is quiet. “Come on,” I say, tugging at May’s hand, and we run quickly up the street, staying close to the wall. At the intersection of Cecil and Petaling Street I turn right—and then abruptly shove the little girl behind a blue Ford Anglia abandoned by the side of the street, the door on the driver’s side hanging wide open, its windshield an intricate mass of cracks spawning from a hole almost right in the center of the glass, where a rock has smashed through. “Get in, get in,” I hiss at her, and crawl in behind her, swinging the door shut behind me as quietly as I can. Then we both peek over the Ford’s pale leather seats at the scene behind us.

  Just ahead, men are busy smashing the windows and doors of the shops that line Petaling Street with large rocks and rods of iron and wood. They force their way in, pushing back metal shutters and wooden gates, and exit bearing armfuls of loot: food and provisions, transistor radios and television sets, fistfuls of money that they stuff into pockets and bags. As we watch, one man lights a cigarette, then tosses his still-lit match casually in through a broken window; minutes later, fire crackles merrily in the empty building, sending cascades of smoke billowing into the sky. The others pause to roar their approva
l.

  Beside me, I can feel May’s whole body trembling, and I hug her close. “Don’t worry,” I whisper in her ear. “They won’t find us. I’ll keep us safe.”

  She curls into me and stays there quietly while I frantically try and figure out what to do next. There are only two roads we can take to the police station; Petaling Street is out, and if we cross over and try to head up Jalan Bandar, we run the risk of them seeing us, especially with May, who can’t run as fast or as far as I can. I sigh in frustration; I can’t see any way around them, and time is running out. We can’t stay here forever.

  Think, Melati, think. This kid is depending on you.

  For all the good that will do her. The Djinn decides that this would be a good time to pipe up. In my head, the movie reel clicks into place: Mama and Saf and May and Vince atop a pile of bodies in the lobby of the Rex, bloodied and bloated from all the days they’ve been left to rot, waiting for me to find them, protect them, save them.

  I tap my fingers rapidly against my palm, shaking my head as if I can somehow put my thoughts back in place. May’s watchful eyes peer up at me questioningly, but she stays quiet.

  If she stays with you, she’ll just end up getting hurt. They all do.

  “Kakak?”

  I open my eyes to see May staring at me, confused and frightened. And well she should be—there’s a riot going on behind us and all her supposed protector can do is sit in a car with her eyes shut.

  She needs you, Melati. Get a grip.

  “It’s okay, May,” I say, trying to smile at her as reassuringly as I can. “We’re going to slip out and run as fast as we can down that road over there, okay? You see that big white van over there?” I point to where the abandoned van sits, a few yards down the road from us. “When I say go, you run to that van and hide behind it, okay? I’ll hold your hand the whole time, but you have to run as hard as you can. Can you do that for me?” She nods, biting her bottom lip so hard I can see a drop of blood.

  “Good girl. Are you ready?”

  She hesitates, and my heart constricts. “You can do it. I’ll be with you the whole time, okay? I won’t leave you.”