13 Mink Street

He could feel Tiz’s hand settle on his shoulder, and Karon’s whole body trembled. “Let’s go home, then.”

“Yes, Grandpa.”

Karon knew exactly what he had just experienced. It had not been an invention of nerves, but an acute encounter with the boundary between life and death. It was impossible to mistake it as mere paranoia.

He reached out, pushed the gate open, and stepped forward. At once, his knees buckled, and he stumbled. Only the leash clenched in his hand kept him upright, though the golden retriever was jerked forward until, finally, Karon collapsed on top of the dog. The retriever whimpered.

Karon scrambled to his feet and glanced back at Tiz. The old man was watching, his expression impossible to read.

Clenching the leash, Karon checked the dog. It was unharmed. He then made his way to the house.

Inside the living room sat Aunt Mary, along with several other middle-aged men and women. They must be the children of the old man from the nursing home, gathered to settle his affairs.

Aunt Mary called Karon, but he gave no reply. He simply dropped the leash and started up the stairs.

He reached the third floor, opened his bedroom door, and stepped inside. After locking it behind him, he slid down until he was sitting on the floor with his back against the door.

He began gasping for air, shallow and rapid. Tears, snot, and cold sweat ran down his face. His fists clenched. Under his breath, he muttered every curse he knew, the words ragged. Swearing was the only thing that offered any relief, even if only for a moment.

Soon, Mina’s voice came through the door. “Karon, there’s lunch in the kitchen. Should I warm it up for you?”

Karon drew in a shaky breath. He rubbed his tears away with a palm, and then cleaned his nose with the back of his hand.

“No, I’m not hungry.”

“Alright.” Mina left again.

Karon leaned against the door, tipping his head back.

Mr. Hoffen knows who I am, and just now, at the door, Grandpa was going to kill me. He really meant to do it.

What had once felt like the distant dread of “a matter of identity” had suddenly become visceral and inescapable.

The danger was real. I was already halfway to the gallows.

At that moment, his cousin Lent called from the hallway, “Karon, Grandfather wants you to come eat.”

Karon bit his lip and shook his fists. Damn it.

The thought of sitting across from Tiz was more frightening than anything else. Even worse was knowing that he did not dare refuse.

A hollow feeling took hold. Then laughter bubbled up. Karon covered his face, his shoulders shaking and unable to stop.

He understood what was happening to him; the wild pendulum had swung between despair and reckless surrender. The mind, when jarred by profound shock, easily falls into such extremes. The careful become spendthrifts, the disciplined become reckless. Regret always follows, but at least for a while, one tastes a heady, lawless freedom. Even the strongest collapse after reaching the edge of their endurance. A machine, driven past its limit, requires repairs, or else breaks for good.

He forced himself to his feet. He examined his reflection in the mirror. He did not feel ashamed or regretful of his weakness; anyone would falter at the precipice. However, he had grown weary of those feelings.

...

It was three in the afternoon, long past lunch.

Karon approached the table and sat down. Tiz glanced at him. Outwardly, Karon looked composed. His hair was slicked back and damp, making him appear alert, almost sharp. A plate of pasta with tomato sauce sat before him, and in the middle of the table was a plate of stuffed pancakes.

He picked up his fork, twisted the noodles, and tasted the sweet and sour mess. He nearly grimaced. It was dreadful. He tried a stuffed pancake next, only to choke on the syrupy sweetness. He set his fork down, resigned, and let out a quiet sigh.

Tiz ate slowly, then asked, “What’s wrong?”

Karon saw that Aunt Mary and Aunt Winnie were nowhere to be found on the second floor, so he gave the unvarnished truth, “It tastes bad.”

Mina approached with a glass of water, and started at the remark. In this house, even her parents deferred to Tiz without question. Criticizing the food or letting defiance show were not things that were permitted.

Tiz took a bite of pancake. “What would you rather eat?”

Karon shook his head. “I’ll make lunch tomorrow.”

Tiz wiped his mouth with a napkin, nodding slowly. “Fine.” He gestured to the plate in front of Karon. “But finish what’s here. Don’t waste it.”

“Alright.” Karon resumed eating.

Tiz sipped some water, watching Karon without blinking. Karon ate with a furrowed brow. He made no secret of his dislike, sighing between bites.

Tiz said, “You must show basic respect for food.”

Karon accepted the water from Mina as he forced down another sweet, heavy mouthful. “It shows more disrespect,” he replied. “To turn decent ingredients into something so dreadful.”

Tiz tilted his head. “Then I’ll wait to taste tomorrow’s lunch.”

Aunt Mary appeared at the top of the stairs then. Her face twitched with anger, but she smoothed it away as soon as she saw Tiz. “Have the guests left?” Tiz asked.

“They chose the cheapest package,” she stated flatly.

He showed no reaction.

The cheapest package meant renting the first floor mourning hall. There would be no ceremony, no refreshments, just space for the body and time for visitors to pay their respects. Nothing more was needed.

“It gets worse,” Aunt Mary continued. “They want Mr. Mossan cremated, and won’t even pay for a burial plot. His children claim he followed the Berai Church, just so they can save themselves that fee, but when I tended his body, I saw an angel tattoo across his back.”

Some churches taught that cremation was proper, that the end was also the beginning. Most faiths, and most families, weren’t willing to do that. Of course, burning a body cost far less than burying it.

What stung Aunt Mary was that Mr. Mossan’s children had invented their excuse, shaving away anything that might have turned a profit. Coffins, grave plots, and clergy were what brought the funeral home profit.

“Mm.” Tiz remained calm. “We do as the clients ask.”

“Yes, Father.”

“There will be no lunch for the Mossan family tomorrow, so Karon will handle ours.”

“Yes, Father.” Aunt Mary glanced at Karon.

“I’m tired, and will rest now. There’s work tomorrow; you should all rest too.”

“Yes, Father.”

“Yes, Grandpa.”

Tiz stood and made his way towards the third floor.

“Mina, get Lent and help me fix the curtains downstairs. Call Clarice too.”

“Alright, Mother.”

Aunt Mary then turned to Karon. “Little chef, do you need me to buy anything for tomorrow?”

“No, Aunt. There’s plenty in the kitchen.”

“Then I’ll look forward to lunch.”

She headed back down with the others. Paul and Ron would help prepare the mourning hall in the morning, but she wanted the foundation prepared tonight.

Karon finished his meal and started to clear the dishes, which was when the door to his uncle and aunt’s room on the second floor opened.

“Karon, Karon.”

“Uncle Mason?” Karon looked up.

“Is there anything left?”

“A few pancakes.”

“Good, good. Bring them.”

Karon carried the plate to the door. Uncle Mason, still in his pajamas, took it at once, already eating hungrily.

“Uncle, what happened...?”

Uncle Mason answered in a tired voice, “I tripped and fell. My tailbone aches. Not sure if it’s broken. I need to rest, but I’ll be ready for work tomorrow.”

“Please be careful, Uncle.”

“Ah, someone in every family has to take on the bad luck so that the rest can stay healthy. I don’t mind. As long as you’re all well, I’m happy.”

Karon knew his uncle was rambling, but still managed a polite, touched smile. Uncle Mason shuffled back into his room, but then paused. “Close the door behind you.”

“Alright, Uncle.”

Karon shut the door. Judging by how Uncle Mason had acted in the morning, he doubted it had really been a fall. Most likely, the man had taken a beating from his own father. Such things were ordinary here, weren’t they? Even an uncle with grown children could be beaten by his own father, especially after what Tiz had nearly done to Karon himself at the gate.

Out of habit, Karon lifted his right hand and reached in front of his eyes. It was a motion that lingered from another life. His fingers touched nothing. His body saw perfectly well. There was no need for glasses.

Under his breath, he muttered, “Grandson...”

He paused, then repeated it, his tone sharpening, “Grand-thief.”[1]

***

Karon stayed upstairs. He washed up, and then tried to go to sleep. He drifted in and out, but never managed more than half an hour before waking again. By midnight, sleep abandoned him completely. He looked over to his cousin Lent, asleep on the opposite cot. Since Karon’s recovery, Lent had moved back in, leaving the old man to his solitude. Karon could only guess what kind of pressure Lent must have suffered from their grandfather on his own.

He sat up, switched on the desk lamp, and opened the drawer by rote. From it, he withdrew a book, Money: A Meaningless Thing. It was the autobiography of a Swillen financier. Slipped between the pages were banknotes, each one marked as one hundred rupi.

It was the old Karon’s savings, his allowance being surprisingly generous. He counted six thousand rupi in all. A regular worker might bring in just over two thousand rupi a month, a bit more with a good factory job. Paul and Ron had earned three thousand each, though Paul’s pay just risen to four thousand, with transporting corpses being added to his list of tasks. Altogether, six thousand rupi equaled what a laborer might take home in three months, though with family costs taken into consideration, it would be nearly impossible for them to save so much even in half a year.

When he had first woken in this body, he remembered an old longing to run. The old Karon had never liked it here. But what, really, could he do with this much money?

Karon, oh Karon, why did you give up school? Couldn’t you have left me with at least a high school diploma?

He then reconsidered, as he had at least inherited Karon’s face, which was not bad at all. There was little space left for complaint.

Now, the same choice haunted him: run, or stay. The two options circled each other endlessly, but after everything that had happened today, the question no longer seemed so simple.

It wasn’t just a matter of scraping together enough cash and jumping on a train. There was something else, something deeper, cold and unspoken, that pressed in from the edges of the ordinary, reaching even within the house.

The dog barked in the yard. He must not have noticed the sound earlier.

He slipped the banknotes back into the book, put it away, and rose to step into the hallway. Pu’er, the black cat, lay sprawled across a windowsill. The cat’s eyes were fixed on the golden retriever outside, lying alone. The cat looked smug, tucked behind glass. I am warm, and you are not.

Karon glanced down at the dog in the night air. It probably wouldn’t freeze, but animals accustomed to the company of people suffered the most from loneliness. His aunts and the others had either forgotten about the dog, or simply didn’t care about it. It was better to leave it outside so that it wouldn’t trouble anyone for a midnight walk.

He went downstairs to the living room and opened the door. The retriever trotted over and pressed its head against his pajamas. He stroked its fur, meaning to take it to the kitchen for something to eat, but at the stairs, a new sound appeared. It was the muffled sobbing of an unknown man, and it floated up from below. In the silence of the house, the sound was sharp and unavoidable.

He stepped back to peer at the ramp to the basement, and even took a few wary steps down it. The crying grew clearer. He could almost see an old man hunched in the shadows, overcome with grief. Quickly, he retreated. He would not go any farther.

Only background characters in horror movies chase noises into the basement at night. He didn’t scream or call for help, but simply turned away and went to the kitchen instead.

There, he poured a glass of milk and warmed it in a bowl of hot water. He grabbed two pieces of bread, ate one, and tossed the other to the retriever, who pushed it aside. Uninterested in the food, it had probably already been fed.

Karon picked up the bread, took his milk, and climbed back to the third floor.

He stopped at his bedroom door, hesitating. After a moment, he turned and quietly walked to Tiz’s room, knocking. Tap, tap... tap, tap...

There was no answer. Karon raised his hand to knock again, but before he could, the door to Tiz’s nearby study swung open. The old man stepped out, draped in his black robe.

“What is it?” he asked.

“I brought you some hot milk.” Karon offered him the cup. Tiz took it and immediately took a sip.

“Good night, Grandpa,” Karon said.

“Good night.” Tiz closed the door behind him.

Karon noticed, as he lingered outside, that the light from the study wavered. Tiz didn’t have the lamp on, but was using candles.

Karon waited outside of the closed door for nearly three minutes. Then, instead of heading back to his own room, he turned around and descended the stairs to the first floor. He found himself back before the mouth of the ramp sloping into the basement. The crying was still there, faint, yet unmistakable.

A nervous laugh escaped him, thin and uneasy. He laced his fingers together, stretched, and then rocked up onto his toes as if preparing for gym class. “Alright then,” he whispered. “Let’s see what you are.”

1. In Chinese, “grandson” and “grand-thief” are near-homophones. The shift reflects Karon’s bitterness, recasting the familial title as an accusation of having stolen his life and future. ☜