Congratulations to A.J. Bullough for winning the 2020 Lake Forest Reads: Ragdale Writing Contest! A.J. Bullough is a physician and writer who is preparing her first novel, "Mannequin Morgue." She currently lives in Lake Forest with her family and makes regular visits home to England, covid-permitting.
Five Demands, Not One Less
by A.J. Bullough
Karrine starts running. The sound of stray shots blends with swirls of tear gas. They echo like dull thuds in the humid blanket of night air. She abruptly realizes they are using live ammunition. Under the street light, up ahead, Karrine watches a body drop. The protesters run faster. Heated shouts punctuate the dampness. She watches as the body falls in slow motion. It takes a long time to hit the road. Breathing heavily under her bandana Karrine looks at the unmoving, human outline as she sprints past. It is a young man with a single bullet hole ... in the back. The crowd disperses towards Gloucester Rd. The traffic is at a noisy standstill on one of the busiest roads in Hong Kong.
Karrine starts to breath faster, her flight or fight response is in overdrive. Her goggles mist up; she tastes fear in the back of her throat. She pulls off her goggles. The herd of fellow protesters stampedes her into North Wan Chai towards Causeway Bay. Karrine is fighting for her breath, fighting for her life all because she believes in fighting for her human rights; human rights that Beijing no longer recognizes. Karrine is no stranger to a fight but the peaceful protests are becoming more and more violent. People are dying. Good, ordinary people are dying. Their deaths have to mean something.
As the protesters turn the corner a line of riot police in army green fatigues and black riot protection helmets with visors lie in wait. Silver shin and knee guards reflect static car headlights. The look is complete with bullet proof vests, holstered handguns and batons at the ready. Through one of the transparent riot shields Karrine sees the grip on a baton tighten. The police advance.
The stampede scatters between the stationary cars and double decker buses. It is every person for them self. Karrine swiftly dives onto the ground and hides under a bus. She lies still on her belly for a minute, panting and then pulls down her bandana. She needs to breathe. With a sweep of her hand she brushes her jet black hair away from her face. Rivulets of sweat trickle down her spine. In the darkness, she can hear her heart pounding. She sees a cordon of black boots jog past either side of the bus in pursuit of her friends. Muffled shouts are everywhere. To stop the rising panic Karrine thinks of her parents and twin sister Winnie at home. She envisages Winnie tending to her parent's needs, getting their father his herbal medicine, making them their special green tea, shopping for groceries, the mundane list grows as her parents' age. She sees Winnie, her big sister, the ever dutiful filial daughter.
Karrine starts. Something clatters to the ground near her head.
"Hong Kong must not fall," she thinks." Freedom of speech, freedom to meet must not disappear." Blinded by a flashlight, she squints and turns her head. At the same time a hand grabs her ankle in a vice like grip. Her svelte 120lb frame is aggressively dragged out from under the bus. Her cell phone, not through choice, is left behind, incognito in the shadows, face up in the darkness. Without warning the screen lights up the undercarriage of the double decker bus. No one is there to see it. Karrine tries to kick the haak ging, dirty cop captor with her other leg. In return, she is forcefully rolled onto her front and her arms are roughly locked behind her back. Inside the bus curious passengers film the event with iphones and take pictures. Before Karrine can react further a hood is placed over her head and she disappears.
Over a thousand yards to the right of this scene, in the steamy darkness, discarded leaflets privately dance on a harbor breeze. The leaflets land haphazardly. Some lie strewn in a drain, drenched in organic sewer smells. The protesters manifest lies in a gutter but from where else can it rise? Printed on the paper is a title.
Five Demands, Not One Less
■ Withdrawal of the Fugitive Offenders amendment bill by the Hong Kong government.
□ Investigate police brutality using an independent inquiry
□ Retract the protests as riots
□ Amnesty for arrested protesters
□ Implementation of universal suffrage
Heung gong yan yiu jaaang hei ga yau
Hong Kong people must fight on
* * *
Mr. Lo watches TVB television news coverage of the latest protests in Wan Chai. He reads the Cantonese subtitles. The volume is set to a comforting, background hum, too low for him to hear because he does not wish to disturb the house. He knows TVB was ranked last in credibility among TV and radio channels last year and without apology broadcasts the Chinese Communist Party line. But glancing at his packed suitcase, he knows this may be his last time to listen to mainland China propaganda. He worries about Karrine and prays she is safe. "That girl is a law unto herself," he thinks. From his Taoist core, he knows the morals being practiced by Beijing are causing unrest and affecting prosperity. Hong Kong has lost touch with its essence, its very life force. Tonight's protest ended in the death of a seventeen-year-old boy. With a disgusted flick of the remote, he turns off the television. He sips his hot water steeped in Suan Zao Ren, jujube seeds. The herb should help his insomnia and balance his yin deficiency. After sitting quietly awake for over an hour, savoring the remnant smell of a charred relaxation joss stick, he unsteadily gets out of his chair and walks towards Winnie's room. Mr. Lo gently knocks on his daughter's bedroom door. There is no answer. He enters. The bed is made and the room is tidy. He lovingly smiles at a photo of Winnie and Karrine on Winnie's bed side table. His girls are smiling. Their arms stretch across each other's shoulders framing a pair of big goofy smiles. He remembers taking the photo. They were celebrating their 10th birthday at their favorite restaurant Yum Cha. His girls look identical, they still do but he knows the difference.
"They are such different girls, Yin and Yang in every other aspect," he thinks.
"Where is Winnie? I hope she is alright. She must get some sleep. She didn't say she was going out. Still she is now an adult, nineteen-years-old. She can now make her own decisions."
He hears his wife calling and leaves the room. He doesn't notice an unopened envelope propped up against her jewelry box. It is addressed to Karrine.
* * *
Karrine is pushed forward again. The hooded blackness envelopes her heightened senses. She doesn't know her exact co-ordinates in time or space but she can smell the salinity of Victoria Harbor and the sweet, heavy aroma of a burning incense coil in a nearby temple. Her wrists are zip tied behind her back. The thin plastic straps dig mercilessly into her skin. Her ring and little fingers start to tingle. She is deliberately rocked off balance and stumbles.
"What next?" she thinks. "What did Chan always say ... .we are green reeds ... no, bendy reeds ... .no. Lesson learnt ... " whispers Karrine to herself, " ... never put a Philosophy Major in charge of a protest group." She empties her mind and admires the power of her subconscious as softly spoken words of Confucius reappear from the depths of her memory.
‘The green reed which bends in the wind is stronger than the mighty oak which breaks in a storm.'
"I am a reed, I shall prevail."
She wonders if the others made it out. Karrine knows she may not even be charged. The mass arrests and charges and longer-than-normal delays for hearings have put a strain on the whole legal system. The mighty law oak is swaying dangerously in the storm. She waits, listening for her next cue. She doesn't wait long. She hears raised voices followed by a loud bang. Someone grabs her elbow and guides her away from the noise. She falls to her knees, the ties are cut freeing her hands and the hood is removed. As her eyes adjust, she doesn't recognize her black-clad, masked sau zuk comrade, but she recognizes her escape. A voice tells her to run. Before she can thank whomever, the person is gone. Rubbing the circulation back into her shaking hands Karrine stands up and starts to run, getting lost in the night.
Back at the rendezvous point, a group of five people all dressed in black gather. They remove their protest paraphernalia made up of pink filtered respirator masks, goggles and yellow construction helmets. A gloomy silence sets in.
"Where is Karrine?" barks Chan, their philosopher-king, his face covered in sweat. No one answers, subdued heads bow in defeat.
"What happened back there?" he asks. "Did anyone else see that guy get shot?"
The group stays silent.
"We must find Karrine," repeats Chan.
He turns his back and calls her cell. It goes straight to voicemail. Chan checks his watch. It's two am in the morning.
"Where is she?" he thinks. After another ten minutes of pacing he comes to the conclusion she was taken or worse. He orders the group to disband.
"We must separate now. Be careful out there, plain clothed police will be patrolling. I shall contact you in the usual fashion for the next meet."
The small disheartened protest group slowly exits. Chan waits another hopeful fifteen minutes then leaves.
⃰ ⃰ ⃰
Karrine quietly slides open her sister's bedroom glass door. The rendezvous point was a bust and her phone is lost. She is bone crushingly tired, tired of running, tired of fighting and too tired to explain to Winnie why she is entering the house at first light like a Chinese assassin. Karrine collapses onto Winnie's undisturbed bed and closes her heavy eyes. After ten minutes but what only seems an instant her eyes snap open. Karrine is still fully dressed.
"Where is Winnie?" she thinks.
She sits up and looks around the room. Nothing is out of place, but everything is permeated by a cold emptiness. Karrine shivers as a chill passes through her body. Her eyes focus on an envelope propped up against Winnie's jewelry box. She walks slowly towards it. She clenches her teeth and prepares herself. Her name is on the envelope. Slowly Karrine opens the envelope and unfolds the letter. She instantly recognizes Winnie's handwriting and hears her soft voice speaking as she reads on.
Little sister, by two minutes, my Yang warrior,
You will always have my love and admiration all I ask for in return is your forgiveness. If you are reading this it is too late for me. I no longer walk among the living. I cannot continue to live in these turbulent times. My demon fight is closer to home and comes from within me. Everything still feels hopeless; life seems to be meaningless. Every day I awaken thoroughly exhausted. I have neither the continued strength nor the will to fight the isolating darkness. The darkness has all but suffocated me. Tonight I ended it all. Believe me when I say it will be a relief. Do not cry for me. I think I died with Wai that night. She was so much more to me than just a best friend. It would have been better had I been the one hit by the car.
Under the bed is a packed suitcase. I have packed everything I thought I would need for London as well as everything I want you to have. Mother and Father should also be packed. The plane departs Terminal 1 late tonight. A life without fear waits in the U.K. I have nothing left to offer you, our parents or indeed this world. I don't matter. My time has come to pass. Don't judge me harshly. Please don't be sad for me and please tell our parents anything but the truth. I can feel their shame and embarrassment even in the afterlife. Finally, never, ever relinquish your Yang warrior spirit.
Love always little sister,
Winnie xxxx
Karrine’s eyes well up with tears. Her lips become dry. Her cheeks begin to burn. Unable to stand she sits back on the bed. Defeated and disbelieving, she rereads the letter, Winnie’s suicide note. Anger swells up. She clenches and unclenches her jaw and rubs the side of her neck.
“Why didn’t you ask for my help again Winnie,” she asks herself. “DIU LA SING! FUCKING HELL, Jesus fucking Christ! This is not how we deal with this problem! Wai died over two years ago! I too am more than a best friend! I am always here for you; all you had to do was ask. DIU, FUCK....Winnie!!!”
Karrine squeezes shut her eyes and hopes it is all some grand mistake, a dreadful misunderstanding that will miraculously disappear when she opens her eyes. She knows there is no mistake. The age of miracles has ceased to exist.
“Winnie,” she silently weeps, “I am your sister, your family. What were you thinking? The death of Wai robbed you of your chi. That stupid, awful day you lost everything... your studies, your friends, your interests, your spirit but you didn’t lose me! I was always there, again and again and again...I pounded day after day at that brick wall of isolation you built around yourself. Karrine pauses to use her sleeve on her tear stained face.
“When did you stop believing in your future? You had another chapter of a new life to live? Why did you allow your fucking mind to bully and lie to you?”
Karrine bows her head. She tries to control her breathing and stay in the present. Her body crumples under the crushing blow.
“Dear sister I just wish you had been kinder to yourself...to all of us. I shall miss you for as long as my heart beats.”
After a time, Karrine wearily gets up, pulls open the slide door and steps outside. She listens to the Hong Kong early morning city drone and smells a distant tofu vendor down the street. She takes a deep breath and digs for her lighter in her jeans pocket. Karrine holds up Winnie’s letter and burns it.
Lunchtime that same day, there is a polite knock at the front door. Thirty seconds later, Chan starts banging on the door. Mr. Lo answers.
“Hello Chan, sorry but my old bones don’t move like they used to,” smiles Mr. Lo. “How are you? Have those Chinese philosophers given you a headache yet?”
“Hello, Mr. Lo.” Chan bows his head. “All is well. Have you seen Karrine today? I am unable to get her on her cell.”
"No, sorry, she keeps strange hours ever since the protests started. I never know whether she is coming or going. Wait here, I'll see if Winnie has seen or heard from her."
"Winnie," Mr. Lo softly knocks on her door.
"Yes father?" comes a reply.
"Have you seen Karrine today?"
"No father, not today."
"You ok? You weren't in your room last night. It is none of my business but do you need to talk to ... "continues Mr. Lo.
"I am well; I needed a walk to clear my head. Today is a big day."
"Yes Winnie it certainly is," he replies.
Mr. Lo pads slowly back to the front door. He passes two large suitcases standing in the living room.
From behind a net curtain, Karrine watches Chan leave. He's wearing a clean grey t-shirt that clings to his wiry frame and the same black jeans he had on last night. Chan shakes his head, he looks worried. He stops then lights a cigarette and makes a call on his cell. She watches him take a drag. His unspoken anguish has carved new lines on his too young face, he looks older. She knows it is the last time she will see him. She turns around and looks at the made bed.
Winnie's suitcase sits on the bed. As well as Winnie's clothes and shoes, it contains birth certificates, tax records, Dad's medical card, bank statements, investment account details, Hong Kong Identity cards, passports ... everything and anything to start a new life as British Nationals, Overseas or BN(O)'s. Winnie has prepared everything. Karrine lifts the airline tickets from the top of the pile. Three adults are booked to depart Chek Lap Kok or Hong Kong International just before midnight to arrive at London Heathrow, Terminal 1. As agreed, by the family, Karrine remains to finish her law studies and fight for the cause. The Lo's are departing Hong Kong. The new immigration pathway doesn't come into effect until next year but they are deemed worthy of ‘Leave Outside the Rules'.
Later that evening, wearing a mandatory Covid-face mask, Karrine gets into an urban red taxi. She glimpses her new appearance in the taxi rear view mirror. Winnie stares back at her. Karrine is strangely comforted by this. Ever since they were six years old she and Winnie would swop identities. Karrine smiles and remembers what fun they had outwitting teachers, boyfriends and sometimes even their parents. After all that has happened it is too easy to adopt Winnie's more subdued persona and mannerisms. She sits down quietly next to her masked mother. No one speaks. Her parents are deeply wounded and disappointed at Karrine's absence. They expected Karrine to wave them off but they know the protests keep her busy. Her father sighs tiredly from behind his mask.
"Karrine will be in touch once we reach London, I'm sure," says Mr. Lo to no one in particular. He sits next to the driver. The cases have been stored in the trunk. The taxi pulls away and heads for the airport via Route 8.
Chan steps out from the shadows, lights a cigarette and watches them leave. He too has been waiting impatiently for Karrine to show.
"Surely she would not miss saying goodbye to her family?" He takes a deep drag then blows several smoke rings. There is still no sign of Karrine. An alert on his cell rings. He immediately checks hoping it will be from her. Instead he stares at a video of Karrine, which has gone viral among the protesters. The short movie shows her being arrested last night on Gloucester Rd. His last image of Karrine is a hood being placed over her head. Chan throws his cell to the ground. The screen shatters on impact. He closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. His emotions reel between rage and despair.
"This cannot be happening. Not Karrine. I will not let her disappearance go unannounced," he vows. "They, whoever they are will not be allowed to get away with this."
Chan glances at the dark, empty Lo house. He flicks his cigarette to the ground and grinds it into the asphalt with his black sneaker then half walks, half jogs away.
* * *
Karrine settles her parents in the Plaza Premium Lounge in Terminal 1. After some light food and as the foot massages start for her parents she needs to go elsewhere, anywhere for a drink. She knows she needs one. Wearing her mask, she exits the lounge and wanders through the East Hall with its vast vaulted ceilings. She passes a closed tea making demonstration stand. Signs to Terminal 2 advertise the Aviation Discovery Center, IMAX Theater and even GreenLive AIR, a simulated indoor golf club.
After twenty minutes she finds herself at the food court near arrivals. She sits down at the Sushi and Sake Bar Taka. A large TV screen sits in front her. The volume is on mute but the subtitles keep the viewer informed.
Karrine orders a carafe of her favorite sake, Tokugawa Ieyasu. She wanly smiles behind her mask. Lifting up her mask she first smells the sweet aroma and then tastes the dry, spicy sip that tickles her throat with a chill. She closes her eyes and sees Winnie holding a glass and toasting their birthday. They are celebrating their eighteenth birthday. Their parents had hired a party room for the celebration in Kowloon. "What was it called again ... " she takes another sip of sake to jog her memory then readjusts her mask.
"Yes, it was the Best Fantasy room in Kwun Tong." She remembers their friends, Chan, the laughter, the games, the drinking and of course the singing. More importantly Winnie had laughed and sang and cried that night for the first time since Wai's accident. She was slowly coming out of her funk or post-traumatic depression as labeled by the educational psychologist.
"What did we sing that night ... ?" Karrine nudges her memory again with another sip of sake. "The karaoke birthday twins sang ... Titanium. It was the best party ever," she thinks.
"You shoot me down but I won't fall, I am Titanium," she murmurs under her breath.
Karrine shades her face with a trembling left hand as silent mournful tears fill her eyes. She hurriedly dries the outward sign of the painful memories they represent. If she starts crying now she won't be able stop.
As Karrine looks up she focuses on a face staring back at her on the bar TV screen. It is her face. The segment is followed by an eight second clip of her arrest last night. Then Chan wearing a black face mask and yellow construction helmet appears. He is holding up a MISSING poster with her face printed on it. Under her picture are the words ONE COUNTRY, TWO SYSTEMS. The posters are plastered across the University of Hong Kong campus, her old campus. Karrine gazes at Chan as the subtitles flash below.
"This is Karrine Lo. Beijing, she is NOT a political virus. She is a Year 2 Law student at the University of Hong Kong. Karrine was arrested and disappeared last night. No one can tell me where she is. She is the warrior face of political and economic Hong Kong freedoms, the face of Hong Kong's autonomy. She represents our fight for human rights; she is one of us and all of us. Beijing, be afraid, be very afraid for we will not forget Karrine Lo. She is the fire that will forever stoke the embers of freedom for Hong Kong."
The newsreader moves onto the next news piece. Karrine takes another sip of her Daiginjo sake. Chan is channeling his pain. The energy is undeniable. She sit backs and takes a big breath. She realizes she has been elevated to the status of martyr ... a martyr to the Hong Kong human rights, social and economic movements, a martyr that died fighting for Hong Kong freedoms. Chan has immortalized her role in the freedom protests. She checks her watch and thinks of her parents. An outwardly less fulfilling life awaits her. As Hong Kong wrestles to claim its new post-colonial identity, she must struggle to embrace her new identity as Winnie, and spare her parents their eternal pain. Now she is to become a martyr in this new life. Maybe her story was always going to end this way? Maybe she had already served her purpose. Karrine finishes her sake and pays the barman in cash.
With a heavy heart, she leans to slide off her barstool and heads back to the lounge. En route she stops at the departure board and looks for their flight. It is now listed as GO TO GATE.
"And so I shall," she tells herself.