Hi Dave. We had the funeral today at a memorial hall in Tai Wai. The Christian service successfully alienated everyone present. I watched my uncle and aunts squirm at each mention of Jesus and stare dumbly at their English hymn books and throw dagger eyes at me. But it’s okay. It’s all token anyway. Uncle Yun is having a Taoist ceremony in a couple of days. They’ll find her a nice altar place in the temple. I always knew this was going to happen. I just wanted them to do one last thing for Popo, the way she would have wanted it. And to suffer a little more. If only you were here. We could go sit on the beach and share this bottle of bad whisky. I don’t feel good. // Yi

Dave is thrilled—for the first time he and Yi are online at the same time. He imagines her in her beach shack, sand between her toes, her face illuminated by the glow of the computer screen. He notices the time on the email. She’s drinking. She’s clearly distraught. She needs him there. It won’t feel like an imposition. He looks back over his line and makes some changes:

If you want, I can come and see you—

He can change the date on his ticket and fly to Hong Kong in a matter of days—but the problem is that he’s used up all his holiday time for the wedding. Though thinking about it more, he still has sick leave that he hasn’t yet taken, and he could even possibly use some of the holiday time originally intended for the wedding. He just has to talk to Mayling.

If you want, I can come and see you—

He is sweating enough that he can smell himself: damp, sour heat. He licks his palm. Salty. He can hear Mayling moving things around in the kitchen; the clink of a teaspoon, the opening and shutting of cupboards. It all sounds familiar and somehow pitiful. All he needs to do is get up, go to her, speak: I’m sorry, I can’t get married.

10-14-02

4:10 am (GMT +7)

So Dave, I have a question for you. What happens when you die? Uh-oh, time’s up! Read the following information very, very carefully…