Author: Arthur.
They could hear it before they could see it.
‘Do you hear that?’ she asked.
‘Yes, a buzzing sound,’ he replied. ‘Is it a mosquito?’
‘I don’t see anything.’
‘Neither do I. It’s still there though, like a…fly.’
‘Yeah, that’s it. That’s it.’ She snapped her fingers and jigged them a little, as if the answer to the mystery had been found.
They were seated at the dining table. There were two opened packets of mihun, jagged pieces of them remaining on the oil paper, and a myriad of other things: pink tupperware containing unfinished medicine of all sorts, tablet and liquid form; a pair of scissors, eraser, a small sellotape, a clump of white tack-it rolled up into a rough-hewn ball shape, a rectangular seethrough plastic case of cutleries. On the white counter opposite them, sat a grey microwave, and around them, filling the walls, tiles and solidwall, all the way to the ceiling, were many A4 paper of drawings and colouring, from colourful giraffes to a girl lying on a bed with the window open.
A narrow doorway connected to the small, packed kitchen at the back, while the adjoining living room had a dark brown three-set sofa, an IKEA table with a computer, an LCD TV-set, two lightweight IKEA bookcase, the shelves sagging in the middle with the weight of the excess burden, a large babycot containing miscellaneous items all strewn about: lightweight mattress; pillows; child-sized sleeping bag, all rolled up; two wiggle toy cars, blue and red; a black foamroller.
She stopped for a while, and after a moment in thought, eyebrows furrowed a little, said, ‘Wait. That can’t be right. A fly doesn’t make a sound. Have you ever heard a fly…flying?’
He smiled while nodding his head. ‘Oh yea, that’s right. That’s right.’
They both got a laugh out of it, and started crumpling up the packets. He went to throw them in the small garbage bin at the back, while she got up and moved to the living room. There was still that faint buzzing sound, but no presence of mosquito anywhere: nothing in her ear, no itch on the skin of her arms and legs.
On the floor was strewn toys and stationeries. She picked up a few pokemon cards, a stray pencil, a lightly blackened eraser, a few lego pieces, two A4 of scribbles and squiggles. She placed them in their respective places: the clearcase plastic container which served as a toy chest, the lonely pencil and eraser on the bookshelf, alongside family pictures and Unifi and LonTV and the Sony stereo remote controllers. Above were the router and modem, heat escaping through vents covered with dust, which also covered the shelves and the floor, not so thick that one could see it, but it’s there. Shine a light at them in the dark.
The glass doors were covered by the curtains, carefully drawn over every inch of the glass so that the light did not penetrate into the living room. But the material was not very thick so the living room was still dim.
Feeling a bit tired by the exertion, she took a seat on the sofa, the worn material bending to support her. She rubbed her protruding belly. She could feel bumps and nods, as if the baby too wanted to be a part of the household, the living room, with the lovely mother. She sighed and talked to the baby.
When he entered the living room, after washing the dishes and putting the garbage into the bin in the kitchen, she was praying, hands together, all fingers and palms close and touching, as if merging into one, mouth muttering, ‘Omni padni om, omni padni om’ for a good ten repetition, then something else, longer, inaudible.
‘It’s starting to smell now,’ he began, ‘the garbage.’
Her eyes were still closed, and her lips moving, silently.
He took a seat on the other sofa, the padding and the material sagging and him shifting around. He liked the feeling of his back and his core muscles engaging and his shoulder straight and not hunched, as if everything right about him would translate to the world. He did not like sitting on the sofa. / He shifted around uneasily. He propped his legs up and reached for his handphone, which had been a gift from his mother. He typed in his pin number and scrolled through the news on his feed.
The clock showed 4 p.m.
‘What time do you want to pick up the kids?’ she asked, looking at him.
He answered without looking up. ‘Soon. Maybe 4.30.’
‘I will be cooking soon,’ she said.
‘I need to start working on my drawing soon. Submission is due end of this month,’ he said.
She reached for her handphone and scrolled through her Facebook and Instagram feed: La Creuset; her ex schoolmate recently went to Africa (‘Wow, so nice. I want to go there one day.’); her ex schoolmate stayed in the Four Seasons Hotel; a lovely looking influencer trying on a brassiere from China (fully clothed). She showed him the screen of her handphone. It would be a bit hard to see from where he was sitting but he did not want to. He could hear the lovely sounding voice though.
‘Please turn it down. It’s too loud.’ The influencer’s sales pitch became less audible. ‘What are you watching?’ he asked.
‘Wen Ling is staying in another hotel again,’ she said.
He nodded, looking at her. ‘Rich.’ That was all he said.
‘Yes, her husband works in Singapore. Aircraft engineer with SIA. And with the exchange rate.’
‘Yes, the exchange rate is quite impossible really.’
‘Yes, quite.’
‘What are you watching?’ she asked.
He read out the news. ‘Stench stink up Nibong Tebal.’
Her eyebrow rose.
He continued. ‘Outbreak of flies in Nibong Tebal. Residents have complained about it for years, but the problem recently exacerbated due to as of yet unknown reason. Residents speculated that the growing number of farms have contributed to the population explosion of flies.’
‘Yes, I have heard of it. The farms get unbearably smelly.’
‘I think it’s the shit and faeces and the droppings.’
‘Don’t forget the urine.’
They laughed together.
‘I am going to look up flies,’ he said.
‘Why?’ She would never understand his preoccupation with detail. When she had told him about her friend starting work in two weeks’ time, he had asked about the salary (she didn’t know), her work place (Hong Leong Bank), her job (something to do with insurance, calculating something). She had said that her friend would be working half-day from home, then take care of the kids herself after school. When she had told her about her sister’s trip to Hong Kong with her brother, he would ask (he was in the mood) when they were leaving (20 November), how long (5 days 4 nights), which place they planned on visiting (she did not know). She didn’t remember him asking her so many questions when she had told him the things she wanted to tell him, such as when the inside of her arm grazed the boiling kettle. It had left a red mark, and later a welt, but he hadn’t said so much as ‘Be careful next time’. He didn’t even bring her the Meebo cream or hug her, or held her hand. When he had asked her too many questions about other things she did not care about, she had simply said ‘Why so many questions?’ and that was that.
‘Fly, of the order Diptera, using only one pair of wings for flight and the second pair for balance.’ He read the important points.
‘Like dragonfly?’ Dragonfly has four wings, she thought.
‘Well…I don’t know. I don’t think so,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘Have you heard of a dragonfly making sound?’
‘Why? No, now that you mention it.’ She was now sitting by the window and thought she heard that sound again, that buzz, that hum ringing in her ear, much like the sound of silence, when everything was quiet and became a part of the background, like crickets, but softer. She ignored it.
‘Dipterans–mosquitoes, horsefly, housefly, blowfly…’
She continued scrolling on her Facebook.
‘Houseflies feed on liquid. They spit out enzyme to dissolve the food and suck it up,’ he continued.
‘Like spiders. How do you know all this stuff?’
‘ChatGPT-4. Bing has it now. Wait, this is interesting. Horseflies can fly for more than 50 kilometres. They attack horses and other mammals.’
‘Attack? Like bite them?’ Her face scrunched up in disgust.
‘Male horseflies feed on pollen and plant nectar–like mosquito–but females feed on blood aggressively.’
‘Like mosquito.’
‘Yes, wait no. They don’t suck up the blood.’
She looked up from her handphone, closed her eyes, shivering a little, then opened them again.
‘They bite until they reach the blood vessels and then lap up the blood.’
‘Sounds painful.’
He nodded his head slowly, still reading.
She stared at the darkened doorway in front, leading to the kitchen, as if mulling something over.
‘I saw an opening on Jobstreet the other day,’ she broke the silence.
‘Really. Where?’ he asked.
‘Taylor’s,’ she said.
‘Counsellor?’
‘Part of a team, but yea.’ After a while, ‘I’m thinking of applying.’
‘Good, that’s good.’ He was still reading.
‘You know, I saw some teaching jobs too. There’s quite a lot. INTI, Sunway. Lecturing,’ she said.
‘Yea, I know. I saw some,’ he said. He shifted a little.
‘Did you apply?’
There was a pause before he replied no. ‘I am not ready yet.’
She sighed. ‘It’s almost two years now, dear.’
‘I know, I just need more time.’ He smiled a little, a thin smile. He looked at her.
‘What’s so funny?’
‘Time flies when you’re having fun,’ he said drily.
She smiled. ‘Are you having fun?’
He shook his head slowly. ‘Not really. A man loses something when he stays at home.’
She looked at him. He looked down at the handphone in his hand.
In the dim lighting, he appeared at one with the living room, the mass of furniture and household objects, scattered here and there by the children, and in no small part due to her, who loves online shopping. There were always sales on Shopee, with magic dual numbers of 1.1, 2.2 and continuing throughout the year all the way to 12.12. 11.11 had just passed, and then Black Friday was coming.
She got up with some difficulty, and walked towards the sliding door with the tightly drawn curtains.
‘It’s a bit dark in here.’
‘Wait,’ he suddenly looked up from his handphone.
She stopped halfway, looking at him. She couldn’t quite make out the features on his face. But was that a nervous tone in his voice? She wasn’t sure. The humming was growing louder.
‘Do you hear that?’ she asked. He did not reply. Perhaps he was listening as well.
An irrational thought entered her mind. It was flitting and fleeting, but it had something to do with the horsefly he mentioned. How they could fly kilometres in distance. How they bit into the flesh and lapped up the blood. But she thought it had something to do with the word horse itself. The very word conjured up an image of grey slabs of meat in a barn, with clumps of flies hovering and sawing tiny little chunks and laying grains of eggs in clumps. Then, writhing and seething creamy mass.
It was crazy really. All crazy thoughts.
She moved closer and reached out for the curtains.
‘Wait!’ He got up.
But she had already started pulling the curtains open.
