Different (Chapter 1)

The room was a perpetual greenhouse. The air was hot and sluggish, the way Zack liked it. There was neither ceiling fan nor an air-conditioner, for he could only concentrate with the warmth. His toy soldiers were scattered randomly, ready at his command. His soldiers were his precious accessories. He loved the placid, blue look in their eyes – the sense of bravery and courage, even though they were about to face a war. He adored their war-like stances, unlike people of the current society, slouchy and craven. His haven, contained no book whatsoever, the exception was a torn and tattered pocket dictionary, given by his mother on his fifth birthday. At first, he was terrified at the look of it. He kept away from it for days. However, it was just too much of a curiosity to contain, so much so that he decided to take a peep. That evening, he sneaked up to it, like a burglar attempting to break into a house, glared at it for a minute, before throwing himself unto it. He jerked the book open, unveiling the contents. His eyes fell on the many black bean sprouts, all lined up in straight rows with occasional intervals and queer patterns, which danced and shimmered before his eyes when he tried to decipher them. Zack had never seen anything like that before. As days passed, Zack would crawl up to it and examine it again and again. It fascinated but all just seemed Greek to him when he tried to read it. He did know how to speak and understand a bit of English but even then, his ability was limited. It was clear that he was not born to be a master of languages.

The wallpaper was black – Zack’s choice. He loathed bright colours. They hurt his eyes. On the contrary, however, his room had windows. They were small ones and had velvet curtains. At night, Zack would draw up the curtains, fish out his trusty torchlight, flick it on and scan his surroundings. He liked to study the stars and the animals that lurked in the trees. He even had special equipment that his grandmother had given to him. It was arranged nicely into a box, which he treasured very much. He ignored the people who walked pass. To him, they were emotionless idiots who worked in the day and rested at night. For Zack, night was day and day was night. Day gave him warmth and drove him to sleep. Night was cool and made him alert.

Zack often wondered about school. His grandmother never talked about school, but he did notice the many uniformed pupils in a group, all heading in the same direction. They would always be laughing, giggling, chuckling. Happy. He longed and yearned to join them, he didn’t mind those people. It was the adults he disliked. They were always grumpy, solemn, unhappy. The only thing that kept him away was indifference. They could speak, write and listen effortlessly. He was a moron compared to them. Maybe that was why he didn’t go to school.

Tragedy struck when Zack was eight. Both his parents met in a fatal accident – his father died on the spot, while his mother’s life hung precariously over the boundaries of life and death in the critical unit. She lay in coma for several weeks, a financial and emotional burden for her friends and relatives. But it was not Fate for her to live, she passed away on the sixth week. This happened unbeknownst to Zack, his grandmother feared for what would happen should Zack come into knowledge about it. Weeks crept by, a year passed. Zack could only guess the outcome.

After the death of both of his parents, his grandmother took over. Wise, clever and patient, Zack immediately took his grandma in admiration. She seemed to know everything about Zack. Often, he and his grandmother would just sit together doing nothing, just enjoying the silence. To Zack, she was more than just a guardian, helper or teacher, but also, Zack’s one and only true friend.

Zack’s life was a mystery, to his parents when they were alive, to his grandmother and even to himself. His parents couldn’t imagine what type of person Zack would become when he grew up. His grandmother couldn’t predict when he would become independent. He himself didn’t understand why he couldn’t be normal. But anyway, that was Zack.


***


The old lady hummed. Her eyes were closed. A smile was on her face, a fake one. She was showing yet another brave face. In her heart, it was pain. It throbbed and worsened all the time. It was a ticking time bomb. Closer and closer. Every day, every night. The time was coming. She knew that she, at a frail old age of seventy-two, wouldn’t hold out much longer.


***


Sunlight soft as gold dust powdered the treetops and the night was over. Zack was studying the dictionary again. Despite his whole body aching in protest, he forced himself to continue. He was scared to sleep. His nightmares had persisted for days and would not relent. They tormented him, projecting images so terrible that he would burst into angry, convulsive sobs at the very thought of them. They were images of his grandmother, with her eyes clouded and blank, her mouth twisted with her lower lip protruding, as if muttering something to dreadful to mention. Zack had never seen her grandmother in such a state.

“GRANDMA!” he shrieked.

He bounded to the door and ran into it. He reached for the doorknob with his fumbling hands.

“RAAAAR!” he growled and attacked the doorknob. He tried opening it again but his hands seemed like bananas. Distraught, he fell to his knees and cupped his head in hands. Everything was silent.

“Grandma?” he called, pleadingly.

“WHAT!” The door flew open and hit Zack smack on his face.

“Grandma went market!” yelled the rough-looking man, and slammed the door shut again, hitting Zack on his face once again.


***


The old lady had forgotten about the happenings of the night before and was immerged into a discussion about lucky 4D numbers at her usual table with other white-haired friends. Gaudily clothed in casual attire and slipper-shod, she had come to the market for some morning grocery shopping as a main purpose, but had also decided to drop by to eavesdrop on the lucky 4D numbers. Ever since she struck lucky the first time, 4D betting had become an obsession with her. Every weekend marked a beginning of her betting frenzy. Taking care of Zack was a little problem; it was easily solved with Uncle Marchi, their football-crazy neighbour. He took care of Zack in exchange for a few hours of football on ESPN. It was a fair deal. Except for Zack, that was. He didn’t like the compromise. But even then, her lucky 4D numbers were priority. She was getting fed up of Zack and meeting his needs. His parents were dead already, anyway.

“Oi, Aunty Si! You got any lucky numbers in mind?” yelled yellow-shirted hawker across the table.

He had a stubby little cigar at the edge of his mouth, which was being munched up bit by bit. Somehow, it had a sickening effect of excess drooling at the corners of his mouth. It kind of reminded her of her husband who had died from both smoking and gambling.

He was an avid gambler but didn’t have much of any luck. He blamed the God of Fortune; always telling her that the day after would have the God of Fortune himself coming to visit him and continued betting, in hope of attracting the God he idolised. In that he believed in, and even when his wallet got thin, he continued, lending money from loan sharks and all. But that day never came. He died of lung cancer in his sleep. The loan sharks got the money from Aunty Si. It was the sort of thing, that if he didn’t die of smoking, he would die of gambling.

“Aunty Si! You okay, no?” questioned Aunty Mei, looking slightly anxious.

“Huh?” muttered Aunty Si, who was staring at the cigar all along. She blinked a few times and got hold of her surroundings again.

“I tell you she’s just tired,” sighed a very old man with an incredibly long beard. “You people are just making a molehill out of a mountain!”

“A mountain out of a molehill, you mean,” corrected the hawker with the cigar.

“Right,” mumbled the old man.

Too weary to care about small talk at the table, the old lady left. When they were out of sight, she pulled out her handkerchief and wiped her wet eye.

Maybe not today, she thought. Today, she wasn’t going to bet.