LONTAR issue #2 Read online

  LONTAR

  The Journal of Southeast Asian

  Speculative Fiction

  Issue #2

  Spring 2014

  Founding Editor

  Jason Erik Lundberg

  (USA/Singapore)

  Poetry Editor

  Kristine Ong Muslim

  (Philippines)

  Publisher

  Kenny Leck

  (Singapore)

  Art Direction

  Sarah and Schooling

  (Singapore)

  Submissions

  LONTAR welcomes unsolicited fiction, non-fiction, poetry, and sequential art through our online portal located at lontarjournal.com. We accept submissions on a rolling basis.

  Distribution

  LONTAR is published and distributed by Math Paper Press in Singapore.

  For information about how you can carry LONTAR, please contact Kenny Leck via email at [email protected], or via post at BooksActually, No. 9 Yong Siak Street, Tiong Bahru Estate, Singapore 168645.

  Contact

  Please send any general queries to [email protected]. Do not send submissions to this address as they will be deleted unread; please use our submissions portal instead.

  Disclaimer

  LONTAR is not associated in any form or fashion with the Lontar Foundation. While we admire their ongoing work to translate Indonesian literary works into English, our mission statement is very different from theirs. We wish them well in their endeavors.

  All pieces copyright © 2014 by their respective authors

  ISBN 978-981-09-0301-5 (print)

  ISBN 978-981-09-0302-2 (ebook)

  This ebook edition of LONTAR comes to you DRM-free. "DRM" stands for Digital Rights Management, and is a method for "content providers" to control how you experience and enjoy something you have already bought, whether it is a DVD, a YouTube clip, a song, or an ebook, the main idea being that they can decide whether you have the ability to copy that file and pass it along to someone else. This also enables them to lock you into their digital architecture, so that you can only experience that file on the device of their choosing.

  We do not believe in DRM. We want the literature in this issue to reach as many eyeballs as possible, so we have placed no restrictions on copying this particular file. Which means we're placing a lot of trust in you. There's nothing to prevent you from just pasting the file onto a torrent site and setting it free, but we're hoping that instead, if you enjoy the fiction and poetry in this issue, you'll spread the word on where to acquire it legally.

  All of us—the contributors, editors, designers, and publisher—are artists in our own way, and trust that you'll support this artistic endeavour so that many issues of LONTAR will appear in the years to come.

  If you do receive this ebook and it has been locked into a DRM format, please email the founding editor at [email protected].

  Editorial: Sophomore Segue

  Jason Erik Lundberg

  Welcome back! To my relief, LONTAR has proven to be not just a flash-in-the-pan, here-today-gone-tomorrow venture, as, sadly, so many new magazines and literary journals find themselves to be. Issue #1 was launched in October 2013 at BooksActually in Singapore, to much excitement and merriment; I have to deeply thank the following people for stepping in and pinch-reading for the contributors who could not make it to the launch—Patricia Mulles, Alvin Pang, Wei Fen Lee, JY Yang and Adan Jimenez—and to Ang Si Min for being the only author in attendance.

  Some quick housekeeping: in the editorial for issue #1, I mentioned that LONTAR was a quarterly literary journal. As is evident in the span of time from the release of that issue to this, the journal's schedule is unfortunately not so frequent. And although my original ambitions were to make this a quarterly periodical, the practicalities of the situation took priority, and so after much discussion, it was decided that LONTAR would be released on a biannual basis instead, one issue in the Spring and one in the Autumn.

  This second issue of LONTAR showcases speculative writing from and about Korea*, Singapore, Indonesia, Cambodia, Vietnam and Thailand. Showcased are a metamorphic love story near the Korean DMZ from award-winner E.C. Myers, a cautionary tale about Singaporean elitism from Tiffany Tsao, an examination of the illusory facets of love from Victor Fernando R. Ocampo, a haunting and beautiful evocation of a fantastical Vietnamese floating market from Eliza Chan, and a brand new supernatural crime tale from bestselling author John Burdett; as well as speculative poetry from Jerrold Yam, Tse Hao Guang, Ang Si Min, Shelly Bryant and Daryl Yam.

  Once again, I have to thank my co-conspirators for helping to bring this issue into existence: poetry editor Kristine Ong Muslim, publisher Kenny Leck, and art direction from Sarah and Schooling. To contribute content for future issues, please visit the submissions portal at our website, lontarjournal.com.

  * Although Korea is not a part of Southeast Asia, for our purposes, it shares a special connection, in that it is still under-represented as a setting and culture within speculative fiction; this goes the same for Taiwan, Hong Kong, and Macau.

  The Tiger in the Forest Between Two Worlds

  E.C. Myers

  E.C. Myers (USA) was assembled from Korean and German parts and raised by a single mother and a public library in Yonkers, New York. He has published short fiction in a variety of print and online magazines and anthologies, and his young adult novels, Fair Coin (winner of the 2012 Andre Norton Award) and Quantum Coin, are available now from Pyr Books. He currently lives with his wife and a doofy cat in Philadelphia and shares way too much information about his personal life at ecmyers.net and on Twitter at @ecmyers.

  The first thing Bong-hwa noticed about the woman across the enclosure was her hair. It was the color of copper, aglow in the afternoon sun. A gust of wind swept her long, straight tresses behind her like a pennant.

  She wore a bright gaeryang hanbok, the modern version of Korean traditional garb. The chima-jeogori combination of a blue wraparound skirt and gold jacket looked natural on her, though most young women favored Western fashions. She was a paradox, both classically Korean and utterly alien at the same time.

  More startling than her appearance was the fact that she was looking at him, while the rest of the crowd was focused on the twelve hungry tigers in the enclosure below.

  Bong-hwa faltered in his presentation. He covered by hurling another raw chicken down to the animals from his perch. Kaesong, the alpha male, leaped and caught the whole carcass in his mouth, eliciting gasps of delight from the assembled tourists. Camera flashes went off.

  Feeding time at Seoul Grand Park Zoo was always a big draw; Kaesong's arrival had brought international tourists in droves, with double the usual number of South Korean visitors. Everyone wanted to see the last Korean tiger captured in the wild, on loan from North Korea's Pyonggang Central Zoo.

  Bong-hwa resumed his narration. "Kaesong is our largest Siberian tiger, at over 272 kilograms," he said. "He requires six-and-a-half kilograms of meat everyday—though he'll eat more if he can get it." His voice boomed over the loudspeakers.

  The woman was still watching Bong-hwa. He imagined what it would be like to run his fingers through her thick hair, warmed by the sun.

  Embarrassed, he forced his mind back to the instructional monologue, punctuating it by tossing bloody hunks of beef to the tigers. When his bucket was empty save for an inch of gore, Bong-hwa went off-script, bolstered by the woman's attention.

  "Sadly, these majestic animals are nearly extinct. Once revered as the embodiment of the strength and spirit of our people, not a single tiger is known to remain in Hanguk outside of captivity." He waited a moment for the murmurs of his audience to die down. "Some still hope that tigers may survive in t
he Demilitarized Zone, but evidence has yet to be found."

  His manager would probably complain about his tiny act of rebellion, but Bong-hwa wanted to wake people up more than simply entertain them. He switched off the microphone and searched the dispersing crowd. The woman with the copper hair was gone. He felt a dull ache, as though he had lost something important.

  *

  An hour before the park closed, Bong-hwa always inspected the tiger cages. He enjoyed his solitary walks around the grounds, especially in the brief spring months before monsoons drowned the country, but today he felt as restless as his animals.

  When he spotted the woman, relief replaced his anxiety. He realized he had been looking for her all along.

  She was peering through the bars into the tiger enclosure, leaning her elbows on the railing, chin on cupped hands. Her striking hair reached below her waist and tapered to a point, swaying in the gentle breeze.

  Bong-hwa wiped his damp palms on his khaki shorts and approached her. She didn't acknowledge his presence, other than a slight twitch and wrinkling of her nose. He must still smell like raw meat; the stink lingered no matter how much he washed.

  He braced his hands on the railing. "You shouldn't lean so close," he said, grateful that his voice didn't betray his nervousness.

  "Are the bars for his benefit or ours?" she said. She spoke with a thick, unfamiliar accent.

  Bong-hwa frowned. "Both, I suppose." He was surprised to see Kaesong lounging on the other side of the bars, tail twitching idly in the dirt. That tiger constantly prowled the boundaries of his habitat, as though searching for a way to escape. He hadn't been born in captivity like most of their animals, so he'd had a difficult adjustment to his new environment.

  "Seoul was originally surrounded by a wall to keep tigers out, for our people's protection," Bong-hwa said. "But now we build walls to protect them from us. From extinction."

  "A man-made diorama is no substitute for natural forests and mountains," she said.

  Her vocabulary was as unusual as her accent. She pronounced some words strangely. Bong-hwa's eyes widened as the dialect suddenly clicked.

  "You're from Choson," he said.

  She straightened and faced him.

  "Until recently," she said.

  Bong-hwa had never met a North Korean. After defectors from the communist nation passed the naturalization program in Hanawon, they usually tried to fit in, but everything about this woman stood out. Perhaps she was just enjoying her newfound freedom.

  He bowed in greeting. "I'm Park Bong-hwa."

  "Good to meet you, Haoche." He blinked at the archaic honorific. "I am Chon-ji," she said, bowing lower than he had.

  "Chon-ji?" Chon-ji was the name of the crater lake atop Baekdu Mountain, at the border between North Korea and China. It literally meant "Heaven Lake."

  "I was born there," she said.

  "Like Kim Il-Sung?" Bong-hwa laughed.

  Then he clamped his mouth shut, aware that he had just insulted both her and her country's revered former leader; the deceased dictator had claimed the same birthplace as the Korean people, provoking much mockery in the democratic south.

  "Mianhamnida." He bowed his apology. "That was rude."

  She turned back to the cage. Bong-hwa felt dismissed. This woman was hard to read—not that he had much experience with the opposite sex, aside from the blind dates arranged by his parents, which had never worked out.

  "He's so sad," Chon-ji said. "You should be ashamed for forcing tigers to...perform for their food. It's disgraceful."

  "It's like playtime for them. Kaesong likes it. He's a show-off."

  She swiveled her head toward him. Fury spotted her pale cheeks. "How do you know what he likes or doesn't like?"

  He was taken aback by her attitude. He glanced from Chon-ji to the tiger, wondering if she wasn't a defector after all. The controlling North Koreans weren't beyond sending someone to keep an eye on their property. Maybe she was from Pyonggang, spying on the way Seoul Garden took care of Kaesong. That could explain her unusual interest in both the tiger and Bong-hwa.

  "I've been working with tigers for four years," he said defensively. "How about you? What makes you think he's sad?"

  Still, she had a point. It was dangerous to assume you knew what tigers were thinking or how they would behave. Most of the time Bong-hwa couldn't even imagine what ran through the minds of other people, and he could at least relate to them.

  "It's obvious," she said.

  "Right." He turned away from her this time. "I happen to agree with you. But those performances provide us the money to feed and shelter them."

  "If you don't like it, why don't you do something?"

  "Believe it or not, I do care about the tigers." He cared more about them than most people. "But this is also my job. As much as I wish I could help them more, I need to eat, too."

  She studied him for a long time, until he began to feel self-conscious.

  "I believe you do care," she said softly.

  After another long silence, Chon-ji stretched her fingers toward the cage. Kaesong raised his head, ears up. Bong-hwa tensed.

  "Careful," he said in a low voice. "He can reach through the bars. Tigers are very fast."

  She brushed her fingertips against one of the bars. The tiger didn't react. She shuddered and drew her hand back. Bong-hwa sighed.

  He wanted to ask her why she'd done that. He wanted to tell her what a stupid risk it had been.

  Instead he blurted, "I like your hair."

  Still with her eyes on Kaesong, she murmured, "Thank you."

  Many young South Koreans these days tried to look less Asian by bleaching their black hair and dyeing it all colors. But there were no dark roots or uneven streaks in her red-orange hair. It looked so natural that if she weren't from such a strict country, he might think she was hapa. He wasn't sure if his parents would disapprove of a woman of mixed-descent more than they would a full-blooded North Korean. Of course, they wouldn't be happy with either, or of any marriage they hadn't arranged.

  He was getting too far ahead of himself.

  "Did you choose that color because you like tigers?" he said.

  "Not exactly." She glanced at him and hesitated for a moment. "I am a tiger."

  Bong-hwa laughed. Her expression flattened.

  "Thank you for the conversation, Park Bong-hwa." She bowed again—less deeply—then stepped around him. He turned to watch her leave, wondering what he had said wrong. Was it because he wouldn't go along with her joke?

  "Wait!" he said. He ran after her and touched her arm lightly, his fingers just grazing the silk fabric. Kaesong roared behind him, an oppressive wave of sound that froze Bong-hwa in his tracks. Chon-ji stopped too.

  "Sorry," Bong-hwa said. Kaesong's low growls continued to roll over him, sending shivers over his skin.

  "For what?" she asked.

  He considered. "I shouldn't have laughed."

  "But you don't believe me."

  "You weren't serious?" he said. Bong-hwa had clearly failed some bizarre test of hers. Walk away, he thought. If she was crazy, he didn't want to get involved with her. If she were just toying with him, it would still be smart to let her go. He didn't need that kind of drama in his life.

  "If you really are a tiger woman, it should be easy enough to prove," he said.

  Chon-ji glanced back at the cage where Kaesong paced, his tail now lashing like a whip.

  "My eomma used to tell me tiger fables when I was little," Bong-hwa said. "About tigers taking human shape. Those bedtime stories are what interested me in tigers, though she'd be upset if I ever told her that."

  His parents kept pushing for him to go back to school for a business degree. In their world, he wouldn't have a "real" job until he was tied to a desk for at least fifty hours a week. They said they were proud of him, but he knew they could be prouder.

  "My mother told me stories about Hanguk saram," Chon-ji said. Bong-hwa imagined that her mother's tales of the So
uth Korean people must be as unflattering as what he'd heard about them. "That's why I decided to come here. To see for myself."

  "I hope I haven't disappointed you too much," Bong-hwa said.

  "Not too much. There's room for improvement." She tilted her head. "But the men are better looking than I expected."

  Bong-hwa's cheeks flushed.

  "I know you're good at feeding tigers," Chon-ji said. "But how are you at feeding women?"

  *

  Bong-hwa took Chon-ji to his favorite restaurant in Chang-dong and ordered a small banquet: fried mandoo dumplings, kimchi pancakes, and a table barbecue of pulgogi and kalbi. It was more than he could afford, but she made him feel reckless. He wanted to impress her.

  Chon-ji picked a sizzling slice of meat from the grill with her chopsticks before it had cooked.

  "You must be hungry," he said. She nodded, chewing.

  He layered some rice in a crisp lettuce leaf with meat and hot paste. "So. Tell me about living in Choson," he said.

  She examined the ends of her chopsticks thoughtfully. "I was raised in the country by my mother. I was the youngest, with three older brothers." Her voice trembled. "My two sisters died when we were young."

  "I'm sorry. That must have been hard. What about your father?"

  She shrugged. "He left before I was born," she said. Bong-hwa was shocked. That kind of behavior was almost unheard of in South Korea.

  "Life was difficult," she went on. "It seems there are fewer of us every day. Some die because there isn't enough food. Some just disappear."

  "And some leave, like you did," he said.

  Chon-ji poured more soju into his empty glass then refilled her own. He was already feeling a buzz from the alcohol.