A pair of high-backed mustard vinyl armchairs lay proudly at the corner of the study. Between them, a tall standing lamp, which looked like it was purchased in the 2010s based on its sleek design, stood between them. A low round coffee table of teakwood with some ring stains on its surface stayed unassumingly between the two chairs.
Her eyes caught a varnished dresser of three drawers at the other corner. Two antique metal knobs on each drawer seemed due polishing. But the star of the room was the vintage tiles that contrasted her pale feet. Its fading red, brown, and blue flowery pattern looked like still fighting the decades that passed it by.
"Beautiful," she murmured, being amused with the rustic and peaceful tone the room emitted. She could drown herself reading chapter after chapter of any book there for hours.
"A globe." Her speech ability seemed now reduced to naming items only, overpowered by the nostalgic feeling. Her fingers traced the countries' and waters' names. When she reached the Bosphorus strait, the blue bubble was soon forgotten as the musty smell of old books rushed through her nose.
The antique bookshelves. Strong and simple with black as its only colour, the surface peeled off at many spots. She pulled one Dostoevsky from the shelf, leaving a clean streak on the thin dust layer on its way out. Its yellowish top gave way to the mouldy scent she picked upon opening. In German?
"That copy is maybe hard to find now, even in the thrift stores," he smiled toothily.
"Wow, just, exquisite." She then returned the book back to its place and walked to a similar shelf covered with a glass sliding door. It housed a vast collection of old encyclopedias and dictionaries.
But the house tour did not stop there.
They walked to the other end of the house where the branches of a mango tree that grew in the backyard could be seen through the ventilation holes. Even the ventilation tiles were classic. They were of a model without replacement sold anywhere even before the pandemic.
His steps grew slower when they reached a wooden door, swung open to reveal the room of the son.
In contrast with the more aged areas of the house, this place looked more modern with a minimalistic wardrobe and desk. An extension cord gaped without electronics plugged in it. The devices probably ran away with the son.
Stephanie realised she hadn't gotten the chance to know the son's name. The trophy didn't have it and she hadn't asked. She also assumed the son had to be a Protected.
There is always a loophole in a manmade system. And with loopholes, come both foul practice and injustice like two peas in a pod.
Immune people on the run, who might light the rebellion fire underground, never faced the danger of incarceration. To the black drones, their faces were the faces of all workers; one repeated a thousand times. Perhaps, only until one day when their sensors could eventually detect political proclivity. Meanwhile, however honest the mistake was, a Protected stepping a toe outside the designated area warranted punishment.
For an Immune person, the back-breaking labour was the price of freedom; a privilege to be abused. For a Protected person, the comfort away from the scorching sun was the loss of their faculty.
Without a warning, time stopped flowing. She was sucked into a vortex with a suctioning sensation in her guts. A vortex where time and place didn't exist and her memories worked feverishly recollecting the scenes of an old grudge. She had a flashback of her conversation with the Ex, just after she had been laid off.
"We could go somewhere quieter," the familiar voice spoke in her mind. The crooked smile and the whispered mocks.
She immediately raised her voice. "But we might not get the vaccine." This was before Stephanie was aware that she had been Immune.
"So what?" His tone also changed abruptly. "Do you think it will be distributed properly? Riches will hoard for themselves. Soon, it will be exchanged with sovereign assets of the country. Do you think people all over the world will put aside their differences and work together as one global nation? I can't imagine myself being so naive."
"What a pessimistic view," she spat out her anger.
"Money talks," he shrugged his shoulders as if there had been no other competing view in his head. "Somebody's gotta have a change of heart. It will spiral down so we must be smart. Leave everything behind and go with me."
She didn't end up choosing him, and he had left without her. They had gone separate ways, and no communication had been established ever since. Would he become a Lawless? Was he an Immune or a Protected?
From the corner of her eye, she could catch Maryono tensed up when approaching the only window of this room, overlooking the backyard where the weeds had overflown the flowerbeds.
"Sometimes I want to sit under the shade and imagine the lawn looked pristine like it was before."
That question brought back Stephanie's sense of practicality. "I could look up for someone to take care of your lawn if you want. Probably also assign an indoor cleaner to be biweekly instead of bi-monthly like you said."
"Billed to my son's account?"
She said yes. But her answer was met with a frown.
"He's a good person, he is. He has his own worldview and it conflicts with how the world operates now. An idealistic youth, I can never blame him for partaking in the forbidden movements. The last thing I would do is by charging him more for services benefiting only me."
Stephanie totally understood. She offered her calmest smile. "I'm sorry, it's not my place to speak."
The old gentleman tilted his head. "I don't mean anything bad about your job. My son arranged this so I'm always visited by someone regularly. And the basics it has is enough. About cleaning and everything, the occasional visit would be okay."
They went back to the cookies and tea in the kitchen. They talked about everything and nothing, and Stephanie found the same delight filling her as when listening to her other elderly clients.
Before she could finish her current topic about sports, the watch rounding her wrist told her it was time to go. She wrapped it up, well-wishing him good health and happiness.
And she bid on one last luck to use up that day.
"Pak," Stephanie called one last time before leaving. "What's your son's name? I might get some help from the other Companions to learn his whereabouts."
Maryono pursed his lips and swallowed. He averted his gaze despite Stephanie trying to project hope and firmness.
"Rasita Angga," he said finally.
Upon hearing that, she released a breath she didn't realise she was holding. "I see, thanks. I can't promise anything, but once I get the info, I'll let you know ASAP." Besides, Stephanie thought, with the network, she could persuade him into a session or two. He would need that.
~*~
It was not every day Val and Stephanie stayed together for more than an hour without discussing companionship.
That day was 'collecting your ration' day that somehow coincided for them. They took a break from the commuting, freeing the schedule for the first half of the afternoon.
Val would hit the road after picking up his parcel. While he was at it, he requested another box for his upcoming client.
"Aluna?" Stephanie learnt the name from the client's dossier. Oh, it was originally her client that Val took over when she was ill the day before picking up Mark.
Val smacked his lips at the end of his 'yep', peppering more info about the Aluna lady.
She was thirty-three years old, living with her husband and his teenage son from his previous marriage.
"How is she? Husband okay you visiting her?"
Val looked away, a gesture that rang a suspicion bell in Stephanie's head.
"We can swap clients if you wish. I'd visit Pak Maryono if this becomes a problem," he replied too calmly, and Stephanie left it at that.
Stephanie dragged her tired feet while the queue moved like a snail in the molasses sea. Dozens of Companions and logistic workers in front of them beat the boredom by playing on their phones, accessing the so-called metaverse that took up the stay-at-home society by storm.
This metaverse environment was the number one cause of social media becoming obsolete. No innovation came out while people were withering away from any healthy social interactions.
Stephanie hadn't installed it. She felt no necessity of it, as she could still talk to different people almost on daily basis.
She looked around, faces folded down staring at the glaring screens, the same screens of which the glare fascinated Mark.
Should she introduce metaverse to her new friend? She didn't think so.
"What's different? To me, it still looks like a normal social media app. It's just a simulation, but when you look up, your view will go back to your mundane world."
Val turned around bodily to her. Around twenty people in front of him did various things: busy on their phones, taking a sip of their tumbler, chatting with the person next in line. Glueing your eyes on an inanimate object that only brought a simulated reality felt boring eventually.
"That's the case if your mind knows there are two separate worlds: your physical world and hyperreality. The point of being hyperreal is to not know that you're in a simulation."
Stephanie blamed it on skipping her morning coffee to physically feel her brain moving as slowly as a glacier. She shook her head and pressed her palm on her eyelids.
Val chuckled, satisfied with his imprecise explanation. "Think about it. The way we are standing in a line now, you talking to me, other people are minding their own business, what makes you think we're not a bunch of living cellular organisms beneath a microscope?"
Stephanie committed herself to struggle to understand his point. Indulging Val, she tried to follow his train of thoughts. "A reality greater than ours?"
"A reality outside ours."
"So, you're saying that to make the metaverse not boring, you could . . . You could upload your . . . self? Your consciousness? To the app, and practically transmigrate there without being aware that you were once a human being in this world?"
It was Val's turn to scratch his head. "Maybe. I'm just talking nonsense here, but it sure sounds better with your idea."
"Why do we want to go somewhere we don't belong and live there?"
The line moved forward. The Companion before Val produced one ring binder from his backpack.
Here we go, she thought, those Companions slash couriers whose responsibility split 50:50 between a psychological demand and a logistics one.
"What's wrong with wanting to change your life? You're just averse to the idea of a new reality, and yet that's what we do every day. Listening to music to make the boredom bearable, connecting with people online to give an illusion of a maintained social life . . . Metaverse just takes a bolder step forward to achieve the same goal."
Stephanie was still ruminating over his statement when Val's attention was divided elsewhere.
Ah! He gasped at his screen. "She's asking if I can reschedule the session to tomorrow. Probably her husband is gonna be at home tonight."
Stephanie made a frown on her face. "What are you talking about? Why does it sound like you guys are having an affair?"
Val's eyes darkened. His fingers tapped on the screen again, a few sentences formed on the text editor. Quickly, he shoved the screen towards Stephanie's vision.
Can't talk. Unsafe.
Stephanie and he exchanged meaningful glances. "Walk me home after this. You can pick some DVDs from my place."
She wiped a drop of sweat that rolled closer to her eye, cursing the hot temperature outside that heated up that glass-encased hall. Why couldn't they just split the delivery schedule more properly? But the rotund yellow pumpkins and fat spring onions were only available today. Fresh produce was already hard to come by, it was not something that she could ransack from other people's abandoned properties.
To be missing the chance to cook divine veggie congee was a crime against humanity.
The younger Companion behind Stephanie was now on the phone, mentioning the red spinach was in stock so the brother at home could eat it for improving his immunity.
From her journey in and out of people's places, Stephanie heard the underlying problems of limited food options. Everything was rationed and what was in stock had been decided on the general availability in the distribution chain. It became difficult to be a perfectionist over someone's diet. Taking multivitamins seemed the only sustainable choice.
But then, the virus mutated. She rarely kept up with the medical science side of the story once she accepted the life they had four or five years ago had become a stroke of ink in the history book. Special people like her, Immune, had the ability to dodge the infection bullets with the immunity in their blood. She heard some Immune volunteer for their blood to be the base of the vaccine. But if that vaccine had been successfully discovered, Stephanie hadn't heard about it.
Protected people living within their designated area tried their best to not add their names to the piling list of the victims of the virus. Healthy foods, a rarity, were their last resort. She had a feeling the brother of this fellow Companion had to be in a bad condition. Otherwise, one wouldn't need to rely on rare items.
She snuck a peek towards the badge. A Companion from Trusted Friend company, established a year after Prattle was registered. Specialised in individuals with special needs. Stephanie's heart grew softer. Each and everyone she met had a role in maintaining the world and living as a human being. They just wanted to survive. Each was like a cog trying to coordinate with each other so this paralysed community could still somewhat function.
"Your turn," Val's gentle voice broke her thoughts.
She then proceeded to collect her box of rations with an uneasy heart.
At Steph's place, they only had one hour left before the curfew. Naturally, they'd like to be quick in explanation.
"It's an SOS call. Sharing it with you so that we can do something about it," he started the spill.
On the coffee table, Stephanie fired up her laptop and downloaded the recording. It was a recording Aluna made after every abuse.
It's just me, I think, a stepmother. I can't get along with this child, I don't deserve to be called a good wife, a good homemaker.
Besides, when you spend all day every day at home and you can iron out the communication problems in your family, what do you still live for? It's better for me to just be a number.
"A number in the statistics," Stephanie mumbled. A watery sheen covered her pupils.
I know what he's doing outside. I know what he's assigned with, and it's not good. But I can't say it, lest this recording falls into an unwanted party.
"What is it?" she eyed Val warily.
"Aluna's husband is the person who registers Immune and Protected people, at least for this Southeast Asia region."
"And that matters because?"
Val shrugged his shoulders. "Aluna hasn't talked much about this. If you notice, her voice in the recording is also down low."
Afraid of the hidden camera and microphone, Stephanie surmised.
"We don't know what's happening, but I can only say the physical and emotional abuse demands more of my attention now than what suspicious job her husband takes outside."
Stephanie sensed their involvement might require deeper entanglement than this, now with another layer of secret from this client's husband. A foreboding vision engulfed her in anxiety. Maybe being a Companion meant slowly dragging her body closer to the storm.