The Oddfits (21 page)

“And he
will
choose it himself, once he knows the facts,” Ann argued.

The One shook her head. “These aren’t facts.”

Ann was speechless for a time. “You’re joking, right?”

“You’re not the only one who’s read his file, you know. I have. The Other has. At least two or three other Questians have. From what
I
read, he’s as happy as someone that oddfitting can possibly be, apart from the very occasional bouts of homesickness and discontent. He loves his parents, he loves his best friend, he loves his job. If anything, that’s a sign that adaptation is indeed underway.”

Ann couldn’t believe her ears. “Fine. You’re right about that,” she conceded. “I can’t explain why he thinks he’s so happy. But he can’t possibly be
truly
happy. I mean,
look
at him!”

Ann pulled out a photocopy of Murgatroyd’s identity card, blown up to several times its original size. Together, they studied the unflattering but accurate portrait of Murgatroyd—the half-closed eyes, the half-open mouth, the hunch in the neck and shoulders. Even though the photo was in black and white, one got the impression that there was a sickly tinge to his skin.

“That’s not very nice,” said the Other. “He can’t help the way he looks.”

The One nodded in agreement. “Really, Ann. I didn’t expect you to be so superficial.”

Ann let out an exasperated growl, shut the file, and slammed it on the ground. The One and the Other were shocked. This was the most infuriated they had ever seen her. Ann was never infuriated. Abrupt, sometimes. Curt, often. But never angry like this. It was in fact only the second time in her life Ann had ever been so enraged.

“So we can’t warn him?”

The One gave her an icy gaze. A gaze that made clear that the answer was “no” and that she was thoroughly embarrassed for Ann and her unprofessional behaviour. “In fact,” she added, “From this moment onward, you are forbidden from further contact with Murgatroyd Floyd until your appointed meeting time with him on Friday evening—
if
he chooses at his own free will to come.”

“What?!” Ann exclaimed. “This is ridiculous!”

The One’s face darkened further. “Ann, the decision is final.”

The Other shrugged apologetically in Ann’s direction.

Ann could only glower in response. “Fine.”

With that, she transferred back to her abode in Madagascar-Aplomb, stomped to the dock and plunged into the sea, clothes, shoes, and all. She needed to cool off. As she began swimming the first of fifteen laps around her floating wooden home, she reflected that it was a good thing she had taken matters into her own hands before the meeting. Murgatroyd, she hoped with all her might, would meet with Ivan. She wasn’t going against principles or disobeying the silly prohibition that the One had just put in place. Not at all. She was simply trying to provide Murgatroyd with more information on which to base his ultimate decision.

Still, Ann had conveniently omitted to inform the One and the Other of what she had done. Just in case.

CHAPTER 18

Murgatroyd stood across the street from the 7-Eleven convenience store that Ann had directed him to. Ann hadn’t told him what time in the morning he should get there, so he had set off right after his parents had left for work. It was now 9:56 a.m.

He hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before. After he’d returned from work last night, he had called Kay Huat to tell him the bad news about his father and about not being able to go on the Quest.

“So you’re not going, eh?” Kay Huat had said in response to the news. “That’s too bad.”

“Yeah,” Murgatroyd had said glumly.

“But I think you’ve made the right decision. After all, your father is more important than the Quest, right?”

Murgatroyd sighed heavily. “Yeah.”

“You’re doing the right thing, Shwet Foo,” Kay Huat reassured him. And ever the loyal and dependable friend, he attempted to cheer Murgatroyd up by listing all the reasons why not going on the Quest was a good thing. There were two.

Despite Kay Huat’s best efforts, Murgatroyd still felt dejected when he put down the phone and went to bed. He hadn’t slept very well, spending all night lying on his back staring into the dark, kept awake by the emotional tumult he had been feeling the whole day—a combination of the terrible news about his father’s breast cancer and his own distress at the new streak of selfishness that he seemed to have developed recently. This new selfishness bothered him a lot. Why did he feel so resentful at not going on the Quest when it meant helping his parents and spending precious time with his ailing father? And why, all of a sudden, did he feel so ungrateful towards his parents? These thoughts and variations of these thoughts churned inside his head until the sun rose and the birds began chirping outside. His father’s cheery voice announced that breakfast was ready. His father and mother had made French toast.

Despite his parents’ best efforts to draw him into conversation that morning (such efforts alone were far from commonplace and should have surprised him), Murgatroyd had continued to dwell on these matters, even as he had sat with them, mechanically depositing breakfast into his mouth. He, of course, had informed his parents the night before that he had decided to stay with them instead of leaving for the Quest. And they had shown obvious delight, even though they’d initially made some sounds of protest. This morning, however, all protest had subsided into pure gratefulness.

“My
dear
boy, we are so glad,” Olivia had said, bestowing a light kiss on her son’s forehead. So light, in fact, that Murgatroyd hadn’t even felt it, though he heard the smacking sound of her lips. But of course, that was just his imagination. Of course she had kissed him. Of course his parents loved him. Of that he was utterly convinced. How could he doubt it? And yet he did.

But what reasonable cause did he have for these doubts and inklings of mistrust, which seemed to have sprung out of nowhere? He couldn’t pinpoint anything exactly. Hadn’t they always been good and kind to him?
Hadn’t
they?

Bringing his mind back to the present, he walked up to the 7-Eleven. From the outside, it looked just like any other 7-Eleven. Through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows he could see the modestly sized shelves stocked with snacks and amenities, a magazine rack, a soft-drink dispenser and Slurpee machine, an ice cream freezer, and near the cash register, a heated display case of steamed buns
and another one of curry puffs. Murgatroyd wasn’t sure what else he had expected, but part of him, however miserable he felt, had hoped that since the store was presumably connected to Ann somehow, it would have at least looked a little different.

Murgatroyd entered the store. There was nothing out of the ordinary. Then he noticed something incongruous. Seated behind the counter was a distinguished Chinese man of slim build wearing a navy-blue double-breasted suit, a button-down collared shirt of the richest lavender hue, and a silver necktie. A red carnation adorned his breast pocket, his hair was perfectly parted and impeccably combed, and he appeared to be absorbed in solving a crossword puzzle. So absorbed, in fact, he hadn’t registered Murgatroyd’s entrance at all. Near his elbow sat a half-empty box of Cadbury’s assorted chocolates.

Murgatroyd approached the counter and waited. The man still didn’t look up.

“Erh. Excuse me,” he ventured, timidly.

The man shifted slightly, reached for a chocolate with his left hand, and popped it into his mouth.

Murgatroyd coughed. Not because he wanted to get the man’s attention, but because he was suddenly overcome with a small coughing seizure, which caused the man to leap backwards, wrinkle his nose, and hastily move the chocolates to a ledge behind him where they would be safe from contamination.

“Sorry,” Murgatroyd wheezed as the coughing spell began to subside.

The man produced a white handkerchief and, holding it to his nose and mouth, drawled in affected Queen’s English, “I suppose you want something?”

It took a few seconds for Murgatroyd to express exactly what he wanted to say. “Erh. Are you Ann’s friend?”

“Ann’s
friend
?” The man pronounced these words with some incredulity, saying the word “friend” slowly and exaggeratedly. Recoiling in disdain, he looked as if Murgatroyd had dared to request something completely bizarre. Like a gold-encrusted hedgehog or a griffin claw.

“Ann. You know Ann? She told me to come here today to meet a friend of hers.”

“To
day
?” the man asked with the same incredulous disdain.

Murgatroyd grew even more flustered. “Erh. Yes. Ann’s friend.” An idea struck him, and he leaned in closer, only to have the man shrink away, clutching his handkerchief to his face as if Murgatroyd had the plague. “Erh
. . .
” Murgatroyd began, trying to whisper as loudly as he could to a man who was trying his best to keep his distance. “You know. For the Quest
.
”

The expression on the man’s face convinced Murgatroyd that not only did he think him disease-ridden, but also completely mad.

At length, the man decided to respond. “I haven’t the faintest idea of what you are speaking. Let me go get my supervised.”

Murgatroyd thought he’d misheard. “You mean your supervisor?”

“No,” the man snapped. “My
supervised
. You don’t expect
me
to deal with these insignificant little things, do you?
He
deals with all of it.
I
supervise
him
.”

Tucking his crossword puzzle book under his arm and picking up the chocolates, he turned and briskly exited through a door behind the counter. A few seconds later, through the same door emerged a surly teenager sporting a bright pink, spiky hairdo and at least five eyebrow rings.

The teenager proceeded to scowl at Murgatroyd for what seemed like an eternity, making the latter feel extremely uncomfortable. That is, until he spoke.

“Good morning, sir. Can I help you with something?”

Much to Murgatroyd’s astonishment, the words were not only exceedingly courteous in and of themselves, but they were also delivered in a voice inexplicably rich, creamy, and flavourful. Murgatroyd felt all the tension in his body melt away. He was surprised, certainly, but not ill at ease, or even confused. He could even describe the sensation he was feeling down to the minutest detail, and it took the form of a vivid scene in which he himself was playing a part. It was his nine-year-old self returning home after his first day at school, miserable, humiliated, and soggy. It was unlocking the door and finding a pair of dry, freshly laundered flannel pyjamas on the table by the entrance. It was changing into them and then following, with his nose, the heavenly scent wafting from the kitchen. And inside the kitchen, sitting on a table, waiting for him, was a steaming bowl of tomato soup. Of course, that wasn’t what had happened at all.

“Sir?”

“I’m here,” Murgatroyd said, his voice surprisingly clear, “to meet Ann’s friend.”

“Oh, it’s you!” The teenager’s voice bespoke pleasant surprise, even though the scowl never left his face. “Yes, Ann told me you were coming. Did you have any trouble finding the place?”

“No. Quite easy to find.”

“Oh good. I’m Ivan. Ivan Ho.” Ivan extended his hand.

They exchanged a handshake. “Murgatroyd. Murgatroyd Floyd Shwet Foo.”

“Shwet Foo. That’s a strange name.”

“My parents thought it would help me fit in better at school.”

“Did it help?”

“Erh. No, not really. No.”

“Oh. That’s a shame,” Ivan said. “Must have been terrible. At least that’s over and done with.” He grinned.

Murgatroyd had never had such a pleasant and effortless conversation before. Usually he dreaded talking with people he didn’t really know. He always felt that the other person was bored and he never knew what to say to make himself more interesting. Ivan, on the other hand, seemed as if he actually wanted to be talking to him, which was probably because Ivan did really want to be talking to him.

“So you’re going on the Quest, is it?” Ivan asked. “That must be why you spoke to Ann.” Ann actually had told Ivan very little about the whole situation. All she had said was that Murgatroyd was an Oddfit whom she had talked to about joining the Quest. Ivan didn’t mind the lack of information—he always liked meeting new people.

“Erh, no. Actually, I’m not going on the Quest after all,” Murgatroyd said a little sheepishly.

Ivan raised his eyebrows in curiosity. “Really? But why not?”

Murgatroyd shrugged. “Erh. Not a good time. My father has breast cancer.”

“Oh. I’m so sorry,” Ivan said. He tugged on his eyebrow rings, almost as if to express his condolences. “It’s just that it seems like such a great opportunity, you know? If I were an Oddfit, I’d take it. But you’re right. That does seem like a good reason not to go.”

“Are you a
. . .
a Questian?” Murgatroyd asked.

“Me? No.”

“How do you know Ann?”

“Oh, from a long time ago. A long time,” Ivan explained. “But every now and then, I do make a trip to the More Known World. It’s where I keep my pets.”

“Your pets?”

“Yes. I’m not much of a Sumfit. More like a One-fit. It’s tiring having to transfer so much between there and here. But they’re worth it, my pets.” Ivan’s eyes lit up. “Do you want to see them? Oh, even better! Do you want to feed them?”

Before Murgatroyd could respond, Ivan pulled out a short stack of index cards and offered them to him. “These are instructions for how to get there. They’re numbered, just in case you drop them and need to put them back in order. You shouldn’t have any problems.”

Murgatroyd took the cards. “Aren’t you coming? I’ve never transferred by myself before.”

“I just transferred there the day before yesterday, and I don’t think my body can take another visit so soon. It can be quite dangerous for a Sumfit to overtransfer himself.” Ivan reached over and patted his new friend on the back. “You’ll be fine. The instructions are quite detailed. How to get there, how to feed them, how to get back. That’s all you need to know. They’ll be happy to see you. Usually, they only get fed about once every two weeks.”

Murgatroyd looked at the first card and read it aloud.

“Step One. Enter the back room behind the counter.”

It was the same door that the man in the suit had entered only moments before. Ivan turned the handle, pushed it open, and gestured for Murgatroyd to come round the counter. He ushered Murgatroyd through the door before closing it behind him. “I hope you like them!” Ivan called through the closed door. Even muffled, his tomato-soup voice still felt warm and pleasant in Murgatroyd’s ears.

The back room was dimly lit and cramped, filled with piles and piles of cardboard boxes of all shapes and sizes. Room had been made in one corner for a large paisley-print armchair and a stained-glass lamp, in and under which sat the man in the suit. He was polishing off the last of the chocolates, engrossed still in his crossword puzzle. He ignored Murgatroyd.

Murgatroyd placed the first index card at the bottom of the stack and read the second one: “Step Two. Find the crack in the wall.”

Murgatroyd looked around. He didn’t see any crack. “Hallo, sir?” Murgatroyd called to the man, who looked up slowly and disdainfully.

“Do you know where the crack in the wall is?”

“
Wall
?”

Murgatroyd decided that he would find the crack himself. And he did. It was hidden behind several large cardboard boxes of instant ramen—a hairline crack running from where the wall met the floor to the height of Murgatroyd’s knee.

Murgatroyd read the next card: “Step Three. Look straight at it. Feel homesick and alone.”

Murgatroyd found out that feeling homesick and lonely on cue was very difficult. He tried for a good eleven minutes to no avail. In his frustration, he slumped down with his back against the wall and hugged his knees to his chest. So much for his supposed Oddfit abilities. What’s more, now that he wasn’t going on the Quest, this might be the one chance he’d ever have again to see the More Known World. And here he was, trapped in a dark room with an unfriendly stranger. He felt helpless and restless all at the same time.

It was then that he heard a sound like fabric ripping. Looking up, he saw that the crack had opened to reveal a flight of stairs bathed in a dim violet light.

He read the fourth card. “Step Four. Go all the way up the stairs.” He began his ascent.

The ascent took a very long time. Murgatroyd felt as if he’d been climbing continuously for a good fifteen minutes at least. It seemed as if he were heading towards some sort of light source, for the higher he climbed, the less dark it got. The strange thing about the light was that it had started out as a deep violet hue, but was slowly transforming into red, then orange, then yellow, and now, a pale white—as if he were climbing up a sunrise. Ten minutes later, he was quite overcome with fatigue, and was about to sit down on the steps to take a short break, when the stairs ended.

He found himself in the middle of a very open, empty, and brightly lit space, blue and speckled like a robin’s egg, with no walls or floor or ceiling, but no horizon or scenery or sun either. He couldn’t tell whether he was outside or indoors.