Ch 3
An Unwelcome Guest
I'm an early bird, but I still don't do well in the morning. And to make matters worse, Marlene snuck into my room in the wee hours.
As I overcome low blood pressure, she's already settled into my arms, curled up into a ball. When I try to get up, her eyes shut tighter and her small hands cling to me. My stomach growls in protest, and the rumbling wakes her up.
"Are you really hungry?" Marlene asks. "Even after all that spaghetti?"
"That was last night, sweet love," I answer. "And I believe you're supposed to say good morning."
Marlene sticks her tongue out at me. She gets up and reaches for the sky in a stretch. I do the same with her. The clock reads twenty past six.
"The boarding school called mum and dad in January," Marlene stated. "They said that you were eating too much. They said something about bulimia. What's bulimia?"
"It's an eating disorder," I explain. "It's when people want to lose weight so badly that they make themselves throw up after eating a lot of food. That's bad for your throat."
"Ewww!" she cries. "Who'd wanna do that?"
I shrug and climb out of bed. Marlene follows me into the bathroom.
"The school thought you were doing that," Marlene confessed. "Is that bad?"
"Yes," I tell her. "Bulimia is bad."
"So were you doing it?" Marlene inquires.
"No, Marlene…I'm not a bulimic."
I reach for the toothpaste and electric toothbrush.
"When they told dad," she continues, "He told them that nothing was wrong. He said big appetites run in the family. But I don't know anyone else who eats like you."
I shake my head and squeeze a pea drop onto the toothbrush. She hums a song as do first morning brush.
"If you eat so much," Marlene says (after I finish), "then how come you've never gotten fat?"
"That's the mystery of the sciences," I answer. "Which reminds me. Shall I cook breakfast for us?"
"And not wait for the yummy food the cook will make us?" Marlene replies sarcastically. "Oh no, Cloud. We mustn't."
She's getting smarter every day.
00000
Mum always had the kitchen started early in the morning. It made me wake up on time, sick or healthy. She was a genius with a magic touch. Her food was savory and delicious (without salt), and I was willing do anything to find out her secrets. It made me happy that she told me, before I went to that London boarding school.
Before the accident…
But she never taught me how to gut a fish.
When we sneak into the kitchen, a cup of hot coffee is sitting on the counter. No one is there. That makes it all the more easier for us.
Marlene demands an omelet, with mushrooms and green peppers and cheese and tomatoes...and cilantro? I find all of her requests and lay them out on the kitchen island.
For the first time, I take an even better look at the kitchen. There are an unusual number of two stoves in the kitchen: one near the window and the other built into the island. The refrigerator and two ovens (yes, two) are built into the wall. The entire kitchen is designed in a nouveau style with sharp edges. The island stove sparks my fancy, so I set up there.
"This is cool!" Marlene squeaks. "Is this really a kitchen?"
"I suppose so," I reply.
The island is intricate, with four different surfaces altogether. The stove is on the highest surface. Three counter spaces are jutting from the sides of the island; they're convenient, for me at least. One of the counters is short enough for Marlene to stand over.
"Are there any aprons?" Marlene asks.
"Check the pantry," I command her.
Marlene scampers towards it and opens the door to peak in. "Yup, they're here."
"Get one."
"Why not two?"
"Because none of them will fit you."
While the stove heats up, I find the pots and pans. The cooking tools are in the drawer above them. The bowls are three cabinets down.
"There's jasmine rice in the pantry," Marlene says. "Can we make that too?"
"Don't load me with more work," I protest.
I keep in mind to drag out a boiling pot anyway. I switch the stove on, and it starts heating up. I hear Marlene whine and fuss, but she comes back dragging a lacy, pink apron on the floor. She hands it to me with both hands.
"No, no!" I cry. "Get another one. Anything but that!"
Marlene snubs me and goes back. She returns with beige apron, made of thick cloth. I put it on and tie the strings in their proper places, albeit with some difficulty. I urge Marlene to find some olive or vegetable oil in the pantry, along with the rice she wants so badly. She comes back with it all, including the measuring cup I forgot to mention.
She's quite the big helper for someone so small.
"Did Mummy tell you all her secret ingredients and stuff?" she questions.
"Every last one," I confirm. "She taught me all of them."
"Will you tell me?" she pleads.
"When you get older."
Marlene walks over and gives me a small kick in the leg.
I smell the cilantro to make sure it's clean, and it still seems to be good. I set my little sister up on the lowest counter and give her a bowl.
"Tear the leaves off the stems," I tell her. "Like this."
I demonstrate the process to her a few times and watch her as she imitates. When she has a handle on it, I carry the boiling pot towards the sink, filling it with water. I transfer it to the hot stove and open the bag of rice. When I see the label on the bag, I realize that the rice is of good quality, which worries me a bit. But no matter. I read the instructions and shovel the rice with the measuring cup. I pour the grain into the pot and it splashes in.
"We haven't had a good meal in months," Marlene states. I don't like Aunt Lu's cooking. She uses too much garlic."
"Aunt Lucrecia never tastes her own cooking," I explain.
I clamp the glass top on the boiling pot and start on the omelet mix. I crack the eggs out of the shells, with a fancy technique of the wrist. I push the bowl back start chopping the mushrooms.
The kitchen door swings open, and Seph-chan walks in completely unawares. He stops dead in his robe and pajamas and stares at me as I'm the one who looks strange. I fumble for an explanation.
"We woke up this morning," I say, "And we just couldn't wait for anything."
"You hate the cooking," Seph-chan corrects.
"We sure do!" Marlene declares.
I laugh nervously. Sometimes, I could really kill my sister.
He walks toward me without a word and picks out six more eggs. He cracks them himself.
"Is that the jasmine rice," he says.
"Yes," I answer.
I can see that I'm in no trouble, so I continue chopping. Seph-chan watches us for a bit and goes to do whatever he came here for. He reaches for the waiting cup of coffee.
The door swings open again, and the sight is astounding. My jaw drops. Coming into the kitchen, a familiar little brunette yawns and walks past me. Her hair is in a delightful mess. She's wearing a robe (loose and untied) that stops behind her knees and nightgown that's short enough to make me blush. Apparently, she is too groggy to notice me, let alone recognize me.
She stops at Seph-chan's side to wait for more coffee.
"Morning, Tifa," Seph-chan greets her.
"Morning… Seph," Tifa answers. "Guh… I barely got any sleep last night."
Tifa combs through her hair with her fingers and yawns without covering her mouth.
I know I should be stunned to see her, but I think I'm starting to learn to expect the unexpected…
"Aren't you going to say good morning?" Seph-chan teases her.
"I already did," Tifa replies.
"What about them?"
He points towards us with a smile on his face. Tifa pushes her bangs out of her eyes to take a better look. As soon as she recognizes my face, her cheeks go several shades of red. She lets out a squeal, turns around and punches him in the arm. Tifa ties up her robe and walks over to a mirror in the kitchen to straighten her appearance.
"You are scum!" she proclaims. "Why didn't you tell me he was living here?"
"I was right there with him at McD's," Seph-chan argues. "I thought you'd put two and two together…"
"You could've invited me to the table!" Tifa shoots back.
"And take you away from your friends?" he responds innocently.
"Bite the big one, Seph! I hardly know them!"
She quickly makes her hair somewhat suitable and dashes over to the sink to wash her face.
"Isn't that you girlfriend?" Marlene teases.
"No, sweet love," I reply. "That's the tooth fairy."
Marlene giggles. I roll my eyes and start frying the mushrooms in an oiled pan.
"G-good morning," Tifa greets me soberly. "Why are you cooking?"
"He hates the cooking here," Seph-chan answers.
"I do not," I blurt out.
"Yes, he does," Marlene declares. "And so do I. We don't eat bad food. Or non-kosher. And last night, we got both!"
Tifa and Seph-chan stare at her with dinner plate eyes. Oh, this child…
"Marlene, I'm going kill you, " I say calmly. " And after I kill you, I'll cut out your heart and eat it for dinner…"
Between Marlene and I, the accurate translation of my words would be:
"Don't you dare mention that again…"
Our audience doesn't understand, of course, and I can tell by their mortified faces.
"You might want to take my guts too," she counters. "My heart won't be enough for your two stomachs…"
She sticks out the reddest tongue I'll ever see and gives me her signature raspberry.
I let out a sigh and grab a tomato. As I soon as I take the knife, a strange sensation comes over me. With surprising finesse, I spin the knife around in hand, and in one devastating stroke, I chop the fruit straight in half. Marlene quiets down.
Tifa nervously clears her throat and joins us at the island. Seph-chan distracts himself with coffee.
"How about I cut some of this?" she offered.
"I can't see why not," I answer. "I could use the help."
I check the rice again and stir it around. The kitchen door swings open for the third time, and another familiar (yet unpleasant) face appears. He stretches out his arms and yawns.
"Nice yawn, Reno," Tifa says with sarcasm. "You should join the opera."
My nose begins twitch. Reno smacks his lips and opens his slowly opens his peepers. He sees me and halts on his feet. Marlene grins and points at him.
"Hey, Cloud!" Marlene cries. "It's the wuss!"
Reno gapes. Reno yelps. Reno turns around and runs out of the kitchen.
Two seconds later, the door opens once again… with more residents. Just how many people live in this place?
Another guy, with long, black hair, saunters into kitchen. A blonde follows after him. They immediately notice that breakfast is being made and sniff the air. It's probably those mushrooms I'm cooking.
"What's Reno's problem?" the guy asks.
"He bit off more than he could chew," Seph-chan answers jokingly.
Both of them smile and shrug, even though they don't quite understand. But when they see me, their mood changes drastically.
"Morning, Zack," Tifa chirped. "Morning, Elena."
I tell them "good morning" myself. Zack and Elena do not reciprocate in the slightest. Instead, I receive a pair of nasty looks. I try not to pay attention as I slice the tomato into pieces. Tifa reaches for the egg carton to pick out more.
"We're making omelets and rice," Tifa told them. "There's plenty for everyone!"
Both of them turn around and leave. Tifa opens her mouth wordlessly and frowns.
"Wait a second!" she calls out. "Aren't you going to say hello?"
The door slams shut. Tifa scoffs and shakes her head.
"What is their problem?" Tifa mutters in exasperation. "Sorry about that. They've never acted like that before."
"Quite alright," I respond. "I'm used to it."
Tifa starts slicing the green pepper with frustrated grunts. The angle she holds knife isn't exactly right, so she has trouble cutting through. Almost reflexively, I reach over and adjust her hand in the right position.
"It's all in the technique," I enlighten her.
She gives me an alluring, "thank you" smile. My ears grow hot, and I feel a silly grin on my face.
"Look, he's blooming!" Marlene sings.
I side glance the brat with a dark look. She shrinks away to wash her hands.
00000
Breakfast has been very awkward and cold. And I'm not talking about the food (which is delicious, if I do say so myself).
Almost everyone at the table is looking at me, and the majority of their stares (or glares) are hostile. I'm used to lots of attention, but I mind it very much. By now, three more faces are seated at the table: two men and a woman. From what I heard from Miss Tifa, their names are Biggs, Wedge, and Jessie.
And apparently, they all hate me too.
But why?
I see Shera and Tifa sitting a few places away from me, and I look upon them for some relief. Marlene tugs on my shirt and beckons me closer to her. I open a listening ear and lean to the side, while she covers my ear with her hands.
"I don't think they like you," Marlene whispers in Japanese.
She pulls her hands away and pushes herself up so I can whisper my answer in her ear.
"Who cares?" I reply in the same language.
She sits back down and waves me over for another comment.
"I think they're decapitating you with their eyes," she says with glee.
"You have a charming imagination," I observe.
We end the conversation and continue eating. Tifa coughs and starts another.
"So, you're from England?" she inquires me.
"No," I answer. "I'm…"
"You sound pretty English to me," Zack interrupts derisively.
He savagely scrapes some egg off the side of the plate. I ignore him and keep going.
"I was born in South Africa," I continue. "I never saw England until I was five. My father was half Japanese, and Mother was Sicilian."
"We're mutts!" Marlene adds enthusiastically.
Shera covers her mouth and laughs. The hostile forces react nonchalantly.
"Japanese and Sicilian," Seph-chan joins in. "Your family reunions must have been… very interesting."
"Of course, they were," I reply, "Mum sang Italian in the kitchen. My English uncles got drunk, and aunts from Japanese kept arguing about whom I should marry. And I ate rigatoni and tamagoyaki…and someone made me eat spotted dick once…"
I cringe at the thought. "Good Lord… I hate spotted dick…"
"You've eaten penis?" Reno asks.
The table is filled with snickers. Ah, Reno, my poor hapless opponent. My temper, usually controlled, flares up a bit. Ignorance should be punished.
"Spotted dick… is a steamed, dessert pudding made out of raw animal fat and currants." I curtly inform him. "Disgusting yes, but it has nothing to do with anyone's genitalia… dumbarse!"
The table goes quiet. Reno slumps sheepishly.
I quickly turned to Marlene. She waves me off.
"I know, I know," she replies. "That was a bad word. I'm not supposed to use it."
00000
For the rest of the day, I've managed to keep myself to myself. Whenever someone, who happened not to like me, was in a room, and I never went in. If I needed something in the kitchen and someone was there, I took it quickly and left.
It's that bad.
In the end, I retreat into the sitting room and play my piano for three hours straight.
I check my wristwatch. Shera should be bringing me some tea in a few minutes. I flex my fingers for the third time and start one of my favorite pieces: Le Chante Pour Passer Le Temps.
Perfect, just perfect…I'm playing a moody song.
I'm pathetic…and lonely.
I've never felt more alone in all my life. Sure, I still have my Marlene, and Seph-chan has been a good companion. Even Shera and Tifa are a great help. But that just isn't enough. It seems as if I had been cast aside somewhere like flotsam.
None of my relatives have any interest in me. They probably wanted custody of me for Mum and Dad's money. And who knows what this "Madame" really wants.
And even now, these people… these absolute strangers…are reminding me even more of my loneliness.
I'm barely halfway through song when I hear his voice again. I quickly glance around the room, but nothing has changed. Nicky is leaning against the piano, looking in the opposite direction. For some strange reason, I'm glad to see him (or her), so I don't say anything.
I continue playing as if nothing is out of the ordinary.
"Are you actually going to take this from them?" he questions.
"Got any brighter ideas?" I reply.
Nicky lowers his eyes and shakes his head.
"It's never easy," he muses. "Being the new guy, I mean."
"Yes, but why do they hate me?" I ask. "Was it something I said?"
"They believe you're replacing something important to them," Nicky explains. "It's not your fault."
His response leaves me dumb. I don't know what to say to that.
"Why not just hate them back?" he suggests.
My fingers freeze over the keys.
"You're a musical prodigy, aren't you?" Nicky inquires. "Able to play a long piece at the age of twelve…"
"I'm incapable of hating anyone," I interrupt. "I can't even hate Scarlet. I don't know how. I can dislike all I want, but I… "
"Dislike and hate are the same thing," Nicky argues.
"No…that's basically saying that 'love' and 'like' are the same. Love and hate mean the opposite, and the same goes for like and dislike. If like is not the same as love…then dislike cannot be the same as hate."
Nicky turns toward me and arches an eyebrow. He smiles, probably pleased with my answer.
"That's a clever way of putting it," he says.
I take a long deep breath and rest my elbows on the keys. The keys sing out under my weight.
"What are you anyway?" I ask. "Are you supposed to be a ghost or something?" I answer.
He shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly. "I'm not very sure. I guess… you could say that…"
I jerk my head up, but Nicky has taken leave once again.
"He likes to come and go as he pleases…"
A few minutes later, Shera knocks on the door, and I tell her to enter. She comes in with the tray in her hands, and Marlene is marching behind at her heels.
"All aboard for the tea express!" Marlene announces.
"Where do you want it, Cloud?" Shera asks.
"Right on the piano top, please," I answer. "Just in time. I could use a cup or two."
"Have they been bloody to you?" Shera asks in a harsh manner. "I can take care of that!"
"I don't want any trouble."
Marlene ventures over and climbs next to me on the piano bench. I try to give her a happy smile. But she's not convinced. Little children are very perceptive. Marlene reaches up and catches my face with her small hands. She pulls me down to her level and gives me a peck on the lips.
"I don't like it when you're sad," Marlene complains. "It makes me want to cry."
I laugh at the thought.
"It's not funny!" she shouts in annoyance.
"You said you liked only one spoonful of honey?" Shera asks.
"Yes."
Shera scoops out some honey and stirs the cup with remarkable smoothness. Marlene tugs on my shirt to get my attention.
"Teach me how to play," she demands.
"I'm not a good teacher," I reply. "You need an instructor. And besides, I'm starting higher education next month."
Shera hands me the teacup, and I smell it for aromatherapy.
"Higher education," Marlene repeats curiously. "That's college, right? I thought adults went to college when they turned…when do they go again?"
"Seventeen or eighteen," I affirm. "At the least. If you're smart enough, you might get to go earlier."
"Does that mean you're a genius?" Marlene asks in joy.
Shera fixes a second cup of tea for herself.
"Not necessarily," I answer. "The real geniuses are people who go to college when they're your age."
"Five year olds in college?"
Shera lets out a sigh and takes a sip. She seems a bit weary today. I hope it's not my issues.
"There's been a bad atmosphere all day," Shera mutters."I believe I will have a talk with them all."
"Please don't!" I beg.
"I'm not doing it for you," she replies honestly. "I just think the whole matter is absolutely ridiculous. Even Seph will agree with me…and he's practically a social Darwinist…"
I shake my head and smile. "It won't be long…sooner or later, they'll realize I'm harmless."
"What do you mean by that?" she questions.
"Isn't that it?" I respond. "They think I'm a bad change to their lives. Isn't that what's bothering them?"
Shera purses her lips together and seems to be startled.
"I beg your pardon," I say quietly.
As she takes another sip of her tea, I notice that her hand is shaking.
00000
After dinner—I secretly made for Marlene and myself—I sneak outside to the back of the mansion with The Garden of the Prophet and portable light. There are several rows of rose bushes and a line of stone benches, so I perch myself on one and make myself comfortable.
It's a lovely moon out tonight.
I used to do this after hours in my boarding school; I'd curl up in some odd hiding place and read a book until my eyes were shot. Never mind that the majority of my "door-mates" still suck. I can always stay sane as long as I can have my peace and quiet.
I turn on the light and open up my book to where I last left off. Dad would've been proud.
After a while, I start hearing a small, crunching sound in the distance. I listen for a few seconds, and it stops. I continue reading.
I hear the crunch again and stop again. It disappears at first, but I perk up my ears. And then, I hear a third time. Someone is definitely here. I jab the bookmark into the book and close it. I stand up, pick up the lantern, and wave it around, looking any moving figure. I see no one.
"I know you're there," I call out. "So come out and stop sneaking around!"
My first guess is that someone's playing a mean-spirited joke on me. But I haven't been in this house long enough for that.
I hear footsteps approaching, inconspicuously this time, and I turn to see another new face. I shine the light on him to take a better look. At first glance, I'd say that the man is about my height (maybe a little taller). He appears to be Asian, perhaps Chinese, with neat shoulder length hair. His clothes are casual but businesslike.
He makes eye contact with me and bows his head with a smile.
One of the first gestures of respect I've received from a stranger all day. How refreshing!
"Good evening," he greets smoothly. "It's nice to see you again."
"Good evening to you," I answer. "But I've never seen you before…"
I nearly slap myself for saying that. He doesn't seem offended, so I relax.
"Are you a guest in this house?" I ask.
"No…I'm what you call a 'trespasser'."
I frown at the dangerous word. I wonder if I should run back into the house or shout for someone.
"And why would you do something like that?" I answered calmly. "Are you a burglar or something."
The man raises his hands in defense and grins. "Nothing of the sort. I came to wish you a happy birthday. You turned sixteen less than a week ago, am I correct?"
Hmm, so he does know me. Now we're getting somewhere. But that doesn't mean I won't stay on my toes.
"I did…" I answer. "Is that all?"
"I've planned a wonderful birthday present for you," he says proudly.
He pulls a small envelope and hands it to me. I feel something small and hard inside of it.
"What's this?" I ask him.
"If you don't have it," he replies, "You won't be able to get it."
A flag is raised in my mind, and I stuff the envelope in my rear pocket. He walks past me and sits down on the bench. I set the lantern next to him.
"Has your stay here in the U.S. been to your liking so far?" he inquires.
I open my mouth to answer, but he does it for me.
"Of course not," he jeers. "This house…They're ostracized you, haven't they?"
"It's alright..." I respond.
"Yes, it its. Who needs them? They're nothing but useless, uncultured clods."
I'm a bit stunned by his choice of diction. In high society, those were fighting words. I take them with a grain of salt.
The trespasser sees my book and picks it up curiously.
"The Garden of the Prophet," he reads. "By Kahlil Gibran. You have excellent taste."
"My father's influence," I explain. "He wanted me to be well-read."
"The late Dr. Jiro Strife…"
I nod in slight excitement.
"How would you like to come with me?" he asks. "Right now?"
I back away in confusion. "Not particularly."
"Why not?" he asks in disappointment.
"My parents wanted me to stay here…so that's exactly what I'll do. I don't know you…and I don't trust you. I don't even have your name."
"It's Tseng," he says.
"Nice to meet you, sir. But that still doesn't change my decision."
He lets out a chuckle and stands up. He takes my book and taps me on the head.
"You're wasting your time," he warns. "You'll die of boredom here."
He slips the book under my chin and raises my head up. He leans closer to me until our faces are inches apart.
"That house," he whispers, "is filled with a whole bunch of nothing…but you and I…"
"But you and I are gods," I finish.
The phrase comes out of my mouth before I even know it. My whole world stops, and I feel very uneasy.
You and I are gods. I think…I've heard those words before.
In a split second, someone pushes Tseng away from me. I see a flash of silver in front of me, blocking him from getting any closer. Tseng brushes off the front of his coat.
"Now that was little uncalled for," Tseng scorns.
"And why are you slithering around here?"
It takes me a few seconds to recognize the person's voice: it's Seph-chan. He pushes and quickly turns back to our intruder.
"I was just saying happy birthday," Tseng replies innocently. "What amendment of the constitution does that break?"
"So you've said it," Seph-chan answers aggresively . "Now get out!"
I watch Tseng's face as it morphs into wild amusement. A shiver goes down my spine. He tosses the book to me, and I reach out and catch it.
"Fine, fine!" he replies. "I'm going. I'm going."
Tseng turns around and walks way, turning off the lantern as he goes. Seph-chan picks it up and watches until he disappears from sight.
He sighs in relief and gives me a stern look.
"Don't come outside by yourself again," he instructs me. "Understand?"
I nod briefly and apologize. What a way to end the day.
