Revelation

I woke up to the sound of my sister crying. It was starting to annoy me. Then I heard my father shouting too.

I picked up my phone and checked the time. It was only eight in the morning. The news was already full of the same things as every day. Another power cut across Yangon, eight hours or more. The price of rice and cooking oil up again. A photo of a long line of people waiting outside a petrol station in the dark.

Under every post there were thousands of comments. People complaining, cursing, begging somebody to do something. Some of them didn't even bother to hide who they were cursing.

I scrolled past them and put the phone down.

I got out of bed and looked out of the window. Monks were walking down the street in a long line, and the sound of their chanting echoed between the houses.

I went downstairs to check on my family.

"I told you I would do the generator when I came home!" my father was shouting. "Why did you go down there and touch it?"

He slapped my sister across the face, then punched her. He used to do that to me when I was younger, but that was so long ago I hardly remember it.

"Dad, please stop! I just wanted to use my phone! The house was so dark. I was scared, Dad!"

"You know your plan to follow your brothers and go study in the US? Yeah? That plan is over. Stay at home, in the dark."

He punched her arm again, and again, while my sister cried at his feet.

Her bedroom door was open. I went inside to see what she had been up to.

There were prizes on the shelves and books on the table. And there was a drawing, done in crayon, like a cartoon. Me and her. My mother. The maids. And a man in a gray shirt.

Who was this?

He was thin, and he had a mark on his face. Even though it was only a cartoon, I could tell. My father has never had a mark on his face. I recognized everyone in the picture except him. That man was not my father.

Why had she left our father out?

I could show it to him. That would get her into even more trouble. But maybe she deserved a break from all the beating.

The sound of her crying faded, and I heard footsteps coming toward me.

"Wathone!" she screamed from the doorway. "Get out! I'm telling Dad you were in my room!"

"What? I do what I want. This is my house."

"This is my house too! And that's my room! Get out!"

"No."

I said it plainly, and she looked scared. She lowered her voice.

"Wathone, please. I want to rest for a little while."

"You can, after I'm finished."

"Why are you in my room?"

"I go wherever I want. I do whatever I want. So you just shut up, or I'll tell Father about your drawing, and about how you disrespect your older brother."

"Wathone, I'm scared. Why don't you protect me?"

"I'm not your bodyguard. I'm not your dog. I'm my father's son, and I listen to him. You're nothing."

"Wathone, I'm your sister."

"And so what?"

"Wathone, please, get out, or I'll call Mom."

"How about this. What if I hurt you, right here, right now? Do you think you could scream for Mom in time? Do you think Father would believe you?"

"Wathone—"

"What are these?"

There were flowers laid out across her desk, pressed and arranged into patterns.

"Those are my flower designs. For my room."

They were amazing, I'm not going to lie.

"Where did you get these?"

"From the garden."

"From Father's garden? The back or the front?"

"The back garden."

The back garden. Where nobody ever goes.

Something went cold in my chest. KoMg was out there, standing deep under the soil, under the flowerpot I had put on top of him. How close had she been? Had she moved the pot? Had she dug? Had she seen the soil, darker and softer than the rest?

I tapped the tip of my nose.

"Where in the back garden?"

"Just… around. Near the wall. Why?"

Near the wall. I looked at her face, trying to see if she knew. She looked back at me, scared and confused. Nothing else. But I couldn't be sure.

"Did you tell Father?"

"No…"

She went into Father's garden, and she didn't ask him. She didn't tell anyone. She just went and did what she wanted, where she wanted, as if this house belonged to her. As if nobody would ever check.

"What? How could you do this without Father's permission?"

I slapped her hard, and she fell to the floor. I stomped on her head with my foot.

"You think you control us, huh? You think you can do whatever you want in this house, huh?"

"Wathone, please! Ahhh! Father! Help!"

"Go ahead. Scream harder. Let's see if he gets here before I kill you or after."

She screamed for him again. Downstairs, I heard my father's door close, and the lock click.

He didn't come.

"Please! I don't want to do this anymore! I want to run away from here!"

"Don't you dare. I'll break both of your legs. You're my sister. You'll stay here, and you'll be here until the day you die."

"Why…"

"Why do you want to go to another country, when you can do everything here, huh?"

"I want a better future!" She was crying so hard she could barely get the words out. "I want a home that has lights every day. I want a room that's mine, that I can make myself."

She said it while she cried, and it made me think. She was right. Not just about her. I can't do anything in this house either. I can't change the color of the walls. I can't bring home a new pet. I'm in the same situation as her.

But I still respect my father.

"Fine. I'm going. Next time, don't talk back to your elders like that. Know your place."

She cried even harder.

I went down to the living room to find my father. His door was locked. He was inside, quiet and cold. What was in there? Why was he always in there? I wanted to know.

I let the thought go and went into the dining room. On the way, I saw the maid hurrying upstairs to comfort my sister. Aunty saw me and didn't say anything.

"Aunty. You have something to say?"

"Haha, no, sir. I just finished cleaning. I'm going to feed your dog."

"If you have something to say, you tell me. So I can beat your brains out."

"No, sir. I don't have anything to say, young master."

"You heard my sister crying, huh? What do you think? Are you afraid?"

"Hahaha, no, young master. You're doing what's right. The girl should be punished. She shouldn't scream at her elders."

That woman has been in our home for many years. She knows a lot about us, and she has never said anything. Maybe she talks behind our backs. But she knows how to adapt to our family.

"Aunty."

"Yes, young master?"

"Why is there dog shit in the living room?"

"I was just about to clean that, young master. Haha."

"Eat it."

"Uh— Young master, I was—"

"Eat it."

"Young master, please…"

"Aunty."

"…Very well."

She ate it, straight away. She looked scared and disgusted, but she did what I said so easily. The maid is hard to read, but Aunty is easy. She can surely adapt.

"Okay. Good. There's still some left. Finish it."

"Haha. Yes, sir."

She ate it while the tears ran down her face.

"Go on. Carry on with your work."

"Yes, sir. Excuse me, young master. I'll go to the toilet first."

I sat in the dining room, and my mother called me.

"Son, did you go into your sister's room?"

"Yes, Mom. I just wanted to check on the room."

"Okay, son. Son, I bought you some pants. I sent you a photo. Take a look."

"They're nice. I like the color."

"I choose the best for my son, every time."

"Thanks, Mom."

"Wathone, where's your father?"

"He's in his room, Mom."

"Okay, okay. See you tomorrow, son."

"Okay, Mom."

I hung up.

"Wathone. How are you, son?"

My father had come out of his room. He was buttoning his uniform, and his knuckles were still red.

"Hey, Dad. I want to talk to you about something. It's like an investment."

"Oh, haha! My son is talking about investments, huh? What is it?"

"I want to build a church in the city."

He stopped buttoning. "Oh, son. There are a lot of churches already. And you're not even Christian."

"Yes, Father. But I know the famous pastor. I can invite him and give him a church, as a gift. A donation."

"Why would you do that, son? That's not an investment. That's throwing money away."

"But he can control people, Father. Yesterday I watched a whole crowd give him their last money and thank him for it." I leaned forward. "And this morning I saw the news, Dad. Online, everywhere. People are angry. The power cuts, the prices going up. In the comments, they curse—"

I stopped.

"They curse what?" His voice went low. The voice he uses with his officers. "Say it."

"They curse their lives, Dad. The power, the prices. Not you. But they're looking for somebody to blame. And they believe whatever that pastor tells them." I kept my voice calm. "He can make them like you."

He looked at me for a long moment. Then he sat down.

"Really? Now I'm interested. What are you planning?"

"I give him the church in your name, as a donation, with your picture up as the donor. The people will think you did something good for them, and they'll like you more. And I'll make sure the pastor talks about your greatness to the people. Every Sunday."

He tapped two fingers on the table, the way he does when he is counting something.

"And this pastor. Can he be trusted?"

"He likes money, Dad. A man who likes money can always be trusted. You just have to keep paying him."

My father laughed, a real laugh, loud. "Haha! That's a funny idea. Where did you learn to think like this?" He shook his head. "But okay. I don't care how many churches you want to build. You can have them, son."

"Okay, Father. But I want a big house too. Near the church. I want to buy it."

The laugh stopped. "Why, son? Are you planning to live on your own?"

"No, Dad. I just want it because the house looks pretty, and it's really big."

He looked at me the way he had looked at me the morning after the club, when he asked which club I had been to. I looked back.

Then he smiled. "You're like me at your age. Always wanting something bigger." He stood up. "Okay, son. I'll contact them tonight."

"When will the church be finished, Dad?"

"I'm not sure. Wathone, just relax for now."

"Okay, Dad."

"Well, time to go. See you, son."

He touched my head, then rushed out to his car.

"Okay, Dad."

He still hadn't done the generator. I think he forgot. Anyway. I had to go to the church and talk to the pastor about it.

I went upstairs to check on my sister again. I listened at her door. She was talking to my mother on the phone, and I could hear my mother's voice through the speaker.

"Okay, okay, don't cry, my baby. If you want to go, I'll send you there. But you promise me you'll do whatever I say."

"Yes, Mom."

She cannot leave. I'll make sure of that.

To be continued...