Eight Houses
by Marcus Tan
In the first house, a bungalow on Victoria Peak, Rosa sleeps on top of two washing machines. When the wash cycles sync on rinse & spin, the laundry room shakes and sends vibrations through her body. She pretends she is back home in Manila, sinking into her mother's favorite massage chair. Her teenage bones only feel the ache many years later.
In the second house, a condo overlooking the harbour, the wife tells Rosa she's probably the only maid in Hong Kong who gets to enjoy grade-five Wagyu beef. You're one of the lucky ones, the slender Chinese woman says, gesturing at the spread of leftover food on the dinner table. As Rosa hunches over the hotpot on the kitchen counter, fishing out slices of meat with a pair of chopsticks, she wonders if her little sister Tala will ever get to eat Wagyu beef. When the couple is done watching TV in the living room, the wife offers Rosa what's left of their honeydew. It's air-flown from Hokkaido, the wife says. Rosa declines, having already snuck a piece while slicing it up earlier.
In the third house, a refurbished walk-up in SoHo, the husband enters Rosa's room one night when the wife is away on business. The pudgy expat asks Rosa for a massage. I can't sleep, he says, my body is aching from work. He does not leave when she tells him to. Don't worry, he says, I won't tell anyone. Rosa believes him—no one will ever know what happens in this room because no one will ever take Rosa's word over his. Rosa climbs on his back and gives him a massage until his sweat soaks through her thin mattress. When he finally leaves, she sleeps on the bare floor so she does not have to lie in his scent.
In the fourth house, a penthouse in Central, the bored housewife opens a bottle of Chardonnay at noon every day because the husband comes home smelling like other women. While Rosa watches over the son at the park, she video chats Tala, who is studying to become a nurse. My baby sister's all grown up now, the first in our family to go to college, Rosa says, I feel like a proud Mama hen. Tala rolls her eyes, which makes them both laugh.
In the fifth house, a 40-year-old flat in Wan Chai, the widow confiscates Rosa's phone, releasing it only after the day's chores are done. You need discipline and focus, she says after slapping Rosa for folding the laundry imperfectly, then once more after grabbing Rosa's hair by the root and grinding her face into the dirty spot she missed on the coffee table. During their whispered phone calls late at night, Tala tells Rosa to call the police. Pasensiya, Rosa says, not yet. You have just graduated and you will need the money while you look for a job.
In the sixth house, a seaside maisonette on Lantau Island, Rosa watches the young couple file for divorce, and helps the ex-wife pack her belongings. Rosa's back hurts each time she picks up a box, but the ex-wife is too exhausted from crying to help. Maybe I should've been like you, the ex-wife says. Maybe it's better to be single all your life. Rosa nods and smiles as she slides the ex-wife's wedding album into a box before sealing it with tape. She is reminded of Tala's wedding day last year, and will forever be grateful to the young couple for allowing her to take two weeks off without pay so she could fly to Manila. Tala had jumped on her at the airport and shouted: Your hair is so grey now, ate! You have lines around your eyes! The man standing behind Tala, who was to be her future husband, had to pry her out of Rosa's arms because their excitement was attracting too much attention. Don't go, Tala said when Rosa entered the departure hall for her return to Hong Kong. Pasensiya, Rosa said, I'll be home soon. You're married now and you'll need the money to buy a house and raise a family.
In the seventh house, a spartan duplex in Sai Kung, Rosa walks the dogs and tends the garden while the retired couple spends their days sitting by the pier. When the tan young man who is building the house down the road first waves at Rosa, she dares not wave back. Talk to him, Tala says over video chat, you've lived your whole life for others and now it's time to live for yourself. The retired couple ransacks Rosa's room and throws her clothes out the window when they find their money and jewelry missing. Rosa dares not tell them about the tan young man who had laid in her bed that morning and stroked her hair until she fell asleep. The retired couple are placated when Rosa promises to pay them back if they do not report her to the agency. She gives them the money, a full year's savings, but they report her anyway, and do not even call her a cab to the airport on her last day of work.
In the eighth house, a four-bedroom in the heart of Manila, Rosa sinks into her late mother's favorite massage chair, which Tala insisted on keeping. Tala's baby girl Chesa is asleep in Rosa's arms, and the living room is filled with the aroma of Tala's cooking. Rosa sees her life's work on the walls: Tala's framed university certificates and professional licenses, photos of Tala and her husband on their wedding day, photos of Rosa's mother playing with Chesa. In the eighth house, which is to be the final house, Rosa kisses Chesa on the forehead and sings her a lullaby, as her mother did to her as a child.
Marcus Tan’s work has appeared in Ethos Books anthologies Kepulauan and Unhomed, and is forthcoming in Prime Number Magazine (Issue 181). He grew up in Singapore and currently resides in Hong Kong. Tweet him @marcustan or visit him at marcus-tan.com.
