Still, the Helicopters By Marshall Moore

      Andy / Andrew Fogg CC



Still, the Helicopters

First, the helicopters. You hear the chop. This has been going on for months, but this is the first time the noise has awakened you. You’re at home in the lower Mid-Levels, one of Hong Kong’s loftier districts. You’re not rich but you’ve lucked into a flat in an older building just far enough uphill for this to be your postal address. Impostor syndrome keeps you worried that the government will audit your bank accounts and issue a form letter demanding that you move. This tumbles through your head as you try to decide whether to get out of bed. The cat tells you he’s hungry by hopping up and sitting on your chest so that you can’t move. He purrs.

Eagles often flew past the windows of your first apartment here. You and the cat would lie on the bed looking out the window at them. You’d put an arm over him. Although one of the raptors couldn’t have flown in and grabbed him, you don’t want to give them ideas. Hong Kong’s riot police are called raptors. You don’t want to give them ideas either.

Late breakfast. Scramble some eggs. Feed the cat. Add warm water to the smelly pile of fish so that he’ll get enough fluids. Cats don’t drink enough water. He’s happy, munching away. You have eggs, sausage, coffee, cholesterol. It’s not going to be a good day because it’s been months since Hong Kong had one of those, but it’s going to be a day you expect to survive.

Still, the helicopters. Check Twitter. There are protests just downhill in Central. It’s tempting to go down. You’ve done it more than once. Participated, even. Black bloc, a million citizen comrades marching, two million, the right thing to do. You can’t see the choppers but you know they’re black. What other color would they be?

Having eaten, the cat wants attention so that he can ignore you. He’ll sit just out of arm’s reach, out of range. He’ll then run around. Meow at you. It’s both mocking and friendly. You will chase him. That’s how this works. You won’t get any work done and that’s okay: you’re in a hot climate and he’ll take a nap soon. Then, in the sweltering peace, you may get a little work done, you tell yourself you’ll get a little work done, but you won’t.

Still, the helicopters. Check Twitter again. Check the news. If this were level ground, you’d be choking already. Maybe stretched out on the floor, dodging projectiles. This has been going on for months. Cops murdered out in black riot gear. Names not visible. Reflective tape across the eyes. The whole city has been gassed and gassed and gassed. Birds drop dead from trees, rats writhe in alleys and gutters, pets in flats close to the center of the conflict whine and paw at their eyes. Kids and old folks get whisked to hospitals. The cops won’t say what’s in the gas they’re using. People are covered with blisters, with chemical burns. Everyone chokes.

The day grinds on. Nothing is accomplished. Even up here, hour after hour, the stench intensifies: a burn that lingers, that follows you. Dull ache in the eyes and the sinuses. You shut the windows. The cat wakes up from his nap, eyes gummy. Looks around. If something’s hurting him, he thinks he should be able to see it. He gets up, walks around looking for his unseen antagonist. Meows a couple of times. Stumbles. Tries to wipe his eyes, and keeps trying. He looks at you.

Still, the helicopters. They chop at the air. You’ve never seen a cat cry before. He alternates between that and sneezing. He’s a snub-nose. Most airlines won’t fly him. You pick the cat up, put him on the bed, curl up around him. Use your body to protect him. The helicopters chop at the air, closer now. Pain wafts into your eyes and your noses. You lie as still as you can, waiting for the air to clear. You know you’re leaving. The questions are how, and when. You won’t settle for if.

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Marshall Moore is an American author, publisher, and academic based in Cornwall, England. He has written several novels and collections of short fiction, the most recent being Inhospitable (Camphor Press, 2018). He holds a PhD in creative writing from Aberystwyth University, and he teaches creative writing and publishing at Falmouth University. His next books are a memoir titled I Wouldn’t Normally Do This Kind of Thing (Rebel Satori Press, 2022) and a co-edited academic collection on the subject of creative practice. For more information, please visit www.marshallmoore.com, or follow him on Twitter at @marshallsmoore.

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