Conclusions in Kuala Lumpur
I'm reading Clarice Lispector, and her work reminded me of this scene I wrote between strangers in Asia. Excerpt from my book "Dearest Enemy."
“Conclusions in Kuala Lumpur” excerpted from Dearest Enemy
Foe lives in Spokane about to marry a spouse who will abscond with all her excess affection, and it makes me think about how it’s only possible to be two sides of the same coin based on Faith—that your otherness is still there and hasn’t rolled away.
But somehow, I need to get back to Malaysia. In Kuala Lumpur, I took a taxi to meet up with my group at the KL Tower. It was there that I sat in a cafe, watching an artist. He followed and waved to passersby, hoping to peddle the cartoon forgeries he made of their faces. I unintentionally stared at him for a long time until he seemed unnerved. But I don’t know. I never knew what was happening in his head but for the sudden resolution in his body. He grabbed a chair and faced it toward me. Sitting down, he started drawing me, daring me in the power of his shoulders to stop him.
But I didn’t. I didn’t drop my gaze. He didn’t let his pencil waver. He kept shifting his eyes from my face to the page. Then, I picked up my own pencil and opened my own notebook. I began to write about us:
When two artists look at each other,
what do they see? They stand
parallel like two lines that never
intersect; their perspectives will
never converge but for their
constructions on paper. But if held
side by side, would the kinship be obvious?
The moment was like calligraphy, and it kept going even when I stood up to leave. His head shot up from his page and followed my progress to the escalator. As I descended, we locked looks. He raised his hand and smiled. And even now, when I think back on that moment, it’s still happening—the spark, the silent dialogue, the meeting of our meanings even if they happened on separate canvases. Even if we never saw or could be certain of the results. Still, we pushed something of what we rendered and were across that airy divide, like a hopeful vessel. Or at least, I think we did, and that is what I trust.
Author’s Note:
I’m still working my way through Clarice Lispector’s Selected Cronicas, and her piece “Impasses” about a little red-haired girl and dog in communication—in a way wholly unique to them and unknown to outsiders—made me think of this excerpt from my own book. Which you can read more excerpts here!