Fiction: Group 3
“I don’t believe in curses, everything is all man-made after all.” There was a darkness that dominated his
eyes for a moment when he said that.
“What do you mean? Do you know anything about the Pearl River 414 case?”
“Yes, I do actually.”
“Please tell, I would be more than pleased for a story on New Year.”
So he began.
“There once was a psychiatrist who wanted to cure the deranged all his life. After hundreds of endless,
tedious experiments, he thought he’d found the cure, so he tested it on the patients available. But, after 3
months of trial, the patients started to hallucinate. They thought that the river is where they belong, a haven
for their kind. So they suicided in the river. He wanted to prevent tragedy but it was too late, 414 patients
had already drowned in the Pearl River. For a long time, the river stank of corpses, of decay, and death.”
I felt shocked, then terror, then disgust.
“What happened afterwards?” I asked, sounding intrigued.
“The doctor felt very compunctious, so he walked to the bottom of the Pearl River on a calm and peaceful
night.” Keng seemed so tired and weary, as if he didn’t rest in years.
“Are you okay? I should get a cup of water for you.”
“That would be wonderful, thanks.”
But when I came back, he’d left. I thought I’d offended him somehow so I drained the cup and went back
to my reading.
“What’s this?” I mumbled as I pulled out a dusted, vintage book.
‘Macau’s History of Pearl River Delta-1800s’
There was a bookmark inside so I flipped onto that page. An old, sepia newspaper clipping from 1813 about
a young doctor who drowned himself in the Pearl River greeted my eyes. Though the face of the man I saw
was a bit bloated, there was no mistake in the same unruly, jet-black hair, same unlined, chiselled face, and
brownish brows with bloodshot eyes piercing through my soul.
***
