Page 31 of The Friend Zone Experiment

“I know,” said Ket Siong. He didn’t look up, for fear of what his brother might read in his face.

The next day was a Sunday. Ma had gone out to the supermarket, and Ket Hau was studying for his exam. He’d taken over the living room with his books and papers, so nobody would wonder at Ket Siong retreating to the bedroom.

Investigating an enforced disappearance wasn’t exactly something Ket Siong had been trained to do. But he was motivated, he had connections, and he had the Internet.

His Google search turned up the usual reports about Stephen, old articles he’d read before. There had been a fair bit of noise in the immediate aftermath of the disappearance. Stephen’s family had conducted rallies, written to the newspapers, petitioned the government. But they had gone quiet after a while. (“Police kept calling them in for questioning,” said Ket Hau. “Told them to ‘look after themselves.’ Well, they knew what that meant.”)

There were a couple of new pieces. The first was a Facebook post by the author of the famously obstreperous political blog theHornbill Gazette, commenting on the recent announcement of Freshview Industries’ splashy investment in London. The post called on the Malaysian government to clarify the details of its involvement in the development—particularly the funding arrangements.

It was not obvious what any of this had to do with Stephen. But the blogger went on to refer to Freshview’s history in Ensengei:

Stephen Jembu was the most prominent of the staunch activists and villagers who resisted the destruction of Ensengei’s ancient rainforest (and a lovely man this reporter had the pleasure to meet several times). Where is he now?

We don’t know. But we know the premier’s daughter was a director of Freshview Industriesfor several years. We also know her husband held responsibility for granting logging concessions, at least for a time.

These tangled connections call for explanation. The question we have is: What did Stephen know?

The other new search result was a recent article in one of the online Malaysian news outlets, about a vigil hosted by a civil society alliance in Kuala Lumpur, in memory of Stephen and other disappeared persons.

Ket Siong scrolled past pictures of the bereaved families. They looked less sad than angry—people who knew they had been cheated. Stephen’s family wasn’t there.

He tabbed back to theHornbill Gazette’s Facebook post and gazed at it, running his thumbnail over his bottom lip.

What was the difference between theHornbill Gazetteand Yap Ket Siong? They both had strong bonds to Malaysia, but lived in the UK. They had both known Stephen Jembu, been grieved by the horrific circumstances in which he was lost, and wanted to know what had become of him.

Ket Hau might point out that the author of theHornbill Gazette, a well-connected British woman, was shielded by her privileges of nationality, race, and class, as well as her political ties. But that wasn’t all it was. The fundamental difference was that she was brave enough to speak up, to try to do something.

Renee had once described Ket Siong as someone who cared about doing the right thing. He wasn’t sure there had been much evidence of that, in recent years.

Ket Siong wasn’t active on social media, but he did have a Facebook account. It was in fact Renee who had set it up for him, during their university days.

“You need it for your career,” she’d said. “You want people to be able to go online and see how amazing you are.”

She’d registered accounts for him on YouTube, Instagram, and Twitter, too. But they hadn’t really taken.

He’d forgotten his Facebook log-in, but it wasn’t too difficult to get back in. He was confronted by a backlog of friend requests: university acquaintances, people he’d known through work back home, parents of the kids he taught in London.

He ignored these, navigating back to theHornbill Gazette’s page.

He kept his message simple.

Hi, this is Yap Ket Siong. Could I talk to you about Stephen Jembu?

He didn’t know theHornbill Gazettepersonally, but if the author had met Stephen, she would almost certainly know of Ket Hau and possibly of their mother. If not, she’d figure it out. Malaysian civil society was a small world.

“Siong, have you seen the nail clipper?” said Ket Hau, coming into the bedroom. Ket Siong hastily closed the message thread. “I thought I put it down on the dining table—is thatFacebook?”

“Uh,” said Ket Siong. His heart was hammering against his ribs, but the screen showed nothing more incriminating than his Facebook feed—pictures of a secondary school classmate’s baby; an advert for water bottles. He cleared his throat. “It’s in the bathroom. I’ll go get it—”

“Didn’t even know you had a Facebook account,” Ket Hau marvelled. His eyes widened. “Wait. Are you stalking that woman, the one you met at the V&A?”

Ket Siong opened his mouth to issue an indignant denial. But his being on Facebook was sufficiently out of character that it demanded an explanation, and the real reason wasn’t one he wanted to share with his family.

He shut his mouth.

Ket Hau took this as a yes. He sat down on his bed, nail care and legal studies alike forgotten. “Find anything interesting?”

“No,” said Ket Siong firmly. He shut his laptop. “It doesn’t look like she’s active.”

---