CHAPTER 12: THE QUESTIONS THEY CARRIED
1504 Words
Thursday, 13 August 2026
JARA Studio, Stutong, Kuching — 9:15 A.M. (MYT)
London wanted the cloth before the cloth existed.
The request appeared at the top of Munirah’s screen beneath the subject line VISUAL REFERENCE FOR INSTALLATION PREPARATION.
Valerie read it once.
“They want the unfinished panel flown ahead?”
“They call it an early visual sample.”
“It is unfinished.”
“They know.”
Across the conference table, Delila Ani leaned closer to the camera from Betong. Puan Jelini sat beside her, one hand resting on a bundle of prepared thread.
“No,” Puan Jelini said.
Munirah muted herself before smiling.
Valerie looked at the attached production note. London wanted the textile placed inside the installation frame during the technical briefing so the lighting team could determine colour balance, camera exposure and architectural spacing.
“They are worried an empty frame will look incomplete,” Munirah said.
“It is incomplete,” Valerie replied. “That is the truth.”
Delila turned towards her mother.
Puan Jelini drew a thread between two fingers and examined its colour.
“Do not let an empty wall make the work hurry.”
“The wall can wait,” Valerie said.
She deleted the request.
What would travel first was limited to the empty mounting frame, exact measurements, approved colour references, sample thread cleared by the weavers, community-rights documents and photographs of the process already authorised for technical use.
No unfinished textile.
No emergency weaving schedule.
No image suggesting the work could be separated from the people responsible for it.
The frame itself would travel inside a plain protective crate. It would carry no decorative motif, no imitation pattern and no label claiming that the absence inside it represented a finished cultural statement. Beside the technical measurements, Valerie added one instruction in capital letters:
EMPTY BY COMMUNITY DECISION.
Munirah added the restrictions to the transport inventory.
“London will ask whether the empty frame is useful.”
“It will show them the dimensions.”
“They may say that is not enough.”
“Then they may learn what waiting feels like.”
Delila laughed through the screen.
“You have been spending too much time with Shinji.”
Valerie looked at her.
“That sounded nothing like him.”
“It sounded exactly like him when he is pretending not to be annoyed.”
Puan Jelini ignored them both.
“One panel,” she said.
“One panel,” Valerie repeated.
“And if London forgets?”
“We bring the frame home.”
The answer satisfied her.
The call ended at 9:48 A.M.
For several seconds, the empty mounting frame remained enlarged on the main screen.
It resembled a promise with nothing trapped inside it.
Belaja Creative Studio, Kuching — 12:05 P.M. (MYT)
Shinji answered his mother on the third call.
He had been reviewing the London transport schedule with Aris when her name appeared again across his phone.
“Mother.”
Her first sentence removed every ordinary excuse he had prepared.
His father had become dizzy during breakfast. One side of his mouth had seemed slow. His words had blurred for less than a minute before returning to normal.
“Where are you now?”
“At the hotel.”
“Has a doctor seen him?”
“He says it was fatigue.”
“That was not my question.”
Across the table, Aris stopped typing.
Shinji stood and moved towards the windows.
His parents were still in Kuala Lumpur, where his mother had spent the week attending meetings for a cultural-board programme. His father had accompanied her and spent most of the trip complaining about hotel coffee, traffic and the softness of the mattress.
“Take him to the hospital,” Shinji said.
“He refuses.”
“Then call an ambulance and let him refuse them in person.”
“Shinji.”
“Now.”
Silence followed.
His mother lowered her voice. “Your flight is Saturday.”
“I can change it.”
“You have work.”
“I have a father who may have had a transient ischaemic attack.”
“You are not a doctor.”
“No. Which is why he needs one.”
Aris looked away, giving him the privacy of not appearing to listen.
Shinji remained on the line until his mother agreed to call the hotel doctor and arrange immediate assessment.
When the call ended, he opened the airline booking.
“Make my return ticket flexible,” he said.
Aris nodded. “And London?”
“If I need to leave, you take operational control.”
“Authority limits?”
“Every community approval remains unchanged. JARA’s review and stop-work rights remain with Valerie. You do not reinterpret a condition because I am absent.”
“I know.”
“I need you to say it.”
Aris met his gaze.
“I hold operations. I do not inherit cultural authority. I do not weaken community conditions. I do not sign away JARA’s review rights.”
Shinji closed the booking page.
“Good.”
He added the Kuala Lumpur hospital, his mother and Aris to a private emergency chain. Then he moved the London production director below all three. The order would have irritated anyone accustomed to reaching him first.
Today, he did not care.
His phone remained silent on the table.
That frightened him more than another call would have.
JARA Studio — 4:35 P.M. (MYT)
The confirmation from London arrived without a name.
Candidate has signed the governing conditions and accepted formal review. Identity annex remains restricted pending the meeting on 18 August.
Munirah read the message aloud.
“The publicity language is still under negotiation.”
“Meaning?” Valerie asked.
“They removed the birthday campaign and solo textile imagery. Legal is revising the remaining international-use clauses.”
Valerie opened the attached status sheet.
The candidate had agreed that:
· the community and named weavers would speak first;
· no protected cultural meaning would be interpreted by him;
· he could be removed after formal review;
· the documentary could proceed without him.
Nothing in the document described his appearance, career or public value.
Only his willingness to accept limits.
“Do you want the name now?” Munirah asked.
“No.”
“Not even for practical preparation?”
“We are preparing questions, not admiration.”
Munirah placed the tablet on the table.
“What if he is unsuitable?”
“He is replaced.”
“And if London refuses?”
“The chair remains empty.”
Valerie returned to the travel file.
The answer surprised Munirah less than it would have a week earlier.
Outside the glass wall, JARA Studio continued towards the end of its working day. Phones rang. Fabric samples moved between tables. Indra crossed the design floor carrying two folders and paused only long enough to remind Valerie that her airport transport had been confirmed.
The project had found a candidate.
Valerie still cared more about the conditions surrounding him than the man himself.
For now, that felt safe.
She signed the status acknowledgement without opening the restricted annex. Her signature approved the review process only. It did not welcome the candidate, protect his reputation or promise that he would survive the questions waiting for him in London.
Belaja Creative Studio — 6:10 P.M. (MYT)
Shinji gave Valerie the final travel file in person.
The studio had emptied except for Aris, who remained in the far meeting room speaking with London production.
Valerie opened the folder.
Transport documents. Installation schedule. Emergency contacts. Delegation structure.
Her eyes stopped at the flexible return ticket clipped behind Shinji’s itinerary.
Then she saw Aris’s temporary operational authorisation.
“Is there a problem?”
“Possibly.”
“With London?”
“No.”
Shinji remained standing across from her desk, one hand inside his trouser pocket.
“My parents are in Kuala Lumpur. My father had an episode this morning.”
“What kind of episode?”
“Dizziness. Brief facial weakness. Slurred speech.”
Valerie’s expression changed.
“Has he been examined?”
“A hotel doctor saw him. He is being taken for scans.”
“And you are still flying to London?”
“For now.”
The answer carried the precision of someone holding himself still because movement might release something less manageable.
Valerie closed the travel file.
“You do not have to explain more than you want to.”
“I may need to leave London without notice.”
“Then you leave.”
“Aris will protect the project. He has the operational structure, and every community condition remains unchanged.”
“I know.”
“JARA retains review and stop-work rights.”
“I read the delegation.”
“No decision will be made around you.”
“Shinji.”
He stopped.
Valerie looked at him carefully.
“I wasn’t asking about the project.”
For once, Shinji had no prepared answer.
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