Bitter Sweet Harvest (27 page)

People passed, some delighted with the display of affection. “
Ma guarda! Amore!
Look at them! Love!”

A
n Mei placed the book down and looked at the clock on the wall. She had not read a single line. Her mind had wandered and drifted. It had weaved in and out of time. She could smell the lavender as though the oil from the crushed flower heads still lingered on her fingers.

Mark should have been home by now, she thought.

She got up from the armchair and paced the room; she passed the table where she had laid the album, tempted to look at it again. She heard a car turn into the driveway; a roar of the engine and then silence. Headlights shone straight through her drawn curtains illuminating the room. She ran to the window, drawing the curtains aside to look out. A shadow emerged from the car hauling a bag. She knew it was him. With quick nimble steps, her feet tingling from the cool tiles, she hurried to the door. She drew the bolts and unlocked the door, flinging it open, shivering as the damp outside air, hit her. She drew her kimono close around her and stood waiting for him. He was soon with her. Dropping his bag, he took her in his arms and buried his nose in her neck.

“It’s good to be home,” Mark said. He relinquished his hold reluctantly. “You shouldn’t have stayed up, but I am glad you did. Come, let’s close the door and go in. It’s chilly out here.”

An Mei tucked her arm into his. “Good journey?” she asked. “Would you like a drink?”

“I’ll have one later. How’s Tim?”

“Come and see. I tucked him into bed early this evening.”

They opened the door gently, pausing every now and then to break the sound of creaking hinges. Timothy was sound asleep; his eyelashes lay like a fan on his plump cheeks. They watched the steady rhythm of his breathing. Mark took her hand and brought it to his lips. “He is a beautiful boy,” he whispered. He went over to Timothy and gently kissed his forehead. “I missed him even for the short time I was away. But we should leave him to his sleep.”

“So how was England? How did the Conference go?” asked An Mei closing the bedroom door and tucking her arms once more into his.

“The Conference went well and I saw your parents in Oxford. Your mum is practically running everything now and the restaurant in Oxford is flourishing. The one in London is also doing extremely well. I went with your parents to have a meal and it was packed; a queue developed while we were there.

“What about dad? Is he well?”

“Your dad is well; thinner, much thinner. They would like you to visit them.”

“I will. Perhaps when I come back from Thailand. You remember don’t you that I have to go to Bangkok to our regional office for Asia and Pacific, FAO’s RAPA as they call it, to backstop a project in the Menam Chao Praya?”

“Thailand! That is what I want to speak to you about. I will have to go to Singapore around the time when you are in Thailand.” His face was bright with excitement.

“This unexpected travel is a result of the agreement reached at the Conference. Usually things take so long to happen after a meeting. But this time, the follow-up is moving at top speed. It is one of the conditions stipulated by a major donor in return for its agreement.”

“What will you have to do?”

“I have to make the preliminary arrangements for a mission to be fielded in that part of the world. Basically I will do most of the paper work here in Rome, set up a series of meetings in Singapore from here, and then, when I am in Singapore, finalise the arrangements. Could we meet up in Singapore? I leave Rome for Singapore only towards the end of your mission in Thailand, so I can bring Tim along. Then if you take some leave after Thailand, and I do the same, we’ll be able to be together in Singapore. I would need to juggle with some dates and the holiday might be in tranches. I have to work some days, but we’ll be together.”

“What a wonderful idea! Aunt Nelly would like that. She is not coming this year and I was already toying with the idea of going over to see her. This would be perfect. I shall get to see Jane’s new baby; in fact, her other one as well. I have not seen any of them because I have not been back to Singapore since I left. I am excited.”

She stopped, a frown appeared on her face. “It’s alright isn’t? I mean to go to Singapore with Tim?”

He thought for a while. “We won’t be going to Malaysia and no one knows about him except for you, me and the family. Everyone here thinks of Tim as my son.”

“Then let’s call Aunt Nelly and tell her now; it should be early morning in Singapore.”

Turning to her husband, a delighted mischievous smile on her face, she said. “Aunt Nelly will want to baby sit for us, I am sure.”

“
Phew! To think I thought Rome was hot in summer,” exclaimed Mark, mopping his forehead. It was gleaming with sweat. He donned his hat quickly. He could feel the heat washing over him. “Why is it that no one wears a hat to protect them from the sun in Singapore?” he asked looking around him.

An Mei followed his gaze. People walked by; there was not a cap or hat in sight.

“I have never given it a thought,” replied An Mei. “We just don’t. Farmers do, but city people don’t. Perhaps, it is because we are used to the sun. It’s the same in Malaysia.”

A bus stopped and disgorged its passengers. They came down single file; the waiting crowd moved aside for the disembarking passengers. Mark looked on with surprise.

“How orderly! That is really impressive,” he remarked, recalling his experiences of buses elsewhere in the region. “In India, you would have the bus so packed that people would be hanging on to it by their fingernails; and, of course, the scramble to get on and off a bus is just wild.”

“Yes! Singapore is renowned for its cleanliness and orderliness.” An Mei grinned. “There is a penalty for practically everything: littering, throwing away chewing gum, smoking in public places, even the flushing of toilets. It works but that does not stop Malaysians from making jokes about Singapore. You see Malaysians are proud of their more
laissez faire
approach to life. Did you know that the authorities here in Singapore frown on men with long hair? If you have long hair, you might not get served! Don’t laugh! There was a campaign against hippy culture some years back.”

She recalled Hussein’s long hair and his refusal to cross the causeway from Johor to Singapore because he would have had to cut his hair. Her heart quickened. It had been a long time since she had thought of him. But coming to Singapore, despite it being different from Malaysia, brought back sharp memories.

Mark saw her sudden change of mood. “Are you okay? Cobwebs from the past?” he asked gently.

“I’m fine. Let’s get you to your meeting. I will walk you there, do some shopping and come back here. See that hotel? I shall be in the coffee house on the first floor waiting for you at around 5 o’clock. Tim is with Nelly. We have the evening to ourselves. Why don’t we do something different? I feel ... I feel...”

“Naughty? Wicked?” he suggested, looking at her impish grin.

“Yes! I have always wanted to go to Bugis Street. Jeremy told me about it when I first met him. Yes! That’s what we’ll do,” she said, determined to enjoy their holiday. She propelled him gently forward.

“What’s Bugis Street? What’s there?”

“I will tell you, but after.”

They arrived in front of a tall building.

“Here we are. I’ll leave now. See you later. Remember 5 o’clock,” she said waving goodbye.

An Mei turned and walked towards a side street. She waited at the kerb, gauging when she could cross. A car passed her. It pulled to the side of the road and came to an abrupt stop; she saw from behind the tinted window of the car, someone looking at her. She looked away and stepped quickly into the crowd of people, joining them in the march across the road. Once across, she looked quickly back to where the car was. It had gone. Just my mind playing games with me, she thought.

It was dusk when they made their way to Bugis Street. Determined to play the perfect tourist escort, An Mei had bought a guide to Singapore and read up on it whilst waiting for Mark in the café.

“It’s probably not as exciting as it once was,” she said. “A campaign to clean up the place is being planned. Still, I hear it is almost mandatory for tourists to visit it.”

“You sound very mysterious. I am getting more and more curious by the minute. Because you were so evasive, I asked some of the people at the meeting that I just attended, whether they’ve been to Bugis Street and what’s there. I got quite a few glad claps on my back; they laughed and said, see for yourself!”

“It’s called Bugis Street because a long, long time ago the Bugis, a sea-faring people from South Sulawesi in Indonesia, use to travel up the river that runs into this area to trade with the local merchants. The area has a chequered history. During the Japanese occupation, it was known for the nightclubs and brothels for Japanese soldiers. Now of course, it is famous...”

Before she could finish her sentence, a woman with a plunging neckline had sashayed right between them, her formidable chest crushed into Mark. She was beautiful; long black hair, perfectly moulded lips painted a bright red and large come hither eyes. She winked, her face brazen, suggestive. An Mei gulped, rendered speechless by the boldness of the woman, her voluptuous body and how she moved. Mark, taken by surprise, stepped back. The woman laughed. “Sorry,” she said, her voice deep and husky, “you are occupied, I see. What a pity!” She walked away, her hips swinging. Heads turned, people whistled. She smiled and waved like a celebrity.

“She ... she must be one of those I read about. Look ... she is not a woman! She is...”

“A transvestite!
Malu!
Shame!” said a voice behind her.

An Mei turned, but no one was there. She looked keenly into the crowd and saw beyond them a car parked at the corner. She was sure that it was the same car she had seen earlier in the afternoon. She turned and grabbed Mark’s hand. “I think we have been followed. That car there,” she said turning to point. But there was no car. “It was a dark blue car, a Mercedes,” she added lamely.

“Darling, you must not be frightened. There are many blue Mercedes in Singapore. You are a free woman. There is nothing to be frightened about. Come let’s go home. We have probably seen all we want to see. This way, we’ll still see Tim before he goes to bed.”

“Sorry, I’m just jittery.” She smiled. “All in my head.”

The next morning they emerged from the white-fronted house with a little white gate and fence that separated the residence from the road. Timothy jumped and bounced with excitement. “Tiger garden! Ah Kun said I should go to Tiger Garden!”

“He means the Haw Par Villa,” said Nelly. “I would advise against that,” she said quietly to An Mei. “Too frightening for a young child; full of scenes of torture. I am going to tell Ah Kun off for even suggesting it. The Jurong Bird Park would be a better place, ideal in fact. Lots of ground for him to run about.”

They were standing in front of the house, waiting for the taxi. Mark and An Mei stood on either side of Timothy holding on to his hands.

“Swing me daddy; swing me mummy!” Tim yelled. His laughter and voice carried over to the car parked a short distance opposite the house. It had been there since the previous night when it followed An Mei and Mark’s journey home from Bugis Street. It looked inconspicuous; a driver was engaged in polishing its bonnet. The deep shade of the angsana tree, and the tinted windows of the car shielded the lone figure within. Hunched in one corner, he had slid low down in the back seat. The child’s voice floated through the window that was wound some two inches down. He peeped out and started. His eyes widened in surprise. Rage ran through him, currents that tore at his insides. He looked at the man smiling down at the little boy, his pale hand grasping the little brown one. He knocked discreetly on the window, indicating to the driver to get into the car. They waited. They watched as a taxi arrived. They saw the three adults and child get into the car. “
Ikut-nya!
Follow them!” Ahmad said.

Ahmad got out of the car and followed them, keeping a gap of some 20 yards. Once in the park, the child broke free and ran ahead. Ahmad saw that within seconds, the man they called Mark and An Mei had sprinted forward. They caught up easily with the little boy. They held on to his hands, laughing and playing, while waiting for Nelly to catch up. Ahmad bade his time; he stooped to tie his shoelace, hiding his face. He reconciled himself that it would be a long wait before the opportunity rose to do what he had just decided.

He followed them visiting one section after another: pelicans, parrots, flamingos, parrots, mandarin ducks, and the ibis. He saw Nelly flagging. Her walk became slower and slower. The crowd got denser as the day grew. He had no problem in camouflaging himself; at times he had to merge with others in the crowd and pretend that he was with them. He made sure that his face remained hidden, especially from An Mei. He felt confident that she would not recognise him. Not with this beard, he thought. There was no reason for them to expect him in Singapore. He listened to their chatter, his ears tuned to their voices. He watched, his eyes sharp.

Two hours went by.

He heard Mark say, his voice filled with concern, “Nelly would you like to sit on that bench and rest? You must be so tired. Here,” he continued, lifting Timothy off his shoulders, “Tim can stay with you for a while; An Mei and I will just pop over to that little booth and get some refreshments. What would you like?”

“Yes, what would you like?” repeated An Mei in Cantonese.

“Anything that is cold. I must admit that my feet are starting to swell up in this heat.”

“Stay here with Aunt Nelly,” An Mei told her son. “I’ll get you an ice cream if you are good.” She patted him on the head and left with Mark.

Ahmad stood to one side, one arm resting on the wooden barricade that separated the path from a gigantic birdcage. He kept watch on the little boy and Nelly, but always mindful to keep his bearded face turned sideways. Five minutes went by. He glanced quickly in the direction of the refreshment booth. A long queue had developed and he could see that Mark and An Mei were still some way behind their turn. He looked back at the little boy. He could see that he was getting restless and bored.