Big Mole

by Ming Cher

  Kwang had gone through a soul-searching period after he’d split up with his childhood girlfriend, who had had a secret affair with Chinatown Yeow. He had then drifted into construction jobs in steel fixing, moving from one worksite to another like a nomad for over seven years, working for sharp sub-contractors who knew exactly what their workers were worth. He had become a leading hand at bar bending, with three guys working under him. As the front man at the bending table, he had to continually lift the top part of the bender to fit in the one-inch steel bars for bending. He said, “Oops!” when stopping slowly, or “Ooff!” for enough, to control the momentum as he and his men dragged the long bending handles together, making sure the angle was just right, not over-bent or needing to be re-bent. He didn’t like to waste time while working.

  But when he saw Hong coming, he sent his three workmates away so that he and Hong could have a private chat. “Hey, do me a favour,” he said politely to them. “Go and get some more one-inch bars from the cutter.” The bars were over three hundred yards away and it would take them some time to return.

  Kwang looked relaxed, although the sun was so hot that he needed to wear thick cotton clothing to absorb his sweat. “Hey, how you know I am here?” he asked, grinning while he wiped his face with his rolled-up sleeves, which displayed powerful arms—strengthened by his constant lifting work—that had knocked out bigger guys with just one quick punch. He had a rugged face and lean body browned by the sun, and looked older than his actual age.

  “Koon tell me,” Hong said briefly, looking for Kwang’s reaction.

  “He say anything about the twenty dollars I borrow from him?” Kwang asked. “I told him I can get him a job here for six dollars a day. He said he will think about it.”

  “Did he?” Hong sighed at the irony, then soberly broke the news: “Koon is dead.”

  “What?” Kwang stepped back, looking confused, not sure if he had heard Hong correctly.

  “Koon is gone, dead.” Hong gestured with a crooked finger. “Die from a gang clash this afternoon in Temple Street.”

  “Gang clash with who?” Kwang asked, showing no anger, no shock, nothing. He spaced out for a while before he continued. “Funny thing, I have a strange feeling about Koon today. Hard to believe he is gone. So…what do you think we should do?”

  “Not sure,” Hong replied. “We have to think about that.”

  Kwang wiped his sweaty face on his sleeve again and blinked. “Koon only has an old mother at home. You seen her yet?”

  “Not yet.”

  “We should do that together. See what we can do for Koon’s funeral.”

  “Right, right.” Hong nodded half-heartedly, because it was hard to disagree.

  “Can you wait until five for me to finish?” he said. “Forty minutes only. We can have a proper talk later. My guys are coming back; I have to work.”

  “I know, I can see lah. My bike is there.” Hong pointed at where Botak and the truck diver were unloading the round steel bars. “Okay for me to wait for you?”

  “Yah, see you later,” Kwang replied. He hurriedly returned to his work.

  Kwang finished at 5pm, took a quick bath and put on clean clothing, including his round-necked Swan brand white cotton T-shirt, which was cheap, easy to wash and dried quickly. He approached Hong, still waiting near his 50cc bike. “Let’s makan first. You hungry?”

  “Yah man. Where to go?” Hong asked, although he was in no mood to eat. He wanted to talk about the situation regarding Big Mole instead.

  “Woodlands hawker centre,” Kwang said. “Koon and I eat there when he was here last time.” He got on the back of Hong’s bike. On their way out, as they passed the gate, Kwang waved at the Sikh watchman, who waved back as if they were good friends.

  At the hawker centre, Hong didn’t want to bring up the topic of the dead while they ate. After they had finished their fried noodles, and were drinking their coffees, he said, “Big Mole and I live together for nearly half a year. That’s because of you—you introduce us.”

  “Long time ago what,” Kwang replied dismissively, then asked the question that had been bothering him. “What did Big Mole and Sachee say about what happen to Koon?”

  Hong shook his head. “I don’t think they know yet. I have not told them.”

  Kwang sat back and frowned. “What do you mean, you not told them yet?”

  “My head is jammed. I can’t think straight,” Hong admitted, and related the whole story of what happened earlier with the tiger at Temple Street, and also about his own fear for Big Mole’s safety.

  Kwang smoked his Camel cigarettes, and listened patiently without interrupting, until Hong had finished talking. Then Kwang said promptly, “We better go to Big Mole’s shop now. Talk about Koon’s funeral later.”

  Hong was glad to hear that. “It’s hard to find a friend like you,” he said. It was nearly 6.30pm when they left the hawker centre and rode toward Big Mole in Geylang.

  •

  As the sun was setting that Friday the 13th in Geylang, Big Mole’s pet fish shop appeared to be quiet inside, but in the backyard, a group of ex-spider boys was busy smoking and chatting. Fearless Sachee was lining up a dozen fighting fish, each in a clear glass jar, in a row along the long scaffolding table. When the cardboard between the jars was removed, the fish could see their opponents and displayed their full fury, puffing up their mouths and red gills, whipping and slashing at the water with their dark turquoise scales, rubbing their bodies vigorously against the transparent glass barriers, spoiling for a fight.

  Sachee was four years younger than Big Mole and they had stuck together ever since seeing each other begging on the streets in Chinatown; his grandmother had taught him how to beg at a young age, but she was dead now. When Sachee was eleven years old, he had stabbed to death a notorious bully named Chai with a long, sharp fruit knife hidden inside a rolled-up newspaper. Nothing in him had really changed over the years, except that he had grown stronger and taller than the average man; he basically lived on impulse, like those around him. He helped to run the shop, and lived with Big Mole and Hong inside the big Malay kampong in Geylang.

  “Bets all fifty cents each,” he said as he removed the cardboard screens between jars. “Pick your choice before I roll dice.”

  Big Mole was counting the day’s earnings at the counter near the wide sliding front door when she heard the slamming of car doors opposite the junction with the main road. Three fierce-looking men exited a black Vauxhall, with another one remaining in the driver’s seat. Their eyes were focused on her shop as they waited for the traffic to clear, so that they could cross the road. Immediately sensing that something was wrong, she zipped into the backyard and locked the door behind her, then clapped her hands at the noisy ex-spider boys sitting at the long scaffolding table.

  “Hey, hey, listen!” she whispered loudly. “Three funny-looking men coming from the road. Don’t look good to me. Any of you have anything to do with them?”

  A small-time thief whispered back, “Look like undercover cops or not?”

  “No lah, nothing like that.” She brushed aside her shoulder-length, wavy hair and put her hand on her slim waist, trying to project confidence with her body language.

  A fly-by-night said, “Okay, Big Mole, what you want us to do?”

  Fearless Sachee answered, “I go see what they want.”

  “No, not you, Sachee.” Big Mole smacked his thick arm like she had in their old street days. “Don’t rush for nothing—let me handle them.”

  Before he could think of a response, there came several knocks on the back door, which caused everybody to fall silent. When the knocking got louder, Big Mole whispered, “What the fuck do they want?” with her hands up, talking rough to psych herself into acting tougher than she was. She looked at the backdoor rats in front of her, and knew not to be afraid; together, rats could eat up a crocodile.

  The banging got louder, as if the fierce men were about to break down her back door. Sachee could
not stand the sound any longer; he grabbed an 18-inch-long water pipe an inch in a diameter, from the dozen underneath the long scaffolding table, and told her quietly, “Let me go, Big Mole, let me smash them up!”

  “I go with you too,” the fly-by-night said.

  All the others agreed. “Yah, let us go, Big Mole!” they whispered loudly.

  “Shush.” Big Mole pointed a finger at them. “Listen, listen to me. Don’t do anything stupid unless they ask for it, okay? Let me check them out. Split up first, round up the place.”

  The backdoor rats knew exactly what to do. One group seized their own pipes and slipped past the small back gate to edge around the property toward the front. Sachee and a few others squeezed behind the breeding area for the pet fish on the far left, hidden from the back door, and got closer to Big Mole. The banging on the door continued loudly while she was unlocking it. “Coming! Coming! I am coming!” she yelled.

  She opened the back door and filling the frame was a beefy man with fishy eyes, who looked to be in his thirties. Behind him were two men in their late twenties: one leant against her shop counter, and the other was watching the fish swimming in their tanks near the sliding front door.

  The beefy man eyed Big Mole from head to toe, then asked, “You hear me knocking your door or what?”

  “Yes, I did. I was in the toilet,” Big Mole lied calmly. “Can I help you?”

  He ignored her and stood on tiptoes, craning his thick neck above her to scan across the backyard. The long table was empty—the fighting fish and cups of coffee had all been removed by the quick hands of the backdoor rats, giving the appearance that she was completely alone. “Are you the owner here?” he asked

  “Yes, I am,” Big Mole replied. “What can I do for you?”

  “Nothing much,” he said, staring at her. “Come to talk business, is all.”

  “Ah, what kind of business is that?” She played dumb, fully aware that nobody “talked business” by banging on doors.

  “Fish business. Show me your fish,” he said and moved aside for her to enter the shop. She knew that these men were dangerous; they might have come to kidnap and rape her, or even sell her to a faraway brothel in Malaya. This was known to happen. What else could it be, since they had a car waiting outside?

  “Sure, what kind of fish you like?” She sashayed her hips as she walked, as if to tempt them.

  The cheeky one leaning against the counter whistled. “I like your bum. You a virgin ah?”

  “Don’t be so rude,” she said, but smiled invitingly, to see what would happen.

  The beefy man closed the back door and blocked it with his body. The one watching the pet fish swimming in their tanks turned and closed the sliding front door. The cheeky one grabbed Big Mole from behind, pinning her arms and squeezing her throat. She screamed her loudest; the back door burst inward, followed by Sachee and three of his backdoor rats. The thatched leaves in the roof trembled with the impact, and the beefy man stumbled forward under the assault. Sachee smashed his pipe into the cheeky one’s face, and the man immediately let Big Mole go. The third man reopened the sliding front door to escape, but was shoved back into the shop by the other group of backdoor rats who’d been waiting outside; they came in quickly and closed the sliding door behind them.

  It was all over in seconds. Big Mole readjusted her bra strap, and rubbed her aching arms and throat, not really hurt but just shaken up. Her attacker lay on the floor of the shop, shivering and bleeding from his forehead, nose and mouth. He tried to talk, but no words would come out, only a gurgling sound; his jaw was clearly broken.

  The beefy man was lying on his side, unmoving. No blood was visible on his body, but the backdoor rats had rained down blows upon him with their pipes, bashing his bones and internal organs. His fishy eyes stared wide with raw horror and he breathed heavily.

  The one who had tried to escape trembled like a leaf in the wind. He collapsed to his knees when Sachee dragged him in front of Big Mole so she could decide what to do with him. She was not frightened; she was furious about what could have happened to her had Sachee and the backdoor rats not been there, about how many girls this trio might have raped and sold into slavery. She bent down and yelled in the face of the trembling leaf: “You trying to fuck me here or what!”

  The leaf shook his head from side to side. “No, not me, not my fault!”

  “You better be straight with me,” she growled. “Tell me the truth. What do you want from me?” She wanted him to confess openly, not just for her sake but for that of everybody in the shop, for she knew that the truth was crucial for survival at the knife’s edge of life.

  “I was told to come. I know nothing,” he mumbled.

  “Told by who?”

  The leaf looked wearily at his two half-dead accomplices. Big Mole knew he was trying to keep his code of silence in every way possible, out of fear rather than courage.

  “Well,” she said cunningly, “if you are afraid of them, you might as well finish them off yourself.”

  “That’s right!” a backdoor rat agreed. “That’s the way, Big Mole. Let him do the rest himself. Save our hands from getting dirty.”

  She looked at the leaf. “So how? Are you going to do it?” The leaf shook his head and whimpered. “If not, you will have to eat the shit in the toilet buckets.” This was an old trick she had learnt from Chinatown Yeow when she was still under his thumb.

  The leaf didn’t know what to do. He broke down and sobbed.

  An impulsive rat gave him a kick in the side of his head. A loose cannon bashed him in the jaw and said, “I put his head in the shit bucket for you, Big Mole.” Someone else punched his face, and another kicked him in the gut. Then the mob took over, beating and kicking the trembling leaf until he was half-dead himself.

  The temperature cooled as dusk fell. Through the smashed back door, the fingers of sunlight that had slipped into the shop were fading, just as with the tempers of those inside, as though the demons of impulsiveness and rage had left. The shop filled with silence, the only sound being the varieties of pet fish swimming in their tanks—the goldfish, the angelfish, the rainbow fish.

  Big Mole gasped suddenly. “Oh! I forgot! Another one of them was waiting in a black car on the opposite side of the road.”

  Sachee dashed outside. When he returned, he said, “There is no black car outside! He must have run away, escaped!”

  “That means we have to watch out,” a small-time thief warned. “Sachee, what you think we must do?”

  “Better ask Big Mole first.”

  She knew that the one who had escaped would come back with more gangsters sooner or later. She also worried about getting caught red-handed by the cops for the three half-dead men in her shop. The backdoor rats might abandon ship for survival in the storm, and leave her with no crew on board to defend her. After calculating the odds, she decided that getting rid of the three half-dead men was more important than worrying about the one who had got away. She knew she had to be careful, even though the backdoor rats would bend over backwards for her.

  She said to the small-time thief, “No matter what happens, we must wait and see. Can you all wait for Hong to come back and see what we can do together?”

  The fly-by-night asked, “Wait for how long?”

  “Won’t be long,” she said as she looked at the clock, which read 6.30pm. “Hong told me he is going with Koon to catch up with Kwang, who is working in Woodlands.”

  Although Kwang was not interested in fighting fish and seldom appeared at the shop, everybody there liked him. They knew he was a man of his word, had a quick mind, the guts and nerve to go against the odds, and win. Somebody said to her, “You mean, Kwang will be here tonight?”

  “Yes, I guess so.” She lied a bit to placate everyone—she was expecting to see Koon and Hong, but not Kwang.

  The loose cannon said, “If Kwang is coming, I don’t mind waiting.”

  “That’s right,” Sachee said, supporting him in order to smoo
th out the edgy situation and pressure the rest to wait with them.

  •

  The half-moon was quite bright in the cloudless night around 7.30pm, when Kwang and Hong arrived at Big Mole’s pet fish shop. Light from the shop’s interior phosphorus lamp seeped out of the gaps of the thatched roof. Hong felt a sense of relief as he shut off his motorbike.

  “I think Sachee and his mates still around,” he said. “The big bright lamp is on inside.”

  “Must be.” Kwang got off the back seat and knocked on the front door of the shop.

  Sachee and his backdoor rats were eating satay at the long scaffolding table visible through the broken back door, and a stolen portable radio played Mandarin pop songs. They couldn’t hear the knocking on the front door from the backyard.

  Big Mole was playing solitaire again at the shop’s counter to keep herself calm, while at the same time keeping an eye on the three half-dead men. They looked washed out in the light of the phosphorus lamp that was attached to the main beam of the thatched leaf roof by a long thin rod, and hardly moved at all now. As she played her cards, she wondered what the backdoor rats would do when Hong came back with Koon, rather than Kwang, whom they were expecting. It was not easy to wait with the weight of that white lie on her shoulders. Every second seemed to stretch much longer than usual.

  So many problems had to be addressed, such as how to survive when the black Vauxhall driver returned with his gang to take revenge. Would they burn down her shop or scar her face with sulphuric acid? Could Hong help at all? The cold hard fact was that everybody was waiting for Kwang, not Hong or Koon. She didn’t expect to see Kwang at all. His knocks on the door were nearly drowned out by the loud Mandarin pop songs being played in the backyard. She heard it faintly, and held her breath warily as she walked to the sliding front door to see who was there.