by Ming Cher
The next morning before sunrise, she dug out the container quickly and hid it in her egg basket. But when she looked at the glittering watches, chains and bracelets on her kitchen table, she couldn’t bear to throw them away. She put the gold Rolex on her wrist, and fingered the fine diamonds set into the rare jade ring. She vacillated for hours between keeping or tossing everything…until she heard somebody knock on her door, which sent shock waves down her spine. She froze, unable to move, and dared not answer the door. She held her breath to control her nerves, then managed to stand up, hide the valuables in a kitchen drawer, and ask quietly, “Who is that?” in Cantonese, her main Chinese dialect.
“I am a friend of your landlord, the good doctor,” said the voice of the old kampong matchmaker in Malay. “Can I please pick a few frangipani flowers from your trees?”
“Boleh, boleh.” Big Mole answered in Malay, with some relief. But she didn’t dare open the door, to prevent the old woman from seeing the colour of fear on her face. When the shock had finally worn off, she made herself a cup of coffee. Other than her doctor landlord, nobody inside the Malay kampong had ever knocked on her door when Sachee and the General were around. She felt as if her time in the kampong was over. The neighbours are getting funny, she thought. This is no longer the place for me. I have enough money to live in a better place elsewhere. I will give Sachee half of the money from the selling the shop, when he returns. Be fair to him before I move out.
After making her decision, an idea crossed her mind. Instead of throwing the valuables into the river, she would give them anonymously to the Kwan Yin Temple in Chinatown, along with the stolen money from the murdered gangsters. The temple had given her shelter many times in her youth on the streets, and now she was able to repay the kindness. Do something good with the bad, she concluded. She wrapped everything up in red paper, went to the bank later that morning, withdrew everything in one big cashier’s order except the money she had earned honestly, then walked to the temple and slipped it all into the charity box below the altar of the Bodhisattva of Mercy. As soon as she turned around and left the temple, she was overwhelmed with a sense of relief, feeling a warm sensation rising up from below her naval to the top of her head, which seemed to release all the tensions in her body.
In the spirit of the moment, she went to see an 11am Cantonese movie, Snow in June, playing at the Majestic Theatre. When she came out again, she didn’t feel like going home yet, so she walked up to Capitol Cinema to see an English movie for the first time, a film about Helen of Troy and the Trojan War; she was surprised and excited by her ability to understand some of the English. I know more than I thought. I should see more English movies for a change.
Pleased with herself, she sat at the bus stop shelter opposite Capitol, just to watch life go by, like when she was a kid, as an informer under the thumb of Chinatown Yeow. But now she had the free choice to observe, by pleasure rather than pressure. People of all shapes, sizes, colours and facial expressions passed by, until she heard the roaring sounds of people shouting in unison: “Merdeka! Merdeka! Merdeka!” Among those in the front of the crowd shouting and pumping their fists in the air was Kwang.
Is this fate? Big Mole asked herself. On the one hand, she was already feeling free and independent, but she wanted to know where she really stood with him. She joined the marchers, who proceeded to a rally at Hong Lim Park. The large gathering had also attracted hawkers from every direction, who had come with their food on pushcarts, tricycles, or carried on their shoulders with bamboo poles, or balanced on their heads, and their presence transformed Hong Lim Park into an instant hawker centre. They sold all kinds of food—hot and cold, wet and dry, satay, bo bo cha cha, steamed rice rolls, assorted peanuts, all kinds of noodles, sliced fruits kept cold on solid blocks of ice. If there were people, there was money to be made.
Big Mole made her way to the front to search for Kwang. She saw him helping to raise some banners at the back of the stage on the far side of the park. Loudspeakers and spotlights had been put up on the stage, ready for speeches to be given.
“Hey Kwang!” she shouted and waved from a short distance away.
Kwang looked surprised. With a slight grin, he came down from the stage and said quietly, “Hey, how come you are here? Are you okay?”
She then realised that he still cared for her. “I am okay,” she replied. “What about you?”
“Still the same, still working at Woodlands. So how is Hong?”
“We are not together any more. We have been finished for nearly three months.”
“Three months?” he frowned, looking surprised. “What about Sachee—how is he?”
“Still somewhere in Malaya,” she said. “I think he’s coming back soon.”
“What about your pet fish shop?”
“I sold to Hong after we agreed to split up. Hard to explain. I don’t want to think about my shop any more. I am going to move out of my Malay kampong house when Sachee comes back. Not going to live with him when I move out. You remember what he and Hong have done.”
“Yah lah,” he said. “I think they have crossed the point of no return.”
“I can see that. I don’t want to be mixed up with them any more.”
“Good…that’s good.”
Kwang was silent for a moment, so Big Mole said, “How is your gambling habit?”
“Ahhh, still the same.”
“Are you okay with money? I can give you some.”
“No, no, use that for yourself. I have no money problems. Money is not very important to me.”
“Are you sure?” She looked him in the eyes. “What are you gambling for, if money is not important? Must be bluffing lah.”
“I am not bluffing,” he said, exhaling in annoyance. “You don’t understand what I am doing. All I can say is, I don’t want to live, live and live. I want to fight, fight and fight.”
“Fight for who?”
Kwang bent close and whispered in her ear: “I am joining the communist guerrillas.”
Big Mole knew that the communists had been branded as terrorists by the British; if caught, they would receive the death penalty.
“But why?” she said, staring at him. Kwang said nothing, and would not even look at her. “Can I see you later?” she said.
“We have a lot of work to do tonight,” Kwang said softly.
“Fine lah. You know where I will be,” she said and walked out of Hong Lim Park. Just be glad you have found the truth today, she told herself. You can’t change him. You can’t join him. Just think of how lucky you are! You are free! You have changed. You can get $800 as a bonus just for going to a fancy party. Where else could you earn that? Why not go look for a fancy dress at the Hard to Find shop, have fun at the party, and see what you think of the man Aunty Tan likes?
She made her way to the tourist centre of Orchard Road with its five-star hotels, shopping emporiums, antique shops and exclusive boutiques, and looked for the shop that the elegant manager had told her about. Along the way, she saw a blown-up photo of herself on a poster advertising Jade’s boutique. Wow, is that really me? she thought and examined the photo closely, then blew a kiss at herself before skipping away to find the fancy dress shop. She finally located it at the end of a block of one-storey pre-war shophouses that faced the Botanic Gardens.
There was a removable “BUY or HIRE” sign in the window of Hard to Find. Displayed on the walls inside were all kinds of wigs, hats, paper and wood masks, woven scarfs and racks of costumes. “Yes, can I help you?” the young salesgirl asked in English.
“I like see funny dress to party,” Big Mole said, practising her broken English.
“There are some over there,” the salesgirl told her, pointing at a clothes rack by the wall near the counter, where a middle-aged Eurasian woman in her early fifties was talking on the phone.
After looking through the racks, Big Mole said frankly. “I see no good here. You know what funny dress I like good?” This sounded incongruous, coming
from a young woman wearing a fading batik dress and cheap sandals. The salesgirl thought Big Mole might be a loony and raised a hand to signal the Eurasian woman, who had just hung up the phone.
“Are you all right there?” the Eurasian woman asked, then stopped in her tracks, her long necklace made of oblong amber beads clacking around her. “Say, do I know you?”
“I English no good,” Big Mole replied. “You talk Chinese? You talk Malay?”
“You look very familiar,” the Eurasian woman answered in perfect Malay. “How can I help you?” She had a warm face, and wore a creamy georgette blouse with light brown pants.
“I am looking for some kind of fairy dress for a fancy dress party,” Big Mole explained in Malay. She smiled her catwalk smile.
“Oh my goodness,” the woman gasped. “Are you Djalima?”
“How do you know my name?”
“I saw your photos in the windows of Jade’s boutique!” she said. “I know your manager, Mrs Tan, very well. My daughter buys most of her clothing at Jade’s shop. She would probably be much better than me at choosing something suitable for you. Can you wait?”
“Where is she now?”
“She went out to deliver some costumes for a play at the international school in Holland Road. She should be back soon. Do you have time for a coffee?”
“That would be nice,” Big Mole replied. “I am not in a hurry.”
“Come this way, Djalima.” The Eurasian lady led the way to the back of her shop, where there was a small kitchen and lounge and a broad staircase leading to the top floor.
“I am Margaret,” the Eurasian lady introduced herself as they sat at the coffee table. “I was born in southern Sulawesi. My mother is Javanese and my father is Dutch. My husband is fifth-generation Baba; he works at the Shell refinery on Pulau Bukom.”
“Do your mother and father live in Singapore?”
“They went back to Holland after Indonesia became independent just after the war. Are you from Indonesia too?”
“Yes, I came from Indonesia to Singapore when I was very small,” Big Mole said and changed the subject. “Your shop is very different from what I’ve seen before. If nobody had told me, I wouldn’t even know there was such a kind of shop. Is that why you all called it ‘Hard to Find’?”
“You have to ask my daughter, she started this business.”
“She must be very clever. How old is she?”
“Twenty-two last month. You?”
“I am twenty-one. Do you have any other children?”
“My son lives in Melbourne, and is married to a Greek girl.”
“Wow. You have a lot of mixed blood in your family.”
“I do. My sister is married to a Spaniard and lives in Brazil. I have Italian blood from my father’s grandmother. Some of her Italian cousins have migrated to France and Switzerland. We live all over the world.”
“Do you see any of them often?”
“Sadly, no. I have never been to Europe. We only write to each other. I might go and visit when my husband retires at fifty-five, in just two more years.”
“So, who makes all the fancy costumes and other things?”
“My daughter hires workers to do that. This business is her passion. I was actually a marine archaeologist! I used to do research work for some of the museums in Indonesia, about the history of ancient sailors—how they built their boats, where they went, how they lived long ago.”
“That’s very interesting,” Big Mole said, thinking of her own marine ancestry. “Do you know anything about Makassar prahus?”
“Oh yes, yes!” Margaret said, excited. “They’re in my blood—I was born in Makassar in southern Sulawesi. I intend to do further research on their history when my husband retires from Shell. Our plan is to build an original ninety-foot prahu in the traditional way from teak, with two triangular sails, and sail around the Indonesian archipelago. We want to write a book about the Makassar sailors and their prahus, and we’ve already made a scale model replica in preparation for building a full-sized one.”
“Really?”
“Yes! It’s actually in the living room upstairs. Would you like to see it?”
“Yes, please!” Big Mole said keenly.
“Finish your coffee first and then we’ll go up,” Margaret said, gesturing at Big Mole’s cup. They then heard Margaret’s daughter enter the shop, having returned from Holland Road. She stepped into the lounge, and Big Mole was taken aback to see the other woman wearing the same pastel sundress that she had modelled for Jade in the shopping mall months earlier. Although the sundress had been reproduced as part of Jade’s exclusive range later on, and was not the only one around, it made Big Mole wonder.
“Do you need a hand?” Margaret asked her daughter in Malay from the coffee table.
“No, there is nothing left inside the van,” she said as she put down an armful of coat hangers in the lounge. She looked at Big Mole and said, “Hey, you look familiar. I must have seen you from somewhere.” She had friendly eyes like her mother, and was about the same size and height as Big Mole.
“Yes, you have,” Margaret said, smiling, “in the photos at Jade’s clothing store! This is Djalima.”
“Oh! Hello, I am Li Lian,” she said. “I am wearing one of your dresses!”
“I know,” Big Mole said with a grin. “I couldn’t believe it when I saw you wearing it.”
“Djalima is looking for something to wear for a costume party,” Margaret told her daughter. “She also wants to look at our Makassar prahu replica.”
“Shall we go upstairs to look at the prahu first and choose your costume later?” Li Lian asked.
“Yes, yes, I’d like to see the replica first,” Big Mole said eagerly and followed Li Lian upstairs, while Margaret went back into the shop. There were three bedrooms in the flat, and a living room with louvred windows; the teak floor was decorated with batik cushions.
“This shophouse was built during the mid-eighteenth century by merchants who used the ground floor for business and lived upstairs,” Li Lian said proudly.
The six-foot-long replica of the Makassar prahu sat on top of a row of long bookshelves. At both ends of the shelves were globes, like bookends. Big Mole found herself attracted by the replica like a moth to light. Something inside her tingled in a way that she could not put into words.
“What do you think, Djalima?” Li Lian asked as she sat on a batik cushion.
“I don’t know what to say,” Big Mole said and shook her head. She was overwhelmed with a sense of déjà vu, and flashes of her parents’ faces in her mind. Tears began to flow down her cheeks.
Li Lian saw the tears, and got up to pat Big Mole on the arm. “Are you okay?”
“I don’t know why I am crying,” Big Mole said and wiped her eyes with her short sleeves.
“I have heard my mother say that the Makassar prahus have many secrets that are sacred to the Makassar sailors and their families.”
“Do you believe that?” Big Mole sat down on a batik cushion opposite Li Lian.
“I don’t know much about that myself, but my father and mother do. They feel as if they have a mission to find out more about the ancient history of the Makassar prahus and their sailors.” Li Lian sat up straighter. “So what about the costume for your party—do you have anything specific in mind?”
“I am not sure yet. Maybe I should dress up like a scarecrow or a fairy. Do you think that would be too much on me?”
“You’re talking about the fancy dress party at Jade’s house, right?”
“Yes—do you know Jade well?” Big Mole was beginning to feel an instant bond form between them.
“No, I have not actually met Jade yet. But my mother thinks highly of her. She says Jade has a pioneering spirit, is full of creativity and has a very sharp business sense. Did Jade tell you what to dress as for the party?”
“No, she said I can wear what I like. She is paying for it too. But I have never been to a fancy dress party before. Do you k
now anything about them?”
“I have to, Djalima!” Li Lian said and laughed. “It’s part of my business. I have been doing this for four years, ever since I dropped out of high school.”
Big Mole didn’t know anything about school; her education had been on the streets of Chinatown. “I never went to school,” she said, surprising herself by opening up. “Before I started modelling for Jade, I sold pet fish at my shop. But your business is unique. No wonder you called it ‘Hard to Find’. How did you manage to start it? Was it hard?”
“Not really. This used to be an arts and crafts shop owned by my father’s aunty. She gave the shop to me when she saw how much I enjoyed making costumes for school plays. I changed it into a fancy dress shop because it was hard to find something like that then.”
“So what kind of costume should I wear?”
“I honestly don’t think a fairy dress suits you—that’s for children. And forget the scarecrow,” Li Lian told Big Mole directly. “I know! You should dress up as Princess Sita!”
“What does she look like?”
“She is from the Ramayana epic. Here, look.” Li Lian pulled out several photo albums from the bookshelf and showed her postcard pictures of a Balinese play featuring prince Rama battling the demon king Ravana to save his wife Sita, who was wearing a glittering kebaya and a shiny crown decorated with multi-coloured dried flowers.
“Oh yes, I’d like to try that on,” Big Mole said quietly and nodded.
“Come back with me downstairs.”
When Big Mole put the Sita costume on, she couldn’t believe how beautiful it made her feel. She watched herself in the dressing mirror as Li Lian fastened the dried flower crown to her hair. Margaret gasped, “Ooh, Djalima! You will steal the show at Jade’s party. You look absolutely wonderful.”