Handpicked

by Siew Siang Tay

  Three blocks on, her feet still do not slow down. It is two in the afternoon and there’s hardly anyone around. The quiet disturbs her. Is it like this elsewhere in Australia?

  The lights of the chandelier dance and shimmer in her head. Within minutes, she covers the main shopping area, gazing absently at items in Bargain Basement, at Gabby’s Gifts. She walks about aimlessly, trying to shake off the sensation of the soft plush carpet.

  She’s sure the owners of the house are rich, although the lady was dressed in ordinary clothes, just like the people who pass her now in the street.

  At one shop, posters are plastered on the glass wall. She looks at the sign and recognises that it’s the same newsagency (she’s learnt the word) that Jim had ducked into once to buy something while she sat in the car. She walks in. A sea of magazine covers fill the racks. Her eyes survey the place until they locate a pile of newspapers nearby. She grabs one, pays for it and leaves.

  Back in the caravan, she flicks through the paper over a cup of coffee. Her eyes are alert, as they have been over the last week, taking in everything: the fruit and vegetables prices at Woolworths, billboards, signs, notices stuck on the community bulletin board. ‘Lost cocker spaniel’. ‘Houseboat for hire’. ‘Toastmasters Club’. ‘Salsa dancing classes’. Words that don’t mean anything to her. While Jim busied himself in the newsagency, she had checked them out, hawk-eyed. If she keeps her antennae up, something will pop out.

  Now she scrutinises the ads in the classifieds. Pets for sale, cars for sale, obituaries, rental accommodation. Her mind darts about. The pages hiss. Her eyes scan the columns, shooting up and down the page until they rest on the travel section. She notes the countless airline ads. London, Paris, Los Angeles, Bangkok, Bali, Auckland, Kuala Lumpur, round the world. Phuket, eight nights from $1099; Bali, four nights from $889. No, she doesn’t want holiday packages, she wants the direct flights. Singapore $899; Kuala Lumpur $999; Kuching $1099. Too expensive. Plus she can’t bear the thought of facing her father again.

  She flips the page. Sydney $189; Perth $259; Melbourne $129. She could move to another city. Australia is a big country. She could get a job, explore the place, discover Australia and what it has to offer at her own pace. Get away from this disgusting caravan. Jim would never find her. Wouldn’t even try.

  Melbourne is a possibility. She reaches for her bag, pulls out the photocopy of a map of Australia, locates Adelaide, then Melbourne, putting her finger and thumb between the two cities to gauge the distance while checking the scale. About 900 kilometres. That’s about the same distance as Kuching to Kota Kinabalu. Then she takes out her wallet and fishes out the notes, folded neatly and held together with a paperclip. She counts: $600, the money Mak had given her, converted into Australian dollars. She still remembers the look in her mother’s eyes as she handed her the money. After paying for her ticket to Melbourne, she would have $471 left. How long could that last? Weeks? A month? Two months? Where would she live? Where would she go when she got off the plane? How would she find a job? She has no skills apart from cleaning, cooking and doing physical work around the longhouse. She doesn’t know anyone. She doesn’t know anything.

  If only she’d been better prepared. The library at Kapit was ill-stocked. There were nice hardcover books with pictures of the Australian scenery, koalas and kangaroos, an issue of the Australian newspaper, which was about a year old, but that was as much information about Australia she could lay her hands on. The Kuching library might have been a better place but there was no way she could have risked another trip to Kuching without her parents becoming suspicious. She recalls her father eyeing her as she made up an excuse for going there that first time. To visit a friend from school who’s moved there, she said, praying her stutter would not give away the fact that she was going to the dating agency.

  Laila sits there and contemplates her life. She sees the entire country of Australia spinning around her, orbiting around the miserable little caravan. One person. She only knows one person in this country. And he has let her down.

  She flings the paper against the wall. The pages disperse and sprawl on the floor. She gets up and kicks them, sending them flying, then steps on the sheets, grinding and tearing them. She paces around the little space, walls closed in—no different from those of the longhouse.

  She hits her fist against the wall. The caravan rattles. Then she slumps to the bed, pushes her head into the pillow and bursts into tears.

  6

  THE OFFICE IS TUCKED in a corner past the restaurant. Fishing his wallet out of his pocket, Jim walks through the doorway. Geoff is expecting him.

  ‘Hi there, Jim, how’re you going?’ Geoff says, pointing to the chair in front of him.

  ‘Yeah, good. Yourself?’

  ‘Not bad.’

  Jim takes a seat, and opens his wallet. He slaps the money on the desk. ‘Consider it paid in full.’

  Geoff takes the notes and counts them quickly. ‘Now, let me confirm the date.’ He flicks the pages of a big diary on his desk and traces the details with his finger. ‘Fifth of May, right? Three in the afternoon…Thanks for choosing us, Jim. You’ll not be disappointed.’

  ‘Renmark Club. You’re the best joint in this place. Why wouldn’t I choose you?’

  ‘You’re sure the lady doesn’t want to have a say in the decorations?’ Geoff gives him a questioning look.

  ‘Nah, she said to leave it with you.’

  ‘Not even the arrangements in the room, choice of flowers?’

  ‘We’ll be alright, mate.’ Jim’s voice is artificially light and carefree.

  All women love a wedding, even if it isn’t their own. He swears when Laila hears his rundown, starting with the limousine, the church, then adjourning here for the reception, when she sees the room decked out, which she will on the eve of the wedding for the trial run, she’ll be thrilled. He might get her feedback on the menu, although he’s pretty sure she wouldn’t kick up a fuss. She hardly knows what’s what anyway. The two times they ate out, she’d asked him to order for her. That was weeks ago now.

  Thank God for Mum’s inheritance. The $3500 left over has come in handy. Mum would have approved, anyway—if she was alive now, she would have offered to pay for it. Mum loved weddings. He remembers the times she used to take him to weddings when he was a boy—the neighbour’s daughter’s wedding, her best friend’s niece’s wedding. He couldn’t make out what was what, but he can still see the images in his head: big flouncy white gowns, flowers of different colours, the church music, candles, cakes, drinks.

  The preparations for this wedding will lift Laila out of her gloomy mood. At tea in the Club last time, she’d been tongue-tied. He’d tried to make conversation but she responded with one-word answers, playing with her food and tossing the pieces of steak she’d cut up around her plate. She looked everywhere except directly at him.

  It’s a waiting game now, only a question of time. Mostly it’d worked in the past, but, as he recalls, sometimes it doesn’t. Sally—was it?—she had the stubbornness of a donkey. Wouldn’t budge for more than three weeks.

  ‘Okay, you know best.’ Geoff takes out his receipt book from the drawer. ‘It’s an important occasion. You need to be sure everything will turn out well. I’ll put Patsy in charge. You can count on her.’ He writes on a sheet, tears it off and hands it to Jim. ‘Here you go then. I’ll see you on the day.’

  Jim takes the receipt, winks at him and sways his head.

  ‘Cheers, mate.’

  As he leaves, Jim checks out the dining room, pictures the tables and chairs arranged and decorated, his mates and their girls all dressed up, the buzz of conversation, of laughter, the clink of glasses, the swish of her gown. What about the speech? At the weddings he’s attended, the groom always made a speech. That will be tough. He’d look ridiculous talking out of a piece of paper.

  The reception arrangements out of the way, he now focuses on other details: celebrant, photographer, limousine.

 
Outside Woolworths, wheeling the trolley, Jim asks Laila if she wants to look around at the shops.

  ‘What about the stuff?’ Laila says pointing at the trolley.

  ‘We’ll just dump it in the car,’ he says.

  ‘Won’t the food go bad?’

  ‘Nah. It’s cool enough.’

  ‘In Sarawak, people don’t leave anything in the car. It gets cooked.’

  ‘This is Australia, sweetheart, not Sarawak.’ He chuckles as he loads his ute with the shopping. Laila doesn’t respond. Her mouth is set into a firm line. She stands by his side and watches. She looks around, her eyes shifting from place to place. A wisp of hair is stuck on her cheek. With measured movements, she smoothes it away.

  ‘Anywhere in particular you want to go to?’ he asks.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Alright, we’ll just take a stroll.’ He edges her along towards the shops. It’s the first sunny day in weeks. The air is cool and still, the sun warm on his shoulders. An even blue fills the sky, clouds light and cottony, shifting just perceptibly. Jim loves days like this. It’s the kind of day he’s dreamed about spending with her. It’s the first day of great weather since she arrived. He wants to hold her hand—but she’s shoved both hands in her pockets.

  ‘Let’s go to Target. I need to check out the price of gloves,’ he says.

  Laila follows him silently. He picks up a few different work gloves and peers at their price tags, keeping an eye on Laila. She is lingering around the children’s and baby wear section.

  ‘Okay, done. They’re cheaper in the hardware store. As I suspected,’ he says when he catches up with her again. ‘Let’s look around. There, women’s clothing.’ He points his finger and guides her by the elbow.

  The idea is to get her in the mood for looking at clothes. He is on a mission, so when she takes no interest in the clothes, he says, ‘There’s a nice store round the corner. Wanna go have a look?’ At first he thought about taking her to the local bridal shop. He’d seen plenty of wedding gowns there, but decided against it. Subtlety is the way.

  ‘Okay.’

  The lady’s boutique is about two blocks from Target. From a distance, Jim sees starbursts glittering on the glass front. Two mannequins are in the window, in colourful skirts with frills and gathers. Belts and jewellery hang from everywhere. Jim watches Laila’s eyes light up as they enter the shop. She scans the racks of clothes, arranged by colour. In the middle of the room is a lime-green leather lounge, and beside it a small table on which stands a huge vase with dry twigs, curling up to the ceiling. The shop smells heavenly. He’s brought her to the right place.

  Laila holds up clothes and examines them, feels the fabric with her fingers. She brings them to her nose, after checking to see if the salesgirls are watching her. Moving from one rack to another, she pulls out a top that catches her attention. It’s beige, with long sleeves and lace at the hem. As Laila drapes it over her shoulder, the salesgirl approaches them.

  ‘The mirror’s over there,’ she says, pointing towards the back of the shop. ‘Try it on if you like.’

  Jim nods. ‘Go right ahead.’

  Laila looks at them both, then at the top. She shakes her head. ‘No, it’s okay.’

  She continues browsing.

  ‘Were you after anything in particular?’ the salesgirl asks.

  Jim opens his mouth but Laila cuts in. ‘No, nothing in particular.’

  Jim smiles meekly at the salesgirl, shrugging his shoulders and raising his eyebrows. Laila continues lingering. Jim nudges her towards the far end of the shop.

  ‘How about these, babe?’ he points at some long gowns.

  ‘They just arrived last week.’ The salesgirl holds out some black gowns with heavy beading and sequins.

  ‘Got something lighter in colour?’ Jim asks. ‘Like these!’ He reaches over and pulls out an ivory gown with layers falling over the neckline and front. The hem spreads out like a fishtail. In his mind, he sees Laila in the outfit for the occasion.

  The salesgirl smiles and nods her head. ‘That’s a beautiful gown. Cowl neck, very much in fashion now. The fabric is from Italy.’

  Laila lifts a corner of the hemline and drapes it over her arm. She runs her fingers over the fabric. Her eyes travel across the bodice, the folds. Jim waits, breathless.

  ‘You like it?’ he says.

  Laila looks him in the eyes and says, ‘Where would I wear this to?’

  Jim takes a deep breath. He turns to look at the salesgirl then back at Laila. ‘Well, you know…our wedding.’

  Laila bites her lip, looks past Jim at the front of the shop, then faces the salesgirl. ‘Thanks, I don’t think I’ll need this.’ She drops the hemline. The fabric swishes to the floor.

  Jim feels his throat constricting, then a huge weight pressing on his chest. He tries to catch Laila’s eyes but she has already turned and is heading for the door. He says a quick thank you to the salesgirl and trails Laila.

  The shop balloons, the floor space so huge it feels like he can never reach the entrance. It’s as if endless pairs of eyes are glued on him. He keeps his gaze on the floor, wanting only to duck out, never to come back here again.

  7

  SHE’D PLANNED FOR DAYS, more, to talk to him about it. That she needs more time. Everything is still so new, so strange. People speak funny, using words she’s never heard before. Facial expressions are hard to read. They’ll say something factual then break into laughter. They’re ridiculing her. The shop owners do that all the time.

  Names of things overwhelm her: chux, scourer, mould-killer, snap-lock bags, lint remover, garlic press, esky. At the supermarket, a million options and variations line the shelves. The choices make her dizzy. Macleans Ice Whitening Gel Toothpaste, Macleans Detox Toothpaste, Macleans Remineralise Toothpaste, Macleans Toothpaste Freshmint, Macleans Toothpaste Milk Teeth. She could stand as long as ten minutes by a shelf, examining, reading labels and still not be able to decide what to get.

  She’s lost in a sea of fair-haired people. Always the odd one out. Not fitting in. Like a tortoise ripped out of its shell. She misses her mother, and her brother, Krisno, and sister, Jeannie. Now even Krisno’s annoying habits, like talking with his mouth full and pulling her by the hair unawares, come back to her as treasured memories. She wishes she could return to the everyday moments with Mak and Jeannie—cutting vegetables and pounding chilli paste in the tiny cooking area, she and Jeannie chatting away while Mak nags at them to get on with the tasks. She misses her girlfriend Rogayah, the only person she had confided in about her plans to escape the longhouse. ‘You are so brave, Laila. I wouldn’t have the guts to do what you’re doing,’ Rogayah had said. Mostly, she misses the Rejang. The countless times she’d crouched in her little refuge tucked away behind the nipah palms, hidden from the longhouse, watching the river from a distance, the movement of the water lulling her, easing out her claustrophobic feeling from the longhouse.

  Stuck in the caravan while Jim is at work, she feels the walls closing in on her, the last year folding back on itself. She can’t place her fingers on when her homesickness started. It’s like dusk, the slowly blackening sky. You can’t pin down the transition but you know when darkness has descended.

  When she gets used to Renmark, to the strange ways of the people, then she’ll be ready to take the plunge. She doesn’t know how long it’ll take, but she’ll know when she gets there.

  Now, outside that shop, Laila notes the dejected look on Jim’s face and feels only repulsion. She can’t bear to be near him. She struts ahead, widening the gap, the tension mounting with every step.

  She reaches the car park first. When she locates his car, she anchors herself beside it, her back towards Jim. His feet shuffle, his breath quick and heavy, booming towards her.

  ‘There you are. What’s going on? Why did you leave so suddenly?’ he says, half-panting.

  Laila faces him. ‘I didn’t want to look at the clothes anymore.’

  ‘But why? I th
ought you liked some of them.’

  She bites her lip, looks sideways.

  ‘Laila, what is it? What’s the matter?’

  ‘Why did you do that?’

  ‘Do what?’ Sweat beads on his nose.

  ‘Tell the girl about the wedding.’

  ‘What?’ he says, as if not comprehending. ‘What’s there to hide?’

  She angles away and fiddles with the side mirror.

  ‘What, Laila? Is there something to hide?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘What do you mean, you don’t know?’ There is a sharp pitch to his voice. ‘We agreed in our letters that we’d get married when you got here.’

  She pauses. Her fingers twist the corner of her jacket hemline. She turns around. ‘I’m not sure…about going ahead.’

  Jim’s jaw drops. ‘What?’ He shakes his head.

  She looks at him nervously.

  ‘Are you saying you don’t want to go ahead with the wedding?’

  ‘It’s too soon.’

  Darkness creeps over his face. His eyes widen in horror. ‘Too soon? We’ve known each other a year.’

  ‘Only through letters, mostly.’

  ‘You’re kidding me, right? You have got to be kidding.’ Jim laughs but there is a nervous ring to his voice. He scratches his neck, paces around the car. He reaches for a cigarette, lights it with jerky movements, takes a drag. Facing the open car park he says, ‘Blimey! After all this, after coming all this way, she says it’s too early.’ He looks up into the sky and shakes his head.

  ‘I didn’t like you showing off to the girl,’ Laila says.

  Jim stops walking. ‘What? Showing off?’

  ‘Yes.’