Monsoon season had just started, which was both okay and not so okay for fishing. Sometimes the stormy waters pushed flotillas of tiger groupers and cobia into the kelong traps. But some days all he and Siva hauled in were nets of shrimp and tiny crabs. No matter how many of those you caught—no point, lah. The Chinese restaurants only paid big bucks for large fish—nice nice one they can display in fish tanks.
Ma had just scolded him for squatting and smoking like a samseng the week before, when she suddenly showed up again in her new secondhand Corolla to spy on him. It was true that Ah Meng never used to do it until he started copying his army mates. But once she scolded him, aiyoh, he found himself doing it all the time. He couldn’t understand his mother sometimes—she always said she came by without calling first because she happened to be in the neighborhood. But hello, Ah Meng was her son—wouldn’t he know that she lived in Faber Crescent, all the way on the other side of the island? Sometimes Ah Meng couldn’t believe how toot she thought he was. He wasn’t smart like Ah Long, lah—can go university in Australia all. But she should at least know that he wasn’t stupid. After last week, Ah Meng started really enjoying squatting on the jetty smoking. He liked imagining the look on his mum’s face if she pulled up in her Corolla at that exact moment. The thought of that made each puff all the more shiok.
Spotting the girls made him get up though. There were two—one big, one smaller. Skinny beanpoles with long pale legs. The big one had a long tidy ponytail; the little one, one of those Japanese doll haircuts. Even before they got close, Ah Meng could see how pretty they were. He could tell they were sisters—same button nose, same slightly crooked smile, same cheeks the color of young dragonfruit. They even walked the same, each turning out her feet just slightly. Watching them stroll down the pier toward the jetty, slender legs purposely pushing out from their matching black Adidas shorts, Ah Meng imagined them as birds. Were birds as stupid as fish?
They must have come from the village hawker center—each clutched a clear plastic bag of sugarcane juice jabbed with a neon pink straw. From their slippers, Ah Meng guessed that they lived close enough to walk. He tried to recall if he’d seen them before—he didn’t think so. Girls weren’t that common on this jetty so he was sure he would have noticed. A little farther away, yes, near the government holiday chalets on Strawberry Hill or closer to the canoeing and windsurfing joints in Changi Village. Sometimes at night, you might see the Malay ladyboys pop up and loiter a little, some of them looking for a break from walking, some just looking for a good spot for their clients, lah. But mostly all you saw on this jetty were the morning fishermen and the few kelong oldies left. And Ah Meng.
If he wanted to see any chio girls he usually had to take the bus to the Bedok town center. If he felt in the mood for atas girls then go Clarke Quay where the high-class clubs were, lah. But the girls there were a bit scary for him. None of them usually wanted to talk to him. Actually, the ones in Bedok also usually ignored him. They could probably tell immediately that he didn’t have anything. No car, no Tag Heuer, not even a credit card. He hadn’t had a girlfriend since before the army days. Once he got posted to Pulau Tekong for three months of artillery training, his girlfriend dumped him for a neighbor who’d already finished his army duty—he would actually be around to bring her out and didn’t have a toot-looking shaved head anymore. It had been so long since Ah Meng had seen one pretty girl, much less two. He sucked hard on his cigarette.
How to play this?
He flicked his cigarette out into the water and lit another, steadying himself against the railing as he leaned back on one foot, hoping he looked a little like Tony Leung in one of those moody Shanghai movies. He got no hat or gangster suit, lah, but can still act a bit. When the girls got close enough, he turned his face away, narrowing his eyes as he peered out at the water. It hadn’t rained yet so it was still that time of day when the air in the village tasted like moist salt. The girls’ footsteps were so light, the way they walked so high class that he heard no sounds of slippers flapping against their heels. He could feel his heart walloping his chest. He blinked and looked farther out, focusing on his kelong in the distance. The small platformed house in the slender strait that sliced a passage between Malaysia and Singapore was barely visible, encircled with an uneven skyline of tall nibong stilts. All was quiet—good. Siva and his two boys were off on Sundays, so if anyone was actually puttering around on his kelong, that means sure got trouble.
“Is that your boat?”
Slowly he turned around. It was the smaller one.
“Yah,” he said as casually as he could. The small one was smiling slightly; the big one stared at him blankly. He wasn’t sure what to do.
“Is it expensive?” The small one again.
A very Singaporean question, he thought, noting that she must not be very smart to imagine that his beat-up wooden boat might be expensive. It was fairly large, yes—big enough to transport nets and basins of fish—with a small sheltered section lined with painted benches. Ma had come up with the brilliant idea of kelong tourism a few months back, until she discovered how much cash she’d have to sink into fixing up the place before people would actually pay to come for a chance to check out “one of Singapore’s last real-life working kelongs!” Not to mention the boat they had was so old and lau pok that Ah Meng couldn’t see anyone wanting to risk even minutes on it.
“Er, no. This one very old one,” he replied, desperately trying to think of something better to say. He took another long drag.
“Do you give people rides?” The bigger girl this time, smiling at him along with the little one.
Ah Meng wasn’t supposed to—lawsuits, Ma had explained. Better don’t risk anything funny. So even when his army kaki gajiau-ed him for evening joyrides, promising to bring a nice bottle of Black Label if he agreed, he always said no.
“Sometimes,” he said, quickly adding, “but only if the weather’s nice.”
“It’s nice today,” the big one said.
That was true. Though the rains hadn’t come yet it was bluish out. Even the sun was up in full force. There was nothing left to say, so Ah Meng tossed his cigarette into the still water and gestured for them to follow, leading the girls down the neat walkway to the boat.
Since it had been their idea, he thought they would be more excited about seeing the boat up close. From the looks of it, though, the excitement was all his. He hoped they couldn’t tell. The small one peeked closely at the vessel before letting him take her hand to help her onto the boat. But the older girl simply stepped on, settling in next to her sister on one of the two slender benches. Ah Meng was thankful that he had spent the morning hosing down the boat and Cloroxing everything so the deck smelled more like the sashimi section at Cold Storage than the aunties’ fish stalls at the wet market.
“Why doesn’t it have a name?” the small one asked as he leaned over to cast off. “Usually boats got name—right? Always painted on the side?”
Ah Meng had never considered this and had no answer. “I can maybe name it after you,” he said. “What’s your name?”
The small one looked at the big girl, who shrugged.
“Yan—Xiao Yan,” the little one said, smiling. “And she’s Ling Ling. You can combine them and call it Yan Ling?”
She sounded so earnest Ah Meng suddenly realized how young she probably was. And her sister probably not much older. He felt a twinge. But it had been so long. And it’s not like he really had anything so bad in mind. He just wanted to be friends. And it occurred to him that since he was only twenty-two, the age difference wasn’t terrible. Hell, girls his age were meeting and fucking guys twice their age! In just a few years these two girls would probably be doing exactly the same. Those guys they would be fucking were much older than Ah Meng was now!
Ah Meng was sick of it. If a guy is just trying to make do, who can blame him? Isn’t that what the government wants? His mum wants? For him to show some initiative? Fuck care, lah.
; “Tell you what—if I can find some paint on the kelong I’ll even let you paint it on the side,” he said.
Both girls got excited. “Kelong?” Ling said. “We’ve never been on a kelong!”
This was easier than he’d thought.
“Okay, lah, since you two so nice, maybe I can take you there,” he tossed out, ducking into the cabin to start up the boat.
The girls got up and followed him, watching and saying nothing as he put the throttle in idle, jiggered the gearshift into neutral, then turned the starter switch, cranking the engine for a few seconds before feeling it catch, throwing the floor beneath them into a thick trundle. Yan stumbled backward but Ling reached out so quickly to grab her that Ah Meng had no time to react.
As they left the jetty, Ah Meng wondered how he might impress them. Using one hand to steer—a move he was now glad he had practiced every day—he guided the chugging vessel toward the kelong. The ride wouldn’t take long, five minutes at the most. The shortness of it stressed him out. Ah Meng felt as if this was his moment to make an impression. He wasn’t sure what they had in mind but it probably wasn’t a rickety platformed house surrounded by smelly nets of fish.
“You see that island over there?” he said, pointing toward the larger of the two that he glimpsed through the door of his dank room every day. The girls nodded. “That’s Pulau Ubin.”
The girls remained silent. Ah Meng tried to remember anything he might know about Ubin.
“It’s haunted,” he said. Yan and Ling looked bored.
Ah Meng decided to circle the kelong to buy a little time. He tried to remember an old story he’d heard from some of the fishing uncles in Changi the one time they invited him to join them for beers at the hawker center.
“I know it looks like nothing but trees and jungle, lah,” he said. “But Ubin actually quite interesting one. Years and years ago there was nothing there. But then three animals from Singapore—a frog, a pig, and an elephant—decided to challenge each other to see who could swim across and reach Malaysia first. Whoever didn’t make it would turn into stone. In the end they all also cannot make it, lah—the elephant and the pig turned into stone in the same spot, becoming Pulau Ubin. The frog was a little bit further from them and became Pulau Sekudu—Frog Island. You see that small one over there? The big rock in the middle looks like a frog, right?”
Ah Meng exhaled as softly as he could. He felt his heart chugging harder than the boat. This was the most he’d said to any girl he didn’t know in a long time.
Something must have worked though—the girls went to the window and stared out. Ling was pointing, whispering and nudging Yan to look at Sekudu. The little girl said, “Wah!” and giggled softly. Ah Meng felt a burst of pride. He’d made her laugh!
The boat passed the nearest kelong to Ah Meng’s, giving him a new thought. What if the boys over there were out and about? If they saw the girls on his boat, susah lah. People around here were damn fucking gossipy. With nothing happening every day, any small new thing—wah, people talked and talked about it for weeks.
He sped up as he passed. Let them think he was rude for not waving today.
The girls had returned to his side and were watching him steer. In silence, he circled his kelong and pulled to a stop at the landing. He gestured to them to stay in the cabin while he tied the boat to the kelong dock, jumped off, and tightened the connection, then waved to them to come out. Ling helped Yan off the boat before getting off herself.
Ah Meng looked around, squinting hard to gauge how clearly he could see into old Tan’s kelong across the way. All seemed quiet over there—the boys must be on the mainland. Oh yah—day off.
Feeling much better, he led the way, wending down the slatted path that zigzagged around the series of sunken pools outlined with tall poles. A breeze was coming through now. He peered behind him; the girls were walking hand in hand, carefully treading in his footsteps. Yan seemed a little scared and was moving slower than Ling.
“Don’t worry,” he said, stopping and turning to face them. “People never fall in one.”
“But if fall in, then how?” Yan asked.
“Not good, lah,” he said, squatting down by one of the pools. He felt around for something to show them what he meant, patting his pockets and pulling out his pack of Salems. Ah Meng held a cigarette up for the girls to see.
“Inside here, ah,” he said, pointing to a square of water, “got many many fish. Especially today—we holiday today, mah, so don’t bring them to town until tomorrow. These fish, ah, anything also eat one. Small fish, each other, anything you throw in also they take.”
Ah Meng threw his cigarette into the water and a violent vortex bubbled up. He imagined the swirl of fish below shoving and nipping at each other, trying to reach for what might be new food. The girls were giggling now.
“Do it again!” Ling said.
And so he did. Even if ciggies had become fucking expensive, he was sure this would be worth it. He flung the second one a little farther out. Even he was laughing along with the girls now.
Ah Meng glanced over at them—Yan didn’t look scared anymore. He realized this was the happiest he’d felt in a very long time. He had been thinking recently about how ironic it was that the infamous Changi prison, where British prisoners of war were kept during the Japanese Occupation and now home to dangerous criminals, was so close to his kelong. Yah, sure—those guys in there now were prisoners. But hallo, so was Ah Meng! What kind of life was this at the kelong? He was supposed to do it just for two years, until Ah Long came back from uni. But from the way Ma had been talking, it seemed as if she was happy to have him take care of business on the kelong for good. Save money what—no need to hire a new kelong manager all. Kani nah. Just thinking about Ah Long coming back and getting to sit in some air-con office, planning the family business’s future while Ah Meng sweated his balls off at the kelong, made him want to vomit blood.
Ah Long had recently sent Ma some picture of a girlfriend—some small-small, cute-cute Singaporean girl who was studying business in Queensland also. Ma was so excited, asked Ah Long to make sure to bring her home for Chinese New Year. Of course Ah Long could meet girls like that, lah—Ma send him away to study all. But Ah Meng? Put him on the kelong, how to meet girls? All the action he got most nights was hearing Siva in the room next door whacking off. When Ah Meng first started on the kelong Siva at least tried to be a bit quiet about it. But now, after a year, the guy damn not shy one. Ah Meng heard each long grunt through the thin wall between them.
Now, though—who was the winner? Ah Meng looked over at Yan and Ling, both of their faces bright, upturned, almost glinting in the sun. He shook his head and smiled at his fortune. Just wait till Ma saw these two. When they were a little older, perhaps.
“Come,” he said, getting up and starting back toward the house. “You girls hungry?”
* * *
Choosing not to show them his bedroom just yet, Ah Meng led them to the small kitchen where he, Siva, and the boys cooked instant noodles most days. Once a week they split a fish—nothing special, just the first thing they netted that was large enough for the four of them. Ah Meng had caught one just that morning, thinking that he might have it all to himself tonight as a treat. He took it out of the fridge and showed it to the girls.
“You cook?” he asked.
Ling nodded. “Just helping Mum in the kitchen sometimes,” she said, opening drawers to search for a knife. She had never gutted a fish, so Ah Meng showed her how. Once that was done, he handed her the knife and let her chop up the rest. He didn’t know how to cook so he usually just fried up pieces of fish with some green onions and soy sauce. When he explained this to Ling, she took over.
Ah Meng went to the fridge and grabbed two cold Anchor beers. He offered one to Ling but she shook her head. “Uncle—I’m only fifteen, lah,” she said, laughing.
Fifteen. Ah Meng felt the twinge again. He’d come this far. See how, lor. If got chance then got chance. No chan
ce then no chance. The gods would decide.
He lightly pinched Ling’s cheek, a move that made her smile a little wider, surprising him. He felt himself start to blush and turned away. Opening a can of Anchor, Ah Meng sat down by the chipped square table outside the kitchen where he, Siva, and the boys had their meals. This day was turning out not bad, lah. But what next? He wasn’t sure. When Ah Meng first saw the girls, he had thought he might say hello and maybe offer them a ride on his boat in the near future. Now that they were on the kelong, he had no idea what to do.
Chuan dao qiao tou zhi ran zhi—Ah Meng hadn’t paid much attention to Chinese classes in secondary school but this old saying popped into his head. When the boat reaches the head of the bridge, it will naturally straighten itself out. He leaned back against the rusted metal folding chair and stretched his legs, getting settled before lighting up a Salem.
As his cigarette disappeared, he noticed the smell of fish frying in onions. Good girl, he thought. In minutes, Ling and Yan appeared bearing a plate of fish and three sets of chopsticks. Ling had tucked another can of Anchor under her arm, setting it down shyly in front of him. Ah Meng looked at the girl, blushing again.
They ate in silence. Feeling like he needed to thank Ling, Ah Meng said, “Wah, your cooking very good!” Ling just smiled and continued digging out plump little pieces of fish, using her fingers to remove hairlike bones, before offering them to Yan. This pleased Ah Meng. She’ll make a very good mother, he thought, wondering how their first kiss might be, how her lips would feel on his, on his neck, more. He didn’t feel guilty.
“You live here alone?” Ling suddenly asked, heading into the kitchen to get more beer when she noticed Ah Meng crumpling up his second can.
Singapore Noir Page 7