by J A Scooter
Andrew rushed into the kitchen and returned with a magnum of champagne and flutes.
“Just as well we were prepared, though why Sis picked you I’ll never know,” declared Andrew, thrusting a foaming flute of champagne into Peter’s hand before handing full flutes to the others.
“We’re all delighted.” He’d noticed Peter’s shock at the women’s behavior as they clung to each other, weeping and laughing.
Eric added, “Don’t worry, those are happy tears. They’re both happy.” He dragged them apart, handing Jennifer back to Peter while both took their champagne.
“Jennifer’s almost yours now, so you had better learn to control her. God knows, I’ve tried for over twenty-four years now and failed. Perhaps you’ll have better success”
Trying to wipe her eyes clear of the happy tears, Jennifer only laughed and clung to Peter, until he bent to kiss the tears away.
When the excitement had died a little, Peter went behind the altar and returned with the diamond necklace and earrings Jennifer had worn to the opera. Carefully he placed them in Jennifer’s hands, while explaining, “These, my own sweet love, are yours. Could you please wear them on our wedding day? They are to be handed down through the family.”
To Elizabeth he explained, “They were my mother’s and I’m sure she would be ecstatic to see Jennifer wearing them. Tonight she would know the jewels are being handed to her future daughter-in-law and will be worn at our wedding.”
Jennifer nodded in agreement and then as if frightened it would disappear, Jennifer had eyes only for her ring, which she studied carefully.
When it was quiet and the family had recovered, they waited for him to continue.
Before he commenced, he sat Jennifer and her mother in the wide settee with Andrew and Eric in the chairs to the side. Squatting Asian style in front of them and with his plaque and pictures behind him he started his story.
“You asked me about horse riding. Well, my great grandfather rode eight winners at the Gragene Picnic Races then fell down the back steps of Warialda pub, broke his hip and died at the age of ninety-two.
“My grandfather had me on a horse almost every day before I left Australia at the age of five and I suppose I haven’t forgotten all he taught me.”
As if terrified of continuing, Peter swung about to kneel before the pictures of his parents and begged in a small, weak voice, “Forgive me but I must explain to my new family - I must tell the truth.”
Waiting patiently, everyone was silent. No one moved or commented as he turned back to them, sat back on his heels and continued. To them it was strange to see this scarred young man talking to photos of his parents as if they were there in the room with him, but they were prepared to go along with his unusual ways now that he was to be one of them.
This was the strangest situation any one of them had experienced - the meal, the servants, the Deepavali Party and now this.
A deep feeling of uneasiness settled on Eric as he began to rethink his position. ‘I wonder if I have misjudged this young man. No matter what, I have to protect Jennifer. Is this story going to reveal good or bad - is this Peter a criminal? I have to know what Jennifer is letting herself in for.’ He sat back and waited trying to keep an open mind.
“My father was posted by the RAAF to Butterworth, Malaysia and we lived on the Island of Penang. As a boy of five, I was so proud of my school uniform of white shirt, navy blue short trousers, white socks and black shoes. The RAAF School emblem on the shirt pocket made the uniform special. Even the RAAF bus taking me to and from school was special. Yes I was so proud until one day,” Peter stopped, his eyes misting.
Turning to Jennifer he begged, “Must I go on?”
“You know you must. Tonight you must get rid of the phantoms so they never return. It isn’t fair to my parents if they don’t know their son-in-law.”
Peter took a deep breath and tuned to stare fixedly at his mother’s picture. There was a long pause as he re-gathered his thoughts. Slowly he turned to face once more the family before speaking.
“Bussed home because of race riots, I arrived back early one day. Hearing screams and moans coming from my parent’s bedroom, I rushed past the servants into the bedroom to see a Chinese man lying between my naked mother’s legs. She was moaning and groaning and I began to pummel the man’s bare back trying to save her.
“That man threw me against the wall and stood naked. His ugly, pocked marked face showed his hatred for me as he snarled in anger, ‘What do you think you’re doing ‘Little One’ coming between a man and his whore?’ In spite of my mother’s pleading to let me be, he repeatedly punched me about the body until I cried, begging him to stop.”
“He called the amah and cook to come and take me away, but then changed his mind. ‘No, hold him here and make him watch how a man deals with his slut. Watch, ‘Little One’ and learn.’ Turning to my mother he snarled, ‘You be good - be very good - or your spawn will feel my anger’.
“For years I believed he was my mother’s lover but, eventually, I learnt how he had blackmailed my Mother by threatening to kill my father and me.”
Oblivious of the white, horrified looks and the gasps of disbelief as the women clutched each other’s hands Peter allowed the horror to unfold. He even disregarded the loud complaints of the men.
“The servants ordered me to remain quiet about my mother and the ugly Chinese although they knew he was doing everything to humiliate her. How I hated that man.
“Months after that first afternoon, we were to go to the Cameron Highlands. My Dad, oblivious of Mother’s blackmail, said it was to be a second honeymoon and was eager to take us on this holiday, but on the way, a truck blocked the road. My father got out to see if he could help clear the road and a burst of gunfire cut him down.
“I saw my first dead body - that of my father, and lots of blood - his blood - stained my clothes and washed the sweat from my face that afternoon.”
At this point, a deep sob rose from Peter’s chest. His head dropped and he was unable to speak for a few minutes, reliving that awful moment. He could smell the jungle, he could feel the heat and he could sense that death, even now.
Ignoring the horrified reactions of the family and their expressions of both shock and sympathy Peter took a deep breath. With his eyes closed, he continued, his voice broken by the emotions he was reliving from that dreadful day.
“Mum was screaming while I just stood there, absolutely panic-stricken, waiting for my father to rise and give orders, but a smelly rice bag was thrown over my head. Someone trussed me to a bamboo pole and hoisted me. Off they went, carrying me into the jungle as if I was a pig going to the local market.
“I called to my mother, but a punch in the ribs and a hash bark of ‘No’ in Cantonese kept me quiet. For how long I hung from that pole, I have no idea. I can remember the heat, the thirst, the hunger and the roar of choppers dipping low overhead as they searched for us.
“Just how far they carried me and where we were, I didn’t know. Finally cut free from that damned bamboo pole I fell to the ground, unable to walk.
“As I looked up, there was my mother, clad in a Sarong Kebaya - a sarong with a tight, very tight, jacket highlighting her breasts and waist (the Singapore Airlines Hostess style uniform) - standing on the verandah of an attap (a Malay traditional hut of bamboo and banana leaves). She looked so calm and refreshed while I was lying there, still unable to move from the way my abductors had carried me suspended from a bamboo pole.
I wanted to scream my horror and my hatred for her. I couldn’t understand what had happened, and right at that moment, I blamed her with all my heart especially as the ugly Chinese had just appeared at her side and was kissing her passionately.
“Screaming and crying to her for help, I watched as his hands began to pluck at the buttons on her blouse. Little did I realize that she like me was a terrified prisoner of this man and his gang.
“‘Ah, ‘The Little One’! Tonight I shall break him
into my bed. He can become my bum boy’ and he cackled evilly.
His followers laughed and slapped each other at the joke but I fell silent, not knowing what he wanted of me.
“My mother put my safety and well being before her own. Ignoring the danger in which she was placing herself she screamed, ‘NO! If you touch him then you will never have me again’ and she beat at him with her fists.
“Snarling like some wild creature, he flung her to the verandah floor. ‘You don’t think he’d please me, eh? All right,’ he turned to three of his followers, ‘take him to the cross and give him fifty lashes.’
“Turning back to my mother he leered, ‘Let us see how your spawn likes that. Remember, my whore, he gets fifty lashes anytime you fail in your duties of pleasing me.’ He dragged her to her feet and I was dragged off to the sounds of my mother’s screams and moans.”
Jennifer leant forward stretching out to place her hand on Peter’s shoulder - a simple action telling him she felt for his misery.
Peter’s eyes flicked to her face and a slight smile told her he appreciated her action.
“Stripped, I was tied to a bamboo whipping post and the first blow of the rattan cane fell. I was five but that didn’t save me. To stop myself from screaming, I bit into my cheek, refusing to allow my tormentors the pleasure of hearing my agony.
“All I could think of in my childish ignorance was that I would kill this man for what he had done to my father and me. I vowed Eui Si Soon would pay a very high price for the pleasure he had taken in the arms of my mother.”
“Bloody hell!” It was too much for Andrew.
Elizabeth made no comment but her hands flew to her mouth in disgust then she clung to Jennifer as the two wept softly for the image of that little boy in the jungle.
Eric swore softly and leant across to slide his arm around his wife’s shoulders as if to support her.
“I was five and unconscious before the cane had fallen five times.
“The next morning I regained consciousness, still tied the post, but it wasn’t long before someone decided that as a young Matt Selah, a white man, I would make an excellent spy and I was set free.
“To ensure my effectiveness as a spy, the next day my lessons began. They pounded Malay, Cantonese, Thai, Tamil, Indonesian, Lao and Mandarin - reading and writing - into my head and the moment I faltered the dreaded cane fell.
“Mathematics became my favorite. That teacher was the only kind one of all my so-called tutors. He always gave me special tidbits to eke out the poor food I was given.
“Day after day, week after week the group moved from jungle hole to jungle hole keeping clear of the choppers. Mum did her best to protect me but she was just as much a prisoner as I was. She could not escape because of me and I could not escape because of her. We were living in hell.
“I ate snakes and insects to stay alive, scrubbed my skin with sand in jungle streams to keep clean, cleaned my teeth and scraped my tongue with bamboo to keep healthy and I burnt leeches from my body.”
Peter could hear Jennifer’s soft weeping and saw Andrew pull her head to his shoulder to console her while he continued. “The lessons and the beatings continued. These beatings were especially severe when visitors arrived at the camp. Eui Si Soon feted the visitors and gave Mum to them as a present to enjoy.
“Those times I dreaded in particular. Once I received the beating, whoever flogged me rubbed salt into the lash marks. When I regained consciousness I had to go into the bedroom with food and drink for the guest while…”
The horror and the terror Peter was outlining affected Jennifer and her mother. Beginning to weep loudly they clung to each other. They understood the trauma that he had endured every day of his childhood.
Peter heard Eric’s angry comment, “What kind of people were these. We treat our animals better than they treated you,” but unable to respond, Peter left it unheeded as he persisted with his tale.
Almost whimpering, with anger in his voice Peter shook his head violently, and persevered.
“Jennifer, you must remember our time together on stage, how you found it difficult to believe that I could disguise myself so well during the melodrama.”
Jennifer, looking at him through her tears, could only nod in agreement.
“The cast, too, didn’t recognize me on stage that final night. The truth is, I had many years of using a disguise for my own survival, and one little pause, one stumble, one error, no matter how trivial meant I would have died at the whim of either Malay security police or the Thai military.
“I was the group’s spy, and wearing contact lenses to hide my blue ‘Christian’ eyes I was sent to villages to gather information, to purchase food, or to lead the special visitors back to the camp which was constantly moving.
“My disguise lessons included lessons in the Holy Koran so I could worship with Malays, and lessons in Buddhism so I could pass unnoticed in a throng of believers. I was also trained to pray at the altars for ancestors.
“I was about ten and was wandering down a jungle track when I felt a pair of small grubby hands pulling me into the thickets. An Orang Kanaq, a Malay aborigine, squatted in front of me and his words surprised me.
“‘It is time. It is time for ‘The Little One’ to become a man,’ he said.
“That was when the most important education of my life started. I became an assassin. The aborigines taught me to kill. They taught me to shoot until I became an expert sharpshooter and a killer, and I didn’t always have to use a gun.
“They intended to use this Matt Selah to rid the jungle of this evil, believing the gang would never suspect this young boy - their spy - of being capable of inflicting death. The aborigines knew the Chinese culture well.
Peter rose and silently moved to the back of the altar. He produced a cigarette box that he placed on the coffee table. Carefully he picked out a small cigarette-like piece of bamboo, hollowed his lips and puffed.
The family watched silently as this was so unexpected. The story had ceased and Peter had taken center stage.
“Andrew, try to move your right arm.”
Andrew looked down to see his shirt pinned to the arm of his chair by a small bamboo dart. He shuddered.
Peter continued. “That dart wasn’t poisoned, but had it been, it could just as easily have struck you in the throat and you would’ve died instantly. Look at the dart and you’re looking at death. Yes, Eric and Elizabeth, I can ride horses, ride motor bikes and sing and dance but to my shame and horror - I’m a trained killer.”
Eric and Elizabeth studied each other for some clue as to how they would treat their new son-in-law, yet they both knew there was no choice.
This man had saved their daughter’s life and had begged for their permission to marry her. It was obvious their daughter loved him, and his history, although hideous, was in the past after all.
There wasn’t a sound as Peter retrieved the dart and replaced it even more carefully in the blowpipe, which he replaced in the cigarette box. He studied at the faces before him in the family circle before continuing, “For about four years I learnt to become a killing machine - experienced in making poisons, accurate with my winged death and with guns. There were intensive training sessions in unarmed combat where the aim was to put the opposition down to stay down.
“I had a comprehensive education in everything from death to language lessons, reading lessons, religious lessons, math lessons and lessons in pain.” He almost shrieked the word ‘pain’ as though he could feel the rattan cane lashing into him still.
“However I had no lessons in humanity!”
The family winced. The pictures Peter painted were so vivid they could almost see his turmoil and smell his hatred. They certainly shared his anguish.
“Suddenly, the games became more dangerous. The gang brought four prisoners into the clearing - twin Chinese girls and twin Tamil girls.
“Because the girls were twins the gang considered them good luck and had kidnapped th
em to gain finances from two powerful, wealthy families. One family was in Singapore the other in Malaysia.
“My mother, knowing the horrors that faced them as prisoners of her evil lover went hysterical at the sight, and that day my beating with the rattan cane was particularly severe.
“Not content with ensuring my back was running in blood and then rubbing salt into my back, my torturers rubbed acid leaves into the mess that was my flesh as they tried to force me to scream.
“They sealed their own death warrants.
“At night the five of us - the four girls and I - huddled together under a hut for warmth and safety. During the day, I made certain no one touched them. I was their protector and guardian. For months, the five of us built a friendship where I was their shield and big brother.
“When their food was insufficient, I gave up mine or I stole food from the cookhouse so they didn’t go hungry. In spite of everything, the jungle, the heat and the poor food the girls seemed to thrive.
“Then disaster struck. Within two weeks of each other, they started bleeding. Their sexual clocks had started and I overheard the cruel voice of Eui Si Soon. ‘Well, our little sparrows will make everyone happy after I have broken them in.’ His laugh was evil.”
Andrew leant forward in his chair, and Peter heard him breathe, “No, surely he wouldn’t!”
Without glancing at Andrew, Peter returned to the horror of his former life.
“That night we crept into the darkness of the jungle and I led them to the Orang Kanaq’s clearing where we hid until the sun rose. Using all the skills the aborigines had taught me, I led the frightened girls to the nearest kampong - a Malay village - where I ordered the police to take us to the local town. There my blue eyes, not my fluent Malay, achieved the desired result.
“Explaining the presence of the girls I suggested they inform KL - Kuala Lumpur - the capital - that they had the girls. Not trusting the police, I listened intently to the conversation before snatching the phone to order, in fluent Malay, a detachment of police to come and collect the girls.