Bitter Sweet Harvest

by Chan Ling Yap

  This is a love story beautifully and engagingly told. It reflects the complex ethnic, religious and social tensions of Malaysia and beyond—all made vivid through the experience of characters, movingly depicted, and the exciting action, which carries the reader briskly from page to page.

  —Dato’ (Dr) Erik Jensen,

  Author of Where Hornbills Fly

  “Tautly written, Chan Ling Yap’s second novel is a powerful story of the problems of intercultural marriage that can arise from family interference. With a superbly woven plot, Bitter-Sweet Harvest leads the reader through a minefield of cultural, ethnic and religious conflicts. Compelling and gripping, I found I could not put down this tragic saga of missed opportunities for the lovers. A poignant love story that is highly recommended!”

  —Professor Bill Edeson,

  Professorial Fellow, University of Wollongong

  “Chan Ling Yap’s latest book Bitter-Sweet Harvest is a worthy successor to Sweet Offerings, her first novel. I couldn’t read it quickly enough to find out the next step in this exciting story. I wasn’t disappointed.”

  —Kate Mazdon,

  President, Princes Risborough Women’s Institute

  Reviews for Sweet Offerings:

  A very down-to-earth book with down-to-earth characters that you cannot help but be drawn to. It has certainly been an absorbing and enjoyable read.

  —Review from Choose and Book

  The dramatic personal stories of Mei Yin and Nelly, first and second wife to the same man, are the best reasons for giving this book a go—not forgetting the mother-in-law from hell.

  —Review from Whichbook

  The book is a great read with real emotion and such detail as one can almost smell the atmosphere coming from the pages. Also I cannot recall ever reading a book where the very last word carried so much meaning for the future.

  —Chris Allen

  Just loved this book from start to finish—the characters come alive and the reader becomes totally involved in their lives. A book that is impossible to put down, and can’t wait for the sequel.

  —Anna Odlin

  © Chan Ling Yap 2011

  Published in 2011 by

  Marshall Cavendish Editions

  An imprint of Marshall Cavendish International (Asia) Pte Ltd

  1 New Industrial Road, Singapore 536196

  All rights reserved

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner. Request for permission should be addressed to the Publisher, Marshall Cavendish International (Asia) Private Limited, 1 New Industrial Road, Singapore 536196. Tel: (65) 6213 9300, fax: (65) 6285 4871. E-mail:genrefsales@sg.marshallcavendish.com, Website: www.marshallcavendish.com/genref

  The publisher makes no representation or warranties with respect to the contents of this book, and specifically disclaims any implied warranties or merchantability or fitness for any particular purpose, and shall in no events be liable for any loss of profit or any other commercial damage, including but not limited to special, incidental, consequential, or other damages.

  While some of the events are based on historical happenings, this novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

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  National Library Board Singapore Cataloguing in Publication Data

  Yap, Chan Ling.

  Bitter-sweet harvest / Chan Ling Yap. – Singapore : Marshall Cavendish Editions, 2011.

  p. cm.

  ISBN: 978-981-4361-64-4

  1. Interracial marriage – Malaysia – Fiction. 2. Interfaith marriage – Malaysia – Fiction. I. Title.

  PR6125

  823.92 -- dc22 OCN748613740

  Printed in Singapore by Fabulous Printers Pte Ltd

  To my husband, Tony,

  with love

  Bitter-Sweet Harvest is the sequel to the novel Sweet Offerings.

  The stories can be read in any order and are complete in themselves.

  Acknowledgements

  I would like to thank Kate Mazdon and Ruth Deraed for their useful comments on my manuscript. I am also grateful to Maxine Chow for her helpful observations and careful reading of those parts of the book that involve legal matters.

  Thanks also go to my husband for his patience and support throughout the writing of this book and to Lee and Hsu Min, our children, who have looked at the manuscript.

  Prologue

  On 13 May 1969, following the results of the general election in Malaysia, violence broke out between the country’s ethnic groups. Many people were caught in the violence. The riots were confined mainly to the capital Kuala Lumpur in the state of Selangor, but tension spread throughout the country. The Government declared a state of emergency and imposed a curfew immediately throughout Selangor. Parliament was suspended, as was the press, and the National Operations Council was set up to run the country. Over a period of two months, order returned and while curfews continued, these too were gradually scaled back. In February 1971, Parliament was re-established and The Constitution (Amendment) Act of 1971 was passed.

  Part One

  Chapter 1

  The rain splattered on to the windowpane, the huge drops creating rivulets of water that flowed down the glass. Smack, ping, the sound resonated in the hushed silence of the room. Outside, plumes of dense lilac bent low under the relentless force of the pelting rain and peonies folded their silken petals.

  An Mei slid off the wide window ledge. She shivered, involuntarily pulling her cardigan tight around her. “I have to tell my brothers,” she announced. “My parents are coming to Oxford. They haven’t set a date, but it looks like it might be soon.”

  Hussein stood very still. A frown settled on his normally good-natured face. “Why are they coming to see you now just when you’ve finished your studies and we are planning to go back?” he asked.

  “They are not coming for a visit.” She paused letting her voice trail off, her gaze straying into the distance. Then she looked directly at Hussein, reproach in her eyes. “They have decided to leave Malaysia for good, to emigrate to where they believe they will have a better and more secure future. For them, England is a natural choice because my brothers and I are already here.” She looked away again, unable to meet his eyes as she tried to quell her rising distress.

  “But why?” he repeated. There was a catch in his voice; he could not conceal a mounting anxiety, a premonition of something bad to come. He sensed her change of mood.

  “Read these letters,” she said, thrusting a sheaf of papers into his hands. “They are disillusioned. All the senseless hate that people have for each other. We have been watching the race riots and their aftermath in Malaysia for over a week now on the TV. Somehow, seeing the turmoil on television allowed me to distance myself from the situation. Reading these letters, I can’t do that anymore — I can feel my father’s anger. I feel my parents’ pain.”

  She turned to face him. Her eyes flashed, their soft ambe
r brown turning to hard agate. The resignation and despair that had shown on her face earlier gave way to a resolute expression as she reflected on the situation now confronting her loved ones. “They have worked so hard to rebuild their business. My father was almost made bankrupt some years ago... And now this! His shops vandalised, torched!”

  “And you? What will you do? Will you stay here in the UK?”

  “Of course! Where else can I go? I will have no home to go back to in Kuala Lumpur.”

  “But what about us? You know I have to go back. My father will expect nothing less than my immediate return, especially in light of these new problems. I came here to be educated and groomed to go into politics, to take over from him. I can not,” he stressed, “not return. But I do not want to go back without you. Come with me. Please?” he pleaded.

  He took her in his arms. He could feel her body, unyielding, stiff. “You have to tell your parents about us.”

  “No! Not now. Not when they are already so troubled.”

  “Is that the only reason?”

  She hesitated and cast her eyes down. “No. But you must know the other reasons.”

  He tightened his arms around her. “I don’t. Tell me. I want to hear them from you.”

  “Because,” she said, looking up at him, her eyes a limpid pool of pain, “because we are separated by race, religion, custom and practically everything I can think of, except a shared education in Oxford and a shared birth place. We are Malaysians. But you are Malay. I am Chinese. You are a Muslim, I am... I am a Christian!” Rolling up her sleeve, she thrust her pale arm against his bronzed dark brown skin. “Look at the difference in our colour! Need I say more?”

  She pushed away from him. Holding herself at arm’s length, she challenged him. “What about you? Have you told your parents about me?”

  “No!” he admitted, embarrassed. “I have told my aunt though. I thought that it would be the best way for them to know. She would be able to choose an opportune moment to break it to them gently and to persuade them to accept the situation. After all, she is a good example of how an interracial marriage works. Aunty Jenny is Chinese and she married my uncle and adopted Islam as her religion. She is on our side. She is also your mum’s friend! In fact, I would say, her best friend.”

  “So!” An Mei fell silent after that single exclamation. It hung like an accusation in the air. She was disappointed that Hussein had not told his parents. Wasn’t he the one who had said their parents should be told? She lowered her arms and walked back to the window. She did not tell Hussein that she too had confided in Jenny, hoping that she would tell her mum and find a way to break the news to her father, Ming Kong. She had placed such hopes on Jenny because it was she who introduced her to Hussein in the first place.

  An Mei recalled her early days in Oxford. Jenny was in London, on one of her short trips to shop in the city while her husband tended to matters of state with the British authorities. Jenny had invited her to go up to London and join her for lunch at the Savoy Grill on the Strand. During the visit, while chatting with Jenny in her hotel room, An Mei had confided that she was thoroughly enjoying her studies but was finding it difficult to make new friends.

  Bustling with energy, Jenny had said immediately, “Sayang! What a pity! You are too shy. People think you are proud and aloof!” Then, with the spontaneity her mother had told her was typical of Jenny, she had immediately picked up the phone. “I know just the person to look after you in Oxford. My nephew! Hussein. He is in Balliol studying politics. Aiyah! He is so handsome! Curly hair and eyes like Omar Sharif! Only make sure you don’t fall for him. His parents have many plans for him-lah! He will be a big shot when he finishes his studies.”

  “An Mei, speak to me!” Hussein pleaded again, breaking her reverie. “I will tell my parents now if you want.”

  “No, not now,” she replied almost in a whisper. “Not now. It’s too late.”

  She moved further away from him as if to escape his all pervading presence. She did not wish to be persuaded. “I too have spoken to Aunty Jenny,” she confessed. “The matter is not so simple. She’s in London now on one of her trips. She is coming to Oxford tomorrow.”

  *****

  Sunlight streamed through the tall stately windows of the Randolph Hotel, turning the gilded frame of the massive mirror above the fireplace into a burnished ring of gold. They sat around a low Regency-style table in Jenny’s hotel suite, the silence broken only by the tinkle of cups and saucers and the sound of starched linen brushing by as a maid moved busily around them. Finally, the last cup of tea was dispensed.

  “Do you require anything else Madam?” the maid enquired solicitously, her voice hushed as if intimidated by the quiet of the room. She could sense her presence was unwelcome. The lady had consulted her wristwatch twice during the short time it had taken her to lay out the tea service.

  “Fine, fine, thank you,” Jenny replied with a quick smile and a nod. She was impatient to speak to her two charges.

  “What have I done,” she had chided herself over and over again on the journey from London to Oxford. “To bring these two children together and expect that nothing would come of it other than a platonic friendship. What was I thinking?”

  Now, sitting with them, she was filled with remorse. Expectations and hope were painted on their faces. They looked to her to bring good news from their parents in Malaysia. She had none to give.

  “Things are very bad back home.” Her voice was solemn. “The streets are virtually empty, businesses have come to a standstill. The curfew, short though it may be, has made people jittery. Confined to their homes even for a short time, they have imagined the worse. We are plagued with endless rumours. On my way to the airport to catch the plane, I had to drive through the KL city centre. I could hardly believe my eyes at the damage. Such mindless destruction! Malays against Chinese, Chinese against Malays! Then the Indians! Unbelievable that people can live in peace and harmony one day, and then the next descend into such hatred and mistrust. I just cannot believe it,” she repeated. “Bagaimana? How did it happen? We don’t have the racial conflict that you have in England. The calling of names, the bullying in the streets, the aggression ... yet ...” Her voice trailed off.

  “What does it mean for us?” asked Hussein. He did not wish to hear any more about the violence. He had followed every detail and discussed every scenario with friends and fellow students. He had no doubt that these were matters that would involve him on his return home. At that moment, however, he was keen only to know where he stood with An Mei and his parents.

  “This is not a good time to tell your parents.” Jenny shook her head vehemently to emphasise her words. “Not even, perhaps, a good time to walk together in the streets in Malaysia.”

  “Father has decided that I should return to Malaysia and I had hoped that An Mei would come back with me.”

  “No! That would not be a good idea. Her family is moving here to England. She should stay and wait for their arrival. She cannot abandon her family, just as you cannot abandon yours. We have duties to perform.” She looked away, not wishing to catch the eye of An Mei, not wanting her to guess that these were the words An Mei’s mother, Mei Yin, had said to her.

  An Mei, unknowing, listened silently, perplexed by Jenny’s reaction. She had expected her to provide more hope for their plight.

  “What about you? Can you walk in the streets with uncle?” challenged Hussein. He, too, had not expected such an answer from Jenny. He was disappointed and felt cheated.

  “I don’t walk out with him,” Jenny retorted in exasperation. “In fact, if you want to know, I hardly go anywhere public or important with your uncle, even now after years of marriage. We move within a circle of friends that accept me. I dress Malay-style and I speak Malay. I have become a Muslim and I toe the line.” She felt a surge of anger, anger that she had been placed in a position where she felt forced to reveal her feelings and long curbed resentment of her own situation; an anger that mad
e her turn suddenly to lash out at An Mei. “Do you know that you have to become a Muslim, An Mei, if you want to marry Hussein? That is, if his parents even agree. Do you know what becoming a Muslim entails? Do you know that you have to be circumcised?”

  An Mei blinked and she shook her head. It was not something she had given much thought to during the months she had been with Hussein. She had managed to persuade herself that it was an ordeal she could avoid somehow.

  “From what I gather, Hussein’s parents are not in favour of him marrying anyone other than someone from an important Malay family who would help his political career, and certainly not a Chinese girl. Don’t keep comparing your situation with mine, Hussein. It is a different era and your uncle had only himself to answer to. He had no living parents. Even then, his decision to marry me cost him and it took years for his friends to accept me. You, Hussein, can you say that you answer only to yourself? You, the only son and heir?!”

  In response, Hussein took An Mei in his arms. He placed his lips close to her ears. She felt his warm breath, compelling and insistent. “Don’t listen to her,” he whispered. “She is only trying to frighten you. Circumcision in Malaysia is symbolic, just a tiny prick to release blood. See, does she look as though she has suffered any mutilation? In any case, we can get around it. Trust me.”

  *****

  Jenny sat in the room long after An Mei and Hussein had left. The fire crackled casting a warm glow. She sank deeper into her armchair. She was aghast that she had revealed all the resentment she subconsciously harboured. It had escaped out of her like pent-up foam from a freshly opened can of beer. Her outward persona was always one of a confident, carefree and satisfied woman. She was ashamed of her bluntness and lack of tact, but she had promised Mei Yin she would put an end to An Mei’s hope that things would somehow work out between Hussein and her. Jenny picked up the phone. She dialled. “Operator,” she said, “Kuala Lumpur please. Telephone number...”