Bitter Sweet Harvest

by Chan Ling Yap

  “Don’t blame yourself. As I said many times before, she would have married or gone with him anyway; she was so smitten, so in love. She would not have risked her father’s anger by running away with Hussein otherwise. Who could have anticipated that his family would go to such extreme measures to push them apart? Why did Shalimar change her story? And can we believe Hussein? It seems... it seems...”

  “A tall story? I too have my doubts, but I cannot say that to An Mei.”

  “So what is she going to do? Tell her we love her; that she can always come home.”

  “Are you going to tell Ming Kong?”

  A long silence followed. Mei Yin struggled with her thoughts. They were in limbo. “What do you think?”

  “Yes; this time we should tell him, but we must break it to him gently.”

  *****

  Ming Kong smiled as Mei Yin tucked the rug around his knees. This was the time of the day that he liked best; when she was back home with him, just playing a game of cards, watching television and eating the restaurant delicacies she had packed into a tiffin box for him.

  “Is this the tiffin box that you used to bring food to Nelly when we had our first shop?” he asked. Cream and painted with red roses, the chipped three-tiered box had clearly seen better days.

  “Mmm...” she nodded, “I brought it all the way here, as a reminder of how we started business; a humble reminder.” She tried to smile back in return, but she couldn’t. Her mind was busy, scrambling to find an opening statement to introduce the subject.

  “You’re back early,” he commented, noticing her reticence. “How was it today?”

  He loved her daily accounts of what went on in the restaurant, content to take a backseat, at least for the moment. He hoped that his lethargy would soon lift; he felt unaccountably tired. He could not explain it. On the business front, things were working out. Nelly was keeping the Malaysian side of his business going; in Oxford, Mei Yin seemed to be thriving. He was blessed with two wonderful women, more than he deserved, he acknowledged silently.

  “Good, the day was good. The restaurant was full this lunch time,” she replied. She saw that he sensed something was not right. He was looking at her intently, expectantly. She made up her mind to tell it straight. “I have news of An Mei. It’s not good.”

  She took his hand and told him, leaving nothing out.

  He sat quietly and listened. Once upon a time, he would have ranted and raved; he would have threatened and rushed out to make good his threats. Now he just sat listening, his face full of sadness. Like Nelly blaming herself, he considered himself responsible for the situation.

  “Perhaps my sins are revisiting my child,” he said softly, so softly that Mei Yin had to bend low over him to hear.

  “Nonsense!” she said. “Completely different context. You were much worse!” she teased in an effort to lighten his mood. She was worried; his face had turned virtually grey.

  “An Mei needs someone to talk to and perhaps it is not us. She needs to clear her head. She has to get away from Kuala Lumpur, from Kemun, and think and talk it over,” she said.

  “Casey!” he said suddenly. “She was her best friend in Oxford and seems to know Hussein. So what she says An Mei would not interpret as being biased against him. If it came from us, she probably would.”

  “You might be right. Casey is young like An Mei. Our way of thinking is different from theirs. Siew Lin, her mother, says she is level-headed. I’ll speak to her.”

  Chapter 28

  “It’s a matter of grave concern,” An Mei heard the man say. She glanced up and caught his eye. He smiled politely, bowing just a fraction to acknowledge her existence before continuing his conversation with the group of men standing by the bar. “It is not a matter that is covered in this conference and we are not here to discuss it, but informally...” he paused, casting his eyes around the room, “people are talking. Just like us. In the corridors, behind closed doors, people are commenting on the new directions. The long term results that surely must arise from such short term considerations.” His voice droned on.

  An Mei was aware of the glances in her direction, a lone woman in the room, distinguished from the other suited delegates by the lack of an official badge that would give her title and credentials. A large poster announced that an international conference was underway. She was waiting for Casey. Casey had said that she might be able to pop out to see her for a few minutes in order to arrange a reunion tonight. She warned she might be late because much would depend upon how the conference was going. As an interpreter, her hours were determined by the proceedings. But surely, An Mei reasoned, she should be able to get away now that the delegates were taking a break in the bar. She looked around the room uneasily. She felt like an intruder.

  “You see that woman sitting there,” she heard a delegate say, “look what she is wearing. It did not use to be like that here, but, increasingly, this is a common sight. A swing to ... to ... conservatism would you say?”

  She knew instinctively that she was being examined and lowered her head to let her hijab fall forward to cover more of her face.

  “An Mei?” a voice asked cautiously.

  She looked up. “Casey!” she said, jumping up and grasping her friend’s hands.

  “Why are you dressed like this?” asked Casey. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that,” she apologised immediately. “I am late because of the working group responsible for drafting the report. There were some difficulties with some of the words used by the interpreters. Suddenly every delegate in the group became a self-appointed linguist. They combed each word to ferret out all possible nuances. We had to liaise with the translators preparing the report of the conference.”

  She paused for breath.

  “Look! I can’t stay,” Casey continued, “I have to return immediately now the break is over because we have to be back in the interpreters’ booths ready for the resumption of the session. Here, meet me at my hotel,’ she said pushing a piece of paper into An Mei’s hands. “It is wonderful to see you.” Casey gave An Mei a hurried hug and rushed off, but her face was taut with anger. “How dare Hussein reduce her to this plain, shrouded woman, with fear and anxiety written all over her face.”

  *****

  An Mei stood in the middle of the hotel room examining the clothes strewn in chaotic disorder on the big bed.

  “Find a place to sit, will you,” Casey shouted from the bathroom. “Just push the clothes aside. I will be out in a minute. I just need to make myself nearly decent. There! I am ready.”

  She came out of the bathroom, wrapped in a big fluffy towel, a smaller towel wound round her hair like a turban.

  Suddenly, An Mei felt like she was back in Oxford in the digs she shared with Casey. The hotel room was bigger, more luxurious, but there was the same chaotic assembly of clothes, books and paper. Even the smell of Casey’s bath soaps and powders were the same. She could not help smiling.

  “How did you manage to create such a mess in one day? You have only just arrived.”

  “That is why. I have not had time to unpack properly. Ah!” she said, eyeing An Mei. “I am glad you took that off. I was worried for a moment that you were going to keep it on even with me. Why have you taken to wearing a scarf round your head. You have such beautiful hair.”

  “My mother-in-law insists on it. I resisted initially, but it caused such havoc and unfavourable comment that I gave in. Anyway I have to think of Hussein. Apparently, it is important for him that I profess and practise the faith.”

  “Tell me all, that is if you are up to it. I shall order something from room service for us. You are free this evening, I hope?”

  “Yes, I am back in KL alone.”

  *****

  When An Mei finished speaking, the atmosphere in the room descended into a haunting silence. Casey had let her speak without once interrupting. The dishes brought up by the hotel staff had long gone cold. The food lay congealed, uninviting on the plates. An odour of
uneaten food filled the room.

  Casey stood up. “I’ll get rid of this,” she said gathering the tray and walking to the door. “Shall I order something else?”

  “I can’t eat.”

  “Neither can I,” admitted Casey, “and I was so hungry when you arrived.”

  “Sorry.”

  “What about?” Casey stood for a moment, hands empty of the tray she had left outside the door. “Come here,” she said, hugging An Mei to her. They stood together, Casey towering over An Mei, her arms around An Mei’s slight body in a tight hug.

  “What shall I do?” asked An Mei as she extracted herself from Casey’s embrace. “I just do not know what to do.”

  “Do you want me to see Hussein?”

  “Yes! We can go to Kemun together. You might be able to judge better if he is changed. I can’t. Nelly thinks I make excuses for him. She does not say it in so many words, though her face speaks volumes. First, I’ll introduce you to Jeremy, her son. He is here in KL; he comes often to see Nelly.”

  “Ah! The Jeremy. What about Jane, her daughter?”

  “She is in Singapore and her visits are few and far between. She is tied up with her work in the hospital. I think she has a boyfriend and does not want to leave him for long.”

  “And in Kemun, would I be able to meet Shalimar?” asked Casey.

  An Mei nodded. “And you will see for yourself why I am so confused. She is the epitome of gentleness and goodness. I cannot bring myself to hate her. That’s what makes it so ridiculous. I can’t even hate her. I cannot believe that she would lie but if she hasn’t, then...” She left the sentence unfinished.

  “We should eat. You will feel better,” Casey said looking at her watch. “If I am to go to Kemun, it will have to be this weekend, after the Conference. So shall we arrange to see Nelly this evening? We can have supper with her and then I’ll get to meet Jeremy. She grinned. “I can’t wait to see the man.”

  “Then get changed and wear something very informal. Nelly likes to shock people by going very local.”

  “Then, you must leave this behind and borrow my tee-shirt.” Squashing An Mei’s headscarf into a ball, Casey threw it across the room. It landed behind the armchair.

  An Mei’s sombre mood broke under her friend’s influence. “All right,” she said. “We are not going any place where I might be recognised.”

  *****

  The heat and humidity hit her the minute she opened the car door. An Mei half stepped out of the car and shivered as the damp air enveloped her; the car windows steamed up and mist covered the screen, partially obliterating the outside scene for a minute. Casey leaned over, stopping An Mei’s exit, and rubbed the window glass vigorously with her handkerchief until the glass showed clear.

  “Here! We are over here,” a voice called from some yards away.

  Still leaning over An Mei, Casey looked up and saw Nelly perched on a stool by a round wooden table. Next to her was a young man. He stood seemingly in search of something more substantial to sit on.

  “That’s Jeremy,” said An Mei. “Will you please get out from the other side and let me get out of the car from this side?”

  “You are right about Nelly’s choice of a place to eat,” said Casey shifting back to her seat before opening her side of the car door. She sniffed exaggeratedly.

  “Mmm! Lovely! What aromas!” She eyed one of the stalls suspiciously. A man was busy flipping what seemed like a piece of thin round cloth over and over a hot flat iron stove.

  “What’s that?” she asked round-eyed.

  “Roti canai, an Indian bread that is as thin as thin can be. See how it expands as he flips it over and over. It is a soft bread; you dip it in a sort of dhal, lentil curry sauce. Delicious! See the other guy. He is making another type of Indian bread, dosai. This is rolled into one big hollow crepe and is crispy.”

  “Gosh! I only know naans and chapatis. I did not realise there were so many other Indian breads.”

  “Yes, because you don’t have such a varied Indian community in Hong Kong or England, the choice there is less than here. Northern Indians eat quite differently from their southern brothers. I suspect dosai and roti canai are eaten mainly in South India. But come, they are waiting for us.” An Mei took hold of her friend’s hand and walked over to Nelly. Surrounded by her friends and family, she felt almost happy, almost like her old-self.

  “Come along, sit down,” invited Nelly pointing to the stools around the table. “Take any of these. Jeremy,” she said, turning to the young man, “this is Casey, An Mei’s friend.”

  Casey stared at him, completely captivated. He smiled. She was taken by his broad warm smile. She smiled back and with a lingering glance, turned her attention to Nelly once again.

  “How are you Aunty?” she asked politely. An Mei noticed that Casey’s cheeks were a bright pink.

  “Good, good. How is your mum? I met her just briefly in Oxford, but I have heard so much about her over the years from An Mei’s mother.”

  Then, turning to An Mei, “I chose this place to eat partly because you cannot eat pork now and in this place, there are all sorts of Indian and Muslim curries and halal food. Anyway, I thought Casey might like to try something different.”

  “Take this chair,” Jeremy said to Casey, “it might be more comfortable than the stool my mother offered you. Or perhaps, you might like me to show you what is available before you make a choice?” He got up extending his hand to her. “Back in a minute,” he said to An Mei and Nelly.

  He walked Casey over to the food stalls. “Has An Mei told you?” he asked.

  “Yes, she has told me. I presume you are referring to her situation. I am going to Kemun to see for myself.”

  “You know Hussein?”

  “Yes.”

  “Tell me what you see, what you think of Hussein, please.”

  Casey looked at him. Her heart did a little somersault. “Sure,” she replied. She wondered why he would be so interested.

  “Can we meet when you come back?”

  “Sure,” she said again, hoping that her heart would calm down. What an idiot he must think I am, she thought.

  Chapter 29

  The car powered forward, its engine purred smoothly, leaving behind Kuala Lumpur and its high rises en route for Kemun. Densely packed townships gradually gave way to one-street villages. Two-storey shop houses lined the road on each side, interrupted here and there by ramshackle outbuildings with piles of used rubber tyres and rusty wheels lying on the dirt ground. Potholes filled with brown muddy water and old abandoned cars dotted dirty courtyards. Brightly coloured posters with English and Chinese characters announced the business of the shops. They sold everything: plastic balls vied for space with enamel pails, tins of biscuits, milk powder, cooked food and fresh vegetables. Through the open doors of the shops they could see the goods packed in their dark interiors; there was no particular order in their arrangement and often they spilled out to the common frontage that linked the shops. Children played; some cried, others smiled; their pale faces covered with dirt as they jostled with each other or rode their bicycles.

  “Missy! Missy!” they cried running alongside the road, wildly waving their hands.

  Casey and An Mei spoke little, aware of the driver. An Mei could see his curious glances reflected in the rear mirror. Slowly the scenery changed. The two-storey shop houses gave way to small wooden houses set on stilts. Sarongs and brightly coloured shirts hung on clothes lines stretched between coconut palms; they waved like flags in the breeze. Old men and women sat in the shade, their brown skin burnt almost to a blackened nutmeg. Here and there, a table was set out in the blazing hot sun offering refreshments. Fresh coconut! A sign said: 20 cents per nut. Durians! said another, 4 for 2 Ringgit. The tables were not manned. Bees and flies buzzed. Nearby, a brown cow stood swishing its tail to ward off the insects. A cloud of dust rose and then settled. A desultory air prevailed. The momentum of life, it appeared, had slowed down to a snail’s pace.<
br />
  “Mei you huan; seems like not much has changed here,” said Casey switching to Mandarin. “It is exactly like mum used to tell us about life when she was in Malacca.”

  Then, suddenly the scenery changed completely with the start of mile upon mile of plantations, palm oil and rubber, their orderliness contrasting sharply with the earlier scenes; the buzz and dirt in the small townships fighting for livelihood and the relaxed laid-back villages of stilt houses. The plantations’ lush green formality shouted wealth.

  “There is change. You have to know what to look for. There is a greater divide. And once you recognise it, you will always see it,” said An Mei.

  Casey looked at her friend puzzled. “That is quite a profound statement. Tell me more. Tell me what Hussein thinks.”

  An Mei made a face, looked at the rear mirror and grimaced once again.

  “Shuo putong hua, speak in Mandarin,” Casey suggested.

  “I’ll try but it won’t be as good as yours. Remember I had only two years of private study in Oxford,” An Mei replied. “When we were in Oxford, Hussein used to tell me his plans and ambitions. He was always so fired up with the idea of redressing any wrong. Remember his involvement in the women’s movement and the protest against the Vietnam War? In the early months of our return, he was still full of enthusiasm. He wanted to help the poor. But his definition of poverty has gradually changed. Now it seems to be very much drawn on racial lines. He does not discuss it with me. When I try to point out that there is poverty amongst all the ethnic groups, he just won’t discuss it. All he says is that he must toe the party line. It is this more than anything that hurts me. More than even Shalimar, because I still believe she was forced on him.”

  An Mei stopped and looked at her friend. “He has no need of me any more.” Casey took An Mei’s hands in hers. She squeezed them in reassurance. She could not comment. She had to wait and see for herself.