Bitter Sweet Harvest

by Chan Ling Yap

  “But sir, I do not have a place to go to. Can I go back to the house? I normally sleep on the camp bed in the kitchen. I don’t have anywhere to go,” he repeated.

  “Well, you can’t tonight. I have other arrangements. I don’t care where you go, just make sure you do not go back to the house until tomorrow morning at eight. Is that too difficult for you? You can stay here if you wish. Sleep in the car. Don’t make a fuss. Other people would be overjoyed to have an evening off.”

  Ahmad stood for a moment glaring at Aquino, daring him to offer further words of protest. Aquino looked away, unable to hold his gaze and too frightened to utter another word. Ahmad sniffed and his eyes narrowed for just a second. Then he turned and made his way back to Ah Cheong.

  Aquino watched his departing back; he waited until the two men disappeared back into the building. Then he ran towards the back of the house, keeping to the shadows, until he reached the backyard. All along the wall were boxes and boxes of empty bottles, piled up high. He crept towards the wall. Light poured out through an open window. He slid deep into the shadows between the boxes. He kept very still, anxious not to topple any of the crates. He could hear voices from within. He strained to hear what was being said. He knew that Ah Cheong used one of the back rooms as his office. He had seen his men go in and out through the back door. He looked anxiously at the door. It was shut tight.

  He could not hear what was said although he could recognise Ahmad’s voice. Suddenly the backdoor crashed open; the boxes round him rattled with the impact. He shrank further into the gap between the crates. Someone came out. Then he heard Ah Cheong’s voice.

  “Take the jeep, make sure you have a tarpaulin that you can use as a cover. Once you have got the child, go straight to the jetty. The two boys will be waiting for you. Tell them to take you and the kid to Pulau Hantu.”

  The word hantu upset the man. “Pulau Hantu! Someone said that it is just mangroves and black waters. It could be infested with snakes,” he said.

  Aquino could see the man clearly now; thin, sinewy with a tattoo of coiling dragons that ran from shoulder to elbow. Aquino could see the agitation on his face even from where he was hidden.

  “Yes! Hantu! Ghosts! Mangroves and snakes! Mong! Stupid! Diu lei loh mo! F ... your mother! That is why it has been chosen; and the name Hantu helps keep people away. Probably like you they fear the devil,” said Ah Cheong, hurling more expletives at his underling before returning back to the house.

  Aquino waited until the man left and then crept quietly in the shadows until he was some 20 yards from the house. He then ran down the dirt road in the direction of the main roads lit by streetlights. He kept going until he reached a small housing estate. Exhausted, he stopped, gasping for breath. Before him were a row of single-story terrace lodgings; they backed onto a small lane. He saw bicycles parked in the lane. He moved quickly towards them; he snatched one and pushed it forward in a trot; he flung his right leg over the seat and pedalled furiously, swerving dangerously out of the lane, to skid down the hill.

  *****

  The plane landed with a thud and grind, its twin engines roaring loud on the runway. Over the intercom, the speaker announced. “We have now arrived at Changi airport in Singapore.” It droned on about the airport facilities, the penalty for smuggling hard drugs...

  Hussein unbuckled his seat belt and stood up, ignoring the request that everyone should remain seated until the seat belt sign was turned off.

  “Sir, wait. Please sit down. The plane has not come to a final stop,” said the hostess making her way down the aisle, her tight sarong clung to her swaying hips as she made her way towards him. He caught a glimpse of her long legs with each stride she made. He turned away, pulled open the overhead luggage holder and pulled his bag out with force.

  “Sir, we are not disembarking as yet. Would you please sit down?” she commanded.

  He ignored her and made his way to the exit. She followed in pursuit. He spun around in anger. She stopped mid-stride and looked at him; her eyes wide, filled with apprehension in anticipation of the stream of abuse that normally accompanied irate passengers. She saw a brief flash of anger cross his face and stepped back, but it vanished as fast as it appeared. He smiled, his lips parting to reveal white even teeth. He looked apologetic.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I just want to be first at the door. I have to leave the plane urgently. Could you help me? Please? I need to be first out when the door opens, that’s all. I’m sorry,” he repeated.

  She was completely disarmed. “Of course sir. Come with me. I’ll tell the other flight attendant. We are breaking rules and I don’t wish to get into trouble. I shall explain that you need to go to the toilet urgently and that is why I am allowing you to get up before the seat belt sign is off. The door will be opened soon. Come with me.”

  Hussein saw Ghazali rising from his seat and walking towards him. He followed the hostess and she, ignorant of what was happening, led the way to the exit.

  *****

  Aquino wheeled the bicycle into the grove of bushes and laid it gently on the ground. He saw the truck, a dark green affair with a tarpaulin thrown roughly in the back. Thick clogs of mud caked the tyres. No one was in the truck even though the engine had been left running. He could hear its hum from where he hid; diesel fumes hung on the night air.

  The house was cloaked in darkness, but through one of the windows, he could see a streak of light. It flicked from left to right and then top to bottom. He inched closer, squatting low on his heels. His eyes followed the light as it progressed from one room to another. He knew the house like the back of his hand. Shadows of two men holding torches appeared and disappeared on the wall. Suddenly the lights swivelled and dipped, a cry pierced the air and then silence. He felt his heart quicken, his mouth turned dry. It felt as though dried sawdust had soaked up every bit of moisture in his mouth. Two men came running out carrying a bundle between them. It looked limp and lifeless as it bounced with little resistance to the rough handling by the two men. Aquino shivered; his mouth worked silently in prayer. He waited until the truck drove off. He understood now what had been said outside Ah Cheong’s gambling den. He clambered back on the bike and once again pedalled off furiously.

  *****

  Bang! Bang! Bang! The loud knocks on the door reverberated throughout the house.

  Nelly dropped her spoon with a clatter into her bowl of congee; thin twirls of the pale grey rice gruel splattered across her blouse top. She looked across the breakfast table with its boxes of cereals, juice, toasts and fried yow char kuay at An Mei. They had risen before dawn, restless, and Jane had prevailed on them to eat because they had not eaten at all the previous day.

  An Mei took one look at Nelly and pushed her chair back. She ran to the window, straining to look in the direction of the thumping noise. She pushed the curtains aside impatiently; she could see nothing. The morning mist hung heavy and greyness still prevailed, coloured only slightly by shafts of pale light from a sun that had only just risen. Bobbing heads of the red hibiscus and dense green branches, all but obliterated her view of the path that led to the front door. She ran towards the front lobby, but Mark was already there before her.

  “Wait here. I’ll check,” he said pulling her back. The thumping grew in intensity.

  Jane and Nelly joined them, the children jostling and pulling behind them.

  “Go in,” said Mark shooing them away. He went to the door, lifted the letterbox flap and peeped. He sprung back in surprise. “It’s him! It’s the man who followed me and told us about Ahmad.”

  “Open the door,” commanded An Mei. “Quick!”

  Mark yanked open the door and Aquino stumbled into the hallway.

  “Tuan! Tuan! Sir, sir! They take little boy. You do something.”

  “Where? Where have they taken him? Who are they? Who are you?” asked Mark.

  Aquino shook; he could hardly stop his teeth from chattering. “I... I am Aquino. They must not know I told you. Tolo
ng! Tolong! Please, please you must not tell them. Jangan chakap dengan polis! You must not tell the police. I will be in trouble.”

  Mark took hold of his shoulders bewildered by the mixture of English and Malay. “Get a hold of yourself. You are not making sense. Has Ahmad taken Tim? Is this what you are saying?”

  For a few seconds, An Mei looked on, frozen in surprise. Then a cold calmness took over her. At last, the lead to Tim was back. Last night, nothing tangible could be done. She had gone to bed only to jump out of it like a tightly sprung coil. She had tossed and turned. Her mind had been cluttered then. Worry and fear for Tim had chased through her head and with it her fear of meeting Hussein, of what he could do to take Tim away, the power he might still wield over her and a fear of her own weakness. She had so many doubts that she did not know which she feared most. She had felt completely helpless; there was nothing to do other than wait. So her mind had gone in circles, one thought after another. She had lost focus. Now at last they could do something. First they had to get to Tim with this man’s help. Then they had to leave the country before Hussein could find her. She felt empathy for the man before her. She understood his plight. She had been through such fears herself.

  “Mark!” she said, taking his arm, “mind what you say! Be gentle!” She stood on tiptoe and whispered, “If you do as you did before he will run. You will scare him and he will not help. He is our lifeline. Don’t you see? He wants to help despite being clearly very frightened.”

  Mark saw the change in her. His heart gladdened. This was more the An Mei he knew. He turned back to Aquino. “Look no one is going to the police. No one is going to harm you. Sit down,” he said taking hold of a stool, and gently guiding Aquino to it. “Just tell us from start to finish what has happened.”

  “Minum! Drink this,” said Nelly handing Aquino a glass of water. He took it and gulped it down. He took a few deep breaths and then told them what he had seen and heard.

  After leaving the house, he had pedalled in the direction of the jetty that he had heard Ah Cheong and his underlings speak about. He had no hope of following the jeep. It was too fast for him. But he knew the jetty. He had heard talk of it during the days and nights spent waiting for his master in the car park outside Ah Cheong’s gambling den. He knew that murky dealings went on there. He had assumed it involved smuggling of some sort. He had always steered clear of the people involved, pretending a dumbness that earned him the nickname of tai fan sui, chon chai, thick like a big sweet potato and stupid boy. So stupid and dumb that they talked freely when he was around. He had to make sure that his guess was right. By the time he arrived at the jetty, the two men and the boat had gone; seemingly vanished into the thin air. The jeep, however, was parked alongside a dirt road, just a hundred yards from the jetty itself.

  “I think they took Tim to Pulau Hantu,” he said. “I don’t know place but I know someone to help us. We need boat. I have a friend. We are from same island in the Philippines; came on same boat. He knows Pulau Hantu and he says he help.”

  Mark turned to An Mei and then Nelly. He was wary. He did not feel that they should mount a rescue on their own. He wanted to go to the police. “An Mei?” he asked. He silently mouthed the word police.

  An Mei saw the flash of fear in Aquino’s eyes. He looked ready to take flight. He shook his head, and pleaded silently with her.

  “We don’t have time,” she said. “Will you go with him? I’ll go too.”

  Mark hesitated. He saw that An Mei wished him to go. He made up his mind.

  “No! It’s best I go alone with Aquino. It will be dangerous. You stay.”

  An Mei’s agitation grew. She knew that she was putting Mark in danger. Her earlier decision not to involve the police seemed fraught, but she also feared that time would be lost if they went to the police. She had not been impressed with them so far; they had waited hours just to report the incident. She also detected a certain disparagement when they spoke to her. Snippets of their conversation had drifted to her whilst she was in the police station. They had referred to her as that woman with the ang moh, red-haired devil. She recalled the Detective Superintendent’s face, snide and unfriendly, when he told her he had spoken to Hussein. He referred to Hussein as her husband and had completely ignored Mark.

  She grabbed Mark’s hand and held on to it tight, not wishing to relinquish it. She prayed that she had made the right decision. She could not bear the thought of something happening to him. She could not bear the thought of Tim in the hands of his kidnappers.

  “Go! Go!” said Nelly to Mark. “Decide quick. Time going.” She switched to Cantonese addressing An Mei. “Bei hui dei hui! Let them go! Think of Tim. I trust Mark. He is a resourceful man and loves Tim.”

  *****

  The sun shone fiercely into Jane’s sitting room. Its dazzling rays lit up the white walls and book-lined shelves and filled every corner of the room with a heat that the ceiling fan struggled to disperse. Nelly sat slumped in an armchair. Her shoulders sagged into the back of the seat as she laid her head back. Dark pouches underlined her eyes and her face was a cobweb of tired lines. An Mei, restless, her body tense and stiff with pent-up energy, was like a jack-in-the-box. She stood up to walk only to sit down again as, hemmed in by four walls, there was nowhere to go. She chewed her fingers, biting them until they tingled. Jane had tactfully left the two women and taken the children upstairs to play. She had taken leave from the hospital to stay at hand. Her husband was abroad.

  No one spoke. Only the whirring of the ceiling fan broke the silence. An Mei pushed her hair impatiently off her face and with a quick flick of her hand tied it up with a rubber band she had snatched off the shelf. Finally, she sat down, chin hunched into the collar of her tee shirt. Nelly opened her mouth to speak then refrained. She could say little to comfort An Mei; she could say little to comfort herself for that matter. She continued to reproach herself for taking her eyes off Tim when he was in her care in the playground. So both ladies retreated deep into their own thoughts and fears.

  The clock chimed mid-day.

  “I shouldn’t have asked Mark to go. I should have called the police. What have I done? Where are they? What is happening?” An Mei turned to Nelly. “Have I done right?” she asked knowing that there would not be an answer. “Shall I go to the police? They have been away for hours now.”

  “It’s anxiety that makes time go so slowly,” replied Nelly. “They need time to go to the jetty and that is a fair distance; then they have to find the Aquino’s friend, get a boat and some help to ferry them to the island. Jane has been looking the island up on the map and it is to the south of Singapore. Then, of course, they will have to locate the two men and Tim and even when they do find them, they probably will not be able to rush in and rescue him. They will probably have to wait till dark.”

  “I was not thinking, was I, when I asked Mark to go? What can he do against two gangsters? Mark has done so much for me and I have so much faith in him that I expect miracles from him. Have I put Mark in danger? Have I put Tim in greater danger?”

  She pushed away the lock of hair that had fallen across her eyes and placed both arms around the little bolster that was Tim’s bedtime companion; she hugged it tight. He had it since he was a baby, a round soft sausage like pillow with it’s white cover and embroidered teddy bears and a drawstring at the end which he chewed to sleep. She buried her nose into it drawing deeply on his scent. She longed to have him back in her arms.

  The phone rang. Brrrrrng! Brrrrrng! It’s insistent ringing cut through the tense silence.

  She snatched up the phone.

  “Hello!” she said, her voice hesitant and guarded.

  “To whom am I speaking?”

  “An Mei.”

  “This is Kam here, Detective Superintendent Kam. We have met. We have your husband here, Datuk Hussein. We would like you to come to the police station. We will send a car to collect you, say in half an hour.”

  “He is not my...” but the li
ne was dead. She held the phone some distance away from her, recoiling from it as if it were a serpent. The phone fell from her hand; it dangled from its cable, quivering in protest at its harsh treatment. An Mei stared at the phone, black, ominous writhing at the end of its coiled cable.

  She looked at Nelly.

  “Hussein is here! So soon!” she said. Her voice was barely audible. “I had hoped that we could rescue Tim and be out of the country, away from his clutches and that of his parents before he had time to find me.”

  *****

  Mark got out of the car. He followed Aquino. They walked quickly along the dirt path. Aquino was almost running to keep ahead of Mark’s long strides. Potholes like large washbasins filled with yellow muddy water dotted the way. Here and there clumps of couch grass grew, their broad blades stained a mustard-green. A stray chicken crossed their path; it clucked and protested and then ran tottering towards the bare patch of land that skirted around a cluster of small, dilapidated wooden houses. They were fishermen huts. No one was around, at least not out in the open yard. The fishermen were out at sea and the women were either inside or working in the fish-drying yard in the next village. The salt-filled air blew hot. Brightly coloured sarongs and garments, strung across a makeshift clothesline tied between two coconut palms, danced and fluttered in the air.

  “My friend,” explained Aquino, “dudok sana! He lives over there.” He pointed to a small hut built on stilts, situated at the beginning of a small incline. “He mend nets. We came same boat from Philippines many years ago. We got parted when I left detention camp.”

  Aquino stopped to mime his words with hand gestures. He spoke English well enough although over the years he had become used to mixing his English with Malay words. It made him feel closer to his homeland, nearer the Tagalog he had spoken in the Philippines. The more excited he became, the more jumbled his words became.