Bitter Sweet Harvest

by Chan Ling Yap

  “He from fishing family. We close in the camp. We help each other in camp. When I start driving my master to Singapore, I find him. He has a son and he took him to city makan angin, for an outing. I wait-wait for my master and see him at bus stop. Since then, we meet up when we can. He’ll help us,” he said proudly. “He speak good English. His father, teacher, only one not fishing; other uncles all fishing.”

  “Please, we must hurry,” said Mark, impatient to be on his way. “We’ll talk later.”

  “Yes! Yes! Sorry! Sorry!”

  They hastened towards the house. Mark felt the sweat pouring off him; his shirt was drenched and the binoculars he had snatched from the house, hung heavy round his neck. When he had set off with Aquino, he had no clear plan of how to rescue Tim. He still had little idea of what to do. He had set out with Aquino on the rescue because of An Mei. He could not fail her. He loved Tim like his own and he could not bear the thought that he might be harmed or frightened. Yet, he was aware of the perils of setting off with someone he did not know and going against the advice of the police. He clenched and unclenched his fists to reduce the tension in his arms, and pulled his cap firmly over his head. He needed that symbolic gesture to stop himself from being distracted by thoughts of what he might or should have done. He strode forward, each stride bigger and faster than the previous one.

  “I have to stay on this course now. There is no turning back,” he mumbled to himself. They were now cut off from everyone, even An Mei. There did not appear to be a phone line anywhere.

  As they approached the hut, a man with cut-off shorts, torn and ragged at the fringes, appeared on the top of the short wooden stairway that led to its doorway. He smiled and waved, gesturing with his hand for them to come over. He waited a few minutes and then turned and went back into the hut. By the time Mark and Aquino reached the bottom of the stairway, he had joined them holding two bottles of Coca Cola.

  Mark took the lukewarm bottle and drank thirstily. “Thank you,” he said holding the bottle up.

  “Good?” the man asked, revealing a row of uneven teeth. They shone white against the dark mahogany of his skin.

  “Yes! Very good,” Mark replied with a smile. He wanted to ask immediately if the man would help them get a boat to Pulau Hantu, but he held back, unsure of the local etiquette. He looked at Aquino for guidance.

  The man sensed the urgency in Mark’s eyes. “I’m José,” he said. “Aquino has told me. He came to me last night and asked me for help. And I made him go to you. You should decide what to do. We will help. I have a boat ready. I know the island. You tell us what you want to do.”

  Mark was at a loss. He had no plan. He could not form a plan when he did not know the odds; he did not know the layout of the island, where and how Tim was being kept captive, how many guards there might be. There were so many unknowns.

  “Tell me more about the island.”

  “Come, see here.” José took a long stick and began drawing lines on the surrounding sand. He drew two land masses, one bigger than the other, separated only by a small stretch of water. “They are not big islands; the biggest is only two hectares and the small one less than one. Plans are underway to reclaim the surrounding land to enlarge the islands. I know this from the local fishermen; they have been told about the plan by government officials.”

  He pointed to the gap between the two islands and drew wavy lines to demonstrate. “If they mentioned mangrove swamps, it would probably be here,” he said pointing his stick to his roughly drawn map. “The rest of the islands’ coastlines are beautiful beaches with wonderful corals and sea life.”

  Mark looked at him in a new light. José’s command of English and the efficient way he described the island kindled his curiosity about the man. He stifled his interest; there were more urgent matters at hand.

  Mark stabbed the area between the islands with his finger. “If these are mangrove swamps, how can they hide Tim there? Surely they would have to place him in a house or shelter of some sort? Have you come across any sort of shelter, hut or anything that could be used to hide a little boy?” He felt the hair on his arms rise as he imagined how terrified Tim would be.

  “No! Although that does not mean there isn’t. I don’t fish around that area, but I have been over to the islands with other fishermen. I cannot recall seeing any huts or shelters in the mangrove swamps except here.” He pointed to the surrounding sea just beyond the beach adjacent to the swamp. “Here, there are some fishing huts built on stilts in the sea. Some of the huts are connected to the beach by jetties. Any one of these could easily be used as a hideout. There are no other shelters near the mangrove swamps.”

  “How can we be sure that Tim is in one of these huts?” asked Mark. “Are there any other places that they might use?”

  “We cannot be sure unless we get over there and stay and watch out for whoever took the little boy. Aquino, you will recognise them won’t you?”

  Aquino nodded.

  “It’s so open. They would see us if we were to try to land on the beach during the day and attempt any sort of reconnaissance or rescue,” said Mark.

  “Definitely! We should not go on those beaches,” agreed José.

  “What about at night? Is the visibility good on these islands?”

  “It can be poor because of the humidity. Condensation of the moisture in the air when it cools can create a lot of mist.”

  “Then we have to rescue Tim at night. We have to use the time from now until then to pinpoint the spot where they are keeping Tim captive and work out a detailed rescue plan. How can we keep watch on them?”

  “From the mangrove swamps,” replied José.

  “Is it near enough the beach and the huts? Can they see us if we station ourselves here?” asked Mark pointing to the map.

  “They will not see us if we are careful. It is quite dark if you keep well within the bowers of the black mangrove; the cover is quite dense in parts. We cannot take a boat into the swamps; we have to leave our motorboat some distance away. Here, we’ll beach it here,” José said pointing to a spot on his improvised map, almost opposite from the mangrove. “From here, we would have to use a small canoe and paddle along the coast to the swamp. We can’t take a motorboat in because of the mangal roots. The advantage we have is that tonight’s visibility will most likely be poor and it will be low tide. It will be shallow enough for us to walk from the mangrove swamp to the huts.”

  “Then can we go now? Do you have the boats?”

  “I have a outboard motorboat and a small canoe which we can tow. They are not mine, but I have use of them. I made all the arrangements after Aquino left me in search of you last night. It will not take long to reach the islands. If they do spot us they would just mistake us for fishermen in search of crabs and prawns. Don’t wear that cap; I’ll lend you a fisherman’s hat. We’ll need to darken your skin.”

  José disappeared into the hut and came out with a jar of brown goo. He smiled sheepishly. “I concocted this in anticipation that you would need some form of disguise. Probably not very good for the skin. Coconut oil and thick dark soya sauce.”

  “So we are set,” said Mark taking the jar. He looked at the two men before him. “Let’s do it.”

  Chapter 41

  An Mei closed her eyes and tilted her head to let the hot water stream over her head and face. The surrounding glass panel of the shower misted with the heat. Drop after drop created a tracery down the glass. She turned her back and pressed her forehead on the opposite wall, longing to find comfort in the pelting hot water. The tight knots between her shoulder blades screamed for relief and her head felt tight. Minutes passed. The steam grew in intensity. Yet her head would not clear nor her muscles yield. A sob rose from her throat. She tried to stifle it, only to find herself shaking and breathless. Her legs gave way and she slid down, her back gliding over the wall until she ended sat on the floor of the cubicle.

  “Please, please let Tim be returned to me safely,” she cried a
loud. If someone were to predict, when she was young, how her life would be, she would have thought it a tall story. Every ray of hope she had seemed jinxed. Even the prospect of Tim returning to her was now threatened by the possibility that she would lose him to Hussein.

  “An Mei, An Mei! They are here. They have come to collect you,” called Nelly. She knocked on the bathroom door loudly, urgently.

  An Mei forced herself to rise from the floor. She turned off the tap and using both hands, squeezed her hair dry before stepping out of the shower. She dried herself and carelessly pulled on a pair of trousers and a shirt.

  “Please tell them to wait. I am not ready.” She wanted time to think, to prepare herself for her meeting with Hussein. How much should she tell them? What would be the consequences if she were to tell them that Mark had gone off in search of Tim? Would it help find Tim or would it reduce Mark’s chances of rescuing him?

  She stood for a moment to look at her reflection in the mirror. The woman who returned her gaze looked hollow-eyed and pale. “Weak,” she said as she grimaced at herself. “How are you going to prevent Hussein from seeing Tim if Mark manages to rescue him?” she asked her reflection. “Won’t he recognise Tim as his own?” She took a deep breath.

  Her heart to heart talk with Nelly had not eased her other nagging fear. She did not know how she would react when she saw Hussein. Nelly had suspected her unease.

  “You have to be strong,” Nelly had said. “Think of all the things he did to you, casting you aside without even the decency of saying it to your face. Think of how his family treated you. You must steel your heart! You have to stay firm; you have to fight for Tim and keep him from their clutches.”

  *****

  Detective Superintendent Kam’s office was exactly as she had remembered it: bare white walls, brightly lit by fluorescent strip bulbs, and cold. The air conditioner made no concession to the heat outside. Detective Superintendent Kam came out from behind his desk.

  “Good to see you,” he said, shaking her hand. He gestured in the direction behind her. “I don’t have to introduce you; this is Datuk Hussein from Malaysia.”

  An Mei started. She had not noticed Hussein. She had walked straight into the office and headed straight for Detective Superintendent Kam’s desk. She sensed Hussein’s eyes boring into her back and she imagined a thousand spidery fingers crawling over her.

  “Come,” said Kam, “let us sit around the low coffee table, it is more comfortable.” He walked over to a coffee table indicating that An Mei should follow him.

  She turned to do his bidding and came face to face with Hussein. He was looking at her intently, so intently that she had to turn away briefly to regain her composure. She squared her shoulders and smiled, a merest quirk of her lips, to acknowledge his presence and sat down. She crossed her legs and looked up. He did not let up; he continued looking at her, this time with a smile, half-apologetic. “How are you?” he asked. He tried to engage her eye.

  “Shall we get on with why you asked me to come,” she said instead turning to Kam.

  “Datuk Hussein is here because Ahmad contacted his parents, his mother to be precise, and told her that he has Tim. He asked for a ransom,” said Kam. “Ahmad is expected to call again. Datin Faridah, following the advice of the Malaysian police, asked for time to get together the cash he demanded. It apparently irritated Ahmad and he hung up on her. He has yet to make another call. The Malaysian police have now asked for our cooperation and Datuk Hussein is here for this purpose. Of course, you must be aware that the crime has taken place under our jurisdiction and we remain in primary control of the investigation. The call was made from Singapore and so we can assume, until otherwise proven, that Ahmad is still on the island.”

  “But Tim has nothing to do with my former husband. I do not know why Ahmad called Datin Faridah,” said An Mei, still refusing to look at Hussein. “There is no necessity for his involvement.”

  Detective Superintendent Kam looked from An Mei to Hussein.

  “Come, come An Mei,” said Hussein, “Ahmad said the boy is the spitting image of me. Surely you are not going to deny that he is my son. Of course, I am involved in this case.”

  She turned and looked straight at him. “He is not your son. I have not borne any child with you in our short marriage and you know it. If he called your mother, it is to make mischief. I don’t think you need to involve yourself in my affairs.”

  “Even when Ahmad has demanded a ransom from us and he might harm your son, our son, if I do not concede to his demand? Would you still insist that I do not get involved?”

  She gripped the arm of her chair. “If it is a matter of ransom, we will raise the money.”

  “But Ahmad did not contact you. If it were just about money, surely he would have got in touch with you first.”

  Kam placed himself between the two of them. An Mei could picture him as a referee, making a ruling between squabbling players.

  “We are here to cooperate for the sake of the child. Whether Datuk Hussein is his father or not is not the immediate or crucial issue here. If Ahmad were to get in touch with Datuk Hussein’s family, we would still have to use whatever lead it provides us to trace the child. Hence his cooperation is important. Is that not so? You can sort out the question of paternity afterwards. It is not my concern at this point. Agree?” Kam asked.

  An Mei nodded with some reluctance.

  “One more question. Where is Mr. Hayes?”

  “Mr. Hayes? Who is Mr. Hayes?” asked Hussein, his eyes flashed from one to the other.

  “My husband. Tim’s father,” replied An Mei. She saw the glitter of surprise and anger in Hussein’s eyes. She ignored it and turned back to Kam.

  “Mark is trying to find Tim. He is out there, looking for people who might have seen our son.” She clenched her fist tight and felt her fingernails biting hard into the palms of her hand. It was not quite the truth, but not a lie either.

  “You are sure you are not hiding anything from us?” Kam asked.

  She nodded, unable to answer in case her voice failed her. She was sure that Kam did not believe her.

  “Just keep us informed of anything, anything at all that you hear, see or read. Okay?” asked Kam.

  She smiled gratefully, unable to believe her luck to be let off so lightly. She did not know if she had imagined it, but she saw a ghost of a smile from Kam. It was there and gone in a flash. She turned and with a brief nod to Hussein made her way to the door. He was there before her, opening the door for her. She walked purposefully towards the exit of the police station. He followed her, walking by her side, matching her pace.

  “An Mei! Can’t you look at me? Can’t we talk like two civilised adults? I miss you,” he said taking her arm to restrain her.

  Heads turned to stare at them. A tall, well-dressed, dark Malay man, pursuing a young Chinese lady in trousers. They could see that he was begging and pleading with her; she seemed impervious to his entreaties, angry even. His entourage of what could only be security guards looked on with impassive faces.

  She wrenched her arm away and leaned back from him. “We have nothing more to say to each other,” she said. “More specifically, I have nothing to say to you. I don’t wish to see you again.”

  “I miss you,” he persisted. His voice was soft and cajoling. “Whoever this Mark is, he cannot be as important to you as we were to each other.”

  “Mark is my husband. You are not fit to mention his name!”

  Hussein was stung to the core by her reply. “You cannot mean it. You are just saying it to hurt me. We are soul mates,” he continued. “Remember, you are my first and only love and I hope that I am the same way to you.”

  She turned to walk away. He reached forward to catch her arm again.

  “I am here to ask if you would take me back,” said Hussein.

  She felt herself tremble. She bit her lips to stop the trembling. She knew that if she gave in to herself, she would weaken. She had, for days, this n
agging fear of failing herself as she had failed herself so many times before when she was with Hussein. “Retreat into your anger, your pride,” Nelly had counselled her over and over again. She thought of her past humiliation. Suddenly her anger flared. The cheek of him! She rounded on Hussein.

  “Don’t you understand? I don’t miss you and I don’t want to have anything to do with you,” she said. She locked gaze with him for a second. He stepped back, startled by her vehement reply. Without a glance backwards, she hailed a taxi, shutting her ears and mind to his voice.

  In the taxi, An Mei sat dry-eyed in the corner. Her body was stiff and tense. She clamped her jaws. She stayed like that all the way back to Jane’s house. She had prepared and schooled herself for her encounter with Hussein. It was only when he said he wanted her back that she nearly lost the defence she had created round herself. She could not afford to allow her weakness to show. She was glad for Nelly’s advice. If she had not drawn on her anger and pride, she would have shown her weakness. She wished that Mark were with her; she needed his strength, his sensibility and his love. “Mark!” she whispered, “where are you? Where is Tim?” She bowed her head in prayer for their safety, murmuring her prayers over and over again; something she had not done for years.

  *****

  Ahmad sat alone in the armchair, one leg was slung across the armrest and the other jiggled furiously. The die was cast, he thought. He had broken all ties now and would not be able to return to Malaysia. He would probably not even be able to return to his house in Singapore because his cover must have been blown. Otherwise why had Aquino disappeared?

  He mulled over the events that had led to his present predicament. He looked at the bare room with its two tiny iron-barred windows that now served as his safe house, one provided courtesy of Ah Cheong. He closed his eyes in disgust at his surroundings. The unwashed odour of previous inhabitants persisted even in the air he breathed. He had no choice. He had nowhere to go until the ransom money materialised and arrangements for his flight to Indonesia were completed. He had not wanted things to turn out the way they had. He called Faridah, his old ally, in the hope of winning her favour. After all, he would be returning her grandson to her. He heard the joy in her voice, even when he raised the issue of money. She was receptive to his proposal. She believed he had taken the child for her sake. Then it had all changed the second time he called. He had hung up and in anger sought Ah Cheong’s help. He realised now that by calling Faridah, he had placed himself in serious jeopardy. He had committed a criminal act, kidnapping. He preferred to think that he had taken Tim to rescue him from the clutches of a wicked infidel, a woman who had cheated her husband and in-laws of a lawful child and grandchild. He had been so sure that Faridah would support him. He even thought he might regain favour in Faridah’s household. It must be Hussein’s doing that he was now on the run and forced into the hands of Ah Cheong. Anger stirred in him. His involvement of Ah Cheong meant that he had to share his takings.