Bitter Sweet Harvest

by Chan Ling Yap

  “I can’t.” An Mei looked at the clock. “You go back to bed. There is absolutely no need for you to be tired as well.

  “I’ll make some tea,” replied Nelly. “Why don’t you lie ... look!” A sudden flash of light caught her attention. She pointed to the window. Two cars had swerved into the street. The rotating beams of the lights perched on top of them lit up the road and penetrated into the room. An Mei rushed to the door. The doors of the cars opened. A policeman came out of one of them, followed by Mark, holding Tim.

  “Mummy, Mummy!” shouted Tim.

  Mark released him and he ran as fast as his little legs would take him to An Mei. She scooped him up into her arms and snuggled her nose into his little body, covering his face with kisses. Tears rolled down her face. Mark reached her and took her in his arms, with Tim squashed between them. They laughed. Joy, pure joy bubbled out of them. Yet, they cried. Their eyes streamed. Nelly looked on and reached for her shirt ends, bringing them to her eyes as she too joined in their happiness and relief.

  Kam came forward. He did not wish to interrupt their joyful reunion, but he was in a hurry. He stood aside for a moment watching them. He cleared his throat. They were totally wrapped up in each other. They did not hear him. He was forced to interrupt them. “Mmm! Excuse me, but I have to leave. The two men have been taken straight to the police station for questioning and I have to be there. I hope that it will not be long before we catch Ahmad. I am sure we can make them talk. We’ll take Aquino with us. He will be useful.”

  The smile on An Mei’s face vanished. She had forgotten about Aquino. A feeling of guilt and apprehension crossed her face. She looked at Mark and then at Kam. “Will Aquino be all right?” she asked. “I have reneged on my promise not to tell the police. He fears the police. He fears that he will be deported. We promised him he would come to no harm and that he would be able to stay. At least, let that promise be kept.”

  Kam looked at her sternly. “It is not your place to promise him something that you have no authority over. As far as we are concerned, if he is a bona fide visitor in Singapore and not an illegal immigrant he will not be deported from Singapore for illegal entry. I have no idea of his status in Malaysia. That would be a matter for the Malaysian authorities. However, as to the role he played in the kidnapping, it is a different matter...” Kam let his sentence hang.

  “If it were not for him we would not have found Tim. I would hope that will count for something. In any case, he was forced into the situation and came to us as soon as he could,” protested Mark. He looked beyond Kam’s shoulder. Aquino was looking at him, his face, white with fear. “Please sir, if there is any leniency that can be applied to his case, I would appreciate it. I’ll stand guarantor.”

  Kam swept his eyes over Mark. “You sir will also need to come to the station to make a statement. There are many questions to be answered. Your interference with the law, trying to take the matter of rescue into your own hands, obstructing police work are all serious matters.”

  Mark kept silent.

  “It’s my fault,” said An Mei. “I persuaded him to do it.”

  Kam regarded her with his steady gaze. He had been struck by what Nelly had told him about An Mei’s situation. His view of her had changed dramatically since then. When he first saw her with Mark, he had allowed his own bias to see her as an ang moh lover, a woman that prefers white skin. He had been contemptuous then, especially when Hussein called to say that he was her husband. Now he saw her differently and with compassion. So he softened his stance and returned his attention to Mark.

  “However, Mr. Hayes has also shown exceptional courage during the rescue. We’ll leave this for tomorrow because we have more urgent matters to attend to. But both of you are not to leave the country. We’ll call for you tomorrow.”

  *****

  An Mei tucked a blanket around Tim and straightened his bedclothes. She kissed his cheek, stroked it and bent once more to kiss it, lingering on to smell him, his little boy scent. It was a habit that she had not been able to cast aside. She had to restrain herself from picking him up and pulling him close to her again. Mark placed his arm around her shoulder and took her hand. “Let him sleep. He is exhausted and so are you,” he said, leading her away.

  They had made up a little bed in their bedroom in Jane’s house, unwilling to let Tim out of their sight. They walked to the far end of the room and sat down, sharing a low seat by the bay window. An Mei placed her head on Mark’s shoulders. She felt safe when he was around. It felt like he had taken on her burden and worries, and made a cocoon for her to nestle in. She felt loved and needed. It was sufficient that he was there. She sighed and closed her eyes and began to drift off.

  Out of nowhere, Hussein’s face came to her mind’s eye, another love, a different love, a different time. For a split second, she felt its pull and was confused. She struggled, shaking her head to will the image away. She woke herself up. She opened her eyes wide and turned to look at Mark. She needed to affirm that it was a dream. He looked at her mystified. “What’s up?” he asked.

  “Nothing,” she replied. She drew her finger along his face, down his nose and jaw line seeking to imprint his face in her mind. She sought to wipe out the image of Hussein. She kissed Mark, gently on his lips and his eyebrows and then more fervently. He held her tight. They sat not speaking, his arms around her. Her serenity returned. With it came complete relaxation; then exhaustion hit her. The room fell quiet. Her eyelids grew heavy and she dozed off. Mark saw her sleep; his eyelids began to droop and within minutes he too fell fast asleep.

  At the break of dawn, An Mei stirred. And with that awakening came a crush of all the worries that had been temporarily pushed aside by sheer exhaustion. She squirmed from under the weight of Mark’s arms and sat upright, the tension in her body returned as though she had never rested. Every muscle in her body felt tight. She could feel it in her neck, between her shoulder blades. Mark woke up and rubbed his bleary eyes. When he opened them, he could see the anxiety on her face.

  “We did not have a chance to talk last night,” said An Mei immediately. Her voice was urgent. “Hussein is here, in Singapore, and I met him. He believes that Tim is his. I told him Tim was yours, but I do not think he believed me.” She broke off. A heat seemed to have risen from the depth of her to fill her chest and lungs. She had no tears. She had used them all up. The inevitable had arrived and she would have to face up to it. “Now, begins another battle,” she said. Her voice was resigned.

  Mark moved closer to comfort her; he felt deeply her despair.

  “I so, so fear losing Tim. Tell me, what shall we do?” asked An Mei.

  “We will have to wait to see what Hussein wants. He might not pursue us if we can convince him that Tim is not his. After all he has not made any effort to look for you all these years.” Mark was wary whenever he spoke of Hussein to An Mei. In the past he had not wished to delve too closely into An Mei’s feelings for her former husband for fear that he might discover something he would prefer not to know. The past was the past. The circumstances had changed now. Hussein was with them and Mark felt he had to tackle the issue headlong. He watched his wife intently to see how she would respond.

  An Mei looked away unable to bring herself to tell Mark what Hussein had said to her; that he wanted her back. A hatred and anger rose in her when she thought of what Hussein had said. It was not only anger against Hussein but also an anger directed at herself. She was angry that he had managed to stir something that she thought was long dead. He had managed to disturb her peace with a mere sentence. She still thought of what could have been. She despised herself for her weakness. She could not understand why she was doing this to herself. Was it because she hankered for what she could not have and in the process prized too low a love that she did have?

  Mark withdrew his arm from around her; he sensed that she was withholding something from him. Her face was an open book. The wistfulness had lit her eyes for but a second when he mentioned H
ussein, but he saw it as though it was written in bold letters. Hurt and anger took over. “Huh! Where is this Chinese inscrutability that people speak about,” he mumbled to himself. He went to Tim’s bed and bent over to kiss him lightly. He grabbed a shirt and headed for the door. Jealousy filled him; and fear, fear of losing her.

  “Mark!”

  “I’m going for a walk.”

  “We need to talk.”

  “Yes! We do, but I need to think first. You do too.”

  “Please!”

  He went back to her. “I’m not angry, just hurt. Until you tell me everything we cannot be talking truly. I am leaving you some space to think, as I need to think myself. If you wish to keep Tim, if we wish to keep Tim,” he corrected himself, “we must not return to Malaysia where we will immediately come under a legal jurisdiction about which we know so little. I have been doing a bit of research and have called up old friends in the UK on claims of paternity. We’ll discuss this when I come back.”

  He hesitated a moment and then planted a kiss her on her forehead and left. She watched his departing figure, the slump in his shoulder. A deep remorse welled up in her. She went back to Tim. She stood looking at her son, trailing her finger on his sleeping form. “Mummy is a fool,” she said to him. “What an idiot I am.” For in that instant when Mark turned away and left, she knew that between the two men, she valued and loved Mark more. What she felt for Hussein was nothing more than nostalgia for something that never really was. She suddenly felt afraid. She feared she might lose Mark.

  A shadow fell across the bed. She looked over her shoulder.

  “An Mei,” said Nelly. “Why did Mark leave? What have you said to him? He looked so sad, so bewildered.”

  “I have been stupid.”

  “Is it Hussein? Think carefully. He is not worth it.”

  “I know, I know. I keep thinking of the past, of the good times, the love that Hussein and I had when we were young and a sense of regret keeps returning to my thoughts. It keeps drawing me back. At the same time, I feel anger and shame; I am ashamed of myself. I feel that I am betraying Mark even by having these thoughts.”

  An Mei pressed her fist between her breasts. She needed the physical pressure to relieve the pain building within her. “I am all muddled up. Deep down I know Mark loves me. I trust him. He would not betray me like Hussein has done. And I do love Mark. I will not trade him for Hussein. Believe me. Now I have hurt Mark. He knows that I am keeping something back from him. I did not tell him about Hussein’s proposal that we get back together. If I tell him now, he will be suspicious; he will think I am contemplating that possibility. I have made him distrust me by holding back information from him.”

  Nelly walked round the bed to face An Mei. “I think you have to be clear and truthful to yourself. Love is not just sexual love; it goes deeper; it is about friendship and trust as well. The first may decline with time. Friendship and trust, however, last and will stand the test of time.”

  Chapter 43

  Hussein marched, with Ghazali close on his heels, into the Detective Superintendent’s office without knocking. He went straight to the desk. He spread his arms out wide and gripped the edge of it. His knuckles, little bony protruding hillocks, waxed white with the hardness of the grip. He stood for a moment bent over the desk, shoulders hunched up, aggressive, his eyes glaring at Kam’s bowed head. Kam looked up in surprise. Before he could say anything Hussein sat down; one leg crossed over the other to reveal the sharp crease of his trouser leg; his elbows resting on the armrest, hands linked together in front. He looked in utter command of himself. He wanted to convey that message. He wanted Kam to know that he expected him to obey his commands.

  Kam’s displeasure was thinly veiled. He made no effort to get up from his desk. He knew that he should have stood up to acknowledge the presence of a Minister, even if this was an unofficial visit. Resentment made him pose a counter argument. Hussein was a Minister but not in Singapore; he had not made any attempt to follow any rules or code of behaviour and could not swagger in and expect everyone to be at his beck and call. He reflected on his conversation with his superior. He had said, “Grant our neighbour help, of course, but I leave it to you to show judgement. On no account, should you give the impression that our police force is subservient to theirs.”

  Kam knew that relationship between Singapore and Malaysia had its up and downs. He knew that in the past month, it had soured somewhat. He knew also that this decline was transitional and would pass, just as in the past. Singapore had made rapid progress in its manufacturing industry and its northern neighbour remained a major source of raw materials. It also provided a major market for the manufactured products. In fact, it was impossible not to be aware of the ties of geography, economics and kinship. Even his Prime Minister, Lee Kuan Yew, had made reference to it. Yet, his resentment at being treated like a flunky clouded his thoughts, even though he knew that his job could be at stake if he made an undiplomatic blunder. No wonder, he mused. His thoughts strayed to what Nelly had told him about An Mei and his sympathy for her became doubly reinforced.

  Kam nodded to the police officer in the doorway, indicating that the situation was under control. It was necessary. He had lost face even in his own office. The officer had hurried after Hussein in an attempt to stop him from barging into Kam’s office and had witnessed his superior’s helplessness in handling the situation.

  Hussein fumed, impatient with Kam’s slow acknowledgment of his presence; he was taken aback by what he considered a lack of courtesy. Over the past few years, he had grown accustomed to having his words hung onto by all and sundry.

  “You have found my son?” he growled.

  “We have found Tim, the little boy.”

  “Why was I not informed immediately?” Hussein glared at him.

  “We informed our Malaysian counterpart, the police, immediately. We would have called you this morning but you have already pre-empted us.” Kam looked at his watch to illustrate the earliness of the hour. It was, after all, only just after eight in the morning and he had been up all night.

  “Where is he now?”

  “With his parents.”

  “Mind what you say!” Hussein’s voice grew louder. He half rose from his seat and wagged his finger. “Mind what you say. I am the father. You remember that.”

  “Sir, Datuk,” said Kam, his tone conciliatory, reasonable, “all I know is that I returned the child to the mother. The mother says that the father is Mr. Hayes. I am not here to judge. Both Mr. and Mrs. Hayes reported the kidnap to us and we, the Singapore police, executed the rescue successfully. You, sir, reported that someone called Ahmad had kidnapped a child, whom you believe is yours. You have not met this said child. The mother has said it is not yours. We are in the process of interrogating the two men found holding the child. We will report to you the progress we make in the case. If there is a link between the two men and Encik Ahmad, I will keep you informed.”

  Kam stood up. He extended his hand.

  “Sir! Datuk Hussein! Thank you for coming to our office.”

  “I have not finished with you,” growled Hussein. “Who are you to keep my child from me. Why was he not returned to me?”

  “Sir! It is not my position or responsibility to return the child to you. It is a matter for a court. And now, if you will excuse me, I have to attend to the matter of the two men we caught. I am sorry I cannot be more helpful; it is not my intention to offend.”

  Kam bowed briefly and walked to the door. Hussein got up crashing the chair behind him and brushed passed Kam without a glance, leaving Ghazali to pick up the chair.

  *****

  They marched through the long corridors flanked by security guards. People stepped aside as Hussein’s men barged past them, an early morning throng of people who were arriving at the station: officers reporting for duty, people coming in to report all and sundry, cleaners, clerks, secretaries, drivers. They looked on in astonishment and pressed against the wall to
free the passageway. Some clucked their tongues and wagged their heads in dismay. “Disgraceful!” they said. “Who is he?” they asked of his departing back. Someone whispered in Cantonese, “Gon mmn cheet, hui san fun! Hurrying to his graveyard!”

  Hussein ignored their talk. He stepped out on to the pavement. His car was waiting; his driver held the door open and he slipped in followed by Ghazali. The car rolled smoothly forward. Ghazali stole an anxious glance at his boss.

  Some twenty minutes into the ride, Hussein sighed, “I behaved badly, didn’t I? I shouldn’t have gone in and made all those demands. No way to conduct diplomatic relations or to gain the help of the other party.” He glanced at his secretary, huddled in a corner, holding his brief case. “You are free to speak. Tell me the truth.”

  “No sir! You would not have done this in the early days.” Ghazali reflected on Hussein’s early days of political campaigning. Young and old had warmed to his charm. He showed care and respect for all who he met.

  “What has happened to me?” Hussein said to his reflection in the driver’s rear mirror. “Too much power,” he said to himself, grimacing at his own image. The anger lines seemed engraved on his face, making deep grooves from the side of his nose to the corner of his lips. He looked again and saw the furrows on his forehead. He knew the answers. It was this big, big void, this emptiness that was eating him up. It had grown steadily since he divorced An Mei. He had filled it with political success. He had almost got used to this void until Ahmad’s call. Remorse and regret gnawed at him afresh. He wanted to make amends, ask her to have him back. He thought he would win her back by rescuing their son. Her denial that the boy was his was bad enough; then to find that she had remarried! He winced. Her rejection, especially her off-hand dismissal of his overtures, offended him. He could not let her go. He must see this boy to verify for himself if there was any truth in Ahmad’s claim.