Bitter Sweet Harvest

by Chan Ling Yap

  “Are we obliged to return?”

  “Normally, a parent would wish to see the kidnapper punished and, therefore, would return. But note that a court’s order to a witness to attend is valid only in the country concerned, in this case, Singapore. If a witness were to live abroad, then he or she would be entitled to refuse to come in person to attend court. The witness could opt to give evidence and be cross-examined remotely. So a court in Singapore would not have jurisdiction to order an overseas witness to return here.”

  “What about Hussein’s threat to take legal action against us? Can he subpoena us and could we be extradited to Malaysia? We would rather have any legal action settled in a country where we are more familiar with the legal system.”

  “Ahhh! You use the word extradition. An extradition order can be issued only in criminal cases. And if we are talking about a criminal case, it really depends on where you are located. If you are a resident in Singapore and, say, the gentleman in question is in Malaysia and he subpoenas you, then Singapore as a member of the Commonwealth is obliged by treaty to extradite you to Malaysia. I would imagine, and I would have to check this, the same would apply if you were in the UK.”

  “What if we reside in a country without such an agreement with Malaysia?”

  “Could you be more specific?”

  “Say, Italy. We both live and work in Italy.”

  “Italy does not have such an agreement with Malaysia. So it is not legally bound to surrender an accused to Malaysia.”

  Tay looked at the couple before him. He wondered if they were asking him the right questions; they seemed not on track with the real issues at hand. Both of them looked so desperate. He leaned forward and said, “Let me qualify this. You asked me about extradition. And I have answered accordingly. Extradition law is extremely complex and has to be taken almost on a case-by-case basis although some general rules apply. Are we, however, talking about a crime? There is no question of extradition being applied in civil matters.”

  An Mei had said little. Her head was reeling. Every answer Mr. Tay gave seemed to open up ever more avenues to the unknown. Was her deed, concealing from Hussein that she was pregnant with Tim when he divorced her, a criminal act? She had so many questions, yet each of these would reveal her situation a bit more and she couldn’t bring herself to tell all. She felt, knew, even, that Tay must have reached a conclusion as to who the father was but still she held back on the answer. I have not confirmed it, she thought, and hence it would remain a suspicion rather than a certainty. She did not know whether confessing would help or undo her case. She was still not sure how far a lawyer would or could protect his client’s confidentiality despite all their assurances. Could she deny that Hussein was the father if she were put on the stand, if she had confessed to Tay? Would it mean that Tay would be forced to abet in her perjury? She felt the thump of her heart; it was beating so violently she felt sure the palpitations must be noticeable.

  She recalled the decision she had made in Mr Tan’s office in Malaysia many years ago. She was not prepared to take the risk of telling the truth to a solicitor then; she felt the same now. She could not breathe. The fear of losing Tim overwhelmed her. She clamped her bloodless lips tightly together and looked to Mark for help.

  Mark seeing her suffering turned to Tay, “Please would you excuse us? My wife is not feeling well. We will come back to you and make another appointment.”

  “Of course. As you please.”

  They stood up, awkward and embarrassed to abandon a consultation that they themselves had requested. Mark put out his hand and Mr. Tay shook it. He then took An Mei’s outstretched hand and shook it. Her hands felt small and cold. Tay held on to her hand and placed his other over it.

  “Mam,” he asked, “are you sure you wish to go? Would you please stay for a little while and let me explain some matters to you.”

  An Mei felt as though her knees would give way. Mark put his arms around her. “Shall we sit down and hear what Mr. Tay has to say?”

  “Please, Mrs Hayes,” said Tay.

  They sat down, she reluctantly and he expectantly.

  “You said that Hussein has threatened to take legal action against you to retrieve Tim who he alleges is his son. Such a matter is a family issue and hence falls under family law. As Hussein is a Muslim, if the case were to be heard in Malaysia, it would most likely to be presided over in a Shariah court. You might be right that if you were to contest the case in a Shariah court, the ruling could favour Hussein and, if it were proven that he is the biological father, he might gain custody of the child. In a Shariah court, custody is normally awarded to the person best able to bring up the child as a Muslim.”

  “That is preposterous!” exclaimed Mark.

  “Not really. It is not uncommon for each nation to have its own peculiar bias when it comes to awarding custody. In the UK, the bias is towards the woman. In Germany, it is towards their own nationals. So if an Englishwoman were to marry a German man, then a German court would award custody to the man whereas an English court would probably favour the woman. So you can understand that in Shariah law, the bias is in favour of the Muslim.”

  Tay paused to let his word sink in. “But,” he said with a resounding voice, “but” he repeated for emphasis, he hit his palm with the ruler with a flourish, “if a Malaysian civil court issues an order against you, it has only jurisdiction in Malaysia. You are not obliged to come to court in Malaysia to contest it, even if he attempts to summon your return.”

  “So it is of utmost importance that we do not enter Malaysia,” said An Mei.

  “Yes! And you have not done so.”

  “What if Hussein takes criminal action against us and calls it a crime?”

  “He might well make that allegation and call it kidnapping, but it is unlikely to succeed. The abduction of children by parents is a civil and criminal offence, but, generally, the criminal law is not evoked. The parent who has lost the child will normally have to resort to the civil courts to get the child back. In deciding whom to award the custody of the child, the court will consider how the child is affected by the abduction. If the child has been abducted recently, the court tends to favour the parent who lost the child in order to return to the ‘status quo’ of the child. If, however, the abduction took place a long time ago, especially if the child has adapted well to the circumstances of the environment he or she was brought up in, then it is unlikely the child would be taken away from the parent-abductor. To remove the child from the abducting parent and restore him or her to the other parent might be deemed as causing trauma to the child. According to the Hague Convention, it is habitual residence that matters, essentially what is best for the child, rather than the rights and wrongs of the contesting parents.”

  A glimmer of renewed hope appeared in An Mei’s face. The fatigue that so marked her face just moments ago, went. Mark grinned broadly.

  “It would not be easy for Hussein to succeed in his legal action,” added Tay. “If he does it through a Malaysian court, he has no legal jurisdiction to summon you to Malaysia. He could take legal action through an English court. Past cases have shown that an English court generally favours the mother unless it is to the detriment of the child’s welfare. And of course, as a member of the Hague Convention, what I said regarding habitual residence would apply and that too would favour your situation.”

  “Thank you! Thank you,” cried An Mei.

  “Yes! We really appreciate your help. That has cleared a lot of things in our mind,” said Mark.

  “Not at all. It is my work. A word of caution! Malaysia is not, I believe, a signatory to the Hague Convention. So if Hussein did take his case to a Malaysian court, it might not be so guided by the rulings of the Hague convention. But you know, I think, what you must do. You must ensure that Tim never enters Malaysia while he is a minor.”

  *****

  An Mei held on to Tim with one hand and carried a tote bag filled with books, crayons and toys with the other. M
ark walked alongside An Mei carrying the cabin bags. She felt surreal walking amidst the surge of people all rushing to catch their flights.

  A man brushed passed An Mei. She jumped.

  “Sorry,” he said.

  She moved away as though she had been stung. Seeing her reaction he glared at her. “Gila! Mad!” he muttered.

  The three of them made their way towards the departure lounge. They had two full hours before their flight to Rome. Long queues had formed behind the security check. It was not quite a queue; sometimes two or three people stood side by side. The line curved and wound at random, like a snake inching forward. She held on to Tim’s hands. Her eyes were wary. They darted nervously, checking everywhere.

  At a distance, she saw a man. He seemed to be watching them. When she stared at him, he looked away, seemingly preoccupied with the notices on the board. She blinked. She thought he looked familiar.

  “Mummy, let go of my hands. I’m hot!” Tim was getting tired. He wanted to play. He pulled away. She hurried after him.

  “No! Stay with mummy.”

  “I want to see what’s there, I want to see,” he yelled. He ran towards the conveyor belt carrying the bags through for security checks. She followed, her body loping forward, banging her bag against others in the queue.

  “Madam,” said an officer, his face bristling with indignation as he saw how she had tried to by pass the others in front of her and push ahead towards the security checkpoint.

  “Sorry, I am not breaking queue. I am running after my son,” she answered. She took her eyes off Tim for a moment to speak to the officer. She looked back towards him. He was not there. She turned wildly to look at the people around her. They were pushing forward towards the checkpoint. She could not see Tim. She turned back to where Mark was. “Where did Tim go?” her voice was hoarse.

  “Mam, please put your bag on the conveyor belt and walk through this door.”

  “No! My son! I can’t find him.”

  “Then you have to wait your turn. Next please!” He glared at her.

  Mark hurried forward towards her, his cabin bags swung perilously close to others in the crushing crowd. People glared at him. “What cheek!” they exclaimed.

  “It’s not your turn. I was here first,” said an old lady blocking his passage. She looked at Mark; her voice was querulous, accusing. She pointed her finger at him. “Don’t try to take advantage of an old lady.”

  “We are not trying to jump the queue. We are looking for our little boy,” he explained. He looked apologetically at the lady. She tried to engage him in a discussion, but he was preoccupied by the search for Tim.

  She turned to her companion and said, “Gwei loh! Foreign devil! No manners.”

  He ignored the barbed comment. He recognised the word “gwei loh. A commotion caught his attention. People parted like swaying corn.

  “Do you mean this little boy?” asked a young man walking quickly towards them with Tim in his arms. “I found him hiding behind that lady,” he said turning around to point at a large lady wearing a long voluminous skirt that almost trailed the floor.

  “You could not find me,” Tim said with a wicked grin. He kicked his legs, thrashing the young man’s side. “I hide. You have to find me.”

  Mark took Tim from the young man and thanked him. “Sorry! Sorry! Thank you! Thank you so much. Please excuse us,” he said to the crowd of people returning to where they had been earlier. An Mei followed, relief on her face. She had been near to tears. Her nerves were frayed.

  “I think it is better if we keep Tim between us,” she said walking round Mark to position Tim so that he was securely sandwiched between them. “More secure,” she added. “Do you think they would let me through that security screen with Tim?”

  “Probably not! I shall go ahead, and wait on the other side. Then send Tim through. You go last.” Mark placed the cabin bag on the floor and placed his arm around An Mei. “It will be fine. I don’t think anyone will try to take Tim from us here.”

  “How can we be sure?” This is the last chance they have. They might try.”

  “Once we get into the departure lounge, it should be alright.”

  “Yes! I hope so.” An Mei turned to look for the man whom she was sure had been watching them. He had disappeared.

  Chapter 47

  An Mei stepped into the entrance foyer, some twenty metres in length and about ten metres wide, clad in marble and with a ceiling as high as a two-storey building. It was busy. A long queue had formed in front of a glass booth set in the centre. The booth manned by security guards separated the foyer from an equally large but dimly lit lounge. The flags of nearly 170 member nations were displayed on the walls of the lounge, creating a tapestry of red, blue, yellow and green. In the queue were men in grey suits carrying leather briefcases and women in dark skirts and jackets, one hand clutching a handbag, the other a briefcase. The sombre colours of their clothes were interrupted here and there by brilliant flashes of scarlet, turquoise, green, yellow and ochre worn by people who had chosen to arrive in their traditional national dress.

  They were all visitors to the Food and Agriculture Organization, waiting patiently for their turn to be issued with a building pass to enter the premises. First the passports and identity documents were handed over to the uniformed guard, then a phone call to verify that they had an appointment, then a welcoming smile and the issue of a building pass. Many of the visitors, once cleared, went into the lounge and sat waiting to be collected.

  An Mei smiled briefly at some of the visitors and walked into the inner confines of the building. She used the doorway to the right, flashing her own pass as a staff member to a guard, and walked passed the corner bookshop towards a broad marble staircase. She stopped and turned around, her eyes lingering over the familiar scene behind her. To the right was the bank, the Banca Commerciale Italiana, or BCI. Next to it, the post office, and further beyond was the corridor to the Staff Commissary, an enormous neon-lit commercial area. She smiled, reminded of how thrilled she had been when she first joined the Organization to discover the Commissary. It was like an Aladdin’s cave piled high with exotic goods — goods that were not available or were difficult to find in Rome, goods that staff members pined for from their homeland. She caught the eye of a colleague and smiled at his gesture to join him for coffee during the break. She indicated with her wrist that she was late and would catch up later. She had just returned from Singapore. She walked quickly up the marble staircase.

  She had been away for more than a month, but it was as though she had never been away. She walked on, her mind going back to the day she first joined the UN agency. She had been nervous then, eager to have a job, delighted that she had been selected. Her work gave her a sense of direction and economic independence. And she had loved it and still did.

  She continued up the stairway, ignoring the lifts at every floor. She needed to move to calm herself. She shrugged her shoulders and shook her head to relieve the tension. She arrived on the third floor. The lift door slid open and someone from within waved her in. “There is room,” a passenger called, stepping aside to make space.

  “I’m fine, thank you. I’ll walk,” she responded and pressed on. She turned off the staircase into a long corridor with offices on either side. She peered into one. Two secretaries shared it and their desks were set facing each other, the walls were lined with filing cabinets. A potted plant by the windowsill was the only attempt to liven up the room. She recalled a visitor’s comment. “Such small grey rooms! I expected more glamorous offices in a UN building.”

  “Not where the real work is done,” someone had volunteered with a laugh.

  She stopped in front of a door and knocked hesitantly and then more firmly.

  “Come in,” said a voice from within.

  She walked in.

  “An Mei! Welcome back! How was your trip? I gathered that it was work, but you took some leave as well. Was the family there with you? How are Mark and little Tim?
” asked Sandra Pool.

  Sandra came from behind her desk and took a chair for herself and pulled another alongside for An Mei. She was the personnel officer for the department where An Mei worked. A large woman, she had taken an instant liking to the petite small-boned An Mei and had helped her settle in Rome. An Mei sat in the proffered chair and Sandra plumped herself down in the adjacent one. The folds of her skirt cut in an A-shape, fell on either side of the chair like a tablecloth trailing the ground.

  An Mei hesitated. She wondered how she should answer. How to say fine, which was expected of her, when it was not fine? She recalled the comment of a friend when she had voiced the same question in the past.

  “When people ask you how you are just casually, you are not expected to go into any details or even tell the truth. You are expected to say, fine, and pass on. If you go into details then you should not be surprised to find that some people will shy away from you in future.”

  An Mei steeled herself. “My work went well,” she said, “but unfortunately, the trip as far as the family is concerned was an absolute disaster and a very frightening experience.” She was not going to say that everything was fine when it was quite the opposite. It would be incongruous given what she was going to say next. “In fact, I have come to ask you for advice. I intend to hand in my resignation.”

  Sandra took in the information without a comment. She sat with her hands on the armrest for a moment and then hauled herself up, pressing hard on the chair to get up.

  “I gather this is just an informal sounding out and that nothing has yet been done or decided.” She looked curiously at An Mei. Her brown eyes were serious.