“Peter, can you play mahjong?” asked Lai Ming suddenly.
“A little,” he answered. “Why?”
“I would like to play but there must be four players. I have seen that the coffeehouse man has a set of pieces. I think he would loan us the set. It may rain for two or three hours. By playing mahjong we could occupy ourselves until the storm passes over.” She turned and spoke to Pop in Cantonese, who grinned and nodded, got up from where he sat, and took from an old tea-chest a long cardboard box.
Approaching the table, he placed the box in front of Peter. “You savvy mahjong, Johnny?” he asked. “Not much English boy can do. This Chinese game. Velly hard game. English boy, no quick. No same Chinese boy. Chinese boy velly quick.”
“I know,” acknowledged Peter, thinking of the quickness of the Chinese cooks and kitchen boys where he worked. “They are fast at whatever they do,” he said.
Pop grinned. He was quite pleased at his knowledge of English. He emptied the box of mahjong pieces onto the table, one hundred and forty-four little oblong tiles, painted green and white, and coated with a shiny lacquer. Engraved into the separate pieces were Chinese characters; on some, dots, on others, Chinese numerals, peacocks, wheels, and some with colourful, brightly painted pictures on them, each piece denoting their place and worth in the game of mahjong, The Four Winds.
The three girls shuffled the tiles, clattering and banging them as they turned the pieces face down. Then they shuffled them until satisfied, and then placed them in four double rows to be dealt out.
The violence of the storm was now unbounded. The screaming wind blowing in from the sea hurled the pouring rain against one side of the swaying shack, where it beat upon the flapping canvas more and threw off showers of cold water.
Pop returned to the repairing of his net, Momma was crooning over the baby who was now asleep in its cradle of cloth, and the children were still chasing gleefully after the wet and ruffled dog. The outdoor chickens had all come in from the rain and were now busily scratching and pecking and clucking in every part of the shack as they enjoyed their luncheon dessert.
The mahjong pieces were dealt out and the game began.
A little over two hours later the rain stopped. The storm had passed over Changi. The black cumulus clouds had rolled away almost as unnoticed as their arrival, and once again the sun shone, no longer hot and fierce, but weak and watery, as it slid with gentle ease towards the edge of the world.
A dewy mist hung thinly in the air, perfumed and sweet, a steamy haze lazily lifting skyward, sucked up by the heat from the sodden earth. In the tall grasses surrounding the shack, bullfrogs honked incessantly and praying mantids jumped from their hiding places to leap joyfully through wet rushes. The dog had crept from its hiding-place beneath a table, and on sniffing the air sprang through a gaping hole in the torn canvas, shook its shaggy hair, gave a woof of delight, bounded away through a covering of tall grasses and headed towards a hut where a Malay fisherman’s family lived. The chickens were again busily pecking in the muddy sand outside the shack; now that the rain had ceased, there were plenty of insects for them to feast on.
The game of mahjong was over. Lai Ming was carefully arranging the tiles one by one back into their box, her tiny, delicate fingers toying with each piece as she slowly and methodically fitted it into its place. She said little when Ah Ling and Susy Wee excused themselves to walk along the beach. Her mind was confused but she would not allow her eyes to betray her confusion, so she kept them fixed upon the box. The boy sitting opposite her was eager. There was no want of trying on his part. He had asked her repeatedly during the game for a date—to have dinner with him, to visit the Tiger Balm Gardens, the Tropical Gardens, the zoo over at Johore Bahru, or any place of her choice. But if she said, ‘yes,’ she knew that it would eventually hurt him, so she had repeatedly said ‘no.’ She stole a glance at him. He was still a boy, and she an experienced woman. Again she thought to herself, whichever way I go, I will hurt him, but having said ‘no,’ it will hurt him the least. She did like him though. He was the first boy her heart had warmed to since the death of her husband, yet she had to refuse him. She wondered if she should tell him the truth about herself. That should discourage him. But she could not tell him the truth. He would not understand.
The sun, weak and watery, and sinking quickly, cast its final rays of the day upon the water as it sank down over a horizon streaked with beams of gold, orange and indigo. The glow spread in a wide arc across the heavens in many more colours before the sun finally sank from sight behind the jungle-clad hills of Johore; then the bright colours suddenly faded, and it was already evening.
Together, Peter Saunders and Lai Ming had watched the setting of the sun, and then they turned to face each other.
“I don’t know why you keep refusing me, Rose!” Peter persisted. “‘The African Queen’ starring Katherine Hepburn is showing at the Capitol Theatre. I love Katherine Hepburn, she’s always good, and I’ve heard it’s a very good picture. I could take you there this evening! Just for the one occasion. On my word of honour, I’ll be a perfect gentleman, and I’ll see you safely home in a taxi.” Lai Ming was shaking her head, but he continued, “I’d be so very happy to have your company, Rose.”
Again Lai Ming shook her head, “No, Peter, I will not go with you, and that is my final word. I am getting cold. I must dress. It is time to go,” she snapped. “Why me? Peter, there are many younger girls in Singapore who would love to have you as a boyfriend.”
“I’ve never met any,” said Peter.
“That is because nice girls are often shy. They too find it difficult to make friends. The boy must break that shyness barrier, but once broken the boy would have a true friend, maybe for life. Why don’t you try to find such a girl, a young girl, but not a widow who is so much older than yourself, a widow with a seven-year-old child. I know you say you want to take me out, just the once, but I don’t think so, man is not made that way. You may wish for my company more than once, and although I would probably enjoy your company, I have plans for the life ahead of my son and I, plans that mean everything to me. And Peter, you must not come between my plans and me. You cannot be part of my plans. I cannot allow it. You cannot be in my life,” she said vehemently.
“Why? I don’t understand you, Rose!”
“I cannot discuss my plans with you, but I do know that no one must interfere with them. Don’t I make myself clear to you?” she demanded.
Hurt and confused, Peter said, “Rose, I have no wish to interrupt anything that you have in mind, but I like you so much. I just don’t want to lose you now that I have found you. I want your company, your friendship. I have no wish to pry into your private affairs.” He paused for a moment, then, shaking his head, said, “I cannot understand why my taking you out just the one time or a hundred times for that matter can upset any plans you may have.”
Pop and Momma sat at a table in the far corner of the shack eating their last meal of the day, boiled fish and cabbage, and boiled white rice from shallow bowls. Occasionally they glanced to where the boy and girl sat talking a few tables away, and they threw meaningful looks at each other, but they ate in silence.
He looks so pathetically sad and lonely, Lai Ming thought. “You just don’t understand, Peter. You are making it very difficult for me,” Lai Ming said quietly, “and difficult for yourself.”
Peter remained silent, staring vacantly and fingering an empty coffee cup. He had been so hopeful, so blissfully happy with her company, and so absolutely sure of himself. Now it seemed futile to argue or plead further.
Lai Ming read his thoughts. She felt sorry for him. Her eyes were also sad. She knew how he felt, he was just another of the countless number of young servicemen away from their homes and family. Each and every one of them must experience some pangs of homesickness and loneliness, she thought. Peter, sitting opposite her, was not unique. Here in Singapore, thousands of miles from his home, family and friends, he was just another
lonesome boy. Just a short while ago, on the beach and here in the shack, he was filled with exuberance and elated by her company but now he was downcast, his face showing disappointment, almost melancholy. She could end his loneliness, she knew, but at what cost, to him as well as to herself? She was lonely, too. Perhaps, in a sense, lonelier than he. She needed a good friend, a good boyfriend, someone who would love her as she so desperately wanted to be loved, and someone to whom she could give her love.
Pop came to the table and said to Peter, “You want something, Johnny?”
Peter answered, “No, nothing else, Pop, thanks.”
Pop nodded. He liked this boy who came almost daily to his shack. He remembered how Peter had recently said to him, “Some day in the near future, you could build a beautiful restaurant right on this spot. You and your wife would have others to work for you, and you would make lots of money. And as there’s a lovely view of the islands from here, you could call your new place the Island View Cafe.” And Pop had smiled at the eager, enterprising youth, nodded his agreement, but had said nothing. Time will tell, he thought. He took the box of mahjong pieces from Lai Ming’s hands. “He comes often,” he said to her in Cantonese, nodding his head towards Peter. “He is a good boy. He is honourable.”
“Thank you,” she said to him, and suddenly she felt confused no longer; Pop had made her mind up for her, just through those few words. Why not, she thought. She needed someone kind, someone she could trust.
She was about to speak when Peter got up from the table, and in a sad voice said to her, “Rose. I’m going to change,” and he gathered up his clothes from where he had left them on a nearby stool and disappeared into one of the changing rooms.
Ah Ling and Susy, having kept at a respectable distance by walking the beach during the long conversation, entered the shack moments after seeing Peter get up from the table.
“Well?” asked Ah Ling, intense curiosity plainly written on her face. “Is he going home with you?”
“No, I have no wish to take him to my home. He is a good boy,” said Lai Ming, “but he is very young.”
“If you don’t want him, I will take him,” teased Ah Ling. “I will teach him fucky-fuck,” and she giggled and looked at Susy for her to say something.
She did. “Ming, he is young, but you need a boy to call your own. And he looks to be a good boy.”
“I am sure he is,” Lai Ming said, almost in a whisper.
“Well, why not enjoy him? I can see by his face that he will respect you as a friend, as well as be a good lover,” said Ah Ling.
“You are right, Ah Ling, and you are a good friend. You are both good friends,” she said, startled by her own admission. “I will speak to him, and I will surprise him,” she said.
Her heart was pounding when Peter, looking sad and rejected, emerged from the changing room and joined the three girls at the table. Lai Ming waited for him to sit down, which he did, opposite her. Then, taking his hand in hers she stroked the back of it with her fingers. “Peter, I have changed my mind,” she said softly. “I would like to go to the cinema to see that picture with you. What is the name of the picture? I forget.”
Speechless, Peter could only stare at her in disbelief.
“Well?” she asked, a gentle smile playing on her face as she looked into his bewildered eyes.
“‘The African Queen’!” Peter spluttered. And now, suddenly filled with relief and happiness, he exclaimed, “I don’t believe you, Rose. What happened?”
“I told you, I changed my mind,” Lai Ming answered quietly, her soft eyes not moving from his.
“Oh, God!” Peter gasped, “Rose, I just don’t know what to say. Suddenly you’ve made me the happiest man in the world.”
“I am glad for you,” Lai Ming answered, again very quietly, and she gave his hand a gentle squeeze.
“Shall we go this evening?” asked Peter.
“Why not?” A lock of black hair fell across her brow. Lifting a hand she deftly swept it back over her head. “Yes, I would like to go to the pictures with you this evening,” she said.
“That’s fantastic!” Peter exclaimed. Elated, he said, “And after the pictures, I’ll take you to dinner, and we’ll have cocktails together, and maybe we’ll dance.”
Lai Ming smiled at his enthusiasm. “You make me laugh, Peter,” she answered. “You make everything sound so wonderful. I know we shall enjoy spending this evening together.”
Susy, listening to the conversation, said in Chinese to Lai Ming, “Now that you two love birds have decided what you are going to do, we must go because it’s getting late, and soon it will be dark. We must return to the city.”
“Yes, you are right, it is time for us to change and go,” said Lai Ming. She got up from the table and, accompanied by her two friends, walked towards the changing rooms.
5
Changi Village had only the one road running through it, a tarmacked road bordered on both sides by a strip of unpaved land, stony and dusty when the weather was dry but full of muddy potholes and wide pools of water when it rained, which was often. On these strips of unpaved land huge shade trees grew. Their main purpose, though, were as parking places for vans owned by local merchants and the few cars which visited the village; the public generally used the frequent and excellent bus service to and from Changi and the main city of Singapore. Planked boardwalks, about eight feet wide and raised a few inches from the ground, ran much the length of the street. These provided pedestrians protection from the mud and the dirt beneath, and upon which they could walk and browse at leisure the varied open shopfronts lining both sides of the street. There was much to see: the Indian emporiums, Chinese clothing and tailoring shops, china and glassware shops, and those which sold ivory artefacts, animals carved from mahogany, leather suitcases, picturesque wall mats, chess sets and music boxes. There was something to suit everyone’s taste.
On one side of the street were several bars and eating places, some catering to the palates of the local population, the others to the many military personnel and their families visiting the village. Those which catered to the locals were mostly out of bounds to all British military personnel, but Peter Saunders could not understand why this was so, especially as they appeared to be clean and well-run establishments. Perhaps, he thought, it was a leftover from the old colonial days when the white man considered himself superior; it was just ‘not done’ to mingle and fraternize with the ‘natives’.
On this evening, although the tarmacked road had already steamed itself dry, the parking places were muddy and filled with pools of rainwater. Saturday evening, early yet, but in an hour or so the boardwalks would be alive with throngs of people wandering up and down that two-hundred yards of shopfronts, enjoying the vibrant noises, gaudiness and exotic smells. Changi Village was not a residential area but simply a district where people of many ethnic backgrounds—Chinese, Indians, Malays and Caucasians—came for pleasure and to shop. Everyone, or so it appeared, coexisted with easygoing tolerance for one another.
At the seaward end of the village, Peter Saunders, accompanied by Lai Ming and her two girlfriends, left the already darkened beach path and stepped into the brilliantly lit area surrounding the police compound and customs offices. Across the street was the Changi bus terminal and taxi rank. Peter had already decided that he would take the three girls by taxi the fourteen miles to the city, but first he had to return to camp to shower and change his clothes. He would wear his brown slacks and a sharkskin shirt, both painstakingly ironed to perfection by him, the same style of clothing worn by most military other-rank personnel when off camp in the Far East.
While he went off to change, Lai Ming and her two friends would wait for him at Changi Eating House. Next door was Jong Fatt’s provisions store situated directly opposite the taxi rank. Peter made sure the three were comfortably seated at a table overlooking the street, ordered them coffee and from there took a taxi the mile or so back to the catering block where he instructed the Chine
se driver to wait. Dashing madly up the four flights of stone steps to the third storey, he threw off his beach clothes, hurriedly washed, and then quickly donned his walking-out clothes.
“Hey! Saunders! Where are you off to in such a bloody hurry?” shouted one of the cooks from halfway down the billet.
“I’ve got a date with a lovely Chinese girl,” Peter shouted back breathlessly. “I’m taking her to the pictures.”
“Not one of the Saturday afternoon whores who frequent the beach is she?” shouted back the other.
“No. She’s a real lady,” Peter answered.
“Well, watch out she doesn’t give you the clap,” the other sang out as Peter dashed from the billet. In his eagerness he almost flew down the four flights of steps and into the open door of the waiting taxi. In less than half an hour from when he had left the three girls, he had rejoined them, finding them completely at their ease, talking and laughing among themselves and still sipping coffee at Changi Eating House.
“Shall we go?” Peter asked Lai Ming.
“Yes,” she replied. Her two girlfriends giggled and joked, speaking Chinese words that Peter did not understand. He was not sure whether Lai Ming was amused or annoyed by their remarks. She said to him, “Come! It is late,” and together the four left the coffee shop and clambered into the waiting taxi. Peter found himself snugly squeezed into the back seat between Lai Ming and Ah Ling. Susy sat up front.
“Singapore,” Peter instructed the driver, indicating that he intended to be taken to the main town on the island.
His face expressionless, the driver mumbled his acknowledgement, the taxi moved forward and soon was speeding rapidly away from Changi Village.
The Rose of Singapore Page 5