Once We Were There

by Bernice Chauly

  I should go check, I said.

  No, leave her. She’s fine. Just let her be.

  I sighed and sat down next to him. He continued typing then shut the laptop a few seconds later.

  Want a salad? Or a sandwich? he asked as he opened the fridge.

  Doesn’t matter, I grunted.

  Sandwich it is then. He smiled.

  I’m sorry, I feel like a friggin’ zombie.

  I know.

  He brought out tomatoes, cheese, mayonnaise, lettuce, smoked salmon wrapped in paper and put it on the counter top. He reached into the bread bin and brought out a loaf of sourdough bread I had bought the day before. I watched him slice the bread and then pop it into the toaster. He’d started humming as he sliced a large red onion into thin slices. He knew I liked onions with salmon. Then he assembled the sandwich, layering the onions, lettuce, salmon and thinly sliced tomatoes, putting another dollop of mayonnaise on top and then a generous sprinkling of freshly ground pepper.

  It was meditative, watching him like that. My husband preparing me a simple meal was an act of love, and my tired eyes felt energised, knowing that we would have a few moments alone together, eating a meal like we always had.

  Here you go, my darling. Omar handed me the plate. Eat!

  It sounded like a demand and I bit into the sandwich obediently. The crunch of the bread gave way to a textured filling of smoked fish, fresh vegetables and a creamy mayonnaise. I was ravenous. He smiled and nodded, reached into the fridge and brought out a bottle of white wine, uncorked it and poured me a glass. It felt so normal, just like old times.

  The baby monitor crackled and we heard Alba fuss, the put-putting in the throat before a perfectly formed wail flowed across the dinner table to my ears. I gulped a swig of wine and swallowed the last of the sandwich.

  Let me feed her and come back, okay? Give me a few minutes.

  I kissed Omar quickly on the lips and hurried towards the nursery. The room was bathed in a warm light with butterfly shadows from the night-light dancing on turquoise walls, and the scent of lavender coming from a burner in the corner. There were stars glowing on the ceiling and as I peered over the cot, I saw Alba staring fixedly at the stars, then at my face. Her mouth puckered up and a cry formed as I picked her up.

  I sat down in the armchair and guided her to my breast. She suckled hard and drank noisily. I felt her fingers clutch at my breasts, and heard her swallow every few seconds, it was the most exhilarating feeling of all, knowing that I was the sole source of her nourishment. I remembered reading something about how the human baby was the most vulnerable of all to the elements. Newly-born calves could struggle to their feet, hatched turtles had to evade hungry birds and scramble into seas, but the human baby would not survive without shelter or nourishment. How vulnerable they were. How weak.

  I was startled when I felt Alba being lifted gently out of my arms. I had fallen asleep again.

  She’s out. Omar whispered and as he lowered her into the cot she started fussing, but he went shhh shhh shhh and patted her gently. Within seconds she was asleep. We turned off the butterfly light and tiptoed out the room.

  Once outside, Omar kissed me. He gripped my shoulders tightly, cupped by face in his hands and kissed me again. My exhaustion turned into passion and there we stood outside our daughter’s room, kissing and moaning like lovesick teenagers.

  * * *

  Two hours later, I heard her cry again. Omar and I had made love, showered together and made love again. It was the most sexual we had felt in a long time, a reminder of what being a couple meant, what being a couple deeply in love meant. I hadn’t had more than two hours of continuous sleep since Alba was born, and I felt that I was slowly but surely being stripped down. Being in Omar’s arms, having him inside me, telling me over and over again that he loved me, made me feel safe, protected. He was the man in our family, he was Alba’s father, and he loved her. But I still needed sleep, and we had sacrificed sex for much-needed sleep. I rubbed my eyes and stared at the dark ceiling. I felt defenceless, knowing that in spite of everything that Omar did, I was still her primary source of life.

  I padded into her bedroom and turned off the baby monitor. Omar needed to sleep, and I needed to feed Alba again. I picked her up. Her head was beaded with sweat and her nappy, bulging. I took her to the nappy table, and unbuttoned her onesie. She waved her arms and legs in the air, fussing loudly and as I stuck the tape on her new nappy, I decided to change her onesie for a pyjama bottom. The digital clock on the side table glared 2.33am. I sighed. It was going to be another long night.

  I decided to take her back to our bed, deciding against feeding her on the chair then leaving her in her cot. She would feed, then sleep, then wake and feed again. Omar was snoring slightly and I slid under the covers, with Alba on my right breast. Her mouth sought my breast greedily and in seconds, I could hear the familiar sound of her satisfied swallowing. She pulled at my breast more and I grimaced when her little nails scratched me.

  I closed my eyes and felt the coolness of the air-conditioning on the back of my neck. Alba stopped sucking as if to take in her surroundings, her eyes darting around as she kicked her legs in contentment. I was filled with a sudden rage and wanted to squeeze those thighs. The exhaustion had come and gone, but this time there was anger.

  Marina spoke clearly, enunciating every word.

  “Presenting the President of the Mak Nyah Association of Malaysia,” she said while staring at the mirror. “MNYAM. Meen-nyam, mee-ne-yam,” she said again. She pursed her lips and continued patting the bronze liquid liner on her lips.

  “What are you doing in there?” a male voice said from the bedroom.

  Marina dabbed her lips with a tissue, smiled and twirled out the door.

  “Morning, sayang,” she began. “Presenting the President of Meen-nyam, M-N-Y-A-M, the Mak Nyah Association of Malaysia!” She twirled and raised her hands in the air with a final flourish. “What do you think?”

  He sat up in bed, his portly tummy barely covered by the duvet, his hands scratching the salt and pepper hairs curling indignantly against his fleshy chest. He noisily slurped down a glass of water while swallowing two triangular blue pills. Marina sauntered towards his outstretched arm, giggling.

  “Want some more?”

  She leaned over and kissed him on his lips. He grunted and pulled Marina towards him. “Come here…to me.” Marina loosened her bathrobe, gasped slightly as the cool air hardened the nipples on her newly rounded breasts, still warm from the shower, and he lowered the duvet where his thick, hard penis revealed itself. Marina swooped down and took it in her mouth, while he stared straight ahead. The smell of ripe lilies and the breakfast of animal protein and fruit sullied the air, and Marina was made to feel that she had to pay for her à la carte meal along with the crisp white sheets and shower head with torrential pin pricks of water which had massaged her shoulders and back with the dexterity of a blind masseur. He was now moaning softly and Marina took his penis and rubbed it in between her breasts.

  “So much bigger now,” she said, lightly kissing him all over the face.

  “Yes, I can see that,” he said, smiling.

  “Tell me.”

  His eyes were glazed as his chest heaved. “You know what I always want.”

  Sunlight was streaming into the room, heating the air. She thought of closing the curtains but he shook his head. “I want to come in between those twin towers.”

  Marina knew that behind her, the two phallic structures stood, half-monoliths in the blue sky, cloudless, stark. She took his still-erect penis, emptied out a tube of lube and turned to face the sky. She gasped as he entered her and as she bounced up and down to his loud panting, she closed her eyes and thought of what it would be like to be a bird, singular and free.

  He’s resigned? I shouted. Why didn’t you tell me this?

  I thought you knew.

  How? I don’t even have time to brush my teeth, let alone read newsgroups or emails.


  Are you upset?

  Yes! Fuck. You know how important this was.

  Sorry. I was trying to figure it out myself.

  Really? What happens now?

  He leaves and Pak Lah takes over as PM.

  What? He is just going to walk away?

  The man resigned, he is allowed to do that. Walk away.

  I sighed. This changes everything. What do we fight for now? I mean, I know we fight for Anwar, but if this fucker walks free, we’re still fucked.

  He’s going. End of an era. It’s over.

  And what about Anwar? He’s still in jail.

  Well, somebody has to pay for it.

  Wait. What? Aren’t you worried?

  About what?

  Contracts? What else?

  We’re all right.

  How? You think foreign companies won’t doubt you because you have daddy’s name in the fine print? That’s okay?

  Omar was silent.

  Come on. Admit it! You’re just like all of them. Cronies!

  Del, please.

  No. Omar. You can’t do this.

  Well, I don’t have a fucking choice.

  You do!

  How?

  Do your own thing!

  My own thing? You joking? What? Like make things out of bits of wood? Sit on a rock and pontificate? This isn’t about me anymore. It’s about you and Alba. I have a family now.

  So you work like a dog, I raise her and we see each other on weekends?

  No! Why are you saying this?

  Because you are becoming someone I never thought you would.

  Your ideals make no sense! I am doing what is right, what is necessary for ALL of us.

  I thought we believed in the same things.

  We do! Del, I am running a company that builds bridges, we build roads. I am doing what I do best.

  With government contracts and the right connections.

  That is really not fair, Del.

  Well, he’s gone now. Great. Fucking great!

  Calm down.

  I need to get out of here.

  Del—

  I need to think, need to—

  You don’t have to like what I do, but you need to understand that this is a job, this is work, this is what I do now. I am taking care of you and Alba. Because nobody ever took care of you, Del. Not your father, not your mother.

  I shook my head. I can look after myself. I can look after Alba, but I don’t know if I can look after you.

  Omar took a step towards me and took me in his arms. As his eyes probed mine, his voice was calm yet urgent.

  Just be here, Del, just be here.

  * * *

  Alba struggled to walk, cruising along the sides of tables, clutching the edges wildly.

  From the kitchen, Omar shouted in thunderous applause. She’s walking! Look! She’s walking!

  Alba tottered towards me in her diapers and curls, holding a wooden toy clown that went clack, clack, clack. She walked straight into me and hugged my knees, then looked up and smiled, showing four teeth. Omar lifted her up and twirled her around and around, her laughter pealing like little bells, as if fairies were in the room. She was a wonder to us all. When she sometimes slept between us, we would gaze at her for hours, first inhaling her scent—talcum powder, lavender oil, breast milk and goodness—then lightly touching her dark curls, her high smooth forehead, her lashes, the almond curve of her sleeping eyes, her full cheeks, upturned mouth, the three folds of fat on her arms and thighs. Her chest rose up and down, ten fingers and toes all intact and untainted by the filth of the world. She was glorious.

  I had come to terms with being exhausted, and focused on being the best mother I could. Once Alba started sleeping through the night, I had time to myself. Time to read, take long baths, and make special meals for Omar when he came back from trips abroad. Time to have a sense of normality.

  A child disrupts everything, and time becomes a ventricle of loose possibilities. I had to learn to accept this. There were infinite possibilities in a day, from what Alba was going to learn, to the number of teeth that were sprouting in her mouth, to the expansion of her vocabulary. But time was also dictated by how long it took to buckle her into her car seat, which she did not like, to folding the pram and putting it into the boot, making sure the bag with diapers, change of clothes, juice, milk powder, milk bottle, snacks and toys was present, to getting into the car and turning on the engine with a sigh of relief, driving to intended destination and taking child, bag and pram out again.

  It was numbing at times. My brain was used to more serious matters, and the game of motherhood was unwieldy. The world around me felt flaccid, there was a certain need to navigate through people, objects, doors, stairs, bodies of water. There was a heightened sense of calm, but underneath it all, a constant nagging and unrelenting worry. It dulled me, spontaneity was impossible. There had to be an order to things. How my universe had changed! I felt trapped. Motherhood was a curse that could only be lifted when a body is lowered into the earth. And there were times when I felt that tired, that only the earth could save me, only death could release me.

  The day Sumi and Fairman got married was also the day that Alba turned one. The hotel on the Batu Ferringhi beach in Penang was transformed by the silky, white fabric dangling from the pine trees, twinkle lights and giant candles. Against the fiery sun on the horizon, a small group of family and friends presided over the non-denominational ceremony, officiated by a woman who was a known spiritualist and healer.

  Rather new age, don’t you think? Omar whispered.

  I think it’s cool. I smiled back as I straightened Alba’s bow on the back of her white dress. She was the ring-bearer and already looked tired and bored. I whispered to Alba, Just walk slowly and hold the cushion in front of you. As the sun dipped into the sea, the lights came on, illuminating all of us, making us look like druids. We numbered about fifty, including family and the closest of friends. Imran was present with a stunning Indian woman in a turquoise sari, his new girlfriend presumably. Then there was Fairman’s parents, his siblings and their partners, Rose, most of the staff from the company and their spouses.

  Sumi looked radiant. Her hair was up and styled with baby’s breath, and she wore a white sari with a gold border. Fairman was in a morning suit and looked absolutely dashing.

  The spiritualist asked for the ring and Alba tottered over from us to Fairman. Some in the audience whispered, So cute…ahhhh… Fairman picked up the ring from the cushion, gave her a kiss on the cheek and she ran back to us. Omar picked her up and cuddled her, and I whispered, Well done, darling. When they read the vows to each other, the waves crashed louder onto the shore, the wind blew up and swirled around our feet.

  I promise to love and protect you, for all the rest of my days, whether healthy or sick, until the ground claims me… I do… I do… You are now husband and wife.

  As Fairman leaned in to kiss Sumi, the cello player started playing the marriage waltz and the newlyweds turned to us, beaming with joy. We clapped and whooped and I saw Fairman’s mum wipe her eyes.

  The reception was in the ballroom and as we made our way there slowly on the grass, I said to Omar, Let me take Alba up to the room, change her nappy before dinner.

  It seemed to be the right moment as Imran came up to Omar and said, Let’s hit the bar! and thumped Omar on the shoulder. Oh and by the way, this is Nim.

  The beautiful Indian woman smiled at us and in an American accent said, What a gorgeous child! She did very well not dropping the ring.

  Yes, well, gorgeous child needs to have her nappy changed, I said. See you all later.

  I made my way up the stairs, carrying Alba, who I knew was tired and ready for bed. I was ready to pass out too; the journey to Penang had been long and arduous. We had decided to drive from KL, instead of letting Alba experience her first plane journey, and it was a six-hour car ride. We thought it fitting to celebrate Alba’s first birthday along with the wedding. The plan was
to get the hotel to make a cake, which we would cut the following day at teatime.

  Alba had been restless the entire journey and I had to resort to sitting with her in the back seat, playing with her and comforting her. I had a headache and got carsick, and felt nauseated for hours. We had arrived in Penang just before the rush-hour traffic and made it to the beach in good time.

  We’ll take her to the beach, Omar had said. She can at least make a sand castle and you can get some sun.

  I don’t want sun, I’d mumbled. I want to sleep.

  Sure, you sleep and we will make sand castles, won’t we, Alba? Omar peered into the car mirror to look at Alba. At that time I was sullen with tiredness, and the thought of having sand up my thighs was not appealing at all.

  As I entered our hotel room, Alba let out a wail that meant that she was tired, hungry and ready for bed. I gave her a quick wash in the shower and peeled off the grey silk dress I wore for the wedding. I dried Alba next to the sink, put on her teddy-bear pyjamas and saw my reflection in the mirror. My eye shadow and mascara had smeared. I let loose my hair from its tight bun and saw a woman who was still beautiful, with slight flab in the arms and waist, but a woman who was a mother, and whose child was smiling and calling mama, mama. Alba reached for my breast and I unhooked the bra, my nipple spilling out. There we were in the mirror, the image of mother and child. I smiled and said, It’s beddy time sweetheart, beddy time.

  The hotel had put a small bed beside ours; we did not want a cot as she had outgrown that. I made her a bottle of milk , and as she lay down next to me, I sang to her and caressed her face. Her long eyelashes cast shadows on her cheek. She drank the bottle noisily and emptied it. My head felt heavy and I thought I would nap before joining the reception downstairs. I closed my eyes for a few seconds and when I opened them, Alba was already asleep.