Once We Were There

by Bernice Chauly

  There were shadows moving in between the pillars like tall, thin aliens. Bits of glass crunched underneath his shoes and there were a few remaining fluorescent tubes glowing in the dark, casting a blue hue on the walls. The room was airless, dank, humid. He could barely breathe.

  He saw a staircase and switched his torch on. The thin line of light from the torch shone against steps leading upwards. The ornate, gold railing was still intact, but it had a slimy sheen on it. He dared not imagine what the slime might be.

  “Oi,” someone shouted, “Tutup lampu! Off the light!”

  He switched the torch off. He was a stranger here and he had to respect its dwellers. Something scuttled past his feet and touched his ankle. He let out a gasp, and almost dropped his torch. He saw the outline of an animal the size of a cat. But what cat would live in this kind of filth? The beast streaked up the stairs forelegs first. It must be a rat, he thought and a shiver coiled up his neck. He had to find her. He inched slowly up the stairs, his back to the wall, away from the slime-covered railing.

  Upstairs, human figures lined the walls, lying down, their limbs splayed out in complete surrender. He walked past them, scrutinising them one by one, trying to make out her form. The last figure in the corner was a man sitting cross-legged by a window, sucking hard on a cigarette.

  The glow from the cigarette illuminated his face. The man glared at him, sniggered and started clicking his mouth, as if trying to suck morsels of food stuck in his teeth. Next to him was a stack of cardboard sheets. On top of it, a towel, grotesque with vomit. Omar’s stomach heaved. He noticed another staircase, probably leading to the roof. She had to be up there, she had to be.

  A sudden breeze struck his cheek. As he reached the top—air! He filled his lungs. And there she was. Standing by a low wall, looking at the sky. His heart gave a lurch.

  “Del,” he called softly. “It’s me.”

  “I know.”

  He moved towards her, close enough to reach out to touch her. His heart was breaking. She turned and her hair flicked across his face.

  “I’ve been waiting for you.”

  “Took a while to find you. Let’s go home.”

  She stepped back.

  “I can’t.”

  She looked at him, her eyes were clear, pleading.

  “I just want to be with her. Help me.”

  A sudden breeze rose up, swirling the dried leaves around them.

  Her eyes were suddenly clear, lucid, as if he could see right through them. The wind picked up speed, trees started swaying and leaves blew around the roof in small circles. She whispered above the wind, barely, but he heard her.

  “We will meet again, when there is only light, no more darkness.” She faced the wind, and stood closer to the edge. “I gave you the ground I stood on, I’m sorry. So sorry…”

  She reached out her arms and he went to her, he kissed her cheek, her eyes, caressed her neck and breathed in her scent. The wind was dying, her pulse fading. He kissed her lips, they were cold.

  “I love you Del. I love you.”

  “You’ve been so good to me. I did try, I really did.”

  “Let’s try harder, shall we? I promise… just come home.”

  “I can’t. No good anymore.” Her eyes were nothing but pain.

  “We need to fight this. We promised each other, remember? I can’t do this alone.” Omar pleaded. “I need you….” He took a deep breath. “I am all you have left, Del… it’s just us now."

  “You think she’s dead?”

  “I don’t know, but you are alive. That’s all that matters.”

  Del stiffened, she tried to push him away, but he held fast and strong. He held her like that for a while until they both felt the droplets on their skin.

  She looked up and said, “It’s starting to rain.”

  Epilogue

  I can see the sky. Vermillion. Then a slow blue. A sparrow chirps. I turn my head to look for it. There. A little head bobbing up and down. Streaks of white against brown feathers. A darting mouth.

  I stand up slowly. The rows of white buds are just starting to flower and I’m pleased.

  The gardener has just left, and together we watered all the plants in the garden. He wanted to rake the leaves and red flower petals that were strewn all over after the heavy storm the night before, but I insisted that I would do it myself.

  “Madam, you must be careful, in your condition,” he said.

  “It’s okay. I’m fine. The doctor says exercise is good,” I chuckled, reassuring him.

  As I walk into the kitchen, I feel the baby kicking again. Papa is making dinner, since I’m craving something meaty and spicy. A pot of mutton curry is simmering on the stove and Omar will be home soon. It smells delicious. There is music coming from Papa’s study, and the evening light casts shadows on the wall. I take a sip from the cup of tea left on the kitchen counter. My handphone rings; it’s Marina.

  “Hi darls, how are you?” She sounds cheery.

  “I’m good. Just waiting for Omar so we can have dinner,” I reply.

  “Who cooked?”

  “Papa.”

  “Lucky you!” she laughs.

  “Yeah, can’t wait. Smells amazing.”

  “Ready for court tomorrow?”

  “Uh huh,” I say. “Are you ready?”

  “Of course! So excited!”

  “We need to set a precedent. If you can change it, it will be such a…a triumph for us all.”

  “Yeah. Marina binti Rashid. Perempuan. Female. That’s it,” Marina says firmly.

  “And Sumi is really pumped about this. She’s worked so hard.”

  “I can finally be the daughter my mother always wanted,” Marina says, getting choked up.

  “Will you go home to see her?”

  “With my new IC!”

  I take another sip of tea and hear the sound of tires squeaking in the driveway. “Hey, Omar is home, he’s been at the orphanage today… Have to go now.”

  “Okay, darls. Have a good dinner!”

  “See you tomorrow.” I hang up.

  I hear the front door open, the sound of keys clattering onto the wooden dresser in the hallway, shoes kicked off and quick steps into the kitchen. Omar reaches out for me and I’m enveloped in his arms; then a kiss on the lips, a beaming smile.

  “How are you, my darlings?” He leans down and kisses my belly.

  “We’re fine. Really fine,” I say. He smells of sweat and wood shavings and I see flecks of sawdust in his hair.

  “I showed the kids how to use chisels today; it got a little messy,” he laughs.

  “What did you make?”

  “It’s a work in progress, you’ll see.” He grins boyishly.

  I take his hand and lead him out to the garden. The evening light is dipping and there is a hint of sunset in the sky.

  “Look,” I say, pointing to the row of thriving strelitzia. “Alba’s flowers, they’re blooming.”

  Acknowledgements

  To Epigram Books—Edmund Wee, Jason Erik Lundberg, JY Yang, Allan Siew, Winston Tay, Kate Manning—for bringing this book to life; to my readers: Chuah Guat Eng, James Scudamore, Martin Axe, Umapagan Ampikaipakan, Tash Aw; the Anne Frank Huis in Merwedeplein and City of Refugees programme in Amsterdam, the writing residency at “het” Spui, Amsterdam and the Nederlands Letterenfonds; Mireille Berman, Judith Uyterlinde, Ton Van de Langkruis, Willemijn Lamp, Chris Keulemans, Helene Bergmans, Francis Broekhausen, Gerda Roest, Tineke van Manen, David van Reybrouck, Merel van Tilburg, Tatiana Bosteels, Ashraf Ibrahim, Syahrita Chairaty, Ton van Bragt, Ming; the International Writing Program (IWP) 2014, Christopher Merril and all staff of the IWP in Iowa City, my fellow writers Ali Cobby Eckermann, Yeow Kai Chai, Natasha Tiniacos, Cynthia Edul, Tang Sui Wa, Franca Treur, Daren Kamali, Lawrence Ypil, Andrea Wilson and our conversations at the Fox; Peter Bradley and Cathryn Klusmeier at the Sitka Island Institute, Alaska; the Stewards for their beautiful home in Sitka; WrICE 2014 in George Town; Francesca
Rendel-Short, David Carlin, Maxine Beneba-Clarke, Melissa Lucashenko, Eddin Khoo, Laurel Fantauzzo, Alvin Pang, Robin Hemley Amarlie Foster, Jennifer Down, and Harriet McKnight; Tim Tomlinson for publishing the fragment “The New Gods” in ducts.org; Scribe (Melbourne) for publishing the fragment “In the Eyes of the World”; Xu Xi and the City University Hong Kong Creative Writing MFA, Heidi Stalla at Yale-NUS Singapore, Valentine Willie and Karim Raslan, Jaime Thistleton and family, Tomasz Sajewicz, Sumitra Visvanathan and Sharaad Kuttan for access to the Saksi Archives, Sabri Zain and his Reformasi Diary; Omar Musa, Nisha Ayub, Sulastri Ariffin, Rozlan Mohd Noor, Tini Zainuddin, Alex Yoong, Gioia Guerzoni, Punita Visvanathan, Shirley Lim, Linda and Farouk Aljoffery, Yin Shao Loong, Hayati Mokhtar, Evelyn Hii, Alison Morgan, Lynda and Omar Merican. Thank you all.

  About the Author

  Photo by: Daniel Adams

  Bernice Chauly is the award-winning author of five books of poetry and prose; going there and coming back (1997), The Book of Sins (2008), Lost in KL (2008), Growing Up With Ghosts (2011) and Onkalo (2013, “Direct, honest and powerful” —JM Coetzee). Born in George Town, Penang to Chinese-Punjabi teachers, she read Education and English Literature in Canada as a government scholar. She was an Honorary Fellow at the University of Iowa’s International Writing Program (IWP) in 2014, has served as Festival Director of the George Town Literary Festival since 2011, and currently lectures at the University of Nottingham Malaysia Campus (UNMC). She lives in Kuala Lumpur with her two daughters.