Bitter Sweet Harvest (16 page)

“I’m so sorry. I was hurt and I said things to wound the very people who are already hurt by me.” Appalled at herself, An Mei crept closer to Nelly. “What’s wrong with me?” she asked. “I wanted to call father but my silly pride held me back. I blamed mother, but I should have known better.”

Nelly shook her head. “It’s unhappiness,” she said. “It is unhappiness that is the engine of your bitterness. Only Hussein can cure you of it, I am afraid.”

She came out of her boss’s office closing the door gently behind her. She walked to her own office, a large room not quite as big as the one she had just left, but significantly larger than the one she had previously. “A reflection of your promotion,” Jeremy had told her before she got married. It seemed like a lifetime ago. On her desk was a message left by her secretary. It read: ‘A gentleman by the name of
Tengku
Ahmad is here to see you. He is in the Blue Room.’

Panic seized her; the same fear that struck her each time his name was mentioned. She left the form she was carrying on her desk and walked rapidly to the waiting room. She had meant to arrange her air travel to see her parents as soon as her boss had granted her leave. That would have to wait.

Ahmad had his back to her when she went into the Blue Room, a room reserved for VIP visitors. He was alone. He turned when he heard her footsteps. His eyes scrolled down her body, registering every detail, before returning to stare insolently at her face.

“Ah! Noraidin,” he said, his voice, soft, menacing but as smooth as silk.
“Tetapi, bagaimana tak pakai Baju Negara? Apa-lah terjadi tudung awak?”

She did not reply. His lips curled. “Let me repeat in English in case you do not understand. Why are you not wearing your
baju
, your National dress? What has happened to your headscarf?”

She ignored his questions. “Where is Hussein? Do you bring news of him?”

“Has he not called you?” Ahmad pretended to be surprised. He shook his head feigning pity but his voice was loud and insolent. “I am not here to bring you news of him. If he had wanted to give you news of himself, he would have contacted you directly. I am not your lackey.”

He turned his back on her, reflected a moment before facing her again. “I bring word from
Datin
Faridah. She has learnt that you have been spending many nights away from the residence and that you have driven out on your own without letting the staff know your whereabouts.”

“That is not true,” she protested. “I told them that I was spending the night with my Aunt Nelly.”

“
Datin
Faridah has asked me to check on these rumours that have come to us: your night-time activities! Flaunting your face and body in public!”

“I am wearing what others wear to the office.”

“I will report accordingly,” he said and walked out with a flourish.

She stood in the centre of the room, deflated. She knew it was useless to even try to explain. She made her way back to her office. She had tried to call Hussein but he had not returned her calls.

V
illagers came out in full force. Farmers, field hands, car mechanics, traders jostled and reached out to touch him as he walked with his entourage through the village. They chanted. “Hussein! Hussein! Hussein!” Fists pumped up and down, pushing like pistons into the hot humid air above the heads of the crowd.

Hussein caught their fervour and, in turn, was stirred to even greater action. He jumped up nimbly onto the makeshift stage erected in the square. He put both arms up and smiled, acknowledging their enthusiastic welcome. He thanked them. A silence descended upon the crowd. He began his oration. He spoke of his vision for greater equality, the pursuit of redistributing wealth to the poor. He promised them access to education, scholarships. He spoke of their rights to greater economic achievement. “You!
Bumiputra
! Sons of the soil! You are the source of our wealth. You will be the ones to reap the benefits of this New Economic Policy.” His face was animated. His eyes sparkled. The crowd cheered. They clapped.

His bodyguards grouped around him. They descended with him from the stage and cleared a way to the car. He waved and the crowd, drawn to his magnetic charisma, roared their appreciation in response. At last, here was someone who cared for the rural people, for this village in particular, that had been left neglected while the rest of the country advanced and grew wealthy.

“Share! A greater share!” they roared. “
Insha Allah!
”

The car accelerated as the crowd parted to make way for it. Hussein slumped back in his seat. Exhilaration and exhaustion took over. He grabbed the drink handed to him by Ghazali, his secretary and drank, long and full.

“That was good. They loved you,” Ghazali said. He was busy: his writing, spidery long elegant strokes, scrawled across pages and pages of a report for Rahim.

“We have already covered over ten villages within the constituency and it has been one success after another. You have them in your pocket, Sir. You will be elected.”

Hussein continued to lie back, his eyes tightly closed. He did not see the paddy fields rushing by, the wooden houses on stilts or the waving bystanders. All he could feel were the beads of sweat brimming over his forehead; his
songkok
, the headgear he wore to these forums, was drenched. Quickly, he sought a handkerchief to mop his brow. Lately, it had been like this for him, exhilaration followed by doubt. Would they be able to deliver the promises they were making? he wondered. His shirt was also soaked with sweat and the blast of cold air from the car’s air-conditioning caused him to shiver. He needed food, perhaps even those nutritious potions that his mother had been giving him recently to revive his health. They had not had time to eat.

Ghazali handed him a fresh shirt and he stripped and put it on, tucking the shirttails into the short sarong he wore over his trousers. He inhaled slowly and deeply to calm himself. Minutes passed before he asked, “So where to next?”

“To the town of Kemun, a short rest in the quarters that have been set aside for our use, and then you will be opening a shopping complex in the town. This will save us some time; it will be more convenient than going home to your parents.”

“Then?” asked Hussein.

“Then, there will be a dinner to follow and you will deliver a speech. I have it ready here for you to look at,” said Ghazali, waving the sheaf of papers in his hand. “I will arrange for any amendments that you might have. There will also be entertainment of some sort, perhaps, some local dancing girls, at the end of the evening.”

“Never mind about the entertainment,” said Hussein, taking the papers from Ghazali. “Have you called Noraidin for me? Did she tell you why she has not answered my calls nor returned them. When will I be free to talk to her in the midst of the mad schedule that you have arranged for me?”

He had tried calling An Mei late in the evenings and was alarmed that she was not at home.

“We did try but could not reach her. Ahmad has gone to KL to check.”

“And? What did he say?”

“I don’t know. He didn’t tell me. He said he would report to your mother. She will tell you.”

Hussein looked at Ghazali and, sensing his unease, made up his mind to contact Nelly. She would probably give him a fairer account than his mother. But his thoughts kept returning to the failure of An Mei to return his calls.

The room was quiet except for the soft footfalls of the maid preparing the bed. Faridah sat in front of the dressing table and looked into the mirror. She hardly registered the image of the woman reflected in it. Behind her, in the dressing room, her husband was putting the final touches to his dressing for the reception. A manservant stood by, his hands holding out a velvet tray on which a range of cufflinks were displayed. Rahim pointed to a pair with dark blue sapphires.

“That pair. They should go well with my white silk shirt and blue
songket
sarong.” He looked up to where his wife was in the adjacent room.

“Hussein did well today,” he continued, holding out both his wrists to the manservant, his words breaking into Faridah’s thoughts. “Ghazali has sent in his report. We should succeed in getting him into
Dewan Rakyat,
the House of Representatives, if he continues like this.”

“Not if that minx is still his wife.” She regarded her husband through the reflection in the mirror. “She’s up to no good. She is not wearing her
hijab
, she stays out late and does not even return to the residence some nights.”

“You have to talk to her. We cannot allow her behaviour to drag down Hussein’s name in this critical period. It is fortunate that she is in KL and not here in Kemun. Perhaps, you are right. We have to get rid of her.”

“But how? Our son is still besotted.” Faridah thought for a moment. “The only way we can get rid of her is if Hussein himself wishes to do so. If he would only tire of her; I’ll ask Ahmad for his advice.”

The wind blew, its force whipping the casuarina trees into a wild frenzy. Coconut palms bent under the force, their fronds trailed on the white sand sweeping up clouds of fine debris. In the distance, purple storm clouds were gathering, masking the daylight and wiping out all signs of the horizon. Suddenly, thunder reverberated, followed by streaks of lightning, their brightness, urgent and violent, pierced the blackness of the sky.

Shalimar stood by the window, her face transfixed as she watched fishermen make for the shore, dragging their long boats behind, and desperately tying them to anchors on the beach. She sank to the floor to sit on her haunch, legs folded beneath her, her forehead pressed to the windowpane. Silently she wept, her hand went to her cheek, feeling the heat of the slap that had been landed there.

“You have failed once!” Ahmad had accused her. “Don’t fail me again if you wish me not to charge that useless whelp you are in love with. Remember I am your brother, your guardian. And I have the power to send him to prison.”

She had begged him on her knees. Furious, he had swept his hand back and landed a resounding blow on her face. For a few seconds, even he was astounded by his action.

“There, look what you have made me do! Clean up. Repair the damage to your face and make yourself ready for tonight.”

With that he had departed with barely a glance at her crouching form.

Shalimar rose. She made her way slowly into Ahmad’s room. It was empty. She walked to his desk, made her way round it and sat on his chair. Her eyes were bleak, bitter. She reached into a drawer. The coldness of the metal startled her; she grasped the handle and brought the
keris
up, turning it almost lovingly before a sudden revulsion took over. She placed it hastily on the desk, pushing it away from her, her fingers stinging. Then, with a quick deft movement, she grabbed it once more; bringing it up firmly with both hands she turned its jagged edge towards her heart. She trembled.

“
Jangan!
Don’t!
Tengku
Shalimar! It will not help the one you love. He will be blamed and it will not be just imprisonment,” came a cry from the doorway.

An Mei sat on her bed, clasping her knees close to her. She had shed her clothes and cast off the
hijab
that Faridah had instructed her to wear when she went out. She ruffled her hair and shook her head until the hair bounced in glorious defiance after the enforced restriction. She sat, chin on knees, savouring the cold air on her skin, the cold air pumped in by the air-conditioner. She could hear its reverberation as it too sang its protest against the enforced churning of hot air into cold. The house was empty. Perhaps, she thought, Nelly would come to visit or I can go over to her and stay the night. But pride made her inert. Eyes closed tight, she contemplated her marriage; her thoughts went back to Ahmad’s visit. She had regretted her earlier rashness of not wearing the
hijab
if that was the one thing that might bring her closer to her mother-in-law. For a week now, she had gone to the office dressed as instructed. She had ignored the stares and sudden hush of conversation when she passed. Her boss understood her situation, though privately he admitted with a wry smile that he was not delighted, amused may be. She had put off going to England to visit her father and had called her mother to explain the situation.

“Come when you can. His condition is stable,” Mei Yin had said. So An Mei stayed on and waited. Yet, Hussein had not called nor could she get hold of him.

A whole gamut of emotions passed over her: fear, hurt and worries. They left her thoughts in a maelstrom. She sat, motionless. Finally, she decided to go to Kemun. She would leave immediately to see Hussein and to find out why he had not been in touch and then she would leave for Oxford. She must see her father.

T
he driveway was jam-packed with limousines. Crowds of people milled outside the gate; photographers with cameras held high snapped pictures, men and women pushed each other to see what was happening beyond the gates, their hands grabbing at the metal bars that separated them from the residence.

“What is happening?” wondered An Mei, her face pressed to the taxi’s window as it turned into the driveway.

“
Berhenti!
Stop!” commanded a guard.

She wound down her window and flagged the plastic disc that Hussein insisted she carried.

“
Minta maaf
, I beg your pardon,” said the guard. He clicked his heels to attention and stepped back hastily waving the taxi on.

An Mei tapped on the glass panel that separated her from the driver.

“Stop over there,” she instructed. She paid the driver, got out and walked up the steps to the entrance of her in-law’s house, waving her identification card at the guards who stepped forward to block her progress. They all retreated hastily, bowing their heads in the process. They did not recognise her. They were not expecting her.

“I’ll ask,” said a guard. He went to the phone booth. He picked up the telephone, a black clumsy heavy instrument in his white-gloved hand. “
Puan
Noraidin is here. What do you wish me to do?” He listened in silence; his brow creased into a puzzled frown, then he hung up. He marched smartly to catch up with An Mei.