Bitter Sweet Harvest (30 page)

In the absence of his master he had taken his chance and stolen out to look for An Mei and the white man. He had wanted to warn them and also to gain their protection. Unfortunately it had all gone wrong. Why did that white man insist on bringing in the police? If only he had not made that threat, he would have brought him here. Aquino walked to the kitchen. He buttered two slices of bread with margarine and poured out a glass of water. He laid them out carefully on the tray and carried it to Tim’s room. He fished out a bunch of keys from the chest of drawers and unlocked the door. He stepped into the room as quietly as he could.

The room was stifling hot and dark. The shutters were down and the curtains drawn shut. He could see the small body curled up on the bed; the boy’s chest was rising and falling rhythmically. Every so often a small groan or cry emitted from his lips, and he would thrash about as though he was trying to free himself. He saw a wet stain on the bed sheet. It seeped dark on the pale sheet, like the work of a poor artist trying to outline the contours of the boy’s buttocks on the bed. Aquino’s heart went out to him. He had done what he could. He just could not free him or return him to the lady unless they promised to protect and help him. He placed the tray down on the table and shook Tim gently.

“Wake up, you please eat,” he said.

Tim groaned and buried his face into the bed.

“Please eat and drink. No food later.”

Ahmad had been furious the previous evening when he made up a tray for Tim. “Who gave you permission to feed him?
Tak payah beri nya lauk!
There is no need to give him food!” He had yelled from the armchair where he was sitting. With one leg flung across the armrest he had waved Aquino away from the door. “
Pergi!
Go! Get into the kitchen and stay there until I call you.”

Aquino had hastily backed into the kitchen. He had shut the door behind him and leaned back against it. He had seen how Ahmad had grown agitated and furious after his phone call. He had heard him say the words,
Datin
Faridah. Aquino knew who she was; a short, dumpy woman always richly clad, a person who Ahmad had visited frequently in the early days of his employment. She was
Tengku
Shalimar’s mother-in-law. In the last couple of years or so, those visits had diminished. He had learnt from the other servants that there had been a fall out between Ahmad and his in-laws. He learnt that Hussein, the rising politician and Ahmad’s brother-in-law, was the cause.

All through the night, Ahmad had walked up and down the room like a caged animal, drinking. He had seemed incensed. The conversation could not have gone well and Aquino felt that it did not bode well for the boy. He could feel it in his bones.

Aquino patted Tim on his shoulder. “Come, sit up and drink, even if you do not want to eat.”

“I want mummy. I want daddy,” Tim whimpered, pushing Aquino’s hands away. Big drops of tears rolled down his cheeks.

“There, don’t cry. I leave tray here. You eat, now please,” he pleaded pointing vigorously to the tray and miming actions of chewing. He knew that later in the evening when Ahmad returned, he would not be allowed to bring the boy food.

“Please hide, hide tray after finish. Under bed,” he said lifting the bed sheet to reveal the space underneath. “I go now.”

As Aquino turned and made for the door, the boy screamed. He jumped out of the bed and clung to his legs. “No! Please stay. I want mummy. I want daddy! Take me to them.” He kicked and screamed, tearing at Aquino’s clothes.

“Wait. You stay in room. Eat. I come back. I think what to do.” Reluctantly he pushed the boy away and closed and locked the door behind him. He clasped his hands to his ears in a desperate attempt to cut out Tim’s screams. Tim reminded him of his young brothers. He had cared for them; they had been in his charge when his parents went to work. He had lost all of them now. He could not bear the thought that Tim might share the same fate.

The room was filled with people, old, young and the not so young. There were Chinese men and women, a few Europeans and some Malays and Indians. They were divided between two round tables, standing cheek by jowl, their attention focused on the croupiers.

The air was dense with smoke. Ahmad sat alone impervious to the fog of grey-blue cigarette fumes that reached into every corner and crevice of the room. He sat in deep concentration with his eyes narrowed, brows furrowed, jaws tight and legs crossed; one ankle resting on a thigh, the foot pointed out, the other foot jiggled and pumped in agitation. He looked so fierce that people skirted around him. Some even made it a point to cross over to the other side of the room rather than venture near him. They knew of his reputation: the man from the other side of the causeway who was not to be messed with. They were all afraid of him, except for the owner of the gambling den, Ah Cheong, so nicknamed because of his lanky body.

Ah Cheong stood in a corner of the room, one hand casually resting on the bar counter, the other hand holding a beer mug. He took a hefty sip from the mug. His eyes swept round the room and settled on the lone figure of Ahmad. The corner of his lips curled up briefly.

“Huh!” he uttered aloud before turning back to the barman. “
Pok kai!
Bankrupt!” he said in Cantonese, nodding in the direction of Ahmad. “Tell Ah Sam, our number three, to put on the squeeze. Make sure he does not leave the island without paying up. Wait until he leaves. He must not be touched in this room.”

He sauntered over to Ahmad and placed a hand on his shoulder. Ahmad could feel the strength of the grip and the menace behind it even as Ah Cheong smiled and said, “
Tak main?
You are not playing?”

“
Tak! Hari ini saya rehat.
No! I am resting today,” replied Ahmad. He attempted a smile.

Ah Cheong punched him playfully on his shoulder.

“
Jaga!
Careful! You owe us,” he said with a smile that never left his face.

Ahmad knew the odds and had hoped that Faridah would pay up. It did not look like it now. He was angry and frustrated. He had placed such hopes on his phone call to Faridah. He had been so sure that she would come up with the money. Now he was not certain at all. He stared at the departing lanky figure and slammed his fist on the armrest of the chair.

“You will pay for this Hussein,” he growled. He had no doubts that Hussein was behind Faridah’s refusal to cough up the sum of money he had demanded. He stood up, brushed the creases off his trousers and followed after Ah Cheong.

Mark hurried back to Jane’s house, running most of the way. He banged on the door. Jane let him in.

“I lost him,” cried Mark. He bent over, breathless. His shirt clung wet to his back. His face was red from the exertion and traces of blood stained his upper lip.

“Lost who?” she asked.

“A young man who probably would have led us to Tim.”

“Slow down. Come in. An Mei and my mum are in the sitting room.” He went into the room. An Mei was sat next to Nelly on the sofa. They could tell that something was wrong. Mark was red in the face and looked sheepish, even guilty.

“What happened?” asked An Mei, jumping up at the sight of him.

He stood before them, feeling their eyes on him as he related his tale. A surge of anguish and guilt filled him. He had failed them. He could feel the reproach in An Mei’s face.

“How, how could you lose him? How could you let him go? He offered to help!” she asked.

Nelly pulled her down to the seat.

“Mind what you say. Mark did not deliberately lose him,” said Nelly.

An Mei fell back to the sofa seat. Her face was filled with anger one minute and despair the next. Frustration rose like a bitter pill. Their first lead and it had disappeared into thin air.

“You probably frightened him away,” she said, her eyes accusing him.

“Yes! Yes! In retrospect I should have gone along with him and promised everything he asked for in return for information. But I was taken by surprise, I... I just reacted... like, I suppose like I would in a normal situation.”

Mark went to An Mei.

“I am sorry,” he said. “I was wrong. He came out of the blue and took me by surprise. I just am not used to being accosted in the streets by someone who I have never met and... and... be told that I have to give him protection and money in return for information. How could I trust him, let alone do a deal?” Mark tried to get An Mei to look at him but she would not look up.

“So it was Ahmad,” she said after some while. “I always thought that it would be Hussein and his family. I thought that I would be safe in Singapore. I too was wrong. I should not have exposed Tim to this,” she whispered.

“
Aiyah! Mo yong gong kum yeong!
No use talking like that! You wrong or he wrong what can it do? Important thing is to find Tim. We must go to the police with this new information,” said Nelly.

“If it is Ahmad, the immigration department in Singapore must have a record of his entry and where he is supposed to be staying. These details must be in his immigration arrival card,” said Mark, excitement creeping into his voice. “Come, let us go right now to the police.” He took An Mei’s hand. “I’m truly sorry. I love Tim like my own, you know that don’t you?”

She nodded. She knew Mark loved Tim and would do anything for him. She knew her anger was not justified. She braced her shoulders and straightened her back.

“Let’s go,” she said. “Nelly is right. What happens next is more important.” Turning to Nelly, she said, “Stay. Rest at home. We will be back soon. There is nothing you can do at the police station.”

They stepped out of the house and made their way to the car parked out on the street. Dusk made long shadows in the street. Trees swayed and moved, their branches making intricate shifting shades on the pavements.

Aquino looked on from behind a tree. He had parked the blue Mercedes some distance away for fear that it would be recognized. His mind was still tortured, moving between anxiety for himself if he were to help An Mei and fear for Timothy if he did not. Indecision kept him stuck to the spot even when he wanted to rush forward and offer his help. He saw An Mei and Mark leave and stood still for a minute before making his way back to Ahmad’s car. He would be in trouble. He had been due to collect Ahmad and he was late.

“Ahmad slammed down the phone on me. He said that we will pay,” she cried. “I knew we should have gone along with him and given him the money. I do not know what will happen to my grandson now.”

Faridah turned on her husband with fury. “You, you are to blame. Where were the police when we needed them? The police would know best. Hah!”

She brought her hands up to cover her face in anguish, then withdrew them to jab her fingers at her husband. She ranted. “They told us not to pay up, to ask for time to get the cash together. They ask us to play along because there is no guarantee that Ahmad would hand over the boy. Hah!” she snorted again. “This is what happens if we don’t pay! I shall never forgive you,” she cried breaking into tears.

“Calm down. We have traced the call. It is from Singapore. He is not in Malaysia. So that at least gives us a lead. The police are on to him now. Even at this very moment, they are talking to their Singapore counterparts,” Rahim said with a confidence that he did not really have. He put his arm around his distraught wife in an attempt to comfort her. He had never seen her so upset before, angry yes, but not upset like this. Her longing for a grandchild had made her vulnerable and he was filled with pity for her.

“Come, come! Sit down,” he said guiding her to a chair, but she pushed him away.

At the other end of the room, Hussein stood surrounded by uniformed policemen. They were gathered around the long table where they had set up the phone-tapping device. “Caught him,” said one officer, looking up at Hussein with a smile.

“Not quite,” said another. “He might have just borrowed a phone. Quick, get on to Singapore. This will at the very least tell us where he has been.”

Hussein went over to his father. He took him by the arm and led him away from his mother.

“I’m flying to Singapore. I want to be there on the spot, talking directly to the police. I feel helpless this far away. The call might still lead nowhere. Ahmad is a slippery fellow. In any case,” Hussein said lowering his voice, “I want to see An Mei. She must be in Singapore. I have already asked them,” he nodded his head in the direction of the policemen, “to follow up on the lead and find An Mei. The immigration authorities must have a record of her whereabouts.”

“So what will you do if you find her?”

“Father I want her back. If I can find our son, then I think that I will stand a better chance of doing so and mother might not object like she did previously. Surely the old obstacles no longer apply. I am already established.”

“What if she refuses?”

“I don’t know,” said Hussein. “I’ll take one step at a time. The most urgent matter now is to find my son.”

“If An Mei refuses, it is alright with us, so long as we have the boy. Warn her. If she refuses, then we’ll take her to court for the boy. I cannot let your mother suffer with another loss of a grandchild!”

Hussein looked at his father’s stern and dogged face and turned away.

T
he room was ice cold. The air conditioner was going full blast, pumping out cold air relentlessly.
Brump brump
, the machine clanked every now and then in protest at its hard labour. An Mei held on to Mark’s hand, her fingers twined tightly in his. She was drawn and pale, so pale that the dark shadows of her lower eyelids looked bruised. Several times she blinked, unable to take in all that the policeman was saying to her. The many sleepless nights had taken their toil.

She turned to Mark seeking comfort. He smiled and squeezed her hand reassuringly.

“Mam,” Detective Superintendent Kam’s voice rose a notch higher. “Do you hear me? We know about Ahmad. Your son’s father has already been in touch and he is on his way here. We might have some leads as to the whereabouts of Ahmad with his help and we will keep you informed. So far, however, our immigration records have shown up nothing. He might have entered Singapore with a false passport. There is nothing to indicate he is on the island. Neither the records in the airport nor the checkpoint at the Johor causeway, show he is here.”