The Rose of Singapore (6 page)

He heard Taffy shout, “We're heading back to the village, Peter. Are you coming?”

Peter shouted his reply, “No. I'm staying here. You'll get drenched. Stay here.”

“No. I've a buffet to do this evening at the officers' mess. Good luck. See you later,” Taffy shouted.

Peter watched as his two friends disappeared into the deluge of rain that was now cascading from the heavens, then he raced after Lai Ming who was already halfway between the beach and the coffee shop. In the distance, not far from the beach end of Changi's main runway, a grove of palm trees swayed before a quickly rising wind, and huge green leaves of banana trees growing in the silt near the shack loudly rustled their warning. More vivid flashes of lightning lit up the sky, and the sharp crack and rumbling of thunder grew louder, constant, and more intense. Catching up with Lai Ming, he again grasped her hand, and feeling her fingers entwine in his, they raced to the sanctuary of the coffee shop through sheets of cold, blinding rain.

Running, dripping with water, laughing and still holding hands, Peter and Lai Ming dashed into the palm-thatched shack which provided some shelter from the howling wind and driving rain. In several places, though, the roof leaked like a sieve, the constant dripping of water forming little pools of muddy water in the dirt below. Lai Ming's two girlfriends were already seated at a table.

“Hey, Pop, four hot coffees and a packet of biscuits, please,” shouted Peter, as he and Lai Ming joined the two girls at the table.

Pop grinned in his usual friendly manner and replied, “OK, Johnny. One minute.” He shuffled away on bare feet to where a blackened water pot stood amid glowing embers within a bucket-shaped charcoal fire, the kitchen's centrepiece. Yellowish-brown smoked fish hung from an overhead beam of bamboo, and in a shallow china basin were several black and white striped eggs that had been buried for months in warm mud and were now ripe and ready for eating. From another bamboo beam a basket of green and yellow Chinese cabbage and lettuce swung in the wind. Beneath these were open boxes containing root vegetables, and in a corner of the kitchen were a number of smoke-blackened pots and pans in which Pop and Momma's gastronomic delights were cooked.

In a far corner of the shack sat Momma, once again lovingly suckling her newborn baby. Around her, still naked, her other three children played, running in and out of the tiny waterfalls flowing through the roof, shrieking with laughter, and making comic faces when the cold rainwater splashed down upon their bronzed bodies.

A flock of scrawny hens braved the storm by scratching in the mud outside the shack, while others pecked insects from the dirty, sandy, wood-planked floor, from the rotted plywood and canvas walls, and from the termite-ridden poles holding up the place.

“Hello again,” said Peter to the two seated girls. “This is quite a fun place, isn't it?”

Both Ah Ling and Susy Wee giggled and looked with some curiosity at him, and then at Lai Ming.

“He is just a little boy,” teased Ah Ling in Chinese. “You are stealing a little boy from his Momma.”

“But you know what they say, ‘Big boy, big cock. Little boy, all cock,'” said Susy, also in Chinese. And to Lai Ming's absolute embarrassment both girls exploded into a fit of giggles.

“He speaks some Chinese,” snapped Lai Ming at her friends in English, and then she scolded them in Chinese.

Obviously embarrassed, Ah Ling buried her face in her hands, and said, “Me very sorry.” Peter, though, detected poorly suppressed giggles.

Sitting across from Peter, and trying to keep a straight face, Susy said to him in Chinese, “What's your name?” But she too could not stifle her giggles.

“They are both very naughty girls,” said Lai Ming. “I am ashamed of them.”

Peter chuckled. “I think they are both very funny girls,” he said. He hadn't understood what was said word for word, but he did get their meaning. “My name is Peter,” he answered Susy in Cantonese.

“Me very happy to meet you, Peter,” responded Susy, in English, and she held out her hand for him to shake. “Friend of Ming is friend of mine,” she said.

“Thank you,” said Peter, realizing that neither Susy Wee nor Ah Ling spoke English as well as Lai Ming did.

The conversation was interrupted by Pop, who approached the table saying, “Here, Johnny, four coffees and biscuits,” and he set before them four miniature blue-tinted cups of steaming hot coffee and a packet of sweet biscuits. “One dollar eighty cents,” he said.

Peter said, “Thanks, Pop,” and paid the man.

Now, torrential rain was falling, and as the wind shrieked and howled, lightning streaked through dark skies, and the continuous peals of thunder smote the air like gunfire from a thousand howitzers. In places, the canvas sides of the shack blew apart, the wind whipping the ragged ends so that they flapped violently. The water-logged roof leaked more than ever but Pop, Momma and family remained unperturbed, having experienced countless such storms.

“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.”