The Brigadier's Daughter, page 3
Jin tried to focus on reality, willing himself to concentrate on the life he had created for himself since his “Stephanie period”, as he
termed it. He watched his neighbour Mrs Leong holding a plate of food and worked out how he might capture that pose in a sketch. This was a mere mental pastime—he hadn’t taken up a pad and pencil for over fifty years. Then he straightened in his seat, sat upright, brought his hands to his face and attempted to rub out the confusion crowding his mind.
Seng came sauntering around the corner. As a young woman passed by, his friend slowed to a standstill and turned in his tracks while he devoured her with hungry eyes. Jin frowned, but there was no point in chastising Seng; if he did Jin would simply receive the stock answer, “Better a dirty old man than just an old man.”
“Why didn’t you get me coffee?” Seng complained as he took the seat opposite Jin’s.
Jin rose without a word and returned with a steaming mug of kopi-O.
“Just the thing,” Seng said. “What time did you get here?”
“Eight-thirty.”
Jin saw his friend push a tablet through the silver foil of a flat pack he’d withdrawn from his pocket.
“Still taking those things?” he asked, staring at the baggy pouches below Seng’s eyes.
“I think someone’s putting too much oil in their food… I can’t seem to get rid of this wind.” There was a morose expression on Seng’s face as he said, “Getting old, Jin, getting old.”
“Maybe you should see a doctor?”
“What, over a bit of indigestion?” he scoffed.
They were both quiet for a short time as they watched their world gather pace, the lunchtime traffic beginning to accumulate. Like a number of hawkers, Jin preferred to avoid the rush of diners in a hurry and open for the more relaxed afternoon trade instead.
“Some young punk tried to create trouble when I was closing up for you last night,” Seng said.
Jin was distracted, remembering the smile that had curved the girl’s lips for a moment when she’d turned away from the clock.
“I chased him off. The nerve of youngsters. Trying to accuse you of giving him food poisoning…”
“What?” Jin sat up with a start, apprehension surging inside him. Jin’s business was his lifeblood; it was everything to him. Without it, he would be finished. It was what had saved him fifty years ago, when all around him was collapsing.
“Don’t worry, he was drunk, lah.”
“Food poisoning! Nobody has ever gotten ill from eating at my stall,” Jin said, grim-faced. “Nobody. Ever.” His voice spiked above its normal level, as it always did when he was losing control.
Seng ignored him and drank his coffee as if Jin hadn’t spoken. His friend put his cup down slowly on the table as his gaze locked onto a young woman carrying a child. He raked her up and down with his eyes when she passed, a look of contentment on his face. Jin sucked air through his teeth. His friend’s casual, unrestrained lustfulness had irritated him since they were both young. And there were other things, too: Jin remembered when they would eat together at the open-air roadside stalls in Kluang, and how the sloppy presentation of the food there had never troubled Seng at all—unlike Jin, who refused to eat anything if he regarded the appearance or cooking of it as unacceptable. Seng is so easy to satisfy in so many ways, he thought.
The more Jin thought about Seng’s observance of hygiene, the more he began to fret. He couldn’t say that Seng was unhygienic exactly, but Jin did know from his many visits to his widower friend’s flat that he did not keep a tidy home. Papers, magazines, clothes and other paraphernalia were always strewn about.
But Seng could usually be trusted to keep an orderly kitchen, even if there was the occasional stack of dirty dishes in the sink. Jin tried to calm himself by taking several deep breaths. Then he scrutinised Seng intently and asked, “What was this person like?”
“What, the young punk?” said his friend, frowning slightly, bushy grey eyebrows bristling. “One of those well-off city types, all big-headed and ya-ya.”
The way they looked at one another then suggested a quarrel brewing, but nothing was further from the truth. Although storms always raged inside Seng, in all the years they had known each other, few harsh words had been spoken between them, save for during the Stephanie period and the brief interlude after, when Seng had followed his friend to Singapore. They’d quarrelled then about the need for Jin to move on. But then, Seng never knew the whole story; Jin could not bring himself to confide even in his best friend.
Seng’s voice was heavy with sarcasm. “I don’t know why I bothered to tell you. You always overreact. It was just some stupid young fellow thinking he could throw his weight around.”
There was weariness in Jin’s face as he breathed out audibly.
“Oh, stop worrying yourself,” Seng grumbled.
But Jin’s mind kept wandering back to the girl in the shop. His insides still shook just as violently as they had done when he walked out of Mrs Ooi’s. How he ached to talk about her, but Jin was not ready to open up a conversation about Stephanie after so many years of self-censorship. In a self-derogatory tone, he said, “You know me.” He shrugged. “I’ll worry anyway.”
Seng looked at him solemnly and then, with the hint of a smile, said, “Jin, your chicken rice is famous throughout the country. And you’ve had that ‘A’ grade since when?”
Compliments troubled Jin—he never knew how to respond to them, so he always pretended not to hear them. Seng shrugged and continued, frustration in his voice, “Why do I always have to remind you that worrying only makes small problems mountainous? I tell you, Jin, you wear me out sometimes.” But it was too late; Jin had already plunged back deep into his troubled thoughts.
—
By three o’clock there was the usual crowd queuing to be served. Jin struggled to focus on his customers, but
his attention was jumbled up with memories of a red dress and a glint of interest in a girl’s dark eyes. Nevertheless, he kept a close eye on Seng throughout the afternoon. Once or twice he gasped quietly at the careless way his friend piled food onto the plates. But Jin refrained from making any comment; after all, Seng was sloppy, but hadn’t actually done anything unhygienic. He reminded himself that Seng did not have Kim Kor’s experience, and he was only here to help Jin out while his other friend was travelling.
All the same, an irrational fear of losing his business began to take root. His worry lines deepened at the sight of one customer raising an eyebrow when presented with his order. Jin stepped in and engaged the man in friendly banter while he surreptitiously tidied up the serving. He made a great show of acting like the customer was Jin’s most important patron.
During quiet spells, however, he remembered how the girl at the wholesaler’s had told him she was watching the place in her grandmother’s absence. Jin studied Seng, who was bending down to put away some unwanted pans, and again regretted that he couldn’t discuss that morning’s shock encounter with his friend. He would not be able to cope with talking about their joint past and of the emptiness that had swallowed up his life since. Gazing at Seng, he was overcome by his own solitude.
Jin was brought back to the present by all the crashing and banging his friend was making, trying to jam the utensils into the lower shelves. “Here, let me,” he said, when Seng threw up his hands in disgust. Jin crouched down and gently nudged his friend aside.
An irritated frown spread across Seng’s face as Jin eased the pots into position with no problems. He groaned in exasperation.
“There’s a knack to it,” Jin said lightly, hoping to pacify his friend.
“I don’t mind serving the customers, it’s actually good to meet some new faces, but the rest of it…” Seng’s voice trailed off as Jin rose to his feet.
He sympathised with his friend’s frustration but chose to say nothing.
“Time for another coffee,” Seng said, and saw the mark of disapproval on Jin’s face. “Oh, please. I won’t drink it in here.”
The table directly outside their stall was free. This time, Seng told Jin to wait while he went to get the coffee. So Jin sat and watched the trickle of late-afternoon visitors as they came and went. The notion of losing his licence nagged at his mind. He glanced at Seng over at the drinks stall. His friend was staring intently at something, probably leering at another woman.
When Seng returned, instead of sitting opposite he sat down next to Jin, inhaled loudly and nodded towards someone, scowling as he did. “There’s that stupid young clown I was telling you about,” he said. “The fellow who tried to claim he fell ill after eating your chicken. The one in the navy blue suit.”
Jin’s face darkened and he stiffened. A silence fell when he caught sight of two business types standing at the far end of the forecourt glaring back at him. Jin struggled to hold his breath steady. The atmosphere grew heavy with menace.
4
It wasn’t the last of the day’s sun, but it was the last Jin saw as it disappeared beyond the horizon of the jungle, casting him into deep shadow. The scent from the trees filled his lungs with such freshness that he wanted to stay longer, but it was time for him to leave. Just as he had stalked the hornbill, for the past five days he had been waiting at this same spot, arriving two hours earlier than the time he’d met Stephanie and leaving several hours later, hoping beyond hope to meet her again.
As usual, he was armed with his sketchpad and each day had been improving on a single image of her face that he had tried to permanently imprint in his memory, so that she would always be there for him to recall. It was that final look of promise she’d given him before she left, which had set his heart on a giddy dance of joy. He dreamed of accompanying her on another stroll among the trees where they could be alone in private. He was, through a mixture of recall and practice, able to recapture her slight build, and could highlight her lustrous eyes and well-defined mouth, but he became less and less sure of the rest of her delicate features as the days rolled by. When he looked at his drawings he found them inadequate.
She had said he could draw her, so why didn’t she return? The longing to see her again, so sharp it had lodged in his mind and pricked at him mercilessly, flooded him with confusion, frustration, irritation. Repeatedly sketching her from memory seemed the only decent means of release. Had his parents, his friends’ parents, all the adults he’d ever encountered who were married, felt such longing? Surely not: none of them had ever come across anyone like Stephanie. At night, when she kept stealing his sleep, he became haunted by a vision of her standing naked before him, shifting from foot to foot as she had done the day they’d met. At these times his arousal would reach such a pitch that he would pleasure himself more than once before finally dozing off.
As he decided he’d have to give up on her for another day at least, he heaved a sigh and turned back for home.
—
Day six and still no Stephanie. Jin was by now obsessed with the prospect of drawing her. The instant he opened his eyes there she was in his mind, naked before him, beckoning to him in a way that stirred all manner of fantasies in his head from which he knew only one release. Only after he was spent was he able to concentrate on other matters.
Jin had neglected Seng lately, and that caused a nagging sense of unease. They had agreed to spend Merdeka Day together, but still had no plans for how they might celebrate the great moment. Jin’s mother had told him that Seng had called at the house twice in the past week while he was out. Feeling guilty, Jin promised himself he would visit his friend after this, his last trip out to the edge of the jungle in search of Stephanie.
Seated once more on the stile, eyes narrowed against the punishing sun, Jin focused on the meandering track, praying for a glimpse of her. The peace and privacy he usually enjoyed out here, surrounded by nature, had given way to annoyance. There was a din today that grated on his nerves. He was feeling abandoned and betrayed by Stephanie’s dishonesty. If she hadn’t intended to come back, she should have just said goodbye and left him to his own devices, instead of cramming him with unfulfilled yearning. As he thought this, his contempt for her spiralled upwards and approached hatred.
He sketched half-heartedly for a while, before he shut the pad and looked along the trail again. He frowned and squinted hard at the sea of patchy greens. Was that movement in the distance, obscured by the trees? Through the burning haze, he caught sight
of a flash of colour and the silhouette of a human form. Please, let it be her and not Seng.
Jin drew a deep breath to calm himself down, even while an uneasy, knotted feeling churned in the pit of his stomach. The approaching figure was indeed Stephanie. His heart began hammering violently; it almost felt as if he might stop breathing. His torment was finally over. He contemplated leaping down and rushing to meet her, but his manly pride would not let him. His throat began to tighten and he feared he might struggle to speak in front of her. Maybe he should confide his feelings for her straight away.
When she waved at him his heart jolted in his chest. “Hello,” she called out, and flashed him a smile. She was wearing a pink polka-dot dress that flared out from the hips and fluttered in the breeze. Slight and graceful as she was, there was a distinct allure about her that accentuated her figure and highlighted the curves he had been struggling to depict. Her waistline was much smaller than he’d remembered. No wonder he hadn’t been satisfied with his efforts.
“Hi there,” he said, trying to sound casual. Are you ready to pose for me? “How did the move go?”
“Tiring, but I’m glad we’re there.” She then launched into a long description of their new house, a mansion surrounded by a vast lawn with a cute summer house at the bottom of the garden. “It has six bedrooms, which is just as well because I have three elder brothers…they all study in England. The youngest will be joining us soon.”
“Isn’t your father worried about living there?” The moment he
put the foolish question to her, Jin wanted to kick himself. But couldn’t think of anything else to say.
“Worried?”
He shrugged awkwardly, taken aback by her casualness. “You know… The Emergency and all that. Isn’t your father British? What if the Communists attack your family?”
“That’s over, silly. Practically, anyway. This far south there isn’t any trouble any more,” she said confidently.
Silence descended as they listened to the shrieks and whoops from the jungle behind them. In front of them stretched grassland interspersed with stands of trees and clusters of thick lalang.
“But still,” said Jin, breaking the spell, “being in the army, your father must have to be very careful.”
“Of course, but if the Emergency wasn’t all but over we’d still be at the barracks now. Mummy hated it there. So did I.”
Jin puffed out his cheeks, struggling to keep the conversation afloat. “I suppose the past few years must have been pretty scary for you all?”
“Sometimes, but that’s in the past now,” she said, and he was certain he detected irritation in her tone. This was not how he had envisaged their second meeting. He’d wanted it to be all fun and frivolity, leading seamlessly into periods of intense arousal while he sketched her.
He could think of no way of introducing the subject. Didn’t she remember what she had said? It was just as good as a promise. Surely she must.
“I thought you might not be here at all,” said Stephanie, as she leaned against the stile next to him. “Have you been waiting very long?”
How should he answer her without giving away the fact that he had been waiting keenly every single day since they’d first met? He could hear her shallow breaths, and they were standing so close that he could feel the warmth exuding from her skin. If only he dared to tell her the truth.
“Not really, no. Half an hour maybe,” he lied, struggling to keep the nervousness from his voice. When he looked at her she held his gaze and he winced, fearing he had been found out. He remained silent, inwardly pleading for her to say something.
Instead she leaned forward and rested her arms on the top of the stile, staring into the jungle. He turned away surreptitiously, studied the leaves nodding and whispering to each other. Eventually he said to her, “Can I ask you a question?
“Sure.”
“Do you like art?”
“Yes.” Jin brightened, seeing his chance to jump on the subject of her sitting for him. But Stephanie continued talking. “It depends, though. If you mean at school, then I prefer science subjects. As a pastime I like to read or swim.”
She turned to him and continued: “My turn now. Do you have brothers and sisters?”
He desperately wanted to bring the topic back round to art. “One sister,” he said shortly.
“I’ve always wanted a sister. Is she younger or older?”
“Younger… She’s twelve,” he said, with a hint of desperation.
He released his breath when Stephanie added, “I bet she looks up to you. I know I look up to my brothers. What’s she like?”
“Okay, I suppose. She can be very annoying at times…always scratching my records.” He seethed with exasperation at Stephanie for pushing the conversation onto this course. He stared at her, silently imploring her to return to his opening gambit. But then he remembered the other issue that had been burning in his mind. “Why did you say that you were Malayan—not Eurasian?”
The words sounded harsh as he said them. But he wasn’t condemning her; instead he found everything about her to be of obsessive interest.
