Satan

The servant being served on a Sunday afternoon once or twice a month, nice. Lovely for these gals to have the plates of chips and mee goreng brought over to the table, plastic forks, gracious delivery. Mobile in the free hand, ear plugs for the tunes. Pale lavender one of the most popular for the phones lately. Last night a lass up at lower Geylang had a long pair of white bunny ears attached to the top of her creamy-white. All kinds of chains, plastic flower/jewels and other enhancements available at the stores.

         Large toothy smiles fast-talking the boys. Lion City Plaza a hive of activity. Two hundred and ten thousand maids in Singapore; approximately half of which are Indonesian.

         The Filipinas have settled on another shopping complex in the city centre, where churches sit near.

         Bags of course important. The most striking impression created. Elegant swing. Shift it from shoulder to shoulder. Finger under the strap like a safety cord. You can't have too many fittings, pendants and zippers. Glinting chrome. Positively talks with all its facets, movements and jingles. Not to mention treasure within. What can the gals not pull out of that hat when they have a mind? The boys wouldn't have a clue.

         Indian and Bangladeshi construction workers are the admirers on the Sunday at City Plaza.

         Long queues at the Remittance counters and lottery stalls. Many of the Indon housemaids send back half their wages to family back home. Still, with careful management, some remains for pampering, some personal pleasures.

         Phone links to parents, husbands and children.

         The drunken Indian last night in the back blocks of Geylang took the Viet girl's incomprehension as some kind of obstinacy or recalcitrance. English he kept hammering at her. Are you Chinese? he asked eventually. The lass had asked him to buy her a Red Bull, as she had Marko earlier, from the vendor in the van. (The vendor parks in the Lorong every night, an assistant needed for the trade with the girls and their thirsty customers.)

         Bull purchased. Swagger in delivery. A dollar or two for a chilled Bull, what was that to the lad?

         On the construction site the young Indian earns two K and more a month: twelve-fourteen hour days, six days a week. Saturday night he can sink a few.

         Girl's side twenty-five a trick, takeaway the pimp/trafficker.

         The can was thrust into her face.

         Accepting the gift was unavoidable once it had been bought.

         The straw he stabs into the can, somehow managing to find the slot.

         She must have taken a sip. No more. Abruptly he pulls the can from her grasp, collecting the straw with it in the grab.

         From the side her reaction can’t be seen.

         Again, remarkably, when the lad stabs the straw at her he somehow fixes it in her mouth. The plastic stuck in her mouth. There seemed to be no hand movement from her. The Indian walks off with his can.

         Not long after he returns. Are you Chinese? again.

         She's paying for her earlier forwardness and playfulness. Possibly she has touched him up in a way that he liked. (Marko thought on the first pass through the Lorong another lad who was being fondled with some vigour had his fly open and trousers unbuttoned. There on the footpath; girl leaning on a car and he onto her.) Touching up was a common enticements in the narrow passage-ways in a couple of places.

         Eventually the Bull brute moved on.

         Looks came from the Viet girl's friends either side. Shakes of uncomprehending heads.

         Earlier in the evening Yanti explained the scars at her temple and fainter ones on her neck. Five or so months she has been with the Malaysian family in the condominium on East Coast. Middle-class money. Gated communities; tall towers.

         Because these employers are Malaysian, Yanti's English learning has been restricted.

         The laki-laki, the Sir in the East Coast condo, is good. A Muslim who keeps his daily prayers. However the perempuan, wife is a Setan.

         A moment needed to understand her term.

         Yanti smiling. A little embarrassment at the victimhood.    

         Yanti didn't mean to divulge her story. The marks were more or less hidden by her hair. They only became visible late in the evening.

         There have been no sexual advances in the East Coast condo. This is of course one of the usual developments—the husband falling for the young housemaid.

         Here at East Coast in Yanti's case it had been simple dissatisfaction with the work performance.

        Yanti is new to housekeeping; to Singapore. Much she doesn't understand. The shared common language—Malay and Indonesian—still leaves lots of gaps.

         The girl had been knocked to the ground by the Setan. Only fingernails could have produced the gouges. The Malay women favour long coloured nails; long coloured eye-lashes and heavy make-up. Malays more than the other groups.

         Three twenty per month, two Sundays free.

         The wide smiles relating the beating suggest Yanti will survive, learn from mistakes, improve her English. A bright, quick and questioning girl. Three year old left with mother back home; divorced. Divorce was a common reason for leaving home. Children were cared for by mothers, sisters, sometimes grandparents.