The old Malay bag-man in fact turns out one of the tribe. More than six months it has taken for the matter to be established.
One afternoon at one of his usual corner stops, the exercise-book was raised, pages back-folded and the ball-point angling against the feint lining.
On the paper the compact block letters of Bahasa took the form of versed Latin, large enough for a passer-by to have read.
More than an ordinary bag-man.
At his stops the man dropped down onto his haunches, sitting comfortable and perfectly balanced. Pen and paper was managed with ease. In his squat the bag-man seemed so low to the ground that one looked whether he might be touching.
Pausing always with a cigarette. After the styrofoam take-out from Mr Teh Tarik, the same, twenty or thirty metres on.
On first stopping and lowering himself, before anything else, the bag-man needed to catch breath. A ciggie or the pages were impossible before that.
Always distressing to witness the long, gulping draughts inhaled one after another, a bellows of heaving chest rising and falling. Bent and crouched like that, the struggle was greater still.
Mouth agape. Heave-ho, heave-ho, heave-ho. The bag-man stared out, jaw jutting, temples bulging.
The bag-man's course was from the direction of the Haig, where a dozen housing blocks reached back from Geylang Road. Along the path there around to Joo Chiat Complex, under a kilometre.
A string of saddle-bags was slung over either shoulder. Always clean, roomy tennis shoes and bare feet. Scissor-action long strides were paced as if by measure.
The shopping plaza at JC the bag-man never entered, rarely crossing at the lights.
Nearly four months Malay Kampung has been closed-up. Even earlier, it seemed to hold no interest for the bagman. The re-creation from the '60s, shortly to be demolished, showed the hand of bureaucratic social policy, delivered from drawing tables in tall towers.
New trousers; the fine leather jacket added a month ago. The bagman was kept well-provisioned. Thin and weathered as the bagman appeared, there was no want.
At the counters money was produced for food & drink. Members of the community gave the bag-man notes unbidden, a tenner on one occasion.
It was not solely age that had the bagman so deserving; that quiet diligence and patience did not go unnoticed.
Only occasional and minor nattering; nothing like raving.
The school exercise-book collected the rumination over his journey. Earlier, the signs of a thinker might have been taken in the hints of preoccupation and bright-lit eyes. The pace of stride was not due to age or weight of burden.
Even for a stranger, the beauty of the bag-man was easy to see.
A loving relative removed his shoes at night and helped bathing—the signs of devotion were unmistakeable. Possibly the man had claimed readers too.
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