A Two Hander

The two fellows are near forty if not tipped over, tall and short. To compensate the latter is up on the footpath, his friend down in the gutter on the road. At first encounter they had both been up on the footpath, holding hands and smiling at each other without cease, one up to his friend and the other down, a little shyly it seemed. They had not been caught from the very outset. By the time the observation had fallen on them the linking of hands was almost by the finger-tips only, a striking chain of union like for a pair of lovers, securely toying with each other. Certainly not youngsters this pair. There was no grey as yet, nor thickening. But the working life, early rises and long days showed them a little older than their years. An unexpected encounter that had stopped them on that corner; acquainted from earlier days on one of the building sites here, or even back home. The cheap digs in Geylang, the eateries and drinking holes, and yet they had not encountered each other how long was it now? The smiling would not let up. A switch had been pulled and would not dim. Beaming at each other and still clasped. The short was more of a natural smiler, a little more free. Tall had never had much to smile about; his wife rarely saw it. Still, he was stretching it here, encouraged by his friend. How could he possibly resist in the face of that? And the chain unbroken had to be three full minutes, four possibly. Fingers interlocking, both stretched a little by it, full of their pleasure. They had reason for their delight in finding each other, something proved and established. There was a good deal of it here among the foreign workers in Geylang far from home, far from family, both the Chinese and the Indians too the same. Hard long days, industrial accidents, dirty, taxing work down in holes and up on high scaffolds, sleeping fifteen and twenty to a room, queuing for showers. There was no natural right for free, easy, relaxed spirits, laughter and clasping. There was precious little of it nearer the town centre here, you would be hard pressed to find it trawling through the streets one after the other the live-long day. Three or four minutes this clasp was observed. The length of the smiling unquantifiable—twenty full minutes if it happened at all. Heartening watching. The short guy was really stretching his friend. The former seemed to have some authority, or seniority. A direct raised gaze straight and clear. The other slid a little left and right, unequal to the task, clothes a little more drab, lacking the wrist-watch of his friend. Down from the footpath the tall had stepped as if to give required due. Somehow the chain was broken, uncannily. The eyes had not been taken from them for an instant. The smiles remained. The tall held a tightly packed plastic bag, which now goes from one to the other hand when both were free. Northerners possibly, the Mongol invasion their heritage, certainly the short. When they turn to lean on the rails of the lorry parked beside them (illegally parked a metre from the corner as always here), the latter remains on the footpath, the equality retained. A third man happened along briefly, tall better known to him. Got himself off without intruding. One more going past gave a friendly slap to the short without the merest glance returned, without a flicker. Finally a phone call interrupting. Slapping hand over on the short's shoulder, off they trooped together. While the man talks on the phone the connection was retained with the resting hand. The surprise encounter and the talk had held them on the spot. In fact both were headed in the same direction. Hail fellows. Well met.