A Bunch of Bananas

Six bananas whittled away slowly over the course of the afternoon, until by half seven, the first sign of dusk creeping on in the wings, a single solitary remained for the purchaser to quietly consume on the walk home. Thin as the proverbial rake and a picker at the food on his plate, Zainuddin polished off first one, and then most surprisingly followed by a second within little more than an hour. Needless to say, these were not the fourteen inch whoppers one saw hung for display at the prata places. But neither were they the baby cherub little weenies. First Din’s new aid for the proper recitation of the Qur'an had got the man excited. Soon afterward we had moved to the case of Gaddafi's overthrow. Zainuddin had visited Libya in the ruler's heyday and was mightily impressed. During the course of public speeches given by the Colonel men wandered around the room and chatted with their friends. Nothing like the awe and concentration Din was used to for the great man back home. Seems Gaddafi's attempt to have the oil trade conducted in gold bars might have alarmed the Americans (just the same as in the case of Saddam angling for Euros). A fiery combustion in Din needed fuelling. Shortly after dispatching the second pisang the man stepped off with a third for the old fella rapidly fading on his camp-bed beside the Convert's building, where the Chinese cobbler formerly put up shop Sundays. Previously the poor wraith had never been seen at any of the tables. There had been no response to the small generosity; later however we watched the slow chomping with mutual satisfaction. Early evening after Zainuddin had left, a big, beefy former man of the track who went off to the Paya Lebar Post Office late afternoon to watch a race at HK, approached the much diminished bunch, pointed to the author, the vacant chair opposite, and finally to his own pot-belly, before reaching out wordlessly to claim a reasonable third portion. Perhaps he had witnessed the slow decline over the course of the lazy Sunday afternoon. Under the overcast, slow-moving sky no doubt the bunch had glowed on the timber veneer table-top at Labu Labi. One gets a look carting apples and oranges in bare hands in lower Geylang, let alone the native pisang. You need to field half-intelligible ribald comments right the way along the line. Being caught with the short-sized puts one at disadvantage. Naturally one gives as good as gets of course, never-mind the language barrier. And then there are the lasses stealing glances. That alone is worth some little candle. Finally the Sabah, Borneo waiter could hardly be refused when he pulled up short at table to beg with clearly insatiable desire, — One?... A dollar fifty at the favourite Geylang Serai stall soon after lunch. Faint tinges of green had failed to deter any of the diners. During the course—one of the early courses—Zainuddin had cited the reference to the "covered fruit" in the Qur'an. The new electronic device he had purchased offered the enunciation of chosen verses keyed to a particular edition of the Holy Book. For $200 another fine hard-cover to add to Din’s library, with a battery-operated full recording and another short volume for more particular phonetics. One pressed the pen-like tip of the silver stylus on the selected verse, and Viola! there you immediately had the rounded syllables of authentic Riyadh and Mecca. — AAarhh! A keen enthusiast could be fairly sent into a swoon. Witness the case of Mr. Zainuddin! Difficult to get the Arabic right so far removed from the heart-land. Explanations near the end of the ancillary volume highlighted particular vowels that lasted fully six beats—six seconds roughly. It helped explain some of the unusual elongations from the minarets, especially on the Peninsular, where amplification was allowed (unlike in Sin’pore).