Couple of jokers manning the street trade at
the murtabak row opposite Sultan Mosque. Parking a pain and
then the heat. Drivers were flagged down with smiles, fingers to the mouth for
those who might not know the service available. An older Arab
reddy-tinged baldie carrying a comb in his shirt pocket; baseball capped younger
from the sub-continent. Walking up and down, after 2PM thankfully the shadow
covering the entire inner lane on Northbridge. The Arabs had cornered this
strip and the streets of Kampung Glam beyond for a couple of centuries now. The
traffic marshaling from the Arab came in a couple of gestures: one hand
the short digging motion, dog burying a bone, — Come hither, in front of
the midriff; two was both hands either side in a kind of dog paddle in a
stream. Low whistle faintly audible for the man's own amusement. Comb back. (On
the windless equator the short plastic comb in the back or shirt pocket was
rare.) With the red light at the intersection in front cars that looked tempted
were followed just in case. The simple, unelaborated dog paddle could be
developed with a miming of folding the brown grease-proof paper, bundled and
clasped with elastic band. Orders were relayed along the line to the waiters,
who passed to the kitchen. Under two minutes in a couple of cases. A
well-heeled shiny black late model Merc was accorded special respect,
enlightened Indian allowing his wife behind the wheel. Chap himself strapped
the grandchildren, who had been waiting to be picked up, into the back seat,
kiddies shortly in need of good schools, currently enrolled in enrichment
programs. Faces here and there from Geylang Serai, Hello, Hello. Unexpectedly
old Chinese Richard from two years ago, spotting his quarry and no way out.
Took a few brief moments either side for proper recall. Richard with his
jittery bonhomie stringing out conversation. Excellent, confident English
acquired from the strict regime of the Presbyterians spreading the gospel in the
kampungs out off Bukit Timar Road and
later Java Road. Memorizations of twelve verses a time to be recited before the
congregation Sundays. Richard reeled off a retained sample. Wobbly,
trembling chin; no damn wonder the jitters. Owned no religion now; a brother
took it further; Richard never proceeded to baptism. Richard liked to get out
and about. Inquisitive. Always something to do, somewhere to go. A mention of
this and that in the papers away went Richard. So, writing all the while hey? A
drink? Had your lunch? Three times drink offered and four meal enquiries. The
empty plates sat before Richard, but that might have been another diner
perhaps. Mother had always taught Richard and his siblings never to leave a
morsel on the plate. (Richard ignored the minute fragments of vegetables on the
plates before him.) The answering tale Richard was given of having to kiss food
and cross oneself before throwing out in childhood failed to impress Richard.
It had in fact been elicited in precisely the same way on the first meeting
with Richard at Geylang Serai, the memory was recalled later; and likewise
failed to impress on that occasion too. (Was Richard being humoured perhaps?) A
drink? Had lunch been taken? In the end Richard would get himself a drink.
Another meeting was a surprise. How about that? Well, well. It had been assumed
Richard had been converted, during schooldays likely, even primary school. But
no, not Richard. Richard was asked whether by chance it was Hiroshima Day. Ah.
Hmm…. Unexpected line of enquiry for Richard. In fact it might indeed be
Hiroshima Day today. Either today or yesterday, the 5th was it? Richard
recalled he had seen a mention on the TeeV. There had been nothing in the
newspapers, killed locally by the discovery of the Batam terror cell plotting
an attack on Marina Bay. Richard was prepared for other lines of conversation;
not this. Richard could spin chat effortlessly more or less, high level attainment;
an accomplished orator. After being treated the tea Richard's coin was returned
to his pouch carefully, penny saved, penny earned. Richard had earned his penny
here opposite the mosque. Bukit
Timar—Tin Hill—sixty years ago was not the wealthy enclave it was today. It
was OK being left alone, not to worry. Richard was used to being lonely.
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