Traditional Chinese coffins of the same form had been seen up in Chow Kit, KL five or six years before, the man at the shop there saying they were sourced in Penang, or Ipoh it may have been. The two brothers here in Muar were possibly too pricey.
One of those doco-perfect scenes of doughty old tradesmen with their ancient implements that had been wielded first by the grandfather back in the Mainland. The father had come down to the region in the thirties as a seventeen-year-old and established the enterprise on Jalan Mariam. Since the place had remained untouched; perhaps in celebration after the war and independence a bright blue had been pasted on the walls.
Miraculous entering the past like that, stepping over the threshold as if behind the looking-glass. The Teo Chew men were pleased at the guest’s keen interest; impressed too at the evident knowledge and scraps of their language.
— Only toh kays get this luxury, right Uncle?
Early-seventies, bright-eyed leathery old man could only agree.
Ten thousand saw you laid out in one of their products and about forty years housing in the ground.
The old Viking chiefs might have been set afloat off the coast of some Northern promontory in handsome caskets such as these.
The pair was working on a new item in front, the brother on the left chiseling a border line for a decorative panel and opposite the other with an adze scraping fine ribbons of wood for the curvature. Behind the pair against either wall polished and painted finished product awaited a great man’s exit from this world.
Surprising to the men, we had an acquaintance in common, the chap who ran Great Eastern Resto around in the next street.
Yes, yes, he was still operating. Roundabout eleven he would open. Yesterday—the Monday, would have been an off-day. But working still.
Which brother was the Abang here then, the Elder?
— Ah! No. Same, same. They were one company. They did not have that there.
Not all the old customs carried down; no precedence for the Elder in this particular casket business.
(Were the pair communist sympathisers perhaps?)
The more leathery still smaller man sitting to one side of the entry might have been a long-term employee. A little older again and incapacitated: one hand was missing. It was the right in fact.
The arm had withered somewhat, though no doubt the chap could still make himself useful.
There was no machinery of any sort visible in the shop, not even a plane or sander it appeared. It turned out the brothers did now use an electric saw for the thick wood.
Noticing the observation, the one-handed man moved to hide his stump under the point of his elbow.
Photographs were permitted, there were no objections. By all means.
It would be utterly impossible one knew in advance. Even a practitioner of the highest form would struggle to capture anything meaningful here.
NB. On the weekend Hiroshima Day had been anticipated; then yesterday with the travel the commemoration slipped from memory. In this morning’s New Straits Times a short column of 250 words was carried. There had been nothing on ABC online.
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