Exchange of News & Views

Another fella keen to unburden himself to anyone who would listen, any hapless victim would do just as well, an outsider never-mind. Mid morning at the Wadi table flipping the Saturday paper, as usual leaving the first teh for the Life section once what was supposedly the meaty two thirds had been covered. A minute or two after assuming a seat two over—respecting the spread of the mat salleh writer fellow—this chap only vaguely familiar starts in. You know your friend with the cap. Walks peg-leg. Talks with you here. You remember? Gone ready!... The dead needed to be cut loose admittedly. Pass the corpse to somebody else, anyone would do. Play Catchie. Here! Hide this someplace wouldya, there’s a good lad. Fifty-one year old Malay regular, lasted a month in hospital before he went. Leg cut off while back; the other not much good either with the diabetes. But is OK, never mind. No big deal, the chap begun with the follow-up bluff in the usual way. Handed you a dead weight like that, take it home and put it in the corner by the settee if you like, it’s OK, no charge. Ghrrr! What do you think I am Buster?... BANG! He was going to get his own back almost immediately just you wait. First though forced you to rack the brain trying to think who he meant. Who was this peg-leg guy? Didn’t have a chair, no. Nor a scooter. A regular. Always talkin to him…. But there was no known regular there with a timber fit, you would have remembered that. A chap stopping to talk in one of the gangs in Jogja had during the course knocked his wooden shaft like a salesman confirming good grade and lifted his trouser leg. None there in G. Serai had done anything like. As was almost invariably the case here, the latest victim, the chap most recently passed on from the crew, could not be recalled. A photograph would certainly have helped; but this was not the contingent of snappers, different gen. Couldn’t think who this could be. A fringe player. Two-three month old news made the passing during the trip up the Peninsular. Beaten. Retired. Just could not place a candidate. OK, you got me there, properly bushwhacked. Now then, though…. Ten minutes later some measure of revenge exacted. You hear about the neck-tie party over at Changi yesterday by any chance did you? Hand at the throat in order to ensure communication lines. Dawn yester. You must’ve heard, right?... What? Who? When?... Oh gosh. Not unexpected: not a whisper. Not the faintest. Nothing whatever…. Whatever was it for? Needle in the crook of the elbow. Understand? Fellow got it…. Ah, Singapore.... Well may you say, Ah Singapore my friend. There were two left swinging yesterday morning. And in case you didn’t know that made six this month of October, here down the road at Changi. (Changi Road began behind us there at the corner 25m. away.) Your President Halimah had declined clemency. A Minister in Malaysia and the family of the victim begged her—hands brought up to the forehead in supplication. Didn’t do it; no good. Halimah wrote back, No. One line. (Didn’t even consider the matter, the lawyer interviewed by ABC TV reported. The day prior Maslaysiakini had reported one hanging; singular. Out of the blue. By the morning that had doubled to two yesterday and another four earlier in the month of which there had not been the merest word. Suddenly six men were hung in the last twenty-six days of October of the current year.) Fellow didn’t see anything on TV. First he heard. Later when his older friend turned up, a regular Uncle, same thing. Nothing. Not the faintest…. Well, you know Singapore. She follow orders. Government say, she do…. Yeah right. Pliant, like the judiciary, as reported by the PM’s nephew last year, the chap holed up in the States avoiding defamation charges pending. Halimah did as she was told. A good woman by all and every report; just could not rise to the party in this particular matter…. We were all fair and square now. This chap could cart a pair of corpses around for a bit look for somewhere to stash, see how he likes it. Tell all his friends and share the passion…. The evening before there had been an Indian work crew there below the path just by this same table again now. Lorry pulled up, heavy bags of something dragged down with some trouble. On the ground the bags were easy enough to pull up from the roadway three-four men tugging on the straps. Even before the shovels were sighted the realisation came easy as pie, no need wonder. Of course. Naturally. There was a big do upcoming. There had been no word here too, but banners on Onan on the corner marked Nov. 3 – 4 signal days. Other Indian crews had been working a fortnight now erecting tenting out front of the new Wisma Geylang Community Centre, Cultural Centre, new Mall all-in-one four storey provided by the government for the locals. Initially we had guessed a pasar malam, night-market; they had them in all the Malaysian towns up the Peninsular. Then the banner unfurled and fluttering a bit. One never read those banners; such a lot to read always of announcements and proclamations, you needed to rest your eyes occasionally. Well, a proper opening over the road. What else would it be? Some minor kind of initial presentation had been offered earlier in the year during Ramadan when the place was still being tidied. Pretty clear now all the box and dice done. Eventually someone mentioned the PM. If the PM was coming to this corner it could only be to open the government’s gift to the local community; they had been bereft before. The Chinese had their community centres all over the place; couple of years ago the Indians were gifted their Campbell Road showpiece. Now the Malays were about to join the party. Therefore the PM and no doubt President Halimah who had declined mercy would cut ribbons and draw strings to unveil plaques here opposite Wadi next weekend. The PM would wear native dress; through the week he had been fitted out in Uncle wear for a HDB meeting it may have been, 1960s dowdy grey and blank. (Following all the malarkey up in Malaysia they were all of course especially careful now. Keep all jewels of any sort well and truly outta the picture. They were so daft up North parading like that.) But what’s all that got to do with where we started, the bag offa the back of a lorry in the Geylang night stopped on the roadway beside Wadi right there?... Well might one ask. This chap had been scared a bit by the tight-fitting neck-tie story. Unpleasant that. A bit gross. Hadn’t seen it coming at all and unfairly assaulted. It was different to a regular death that, diabetes, hospital, that was how death was supposed to go. One needed to give the devil a bit of relief now…. Well, my man, you recall there was no grass under those pavements trees there yesterday, right? Baked earth; not a blade of any description, not by a long shot. Now, will you just lookie there. What do you see, tell me? Some of the kampung brought to your neck of the woods here. By next week the strands of grass will have been tamped down properly and knitted. Looks nice don’t it, you haveta admit. Fits the bill. You remember before nothing?... Ah. Well. In fact, by jingoes, yea. Yes. Botak before. (Bald.) The man well recalled. For next weekend it would be much better, a good sight better, a picture.