You would tell Lat that in the room she must call you by name; not Sir. Sir always grated, but voiced on every side it was impossible. Men, women, granddads & pretty girls alike sired you morning, noon & night. Within the room one could insist on one’s rights. A married woman no longer young herself, suddenly involved in an affair that she had not sought, no more than you had sought, would be able to adjust, surely. Lat would be told you wanted to fuck her. Ordinarily you never used such crude language, only in anger or revulsion. Never in desire. It was different now, and different with Lat. Truly, neither of us had been looking for anything from the other. Lat was pleased to find herself close to a bule, white professional guy. We had met at the Wadi table 6-7 months ago. It had taken some weeks, three or four unscheduled meetings, for the flame for Lat to flare. Then she came down with a chest infection. After that a visa run in Jakarta and her own return to the capital had involved a near miss of a few days. From the airport at Changi Lat had called, assuming we could meet in Jakarta. On landing at Sukarno-Hatta she called again, and a second time too. Only the last call had been taken; the earlier two missed. Lat was on her way to Bogor, to her new husband, who she was slowly beginning to like well enough, she had said early in the acquaintance. Previously this man had been her brother-in-law, married to her sister, who died early from a cancer of some sort. In those circumstances an adjustment had understandably taken time for Lat. Lat herself had been divorced from her husband some years. Without the initiative of the elders of the Bogor village, the pairing likely would never have occurred. Lat’s own child had become the sibling of her former nephews & nieces. Adjustment needed for the young ones too of course, but less than for the elders, Lat in particular. Bogor was an hour from Jakarta. Lat must have been thinking about a day or two in the capital, before venturing down to her new home with her new husband. A pretext of some kind could not have been too hard. Blasted narrow mistiming of only a few days! Lat had always called & messaged sparingly, possibly because her employer, in the usual way, did not like private calls. Private calls also might have been difficult in the Malay house in which she worked. Then too there was the worry of “disturbing Sir.” Now in a few weeks the prospect of a reunion in Sing’ would open. Lat knew the Carpmael house, it had been pointed out to her one afternoon near Al Wadi. No more Sir, Lat. And, I want to fuck you! I want to join with you—linking the forefingers to make clear the larger meaning. There was no crudity intended. The Indo girls commonly used the term in some kind of neutral sense, unaware of the coarseness. In English Indo girls sometimes referred to their vaginas as a hole; presumably a translation of the common reference, in the kampungs at least. That seemed terribly crude and vulgar. It made one wince at first. The burung, bird, or pisang, banana for the male member was much more acceptable; charming even. I want to fill your hole, would be ventured with Lat. Of course the woman would not take it amiss. Fill you up full, Lat. You understand…Kiss me!... It would be unknown territory on both sides. Certainly some venturing would develop. Lat somehow drew you on. Come when you can, Lat. This will be our secret place, nobody know. Allah will forgive. We hurt nobody. Life is crazy. You know. (Lat had expressed something similar when she had first been told she was desired. Told when her friend sat opposite distracted with something, some side chat or the phone. The friend was younger, prettier and quite ready to rock for her part. But it was Lat with all the allure, at least on the third or fourth meeting.) Plan, plan (slow, slow in bahasa). We stay good friends. A little bout of recent religiosity had pretty much passed for Lat; been overcome. Nobody know what waiting future. Next month, next year. It was the truth too. Lat’s desire could be made to bloom; there was every hope. On the first assignation we would start with the photographs from Australie. Only slowly unwinding from there. Kiss me, Lat. That would come as a surprise; that would be totally unexpected. The pink pointy tongue Lat had poked once or twice in some fun chat needed a little clamping. Once at Wadi Lat had pressed her knee forward under the table without any explanation or sign. She would get as good as she gave, shortly.
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