500gms

 

Young lad in his twenties was going in later that day for 5 1/2 years. His father came over to indicate his presence at the usual table under the veranda. The day before the dad had revealed the matter during the course of detailing his own history with the justice system here. In his case man had been sentenced to hang. After a six month process of appeals and $79k legal fees provided by his brother, the chap escaped the noose. Six months on death row, how was that endured? how did he cope? Unfortunately, only blanks came back; there was little to say. Don’t think too much, one of the common standbys among the Malays, was offered. Otherwise prayer and exercise. (Earlier the fellow had been far from observant.) The man's own dad had stood by him throughout, as had the wife and all the other siblings. The mother was dead by then. One thing was he didn’t want the children brought in for visits; that was too much. The man said he couldn’t cry, if he was heard right. Perhaps he didn’t want the children to set him off. The partner and friend, close friend who was looked upon as an abang, elder brother had his sentence carried out. When it came down to it, for defence the pair had blamed each other; the evidence supporting this particular man. Luck in his favour, he said. The son was indeed a chip off the old block. Carbon copy, dad said; meaning the physical characteristics. Coming up to the table, the strong resemblance was clear. Busy texting on his phone, the lad gave only a brief look. He had been in before, dad said. Dad too had been in a number of times, apart from the last occasion. Dad had taken a second wife over in Batam. His sons knew, but not his daughters. The first wife also didn't know. The reported screaming and dragging out confirmed earlier reports. There had been pills offered for settling nerves, which the man had declined. The young lad later went to his bike parked along the side fence of the market and rode off alone, presumably not to the prison just yet. Married and fathered a child; the earlier sentence had also been for possession and dealing. Twenty years ago when the senior had been sentenced to capital punishment, he had been in his thirties; not much older than his boy now. Dope both cases. Singapore's position on it in the current liberalisation in so many jurisdictions complicated matters now. Chap had been told about Ronald Ryan in Melbourne back in the mid-60s. Five or six weeks ago the man had popped up out of the scrum at the market, helloes progressing to fist bumps and eventually chat. Only friends knew of his history, even twenty years later. Now for some unknown reason, the white guy was included. The worry of course was the quantity next time for the lad.   

 

 

 

 

Slashing (updated Jan24)

 

Outside her lift at the Haig this morning Jeanette wanted to relay her news. The disappearances of the four cats again, that Wanling had revealed earlier last week. New info now was the street ginger that had kept outside Jeanette's Block, over at the upper end toward the road, had been the one found dead. And what was more, the ginger had been found mutilated, slashed across the face. Jeanette seemed to indicate more by her gesture than her words. There had been much blood. It was gruesome, appalling. (Had Wanling not wanted to utter the added atrocity, perhaps; or she had not yet heard of this?) Jeanette was angry; enraged would not be too strong. Some of her feeling was possibly coloured by the grief too from her elder sister's death the week before. VERY angry, Jeanette declared herself, with her violet tattooed brows that might have been applied for the funeral, starkly marked like some kind of primitive ritual of grief. Three or four days Jeanette had sat at the tables at the wake on the Void beneath her Block. Her sister having stayed somewhere around Amber Road, there had been little room for vehicular access at the house. Jeanette in her usual, practical way, made arrangements for the use of the Void beneath her own Block. It had been a traditional Buddhist observance, the two sisters having deviated in their faiths. Jeanette had converted to Christianity and worshipped at Our Lady Queen of Peace, on Tanjung Katong Road. Of Chinese origin, the family hailed from Indonesia. Unfortunately, Jeanette had lost the ancestral language. Along with the Buddhism, it may have been the elder sister who had retained the language too. Some few days after the funeral Jeanette had been at the table on the Void by her lift taking lessons in Mandarin from an old Chinese uncle. The uncle had been facing the inner walkway and Jeanette out toward the community gardens along the canal. During the course there a chap had walked along the covered walkway with a carrier in hand, at which the teacher had remarked to Jeanette. Turning to look, Jeanette saw the man pacing along, thinking to herself, Oh, another feeder; possibly not long started. After the word of the ginger and the slashing, Jeanette thought again. Oh! Great god! The culprit! That must have been him! Such individuals, she knew, wormed their way into the affections of the strays, offering food, until they could snatch them and do their worst. Over the years strangulations, tossing from balconies and bashings had been reported. Now Jeanette was cursing herself for not taking more notice, not getting a better look at the man. Had she known then of the atrocity, Jeanette would have immediately rushed up to the fellow and challenged him. You know me, Jeanette confidently suggested. A lucky escape for the chap; an innocent until proven otherwise, we needs must say. A few days ago, Wanling had said  the Feeders were seeking to view the estate’s CCTV recordings. Hearing of this, Jeanette revealed, in a whisper, that many of the cameras at the Haig were inoperative. It was too expensive to run them all. Only in China, Jeanette added; meaning reliable surveillance there on the Mainland. There seemed to be approval in those words and pride at the advance. In the recent geopolitical reorientation, many of the local Chinese were beginning to turn toward the ancestral homeland. 

 

Sparring at Shadows (Long Live the King)

There he is our man alright in London behind the Pres. Must inevitability grate with the Arab, perpetually in that shadow. Current liberalisation (post-Khashoggi) trialling slowly in Saudi, women driving, getting about some without male escort, some racey hijab fashion that show lines & curves. Howsoever, for all that, for all the dosh, the Porsche, finest clobber, jetting about first class, grating. Nevertheless, nice to see smiles kept up, genuine warmth for orphans, elderly & disabled. One of the kampung lads of Modh’s gen who knew the man from early days before his marriage, while the pair prayed together at the wooden (likely atap roofed) sarau opposite the market, reported the chap was not flying back home with the President. No, going himself on to the States, he would. A certain tone in the pal’s telling that seemed might have echoed the original. Man needed to stand on his dignity every once in a little while. (Difficult incidentally guessing what the Viet President was doing in that company joining Charlie’s big do.)

 

Publication news: Blind Terror - Panoply

 

Hallo all

Hope everyone is keeping very well.

A publication to announce, another flash just appeared in Panoply up in the States. This zine carried an earlier short of mine back in May 2020.

Blind Terror is centred on my adopted neighbourhood in Singapore, a stone's throw from the wonderful Malay market. Under 500w, hope you like it. No pay wall—

https://panoplyzine.com/blind-terror-by-pavle-radonic/

Blind Terror – by Pavle Radonic Geylang Serai, Singapore A screaming girl directly across the way wouldn’t let up, yesterday early afternoon in continual fits and starts rising and falling. Then in the morning renewed again…

Leading Hand

Yesterday was one example and this afternoon another. Surprise was always a factor. Diabetes was rife in this region, as were motorcycle accidents. Male in both cases these. In the afternoon a chap coming over from Block 11 was on the phone, clutched to his ear. On the right side the short, empty sleeve of his grey polo swung free as he walked. Not a known face; easy & loose in his stride. Yesterday in the shade of the veranda at Upper Geylang returning from town, a man coming on was thanked for making way in the passage. Short wave of the hand at the midriff. Orange-saffron tee or polo; dark forearm. Not possible for this man to answer in kind as there was no hand appended . The flesh of the stump seemed properly formed; neatly rounded, as if machined smooth. A foreign worker—at that age local amputees were rare. (Even the motorcycle cases were older men, usually the first generation of riders.) Stony and unresponsive the Orange-saffron. Sometimes one could convey something even in passing in such cases; in fact there had been a tap on the shoulder of a younger man in a chair that same day, pretty well received. This other man did not allow. It was usually impossible of course. In this culture people often approached the elderly, lame or crippled to present a quick note in the hand. Both men here were the right too. As it might have been in medieval warfare, the leading right.