In lieu of an interpreter one was guessing here. Certainly there was no coloured paper presented by the old reed-thin chap in a kind of Chairman Mao navy twin pocket that hung on the ancient bones like upon the coolies before the foreign devils had been thrown off. Chap looked like he had not taken a meal the size dished up here by the boss — well, never in his born days. Takeaway fold with heaped rice, couple veg., sauce and whole deep fried fish. Feed a family of five this man's size and stature. Taut flesh on the bones in deep coffee. Cataracts suggested a blind man, yet on leaving a motor outside the door was mounted.
That was no daddy or uncle. Was he a kampung elder possibly? Fellow running a business could not afford these freebies to all and sundry that was for sure.
Forefinger & thumb rub enquiry was met with a shrug from the boss.
All indefinite.
Worth a little play later too with the lad serving who avoided the eyes a quarter hour. Steered well and truly clear. That was a bridge too far for a lad like him.
Eventually attention gained, duly attended, an ear bent down.
….OK, simple.
The plate of pisang was brought over. Naturally the lad was not about to break off a single and hand it over like to the monkey at the top of the street who worked the red light with his handler.
And now sock the fellow square between the eyes he doesn't know what hit him.
— Matur nuhun. BANG!
….How do you like that buster?
Becak driver Paijo in Jogja had taught the old Jawi a couple of years ago and it had slipped since; until at least the whisper was heard from this same boy's mouth given to another ancient, an old woman in briefly to place an order.
Slightest flicker at what he had received. Refused to be rocked at all, not outwardly; refused to betray himself.
The author has a mind to return in a day/two and give the fellow the Sunda variant for good measure, see whether the knees will wobble at that: — Hatur nahun.
Let him mull that one too see how he likes it.
Forefinger & thumb rub enquiry was met with a shrug from the boss.
All indefinite.
Worth a little play later too with the lad serving who avoided the eyes a quarter hour. Steered well and truly clear. That was a bridge too far for a lad like him.
Eventually attention gained, duly attended, an ear bent down.
….OK, simple.
The plate of pisang was brought over. Naturally the lad was not about to break off a single and hand it over like to the monkey at the top of the street who worked the red light with his handler.
And now sock the fellow square between the eyes he doesn't know what hit him.
— Matur nuhun. BANG!
….How do you like that buster?
Becak driver Paijo in Jogja had taught the old Jawi a couple of years ago and it had slipped since; until at least the whisper was heard from this same boy's mouth given to another ancient, an old woman in briefly to place an order.
Slightest flicker at what he had received. Refused to be rocked at all, not outwardly; refused to betray himself.
The author has a mind to return in a day/two and give the fellow the Sunda variant for good measure, see whether the knees will wobble at that: — Hatur nahun.
Let him mull that one too see how he likes it.
Old Java was highly interesting wherever remnants were found: in the script, the lingo, the hints of the animist past pre-Islam. Fabulous glimpses here and there in the folk passing through the cities.
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