When the Music Dies

One more Medina garlic nan before the return. Every last morsel delicious. Could one OD on garlic? A month it might remain in the bloodstream at this level of intake, radiating from the pores of the skin. Yesterday at the vegetarian place opposite the old Johor temple the chap reminded that some branch of Buddhists eschewed onion and garlic both. (Not the hardy Daoists you would wager.) One old chap of the neighbourhood who occasionally frequented Medina had almost certainly passed on; or taken to his bed otherwise, which was effectively the same thing. Not difficult to pick from the outset that fast-failing supporter of the opposition figure Maria Abdullah. While the lady had been kept locked up every night the old fellow would come out for the candlelight vigil, first on one corner by the canal and then another as the police moved the group on. Chap would stand off to one side with a couple of allies looking a little warily roundabout. Once or twice talking at some length about what the country faced the fellow resorted to hoarse whispers. Back then it did not seem he had long to go and no surprise now to find him absent nearly a week. He was another rather stupefied at the count of his years on his back and expecting you to be similarly shocked. To have lived so long, who would have thought. This afternoon at the teahouse Razali clung to some hope that the opposition might prevail despite all in the upcoming election. Razali had also suggested there were whispers the military, police and allied services were ready to take control should the unaccountable occur and this old entrenched crew actually fall.... Gee, the penny suddenly drops too. It may be that Friday nights the blaring disco down here has been muted by order of the Sultan on the hill. Every indication thus far on this quiet, peaceful corner. Vaguely recalled now a report some months ago of a Sunday - Thursday working week formally instituted here in Johor at least.