The lads hailed from the same kampung up near the Thai border, just
seven kilometres away. Kota Bahru—New Castle or Fort—was the nearest town. A
decade or two ago the roofs in the kampungs were covered with mangrove leaves
from the river; now everyone had aluminum.
After five years working on the resort
island of Rawa, a couple of years in KL and a short stint first time round in
Singapore, Shai has had some of the kampung rubbed off. Rawa off the east
coast of peninsular Malaysia Rawa drew a hipster surfing contingent, mainly
German and French, with whom Shai had made
a number of friends over the years. In the hotels and bars Shai had picked up
drinking, smoking and loafing. When Shai sent money home to his family from
Rawa he warned it should only be used on utilities and repairs—not food—as it
had been earned in proximity to alcohol.
Near fifteen years younger, Api was a different case. Api had come more or less directly from the
past. Quietly watchful; straightened sharp looks; and the broadness of the
smiles when they came were
indicators. Not much more than a dozen words was
the extent of Api's English, which understandably he was shy to use.
Coming from the same kampung, about a hundred
metres between their houses, in Singapore the lads were brothers. It was Api's suggestion
to strike out for famous isle. Past his mid-thirties, Shai took the opportunity
of a new direction. Berliners met on Rawa had called on Shai to visit. This was then Shai's plan: six months
minimum in Singapore, earnest saving and a trip to Berlin to see a Western
city. The Berliners had offered
accommodation; every chance of a warm reception. Even so, Shai did not want to rely on that. And going
up empty-handed was beneath his
dignity. On his side Api wanted to
save without any particular purpose in mind.
Work,
endure the regime, see where they were
in six months.
Even after a fortnight Shai
sought an opinion on their
prospects; an independent, respected and objective viewpoint.
They had been observed; they were as they appeared. What chance of
fulfilling their plan in Singapore?....
Eleven hundred dollar earnings
per month. A rough calculation of expenses that included food, travel, tobacco and phone came
in conservatively at $400.Accommodation was provided by the company. Twelve
hour days, every second Sunday free. Working Sundays without the Super present was a relaxation too—they could cover the essentials, linger over
lunch and get a bit of kip in the afternoon.
The work was hard, impossible to fulfill.
Nineteen six storey condos on the beachfront, basements and pools, between three
men. All the cleaning equipment of little avail. Floors, glass, patios, steam
bath, walkways, over a hundred metres width in the block. As each day passed the Super got pickier. If he was unsatisfied the lads could be sacked on the spot and repatriated
to Malaysia, no questions asked. For the first week he kept their passports as
a precaution against absconding.
Buying the lads a cigarette
under the counter at the usual eatery brought a rapid reaction from the pair. Api blamed Shai for harping too much on money.
The former wanted tailors; the latter the cheaper tabacci. Bought individually seventy
cents apiece; a small pouch of 100 grams that made twenty-five or thirty
rollies, two dollars eighty.
Buying was one thing, bad enough. Striking
the light for Api positively made the
lad jump from his seat.
Not just a twitch. A jolt and
start.
Shai offered a word, a calming hand. Finally
prevailing on Api to take the light.
In Malaysia, not just in the kampung but across the country, the Big
Man, the rich Chinese businessman, always had his cigarette lighted by his
First Man. The First Man was the
Chinaman's shadow; part valet, part bodyguard. First Man was quick on the draw,
getting his fingers on the light the moment the boss's hand reached for the
pack. In the kampung you could bet an elder never struck light for a
youngster; that would be against the natural order.
Api had never seen such a thing.
The bodily fright had passed. Api puffed and blew through his nose as if in
hiding.
Api is "fire" in Bahasa
Malay. The flame was visible
underneath the lad’s skin.
After a handshake Api reaches for his heart.
You get used to that in Geylang Serai.
At twenty three, only one
girlfriend to date for Api. At the split Api cried. More fire; no surprise.
The lads were not as disciplined as the
Banglas and Indians. The Banglas and Indians bought 25 kg bags of rice and cooked at home. Shai and Api eat out every
night. Two dollar fifty meals. Sundays after 6pm, prying security cameras
looking the other way, the lads are millionaires doing laps in the pool at the
condos, Api thrashing the water.
Sentosa
Cove
The most desirable address in the world
The boys get a laugh hearing of the
unfortunate cleaning crew at the National Library dusting and polishing the
leaves in the pot plants.
After makan Api was nervous sitting at table. Didn't
they need to get off? Wouldn't the Indian be annoyed occupying the table half
an hour later?
