2 Children of the Plantation

by Faith Mortimer

  I thought the curing shed was the hottest building on earth. Although standing under a ring of trees which provided shade for the building, the atap covered corrugated tin roof was little insulation against the strong Malaysian sun, and within minutes sweat was pouring into our eyes. I also considered it to be the smelliest place. Drying rubber must have the worst stink in the world, and although we were subjected to it almost every day, I could never get used to it. This morning inside the shed, I found everything barely tolerable, and I could hardly wait for the day's work to end.

  The only bright event was that as the morning wore on, Paul's temper lightened until he was much more his usual dry and jocular self. In response, I felt my own mood lifting; at least he didn't suspect I was anywhere near the stable last night. Once we finished our work and were stepping back to the house for refreshment, he surprised me with a suggestion.

  "Come, I have something for you to see. You'll enjoy it." He beckoned that I go with him towards the stable block and my heart skipped a beat. Was it all pretence? What if he did know I had been there? A strange feeling came over me, and I imagined someone was telling me it was all right, there was nothing to fear. I came out in goose bumps.

  Giving myself a mental shake and reprimand for being so stupid, I followed him into the building. I was interested after all that had happened last night and could hardly guess as to what he had to show me. Perhaps it was what he had taken charge of? My heart thudding in excitement, I wandered after him into the familiar stable. We passed the stall where I had laid hidden with no hint of anything showing in his face that he knew I had been there. I made certain I didn't glance once up to the loft above.

  "Here, see." Paul stood before the end stall entrance, indicating I should enter. A snuffling and squeaking greeted me, and to my delight I found myself gazing at a plantation bitch and her new-born puppies. Squirming, they lay between their dam's legs, each attached to one of her teats. Laughing, I knelt down in the straw and counted six little bodies.

  "How sweet! When were they born?"

  He smiled at me, and I liked to think it was because of my pleasure. "Sometime this morning, I think. She wasn't here last night." As he knew only too well.

  Keeping my eyes averted lest he suspected that I knew about last night, I concentrated on the puppies. "I wonder if Father would let me have one. A dog would be awfully good fun."

  "He might, but what about your mother? Does she like dogs?"

  I wrinkled my nose at his question. She didn't mind them, but I could already hear her objections for me not having a dog, my asthma being one.

  "Yes of course she does. She definitely will let me keep one, two possibly," I bragged.

  If he didn't believe me, he didn't let on. We spent a happy half hour watching the puppies feed, and when we left in good spirits, I felt that our friendship had reached a new level.

  "It's time we went," he said later, glancing at his watch. "I have to go into KL."

  "On business for Father?" I asked surprised, as I knew most of the plantation's business was conducted on the estate early in the morning before the real heat of the day. Any business in KL was usually dealt with by my father in person.

  "No. This is my business. I have to meet with someone."

  "Oh?" I enquired, wondering if he was meeting a girl.

  He hesitated, half-turning away from me as if making a decision. "Would you like to come along for the ride?"

  My heart leapt! My hero was asking if I would like to go with him. He wasn't meeting a girl then. "Oh yes please. Anything to spend a few hours away from here. What fun. Can we go to the new department store for Coca-Cola?"

  "I know an even better place. There is a new American ice cream shop. We can go there. You like?"

  Grinning like an idiot, I answered him, "I like very much!" Feeling very happy, I agreed a time and place to meet. I had forty minutes to eat my lunch and change my clothes. A morning's work in the stinking curing shed had rendered them stiff with sweat. I might even take a shower, as I didn't want Paul to think me uncivilised when we shared the car ride into town.

  Unfortunately, his invitation left me no time to inspect the loft space. I had planned on searching the area as soon as he left. I was still curious to know what he was mixed up in. Last night, he had sounded tense and worried, nervous even when dealing with those two strangers who acted like a couple of thugs. I felt sure he was up to his neck in something over which he had no control, and I wanted desperately to help him if I could. The thugs were of a different stock. They were rough and demanding when Paul was talking about the missing things and he was made to hand over the money. I was certain he was being forced into committing something wrong. He was too nice to do anything bad. If only I could find out what it was, then I could help him, and if I rescued him from whatever 'it' was, Paul would be in my debt forever. Our friendship would be sealed and could only get better and better. I thought I was being exceedingly clever and grown up for my thirteen years.

  "I'll see you later then," I said as I tore off across the grass towards the house.

  ~~~~~

  "For goodness sake, Alex, you really are puny sometimes," Emma complained scornfully when I explained I had another headache and wasn't joining them for a ride that afternoon.

  "I was looking forward to your coming riding with us." Emma looked and sounded annoyed. Privately, I quite agreed with her; it was a pathetic excuse.

  "Don't you think so, Fizzy?" She turned to her sister.

  "Think about what?" Fizzy was engrossed in reading her letters just delivered that minute. She was well used to Emma and gave her half her attention. "I say, look at this! Holmes' parents are holding a ball. What fun! We've all been invited." She paused as she read on. "It's a mask-themed ball in fact and Venetian! We're to dress as Venetian courtiers. Goodness, what shall I wear?"

  "What will you wear? What about me? I've nothing suitable at all and everything is getting far too tight in the bust. Father has been very stingy lately too. It's not fair."

  "Oh do shut up, Emma. Of course Father will let us have new ball gowns. Mother would never let him get away with it. We'll buy lengths of silk and get Siti's sister to make them up into frocks for us. We have the Butterick patterns, so it'll be easy for her. How jolly splendid! I wondered what they were planning, as Freddy did mention something last week. Now we know."

  "If you say so, so long as Mother can persuade him."

  "Nonsense, of course she will. Besides, Father is too proud not to dress us up in the finest. He always has to have the best. Now, what were you saying earlier?"

  Fizzy gave Emma and me a smile. I knew that today's news had put her in the best of tempers.

  Emma sighed. "It's nothing much, Alex has another headache and won't be coming with us this afternoon."

  "Sorry," I mumbled. "It must be the weather."

  "It's no hotter than usual. Never mind, we'll have more fun without you, and we can go at a faster pace than you can, you old slow coach. At least we'll get a canter in. Come on Fizzy, let's go and get changed."

  Standing up, Emma pushed her chair away from the table. "I'll meet you in the stables." Without another word she left the room, and I knew from her spiteful words I had hurt her.

  "Alex, are you all right?" Fizzy looked concerned.

  "Yes. Honestly, it's just a headache. That's all. I'll see you at supper."

  ~~~~~

  I enjoyed the journey into Kuala Lumpur. I didn't know Paul had a smart little car of his own, a two-door Triumph Herald in white with a red trim-line along the sides. As I said how much I admired the paintwork, Paul regaled me with the merits of his pride and joy.

  "My first car, is she not beautiful?"

  "Very," I said smiling at his obvious pleasure. "How long have you had her?"

  "Not long, only a few days."

  "It must have cost you a lot of money," I said, without thinking. "However could you have afforded to buy it?"

  Paul flashed a look at m
e, and I realised too late how that must have sounded. I knew estate workers' salaries were not huge, despite Paul being a manager. Feeling guilty, I tried to make up for my mistake. "Well, I don't know of course, but I would think it was expensive."

  Paul concentrated on the road ahead, swerving round an overloaded bicycle before replying, "It was a lot. But I worked hard and saved for it. We Chinese are good at saving." He gave me a smile.

  Nodding in relief, I looked away. It would never do for him to suspect I had seen him handing over great wads of cash last night and with money which may or may not have belonged to him. Paul had mentioned a commander; perhaps he had lent him the money. I really didn't want to think about it either way. It made my head ache, and as none of this was my business, I decided I would do best to hold my tongue. Winding down the window, I stuck my head out for some fresher air.

  The vivid green of the jungle on either side of us flashed past. I loved the tall palm trees, their fronds waving in the wind like sails. Great hairy lianas hung from branches like the arms of orang-utans: the old men of the forest. Every now and then there would be a splash of colour from a bevy of orchids or a tumbling creeper that covered an old rotting, long-forgotten post. Kampongs (villages) sprawled in clearings, and I could smell and see the wood smoke rising from a dozen cooking fires. Swamp or Pi dogs rooted alongside chickens in piles of rubbish, while naked, yellow and brown-skinned children stood and gazed at us as we sped past.

  Soon we were entering the outskirts of the city. An increase in traffic slowed us to a more moderate speed. Within minutes, we were caught up in a column of brightly-coloured Bedford trucks, motor-bikes overladen with driver, wife and shopping, trishaws, cars, sacred Brahmin cows and scores of people milling around on foot. Nearing the centre, our speed slowed even more and the air got hotter.

  "I have to visit a friend and deliver some goods to him first. Then we'll find that ice cream shop," Paul said, breaking into my thoughts. He changed down a gear as more vehicles entered the main thoroughfare from a road on the left. "It won't take long. You wait in the car."

  He slowed the Triumph and took the next turning. There was a gaudily-painted Chinese temple on our right, with all manner of garish figures dotted around the building: dragons and over-sized warriors with manic faces and staring bulbous eyes. For some reason, they had always made me feel uncomfortable with their alien bodies. I could imagine the inside of the temple, creepy with its collection of torture instruments and bloodied wall paintings. It gave me the shudders.

  Turning into a narrow alley, Paul deftly made a three-point turn, reversed his car down a short way and parked it outside a large building. Flashing me a smile, he left me where I was and walked over to a side door in a wall. I guessed this was a garden to the building, as I could see a tree rising above the high wall.

  As the heat rose within the car, I fidgeted. I felt sweat rolling down from behind my ears and dripping onto my shirt collar. I hoped Paul wouldn't be too long, thinking if it got any hotter, I would begin to melt. I gave a groan and unable to bear it any longer, opened the car door and climbed out into the road. Standing in the bright sunlight, I felt as if my lungs were being scorched, as the heat bounced off the tarmac. This was intolerable. Seeking shade, I scurried over to the only tree in the road. The tree had long thick branches which almost brushed the ground, so sighing in relief; I sank down onto my haunches and leaned against the trunk. I wished I had remembered to bring a drink with me.

  True to his word, Paul was back within minutes accompanied by a well-set older man of about forty-five years of age. He was dressed in a native sarong and sandals, and despite his casual dress, he cut an imposing figure. His head was almost square-shaped, and he wore his hair cropped close to his skull. Free of facial hair, I noticed a long white scar running down the left side of his cheek, giving him a piratical look. He had a thin mouth beneath an aquiline nose, and although I was too far away to see his eyes, I felt sure they would prove to be as hard as little bullets. I shivered as I stared at this cruel looking man; I know I had no reason to pre-judge him, but I stayed where I was half-hidden beneath the swaying branches.

  Reaching the car first, Paul looked surprised when he found I was no longer sitting in the front seat. He cast a quick look round but failed to notice me as I crouched, unintentionally hiding. With a slight shrug of his shoulders, he turned back to his companion.

  I hadn't meant to be furtive, but the newcomer had a mean expression I didn't like the look of. A voice seemed to whisper inside my head that I had better stay where I was. Paul muttered something to Scarface in Cantonese that I couldn't hear and together they walked to the rear of the car. Paul fished in his trouser pockets for the car key which he inserted into the boot lock. Scarface leant over to inspect the boot's contents, and a grin slid along his face. Turning to Paul, he slapped him on the shoulder and made a remark. Evidently, whatever it was Paul had brought him, Scarface was delighted with it.

  With another quick look around the deserted alley-way, Paul and Scarface began to unload the car. Slowly, they lifted a wooden box up onto the sill of the boot. The case looked to be about three and a half feet long and about half as wide. It was obviously heavy, as I could hear the men's grunts when they lifted it. Each end of the box had a rope handle with which they lifted it and staggered towards the gated garden. Enthralled, I watched them remove a second box. I couldn’t even guess as to the contents of the boxes. I really had no idea. Paul slammed the car-boot shut and relocked it before following Scarface into the garden. I slipped from my hiding place and sat back into the hot and sweaty seat to wait for him.

  ~~~~~

  "Have the root beer. I'm told it's very good, very American," Pal emphasised the American using a false accent. "With ice cream in it, of course."

  It sounded awful, but not wanting to offend my friend, I smiled and agreed. When the tall, frosted glass arrived containing the treacle-coloured liquid topped with two scoops of vanilla ice cream, it did look interesting.

  Paul smiled and nodded as I took up my long-handled spoon and dug deep into the soft ice cream. I could almost taste the ice-cold vanilla before it touched my lips and…it tasted quite revolting, Choking, I fought back a grimace of disgust. There was no way I could even consider drinking the beer. Horrible stuff! The ice cream floating above the beer I could just about manage, but the beer, ugh! Not wanting to appear a baby, I took another mouthful; I swallowed.

  I felt Paul watching me. Making sure I enjoyed my treat. I battled on with the ice cream, it was nearly finished, but what was I going to do with the foul-tasting beer?

  There was only one thing for it. "Ooops! Oh, I am sorry, it slipped." Watching the brown, gooey mess flood over the table top, I grabbed a handful of paper serviettes. Relieved, I mopped up the offending beer, gibbering as I did so.

  "Young Alex, it's okay. It doesn't matter; it is just a spilled drink. We can order another."

  "No!" I almost shouted. "No," I repeated in a quieter voice. "I couldn't and I had nearly finished anyway."

  "You hardly started it. Have another."

  "Actually, I'd rather have a Coco-Cola."

  Paul laughed out loud, slapping the table as he did so. "I knew you disliked it! You should have seen your face."

  "You did it on purpose. You knew I'd hate it. You rotter."

  "Ha-ha! Good joke, eh? I got you! Paul got young Alex," he chortled with mirth.

  I couldn't see the funny side at all and scowling, I looked away in confusion. I failed to see his sense of humour, but perhaps it was I who didn't have one.

  He stopped and looked contrite. "I am sorry, Alex. It was a joke, really it was. I meant you no harm." He touched my hand lying on the table. Startled, I felt as if it was on fire, and I snatched it away.

  "It's all right," I mumbled. "Forget it. It was a jolly good jape. You can't know how ghastly it tastes."

  "Oh yes I do. A friend played the same joke on me. Before I tasted it, I thought root beer tasted like Tig
er beer. Ha! Not so!"

  "A friend? Was he the same man you visited today?"

  He peered closely at me. "Where were you then? You were not in the car or near the house."

  "I found some shade. It was jolly hot in the car. I thought I was going to roast. Who was that man?"

  "A good and powerful man. He is just an old friend."

  "He looked," I paused, "fierce. Especially with that fearful scar. How did he get it?"

  "So many questions today." He leaned back in his chair, tipping the front legs off the ground, quizzing me with a small smile. "Why so talkative all of a sudden?"

  "It's just that…oh, nothing."

  "Shall we go? We can take a walk through the open market back to the car. You'll enjoy it."

  "Can we? Yes please, I've always wanted to visit, but Mother wouldn't allow it."

  Once outside on the pavement, the heat hit us like a sledgehammer. After the air-conditioned café, the high humidity in the air felt like we were moving through treacle. Within minutes, we were both sweating, dark patches appearing on the backs of our shirts.

  The Chinese market was a cacophony of sound and a kaleidoscope of colour. The stall owners screeched their wares as we passed through, thrusting live chickens or piglets trussed up with twine into our faces. Hawkers yelled and spat huge globules of yellow phlegm, women argued over the cost of a 'kati' of rice, while children stole ripe rambutans and mangosteens from open baskets lining the cracked pavement. We were assaulted by a tantalising aroma of smells, spicy poppadums, nazi-goreng rice and rich pork with succulent red crackling, all dripping with sauces and the inevitable and scrumptious curry puffs.

  Paul bought a handful of delicious coconut dessert balls which we washed down with fresh lime juice sweetened with sugarcane syrup. Never had I seen so many people in one place, jostling, arguing and shouting at each other, and I imagined my eyes were wide in amazement. I thought it spiffing good fun. We passed a stall selling genuine 'Seiko' watches – all for 'one dolla' and authentic looking copies of many well-known camera brands. I was mesmerised and wanted to buy Mother some Chanel No 5 (her favourite) until Paul whispered that it would bring her out in a rash, as it was more chemical than any oil of flowers. Just before we left the market, we stopped at a stall selling handmade catapults. These were handsome, sturdy things that looked like they could bring down an elephant. Paul said it would be perfect for aiming at the thieving monkeys when they descended on to the breakfast table set out on the veranda. I vowed only to use the tiniest of seeds as ammunition, as I had no wish to harm one of the mischievous creatures. Anyway, I was pleased with my present and gave him a huge smile, thinking I had never been so happy and I would never have such a good friend.