Shut your mouth, Keong said. Nigerian your ass. You dont know anything.
As I looked at them, I got the feeling that they were floating through the city, unattached to anything around them. Their music was the only thing that seemed real a link to their home. That was why they were listening to it so loudly, I thought. But they were thousands of miles away, and something in the way they talked to each other, shouting over the music and laughing in the half-dark street, made me realise that they would probably never return to where they came from. And suddenly I thought, I am just like them, I am floating through life.
What the fuck, Keong said. There was a note of excitement in his voice. Two guys in the group had started fighting, that kind of messy scuffling that happens when people are drunk, not really a proper fight, just grappling with each other, tumbling into the road. A car passed by and had to swerve to avoid them. The driver leaned on the horn for a long time it was a Kancil, the noise of the honking as it drove off was high-pitched, like a cheap childs toy that you buy in the night market. It made us laugh. A few minutes later the men were joking and talking again as though nothing had happened. We stopped looking at them they were nothing special, they were just like us, just hanging out with friends. Keong was texting his new girlfriend, reading out her messages to me. Of course he was exaggerating. I knew she didnt think he was the handsomest guy in the world. In fact Im sure she didnt even exist. But I went along with it thats what you do with old friends. You take an interest in their lives, even when theyre lying.
Then suddenly we heard a commotion more shouting. We looked up from our phones and saw three police cars and another three unmarked ones surrounding the Nigerian guys. Everyone was yelling. There were a lot of cops, I couldnt count them. They pushed one guy against a car. I could hear him shouting in English, No drugs no drugs I dont have anything! But they handcuffed him anyway and made him sit on the kerb just like his dozen or so friends. At first the Nigerians were arguing, shouting at the police. They were big guys, much taller than us, and maybe they thought they could get out of trouble by being loud, but they didnt know what the police were like. I couldnt see what happened, there were too many bodies in the way, but all at once everything became quiet, and one of the men was lying on the ground, one arm around his head, the other one stretched out as if he was reaching for something. He wasnt moving. After a while, some of them started to plead we could hear them from across the street. Their voices were soft and rich and deepened each time they said the word Please. Please. The sound of the word made me feel as if I was stepping off solid earth and falling into an abyss. I wanted it to stop.
Just pay them, Keong said. Get all the damn cash out of your pockets. Just pay. But we knew they had no money to bribe the cops. Im sure they understood the system just as well as we did, they just didnt have the money. Keong shook his head. Aiyo cham lor, lock-up for you tonight my friends. When youve grown up in the kinds of places that we have, you know whats in store for you.
A big police truck arrived and picked up all the Nigerians. While it was still parked, one of the cops came over to buy some cigarettes. We asked him what was going on. He said, Local people we dont like seeing Mat Hitam around. He lit a cigarette with a silver Zippo lighter. Were like the town council, just cleaning the trash off the streets.
We laughed loudly as if we were best buddies with him. Yeah, clean it all up. I cant remember what else we said, cant recall exactly what kind of jokes we made, but we wanted the police to think we were on their side. We knew they wouldnt be hassling us that night, that there was someone else they were more interested in. Even though I was young, I thought I already understood the way things worked. But that night made it clear to me, like the words to a song by a foreign singer. You know the melody by heart, but you cant quite make out the words, you can only understand fragments of English here and there, you sing a line or two from the chorus and sort of understand the message, but then one day someone explains the words to you, and suddenly everything clicks into focus, the whole song makes sense. Its no longer just a pretty tune, its got meaning and that night, the message became clear: no one wanted to know about you if you were dark-skinned and foreign. Who would come looking for you if you were thrown in Sungai Buloh jail? Or if you sank slowly to the bottom of a river? No one would ask questions. Not until it was way too late.
I dont know why Im telling you all this. I guess I want to empty out the contents of my head after all these years. Thats what you asked me to do right from the start. Dont hold back, be as honest and open as possible. Just talk, you said. No judgement. So thats what Im doing. Just talking.
October 4th
I have nothing to complain about these days. Every day is the same, and this is a blessing. Nowadays people think variety is the only thing that gives meaning to life, but they forget that routine is a privilege too. No disruptions, no crazy ups and downs, no heartbreak or distress there is something divine in sameness, isnt there? A gift sent from the gods. Im lucky. I live on my savings the small amount of money I made when I sold my house in Taman Bestari that Id lived in with my wife. To my surprise it was still worth something when I came out of jail, so I sold it and moved into this place, a smaller house with just two small bedrooms, a bit further out of town. Twice a week, someone from the church visits me with a food hamper basic groceries with a few treats thrown in and if ever Im in need, I can always go to church to talk to someone, and theyll usually give me some biscuits or leftover fried rice whatever they have in the kitchen. Its called Harvest Assembly. Ive been going there for nearly six years, ever since I got out of prison.
Apart from that, small sums of money come through to me from time to time from a Chinese charity. You know, the L-Foundation. That happened through the lawyer who tried to get damages from the prison service for the injury I suffered during my time inside, but of course it didnt succeed. I could have told them that before they even started. Who in the world ever gets any damages from the police or the prison service? But because of the lawyers efforts, someone heard of my case, even though it was never famous, never in the newspapers for long. Somebody took pity on me, even though God knows I wasnt worthy of sympathy then. Next thing I know, I get a cheque for six hundred ringgit. To you it probably seems like nothing, but for me its a lot. I thought it was a one-time deal, I was happy with it, but the cheques continue to arrive not regularly, just now and then, with no warning or reason. Sometimes 250 ringgit, sometimes four hundred. On those days Ill walk to the bus stop and ride into town, get there just before the old bak kut teh places shut, and have a big breakfast before strolling around Little India. Sometimes I like to spend a few hours just wandering around a mall in the new town, usually Klang Parade. I treat myself to a meal at Texas Chicken, and always order the same thing: Mexicana Burger and Honey-Butter Biscuits. Sometimes I think I should be more adventurous and try something else I really like the look of Jalapeno Bombers. Bombers! They sound great. But then I think, what if I dont like them? The thought of getting something new makes me nervous. I want my day to be happy, I dont want to be stressed, I want everything to be calm, to remain the same.
I sit and watch the teenagers in school uniforms sharing their fried chicken and showing each other photos on their phones. The boys pretend to be tough, they use the same language I did when I was their age you know, Cantonese cursing, which sounds really crude and aggressive. If youd heard me and my friends at that age youd probably have moved away to the next table. But these kids, theyre not like me they come from the new suburbs close by, theyve got decent families. Fourteen, fifteen years old, but theyre just babies, relaxing in the mall together after school and playing games on their phones. Even after a whole day at school their uniforms look freshly laundered, not crumpled and grey with sweat youd almost say there was starch on their white shirts. Nothing troubles their lives, and in a strange way, their happiness makes me feel innocent again, and hopeful. Those days out in town are special. I have money in my pocket, I feel independent and free, even if its just for a day or two. Thats what those cheques mean to me a day of freedom. I never pray or even make little idle wishes for them, they just appear. Thats how God works, I guess. Always surprising, always giving.
With the injury I suffered in prison I cant work. As you can see, I still have a slight limp, though its not so noticeable when Im walking slowly. You only notice it when I have to move quickly, like when Im running for the bus and just cant shift my leg the way I want to. My brain says, Faster, faster, and for a few seconds I think I can do it, I really think I can get up and sprint for the bus but my leg just drags. Thats when I notice that Im limping badly, my body sloping from side to side. I also cant pick up heavy loads as I could before. I used to be famous for that. The guys at the factory I worked at when I was a teenager would set me a challenge, see how many crates of fish I could lift at a time, and Id always surprise them, even though Im pretty short. Its my stumpy legs that give me balance. People say its a Hokkien trait, that our ancestors needed short thighs and calves to plant rice or harvest tea and whatever else people did in southern China two hundred years ago, but who cares? All I know is that my legs always served me well, until I got to prison. [Pauses.] Its because of a nerve in my back, something to do with my spine that I dont really understand. The doctors showed me x-rays, but all I could see was the grey-white shapes of my bones. They couldnt correct it without surgery in a private hospital in KL, but who can afford that these days? At the hospital I laughed and said, Im not a cripple, so lets just live with it, OK? Someone from church suggested I could get a different kind of job, something that didnt involve manual labour, but any kind of job that allows you to sit down in a comfortable office also requires you to have diplomas and certificates and God knows what else these days and I dont have any. I was never very successful at school.
One time, just a year after I got out of prison, some fellow churchgoers found me a job in their family business, a trading company that imported goods from China and distributed them throughout the country. I had a nice desk, there was air-con in the office, and I didnt have to answer the phone or talk to anyone I didnt know. All I had to do was add up numbers such an easy job; nothing can be more certain and solid than numbers. I made sure invoices tallied, checked receipts, that sort of thing. Even though Id never done that kind of work before, I knew about how to manage money. But at that time, I got a bit anxious whenever I encountered anyone new, in a situation that wasnt familiar to me I guess it must have been my time in prison that did that to me. Nothing serious, you understand, just some hesitations in replying whenever someone spoke to me, lapses between their questions and my answers that made them think I had mental problems. Five, ten seconds who knows? I watched peoples expressions change from confusion, to concern, then irritation. Sometimes frustration, sometimes anger. Some people thought I was doing it on purpose. Once a guy in the office said, Lunseehai, such an arrogant bastard! He shouted it out loud right in front of me without expecting a reply, as if everyone thought the same of me, and that I was deaf and mute and couldnt hear what he was saying. Whatever the case, my boss said after a few months she was very nice, she understood we think its better you stop work. Just go home and rest. Up to that point, I hadnt understood how much I had changed in the previous three years, but losing that job made me appreciate that I had become a different person. Exactly how, I couldnt tell you, but I was no longer the same. I had a couple of interviews for office jobs after that, but nothing worked out.
Thats why I say Im lucky. I dont work, yet Im alive. My days are calm. Id even say I was blessed.
[Long silence.]
Sometimes [Hesitates; reaches for and picks up cup of tea but does not drink.] Sometimes, yes, of course I think of that night. How can I not? I think of the two men who were present, Keong and the Bangladeshi guy. I know what youre expecting me to say: that I see their faces, and that Im tortured by the sight of them but thats not the way it is. I dont feel anything about either of them not hate, not pity. Maybe I should have felt anger towards Keong; maybe things would have turned out differently if he hadnt come back to see me. He had choices. He didnt have to ask me to do all those things.
Now when I think about him, I dont see the Keong of that night. I see the version of him that appeared in court three years later, when my case was being appealed. His white long-sleeved shirt, his neat hair, even the way he spoke to the judge, softly and respectfully anyone would have thought he was a salesman for an IT company in Petaling Jaya. I didnt recognise him at first, I thought it was someone else, that the prosecutors had brought the wrong guy to the courtroom. The lawyers asked him questions about himself, and he supplied the bare facts he owned a business importing frozen dumplings from China, his income stream was steady, he owned a Toyota Camry and had a home loan from Hong Leong bank. Hed recently been on holiday to Australia and was saving up to send his daughter to boarding school there in seven or eight years time, when she was old enough to travel on her own. Right now she had just started at a private school in Cheras, close to where he lived, so he could spend a lot of time with her at home. The moment he finished work, hed rush home to his wife and daughter and theyd spend the evening having dinner, doing the daughters homework together and watching a bit of TV. She was a studious girl she really loved science!
He answered quietly, as if he didnt want me to hear what he was saying. On the other side of the courtroom I had difficulty making out some of his words. Mortgage. Laptop. Playground. The man speaking seemed to be embarrassed by the way he lived. Why would someone feel shy about having a life like that? That was when I realised it was Keong the same one I had known since my teenage years, and I knew why he appeared so awkward. He was ashamed because of my shame or to be more precise, he was ashamed of being happy while my shame was on display to the world. Wed shared so much as children. People used to say, No use giving Ah Hock any ice cream, hell just give half to that little bastard Keong. But time that was something we couldnt share. It could only favour one of us.