CHAPTER 1

Found

The crowds at the Sunday bazaar begin to thin away with thedecline of the sun towards the upper end of the riverside town.Kassim has just finished eating the rice given by Mak Minah,a generous lady who runs an economy rice stall at the bazaar.Licking the leftover gravy off his lips, he sits on a curb besidethe bus stand and looks intently at the slowed-down transactionsbetween vendors and customers. The vendors begin to packup their stalls, while the customers are in haste to go home.He never comes to the bazaar when it is thick with people. Hemakes his usual appearance at the bazaar around five o'clock inthe evening, always sitting in the same spot, biding his time andwaiting for an opportunity to collect unsold, wilted vegetables.

"Come over here, Pakcik, I have some vegetables for you!" aChinese vendor named Wong hollers while beckoning him overwith a wave of the hand. A grateful smile is etched on Kassim'ssagging, wrinkled face. He props himself up on his walkingstick and rises from the cold concrete stone of the curb. Hestruggles for balance because the long sitting has given him pinsand needles in his legs. Taking a deep, raspy breath, he adjuststhe tilted songkok on his skeletal head and staggers in Wong'sdirection. The cramp, tingling sensation gradually subsides witheach dragging movement of his feet.

When Kassim reaches Wong's van, the tall, pot-belliedvendor asks him to open his dirty sling bag and shoves tworust-coloured cabbages into it. Kassim, whose voice is hoarse,says thank-you. He turns on his heel and walks deeper into themarket, against the homeward flow of people. His shadow trailslong behind him in the dimming, ochreous light. Somethingcatches his eye, and he bends down to pick up three straybananas from the rubbish-strewn ground. He puts them into hisbag and resumes walking.

He makes an obligatory stop at the rubbish dump of thebazaar. There are a few skinny, mangy cats in the dump gnawingbarbequed-chicken bones with ravenous relish. They scurryoff in a freak of timidity at the sight of Kassim. The old mansmiles bitterly to himself. Don't they know that I am like them,too? He bends over and starts combing through the rubbishfor empty tins and bottles—he earns a pittance by sendingthem to recycling centres. Kassim has grown immune to theoverpowering stench. Halfway through the search, he hears twopeople talking several metres behind him.

"Mama, what is that old man doing in the rubbish dump?"

"He's looking for food."

"How dirty he is."

"If you don't study hard, you may end up like him."

"I don't want to, Mama!"

"You should study hard from now on. Read as many booksas you can."

"Mama, reading books is so boring. I'd rather read comics."

"Boring? Laziness will make you become like that dirtyman!"

"I am not dirty, Mama!"

"Because I make you clean."

Kassim can feel the weight of their stares on his back. Helooks over his shoulder and sees a woman about forty yearsold and a boy who cannot be more than eight or nine. Theyare sizing him up with covert sneers on their faces. Theirconversation comes to a halt when Kassim's eyes meet theirs. Thewoman looks away in uneasiness. She whispers something to herson, and without looking back, they hurry off in the direction ofthe car park. Kassim envies them a great deal. They have eachother, but he has no one other than himself.

By the time Kassim calls his scavenging a day, the lastvestiges of twilight have faded, and the whole town looks like apicture blotted in with ink. His bag is bulging with the emptycans and bottles. With a sigh, he retraces his way back to the busstand. His feet shuffle amid the waxing and waning sounds ofpushcart wheels. The buzz of voices around him is wearing off.Streetlight halos illuminate the dark streets. Vehicles roar pasthim, sending gusts of wind into his face. He blinks away thedust, clears his throat, and spits a glob of phlegm into the grassverge that borders the road.

When he reaches the bus stand, he feels as if his frame ofbones is dismantling into a heap. He is dog-tired. He wants tolie down and sleep on the straw mat in his house. If possible, hedoesn't want to wake up. He is tired of his long life. Sometimes,he cannot help wondering whether God and His angels have losttrack of his soul. He is wasting his life as one of the living deadon earth.

Suddenly, he catches sight of two men across the road. Theirfaces are not visible in the faint lamplight, but Kassim can tellfrom the size of their bodies that they are tall and well-built.It is not the first time Kassim has seen them. He saw them inthe same spot several times over the past four weeks. He has astrange feeling that they are looking at him. Who are they? Whatare they up to? Can others at the bus stand see them, too? He canfeel his skin crawling.

Kassim heaves a sigh of relief when a bus trundles into viewon the shoulder of the road. It rumbles to a halt beside the busstand and disgorges a stream of passengers. And then everyoneat the bus stand piles into the bus, ignoring the poor old manwho is too weak to join in the frenzied rush. It takes Kassim agreat deal of effort to board the bus. His slowness is frownedupon by the driver who almost barks profanities at him. Afterexerting himself, he launches into a coughing fit. Some cheekyyouths sitting at the back parody the way he coughs and burstout laughing. He shakes his head in disapproval. His bloodwould have boiled with anger had he been younger. Old age hassoftened his emotion. He scans his myopic eyes over the heads inthe compartment and finds an unoccupied seat next to a youngMalay girl. He dares not sit beside her. He knows how stinky anddirty he is. He grabs hold of the overhead rail with his fingersand tries to keep his footing in the shake and sway of the bus.

Suddenly, he hears a gasp from the girl. She gets up from herseat and edges towards him. She grabs his left arm with one handand puts the other on his back as she gently brings him to herseat. He wants to say no, but the sincere smile on her face makeshim yield to her will. Once he is seated, he thanks her.

"Are you feeling better now, Pakcik?" asks the girl.

"I—I'm all right," stammers Kassim, still half-dazed by theunexpected gesture.

"Where is your house, Pakcik?" asks the girl, who remindshim of Faridah, pretty and kind-hearted. They have the sameeyes, too.

"I live in Simpang Tiga," replies the old man, his voicequavering. He is ashamed at how he looks.

"Simpang Tiga is quite far from the bazaar!" replies the girl,her voice tinged with surprise. "Why don't you ask your familymembers to take you there?"

"I have no family," says Kassim, embarrassed. His wifeFaridah died of miscarriage nearly fifty years ago. Dirt poor, helives on the monthly subsistence allowance given by the welfaredepartment.

"I'm sorry, Pakcik," says the girl, and gives him a sympatheticlook.

"It's okay, I am used to it." Kassim's voice falters. He istouched by the girl's empathy. She does not show any negativefeelings towards him.

"Hari Raya is drawing near. Will you be celebrating it withyour relatives?"

"No, I have no relatives," replies Kassim.

"Poor Pakcik," sighs the girl. "You must be very lonely."

Kassim opens his mouth to reply, but he chokes on hiswords. He turns his face away from her, trying to hide his tearyeyes. But the girl grabs hold of his hands and says, "Don't worry,Pakcik, your loneliness will soon be over."

Kassim is startled, puzzled by what she means.

The girl seems to know what he is thinking. She smiles andsays, "We've found you, and soon you will be with us."

Kassim feels even more confused. He wants to ask who sheis referring to, but the eyes of the girl have a strange effect inquelling his urge.

The girl looks out the window and says, "Pakcik, we'vealmost reached your house. Am I correct? Let me press the bellfor you."

Kassim nods, grateful for all that she has done for him. Hewatches her rise and press the bell.

The bus grinds to a halt. Kassim thanks the girl in a muffledvoice and alights the bus, taking his doubts along with him.

Kassim's wooden house stands back twenty yards from themain road, half-buried in a copse of trees. The shrill droning ofcicadas accompanies him as he walks along the trail to his house.The house exudes an aura of loneliness. But it is his, his ownhome, passed down by his family. Moonlight filters through theoverhead layers of branches and leaves, giving some brightness tothe dark surroundings.

When Kassim reaches the facade of his now decrepit house,he sees two dark shadows flitting past him. He looks all aroundhim, sure that they are the men opposite the bus stop. Theyseem to be following him everywhere. He closes his eyes andopens them again. There is no one in sight. Are my eyes playingtricks on me? He shrugs and walks up the steps. He produceshis key from his trouser pocket and inserts it into the rusty lockof the front door. After some twisting, the door finally opens.He steps inside. As usual, he fumbles for the light switch in thedark. When he locates it, he switches it on. The fluorescent tubeon the ceiling blinks blue and orange before becoming steadilybright. Just as he is about to drop his bag on the floor, he has asudden bout of heart palpitations. The rafters above him spin,and his legs buckle under him. Holding his chest in agony, hesinks to his knees. A cold, stinging sensation pulsates throughhis arms, and his breathing becomes jagged. Through his ringingears, he seems to hear the creaking of loose floorboards cominghis way. Before he knows what is happening, two warm handscircle around his shoulders, and a gentle voice whispers into hisear, "Welcome home, Kassim."

Gasping in shock, Kassim finds himself kneeling face-to-facewith Faridah. She looks surprisingly youthful and beautiful. Hecan smell her sweet fragrance of plumeria. She seems real, veryreal. His heartbeat slows down to a normal pace, and a torrent ofenergy washes over him. He feels like he is young again.

"Faridah!" Kassim cries, hugging her tightly. "It's you! You'vefinally come back to me."

"My heart is always with you, Kassim," replies Faridah in acalm, soothing voice.

"I have wanted to see you very much," says Kassim. "God hasfinally granted my wish."

"God is always good to us," says Faridah, kissing Kassim'scheek. "He always knows when is the best time for us toreunite."

"Am I dreaming?" Kassim asks, looking at Faridah'sshimmering face and seeking assurance from her.

"No, you are not," says Faridah. "We were predestined tomeet each other today."

Kassim's eyes are brimming with tears. He does not want tolet go of Faridah this time. He loves her to the last fibre of hisbeing.

Noiselessly, two hands rest on Kassim's shoulders.

Kassim looks up and sees the girl he met on the bus.

Faridah puts her hand on the girl's shoulder and says,"Kassim, she is our daughter, Hapsah."

"Hapsah? Our daughter?" murmurs Kassim, turning to lookat Faridah with a questioning gaze.

"Yes, Kassim," replies Faridah, nodding.

Bending over, Hapsah takes hold of Kassim's hands andbrings them to her forehead. Again she says, "We have foundyou." Tears of gratefulness roll down Kassim's cheeks as he putshis hand on Hapsah's shoulders and the other on Faridah's.

Two dark shadows glide into the house through the opendoor. They become brighter and brighter as they inch towardsthe hugging trio. Soon, the room becomes blinding with thelight that they radiate. It engulfs Kassim, Faridah, and Hapsahuntil they are seen no more.

The following day, two social workers go to Kassim's house.Since Hari Raya is just around the corner, they are bringing himrice and some new clothes. They are shocked to find the doorajar and Kassim lying unconscious on the floor, with a look ofcontentment on his face.

CHAPTER 2

Exhibitionist Boy

It's sports day at Thye's school, and break time is almost over. In a fewminutes, the 1,500 metre race will begin. Every athlete and teacher onduty will have to swelter in the heat along the stadium track. As Thyewalks down the steps of the grandstand and heads in the direction ofthe washroom, he receives a phone call from his principal.

"Mr Thye, I want you to come over to the security office atBintang Plaza now," commands the principal in a grave tone.

"Yes, but may I know what is happening?" asks Thye,perplexed by the timing since the race is about to start.

"Your student, Christopher, was caught exposing his genitalsto a female sales assistant."

"What!?" Thye exclaims in disbelief. Christopher is a shy,soft-spoken boy who transferred to Thye's school from Bintuluthree weeks ago. Thye finds it difficult to associate the boy withthe perverted deed. He is also baffled as to why Christopher is atthe shopping mall. He should be at the stadium by now. Breaktime is almost over.

When Thye casts doubt upon the validity of what has beensaid, the principal asks him not to waste any time.

"Come to Bintang Mall as soon as possible," he says. He isunusually impatient and gruff in tone, giving Thye the distinctimpression that the principal will bark at him if he dares to askany more questions. He asks a colleague, Mr Juan, to take himto Bintang Plaza in his Proton Wira so he would have someonelevel-headed to talk the matter over with.

When they reach the security office in the basement carpark of the mall, they see the alleged exhibitionist, Christopher,standing with his head down. He is with a security guard, ayoung woman, and the principal. The security guard is a dark-skinnedman in his late forties, and the female is a fair-skinnedKenyah woman in her early twenties. Judging from her angrylook, she must be the sales assistant whom the boy has allegedlyharassed. She is wearing a light pink tank top with a deep cutV-neck that shows the silky white flesh of her cleavage. Her hotpants reveal her shapely thighs. Mr. Juan and he are thinking thesame thing: What a curvaceous woman.

Upon seeing Thye, the principal says, "Encik Mansyor, this isMr Thye, the boy's form teacher."

"Mr Thye, I am Encik Mansyor," says the security guard,extending his hand to shake Thye's. "And this is Linda, theintended victim."

Thye and Mr. Juan both nod politely to the young woman,their gaze lingers on her body curves and her cleavage inparticular.

Encik Mansyor then turns to Christopher and says, "Okay,boy. You said that your form teacher could vouch for yourinnocence. Tell him what actually happened now!"

The boy says nothing, but his chest heaves with emotion.

"Yeah, Christopher, what happened?" Thye asks as he tapsthe boy's shoulder.

The boy looks up at Thye and says, "Mr Thye, it was amisunderstanding. I would never do such a thing."

"What are you talking about!?" hisses Linda.

"It's true. You misunderstood me," Christopher says indefence, his voice choking with emotion.

"How did I misunderstand you?" the woman demands toknow. She raises her voice as she speaks and shoots a condemningglare at the boy. "Who was it that unzipped his fly and fished outhis penis in front of me? Or did I just imagine that it happened?"

"Yes, that's it. You imagined it happened."

"How dare you lie like that! I saw what you did and youknow exactly what you did, you pervert!"

Seeing that the woman is losing her self-control, the principalasks her to calm down and explains to Thye that Christopher wascaught exposing his genitals to the young woman while window-shoppingat the unisex boutique where she works.

"I happened to be outside the boutique when Lindascreamed," Encik Mansyor recalls. "I rushed in and caught holdof the boy. She told me that he had unzipped himself in front ofher."

"I ... I did not do it," interrupts the thirteen-year-old,bespectacled boy. "Something happened to my belt. Its bucklecame loose, and I was trying to pull my jeans up."

"Did your belt buckle really come loose?" Mr Juan asks.

The boy nods meekly.

"Don't listen to him. He is lying," the woman says throughgritted teeth, pointing an accusing finger at the boy.

"Christopher," says the stern-looking principal, "pull up yourshirt. Let me see your belt."

The boy hesitates, his face turning paler and paler.

"Show me your belt!" repeats the principal.

Reluctantly, the boy lifts the lower hem of his shirt. Everyone'seyes focus on the belt loops on the waistband of his trousers.

"You are lying!" declares the principal. "You aren't evenwearing a belt!"

"I was," insists the boy, "but I left it in the boutique."

"Your jeans do not slip down without the belt," Mr Juansays, pulling the waistband of the boy's jeans to test its tightness."They seem to fit quite well."