Lost Laughter

by Ong Kar Jin

Inside the dilapidated house, the aroma of incense and ringing of prayers intertwined in the air. A question rang in the still atmosphere. " A diamond necklace?", asked Qalif to the man next to him. The two men rose from their prayers, and one bowed to Lord Ganesha. The candlelight revealed his skin to be as fair as Qalif's. " Yes, a diamond necklace. 24 karat I think.” he muttered through reddish-stained teeth.

"Eh machaan, it's pronounced carat. Anyway ... what you propose to do?". Grinning, Anirudha took the drawing of the necklace and crushed it in his gigantic fist. Slowly, painfully, as if in suspense, he opened his mouth. "We steal."

Sadly, all Qalif could bother about was just how foul Ani's breath was.


20 February 1989, Bukit Tunku.

The midnight sky glimmered with the radiant moonlight, its rays illuminating the bungalow ahead. There was a blue gate with flower motifs all over, and a withered, unkempt garden. The owners, a British couple were away. The two thirty-something sneaked towards the house, creeping like dieting women about to steal food from the forbidden fridge. Qalif was visibly distressed, perhaps still contemplating the consequences of this act. " Qalif! Stop whining or I'll hit you on the head!" Ani, on the other hand, was a block of cold ice: slippery, cool and fast to melt.

The pair worked their way through the useless alarms and fences of the Mat Salleh's house. They had toiled to obtain all the necessary information, concerning everything they could possibly think of. All courtesy of dear Mrs. Cornwell's maid. A quarter of the profit for her cooperation. Soon, they came to the one part they could not deal with: the dog.

Qalif was terrified of dogs. Ani wasn't exactly fond of them either. They were once chased by a mad mutt for half a mile, almost mauled, before help came through. This time, there would be no help. Nervously, Ani took their secret weapon, the bone. He waved it around, making sure the dog saw it, and threw it faraway. The naive canine ran after it. Unhindered, they made through everything else without much effort.

Finally, they made it to the dressing room. Qalif impatiently yanked open the drawer right below the make up accessories, as the maid had said. And for the first time in his life, he felt truly exalted. Their inexperienced eyes feasted on the shining gold chain, moreover, at the humongous sapphire. To them, it looked like heaven trapped in a priceless mirror.

In their triumph, they forgot about their debts, their miseries, their poverty, AND the fact that they were long overdue. To their horror, they heard sirens blaring in the night. The owners must have come back, and their maid had unwittingly chickened out. " Take it and run like a rampaging cow herd!" laughed Ani, attempting to cover his worry in stale jokes. Qalif did not respond. His face was blank, but he forced a wink with his scarred left eye. He was the serious one. It hadn't always been like that.

Qalif returned to reality. The harsh reality that they were no more than petty criminals trying to fill their stomachs. In that reality, his heart was thundering, in the midst of escape. Thump. They were out of the house, into the stolen Proton Saga. Thump. Ani stomped the accelerator, his fake driving license dangling below the rear-view mirror. Thump. The sirens were getting softer, they were outrunning them! Thump. They were on the slip road, in the bumpy hills. At the moment Ani decided to look back, a tree appeared into view. Qalif tried to take over, but it was too late.

BANG! The impact of the crash sent Qalif flying out of the car, and Ani hit his head against the cold metal. Qalif had injured his head and arm, but he miraculously still held on to the necklace. Meanwhile, Ani was still conscious, but he was trapped in the car, and was bleeding profusely. He would need Qalif's help.

A most uncharacteristic, ignoble thought sprang to Qalif's mind. He could take the necklace all for himself. He would take too long a time anyway to help Ani out. " Qalif, I'm stuck. Tambi, give me a hand!" The sirens could be heard in the distance, in a sharp crescendo. Ani was his friend! After all these years, would he forsake his one true friend? It was now or never. Ani saw his hesitation, and understood. He let out everything at the top of his voice, not with anger or a cry, but a laugh. Ani laughed, a cold, sharp laugh and Qalif could only look on, bewildered. Why was he laughing? The sirens could be heard too clearly now. Puzzled and desperate, he made his decision.

He ran. Just seconds after running, he immediately regretted his decision. Too late. Qalif ran, he ran away from all his grief, from his friend, from his jail, from his death, from his life...

22 February 1989, Anirudha's family's home.

" Oh dear Qalif! It is kind of you to visit us. Ani would rest at peace with you here! I told him not to mix with those gangsters! He should have stayed with you, you would have saved him..."

Qalif could only suppress an urge to hang himself. By reflex he changed the subject, and read the newspapers to lighten him up with more political hypocrites.

[ The Star, Sunday, 22 February 1989]

BURGLAR DIES IN CAR CRASH

By L. Arathi

BUKIT TUNKU: A 36-year old Indian man's dead body was found in a slip road through the hills yesterday in the early morning. The man has been identified as M. Anirudha, a known triad member.

It is believed that the man was involved in the burglary of The High Commissioner Britian, Mr. Cornwell's bungalow. The purported burglar's last words were apparently spoken to Mr. Cornwell's maid: "Don't tell. Tolonglah." Their maid is now suspected of abetting crime.

Fascinatingly, the only thing stolen was a counterfeit necklace owned by Mrs. Cornwell. The necklace was very similar to the famous original Enchanteur necklace, and the difference cannot be told apart without professional expertise. Preliminary investigations also indicate a second accomplice, believed to be a ...

Qalif stared into the nothingness, and then he let out a laugh. He now knew the meaning of that cold, sharp laugh. Now, he no longer cared for anything. He laughed, mad he was. He laughed as if laughing was all he knew.

(Ong Kar Jin, at 14, was the youngest participant of the Silverfish Writing Programme.)

Beneath the Picture

by Adrian Young

My son called me up and ask me to get him an old family photograph, I kept wondering what the hell was he up to now?

"Pa, I want to tell your story," my son tells me, there was something in his voice he was serious about this pet project of his.

He specifically asked for a photograph from one of our old photo albums. The old black and white photograph is at least 50 years old and has survived the many silverfish that infest our ancestral home. The picture shows a smiling family, as any family photograph should. Every picture should on the surface portray that impression for it to be considered a good picture. But beneath every picture lies a tale. Beneath this picture lies silent story that has been hidden for many years. A story that is never discussed. Much like in all old Chinese families traditions, nothing is spoken. Everything is dealt with within the family. Only what the family shows on the outside is important.

Beneath the smiles, the picture holds much. It is a story of jealousy, pain and hate. I really wonder who invented the line that blood was thicker than water. The Chinese family always keeps their dirty linen well hidden deep inside the closet. I look at the picture again, there is my aunty, whom we called Yee Che which means Second Sister, she is actually Ah Ma's younger sister, Next is my eldest sister Ling Ka. Who is now unmarried, and has devoted her entire life to taking care Ah Ma and Ah Pa. Now her legs are stiffening and she has to undergo yet another operation. Another headache. Next to her is my third sister, the shortest of all my sisters, we used to call her "3 inch nail" in Cantonese or most commonly, Pik Ka. Next to her is my second sister, I was very close to her as she was the one who was in charge of taking care of me, when I had measles. She has a birthmark painted by God over her face. We now called her Maureen, her Catholic name from when we attended a missionary school. Next to Maureen is Ah Ma.

Ah Ma, my mother, the dragon lady of the family, now reduced to aged baggage regarded as burden by every single person of the family. It's amazing how a mother can bring up nine children but not one is willing to take her. It came upon my shoulders to bear this burden, but it was my wife who suggested we took mother in. All she said was "We have two sons also Pete. One day we'll be in Ah Dak and Ah Yip's mercy". True. Mother has survived one world war, a few recessions and many family squabbles that would put some of Chinese television dramas to shame. Dad was the melancholic man, one who toiled and worked as if there was no tomorrow, whereas Ah Ma was the sanguine one who oiled our family business. She was the competent communicator, the people person, she organized lavished dinners during Chinese New Year, commanded the children and relatives, adopted children, servants alike with military precision. General Patton would have been proud to have her as an officer. Our family was very liberal. We were business people. We survived the war because we adapted. My mother did business with the Japanese during the war, that’s how we survived, all of us. She did business with the British when they came back. I remember how she would walk to the resident's office and do her stuff. She was known simply as Madam Yong, no fancy title no nothing. She didn't speak a word of English but somehow she managed to teach the Resident's wife the finer points of quilt work. At 96, she can still entertain Chinese New Year guests with rather candid stories of her golden years.

Ah Pa on the other hand, was one who would to bury himself in work. Without Ah Ma as second officer of the ship, Ah Pa's business might not have flourished so much. Maybe he was worn down because of his second business squabble, the one that I had to intervened in. He could have picked the eldest son, but he didn't. He picked me. For what reason I will never know, the business was being torn apart in two by my second uncle. When it comes to money, there is no such thing as water or blood, just cold hard cash and victory. I had to come all the way back from Australia, I had dreamt of becoming a teacher there but fate took a different turn for me. I settled the business dispute for Ah Pa at 21. Gone was my innocence. Mum has always been behind me after that

That's when the hate began, almost 30 years that dad passed away. That night, after the will was read, my family and I became public enemy number one. My eldest was in his teens, the youngest only 5. Even after 30 years, their hate and jealousy still survives, sibling love being less attractive than hate. My empire that I built by my own hands was torn to pieces. How did I survive that? The younger siblings in the picture are on the first row. I am the one on the right. Behind me is my eldest brother. The rest were all too young to know the truth, all they new was appropriate half truths. I had kept myself dumb on the facts, for the facts were much too hurtful. It is better for one to suffer than all to bear that pain. Ah Ma knew, maybe that's why she has decided to follow me. Until she draws her last breath, she says. I smile, for every year she lives she, my wife and I jokes, takes two years out of us. I looked at myself in the picture again. Although my youngest son looks like his mother, his zest, his nature reminds me of myself. One of my few hopes that I cling too now.

He should have been the pragmatist but he's the idealist. The eldest is everything he should be as a son. But the youngest is adrift. I lost that at 21. He'll lose it too, when reality weathers and drags his flying soul down back to Earth. Sad but true. He graduated in marine biology, when I would have rather he became a lawyer. Now he's left his job. Says he needs to find himself. What will I do with this son of mine? Not to mentioned that he has never once brought a girlfriend home unlike the eldest. My wife and I wonder.

"Pa, I want to tell your story."

My story? Where do I even begin? I think, turning my glance back to the black and white photograph lying on the coffee table, I can only shake my head and shudder at the thought.

Taste

by Ari Methi

Damn! My boobs are still uneven! Ann swears at the mirror.

Again, she adjusts her bra padding. Several more tugs and pulls, they are almost right. A few strategic squeezes and touches later, they are perfect. Her pride, she smirks as the brassiere tops frilled edges are raised to peeks over her tank top. Putting on her peek-a-boo jacket completes her sales uniform and she steps out of the changing room to start work.

Wan, her colleague is hard at work, adjusting lingerie displays. All in stylish black, Wan had given up regaining her figure after the baby. Months of diet and gym had only buffed her up in all the wrong places. Nobody dared tell her she didn't look that good in the first place. The only reason she got the job was to make the fuller clientele feel better.

They needed it, "Etiquette" paid unabashed homage to higher specimens of the female race. Seductively posed nubile women dressed in the stores wares graced the walls as stained glass windows adorned cathedrals. Ann thought back to the small church in her fishing village in Borneo often when the posters raised this image in her head. Ann longed for home.

Wan motions Ann to check the appointment register on the cashier station. Opening to today's date she notes Michael has made another appointment. He has asked for Natasha again. Natasha is animated when Ann calls to remind her. Natasha talks excitedly about the big tip she is bound to get. Ann filters everything out except Natasha's confirmation. Inside she steadies herself for the day, as she feels it darkening in the sterile glow of the shop.

Wan attends to a pair of ladies. Giving the standard spiel as if it was new to her, she directs them to the imported section.

"These are from France here, Sicily and Spain to the left ... feel the fabric! There are no wires or frames. The stitches are artistically on the outside so you feel only gentleness.", Wan coos.
Ann watch the play unfold in the stage that is the shop. The usual men gawk at the window mannequin on their way to work as flitting interventions in the storefront forming the backdrop. Some have grown from curious to lust in their stares; some obviously covet the lingerie for themselves.

Wan continues her practice run. They won't be buying anything. They talk and touch the material as if they would. But Ann can tell. Their clothes may be the latest fashion, but it is without the fashion sense of the truly rich and sophisticated. They are also wearing their bra wrong.

The ladies continue talking to each other as if Wan isn't there. Tales of hang nails and gorging at boutique restaurants are told as life changing tragedies. A far cry from needing to eating grasshoppers (there were no fish after the trawlers came) and bathing with laundry detergent, Ann reminisces on her childhood. The ladies leave with faux farewells, utterly unawares of their good fortune, blasé about their blessings. Ann would feel anger if she did not envy them so.

The rest of the morning passes slowly as Ann sets herself the entrance.

"Can I show you something?" she repeats to prospective customers. She squeezes her shoulders together and bows slightly, exposing more of her cleavage than her five foot two frame already does. She scores some sales by selling herself this way.

None take up her offer to of showing them how the lingerie should be worn.

In between sales, Ann gossips with Wan about the latest happenings in the neighbouring shops. Changing room shenanigans and unexpected pregnancies tops the list again (what do you expect to happen when you put a group of twenty year olds who are surrounded by images of sexuality together for twelve hours every day, especially when they are busy only for six?). The more sobering subject of sales figures and management politics spices the gossip, but not too much.

Ann knows Wan is counting down to the appointment also.

And it arrives.

Natasha is early, her body is lithe, her movements graceful, her skin taunt and smooth, her face angelic. She wears her youth for all to see. Nineteen and beautiful, she is in a hurry for the world to know who she is. She squirrels herself in the back room, waiting to be called.

Michael arrives casually; the girl with him is no older than seventeen. Her name is Esi, she giggles coquettishly at the introduction. The sight of her next to the middle aged man makes Ann nauseas but ...
"What can I show you?" Ann starts, presenting herself again.

"Do you have anything new? Ranges that you haven't unpacked yet?" Michael oiled smooth voice answers. Esi grips his arm harder, pulling herself closer to him.

"This way please, Mr. Michael." Ann leads them to the "Galleria". Explaining how valued customers are allowed pre-launch views of new products.

Michael absorbs Ann's attention smugly. It has the desired effect on Esi, she is awed by the attention Michael receives and how such service is natural to him.

They arrive at the padded room. The lush padding exudes luxury and sophistication that barely suppresses its decadent origins; its true purpose is hidden thoroughly.

Michael inspects the new products displayed on the leather covered table. Ann drones the sales pitch of each product. He encourages Esi to touch them, to hold them against her. She does as she is told. They make the selection together, and Michael calls for Natasha to come in.

Esi gasps at Natasha entry, Michael explains salaciously that Natasha is a lingerie model and she shall model the selected wares for them. Michael request that Natasha changes in the room, halting Ann's move to hands over the selection to Natasha. So that Esi can see how each garment should be worn.

This is going badly, Ann thinks. Natasha nods approvingly and whispers "big tip" as she moves deeper into the room past Ann.

Ann stands in the room for the first change. There is nothing to add to what had been said earlier. The undressing and redressing brings back uncomfortable memories, memories of why she had to leave her fishing village, of why she had to leave her family and her church. Ann leaves as Natasha undresses for the second selection. Michael's hands had begun wandering five minutes ago. Esi short skirt rises up her hip slowly.

Ann keeps herself busy in the shop, peak period is about to start.

Natasha walks briskly out of the shop without a word. Her neck is bruised, her lipstick smeared and she is wearing sunglasses and her hat. Wan is besides herself with restrained panic as she attends to a customer. Ann understands and makes way to the "Galleria".

The table is cleared, the lingerie are strewn on the floor. She can see clumps of Natasha's hair on it. Esi cowers in the corner, she is wearing whats left of selection four. He must have pounced when Natasha was distracted putting it on Esi. Esi is bleeding on the floor. Michael is wiping himself with lingerie.

Michael reaches for his pants, withdraws a platinum card from the wallet he retrieves.

"Charge everything to my card." He says with an air of invincibility.

He only feels the cold spreading out from between his legs, not the kick. Ann's knee meets his nose in mid air as he bowls over. It crunched flat. Michael loses consciousness as Ann finishes by slamming his temple against the table corner. The leather saves his life.

Ann covers a shivering Esi with her jacket and leaves the room, Good, Wan isn't with a client. They agree to close the shop for the moment.

Michael is bound. A fisherman's daughter knows her knots. Wan sees to cleaning up Esi and sending her on her way. Ann reassures Esi that justice will be done, and reporting to the police will only get Wan and herself into trouble.

They reopen the store after putting newly bought hardware equipment.

Michael tried to scream when he came to in the evening, but his mouth tasted of seared flesh and had no tongue. Ann held it in her hand over him.

"We didn't survive on grasshoppers alone." Ann said as she placed the tongue on a slice of bread already thinking of the salty warmth on her lips tonight, after work, after she find a way take him back to her place.

Friends for Life

by James Ooi

I could see them ending up fighting each other soon. Yeah. What a way to end twenty years of friendship from the time we were in kindergarten till now, a few years after university graduation.

I could hear them arguing. Siva was berating Roslan for having an affair with this married woman and well, telling him to stay away from trouble and not flirt with fire. But in the argument that followed, Roslan lost his temper.

Roslan shouted at Siva, "Babi punya keling! Jangan sibuk aku punya hal. Siapa kau nak nasihat aku? Kau dah lupa yang aku telah selamatkan kau dulu ya!!! Aku dan kau bukan kawan lagi mulai hari nie! Pegi mampos!!!"

[Loosely translated - "Pig of an Indian. Don't interfere into my matters. Who are you to advise me? You have forgotten that I once saved your life!!! You and I are no longer my friend from this day onwards! Go to hell!!!"]

Angered and deeply wounded at the racial slur, Siva walked off and didn't answer nor did he turn back. It was finally the last straw for him.

Ever since we had started going out again after a few years of absence because each had gone to their own separate universities, we had changed but for some of us even more. In particular Roslan had become kinda arrogant and racist in his outlook these past few years.

Sad to say that two decades of friendship finally had to end today. All because of an argument which led to an exchange of angry words and racial slurs. Ours was a friendship that was based on the fact that we lived in the same housing estate in Petaling Jaya and the fact that we had grown up as neighbors and friends who attended the same schools throughout our teenage years.

We were team mates in the local football team battling other teams not just on the field but standing by each other in some of the occasional fist fights which ensued after either teams lost. And there were many times when we came to each others aid when either one of us was in trouble. Together we became known as the three musketeers.

Funny actually it was. We were bosom friends coming from the three main races that made up Malaysia. A Chinese, Indian and a Malay. Kinda rare these days in Malaysia. But twenty years ago, this was not uncommon and we didn't have the racial segregation you see commonly occurring these days.

I guess when it comes to friendship, perhaps race does matter or does it not? Seems it does in this case. Sad to say. Seems that it does.


~ *** ~


I still remember my first day at the kindergarten. Mom had left me there alone. In the class of thirty other kids, some of whom were getting red eyed and a few were already bawling out in utmost misery, I felt miserable and didn't know what to do.

Suddenly this dark skinned tall boy looked at me and said, "You want some sweets?" Offering me a "Hacks", he smiled at me. I had never had a Hacks before and I popped it in my mouth with much thought. Within seconds the burning sensation hit my mouth and I spat the sweet out onto my right palm.

You know, for a kid aged five, spicy things normally consumed by adults are really unbearable for our delicate palate. Perhaps you may have forgotten this but I remembered it well because that was how we first met up.

I heard a laugh coming from my right side. I turned irritably to the right and there was this small sized Malay boy laughing at me. Pissed off, I handed him my barely eaten sweet saying, "Not funny, you try lah" With that the Malay boy popped the sweet into his mouth and his face suddenly contorted, "Yucks!!!"

Then we both turned onto the Indian boy and spent the next thirty minutes chasing him around the class screaming wildly. By the end of the day, we became friends and this was to be a friendship that would last the next twenty years.

Soon we found out later that we were neighbors and that we stayed nearby to each other. In the afternoons, we'd go to Siva's house for tea and his mom would fry curry puffs and fried bananas and sometimes we'd head off to Roslan's home for some pengat-pisang and later head off to watch the football game being played in the nearby field.

We hung out practically everyday. As we reached our teens, we looked at girls together and blew wolf whistles at the girls every afternoon as they walked past the football field after school. Friendship was just based on our liking for each other, common interests and the fact that we shared so much history over the years.

One evening at about the time when we were about fifteen years old, Roslan and I was walking back home from school and we saw that five Malay youths had surrounded Siva and it appeared that they were beating him. Quickly Roslan called out to some of his Malay kampong pals and we ran to the field with a crowd of ten other people behind us. Roslan shouted at them, "That's my pal. You better leave him alone or I'll get the whole kampong after you. This is our area."

Grudgingly, the five youths left and at that point in time, I really felt that ours was a friendship that transcended even racial barriers. Looking back, we were brothers in spirit even though we were of a different race.

Each of us that is.


~ *** ~


A few weeks had passed since that incident.

It seemed to me that Siva and Roslan had finally ended our two decades of friendship. I said 'we' because in a way the friendship that we had was a tri-party friendship. We did a lot of things together. Clubbing, football, eating and hanging out together.

So when the other two ended it, it seemed to me that I had lost both my friends.

That fateful evening, I met up with Roslan at the football field to talk with him and try to patch things up. It was late. About eight in the evening. Kinda dark and most people had left the field for dinner and prayers I guess.

Without telling both of them, I told Siva to come and meet me at the same place at about eight thirty later. I thought that I would try and reconcile the both of them. But I guess I could only try.

Roslan and I, we talked about the earlier incident and the clash between Siva and him. Roslan sighed, "I feel sad too. I just was too pissed when he interfered with my relationship with Mas. It's my personal matter and I know the risks of having an affair with a married woman. But it's my choice and he should leave it at that."

It was a dark night that day. No moonlight at all.

Suddenly we became aware that a group of six men had surrounded us. It was dark but through their lighted cigarettes and their voices, we knew them to be Malay youths. They were not from around the area and they were holding bottles and a few had sharpened parangs. Seeing the glinting blades in their hands, we sensed that we were in danger.

One of them spoke, "Bastard! You shouldn't sleep with another man's wife!!!" With that they started beating us. I tried to ward off the blows by putting my arm in front of me but to no avail. I felt myself losing consciousness with every blow that fell onto my head.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that Roslan was lying and writhing on the ground in pain. I saw the ringleader lift up the parang to slash Roslan. I tried to reach Roslan in time but in my battered state, I could only look on helplessly.

As the razor-sharp blade swung rapidly downwards, I saw a dark silhouette of a man dive over Roslan's body. The man took the brunt and full force of the blow meant for Roslan. I could hear him groan and the gruesome sound of his neck being slashed by the parang. Despite being slashed over and over again, he refused to leave Roslan and continued to cover him with his own body.

Sirens blared.

Apparently someone had alerted the police. The youths ran for their lives. Under the headlights of the police cars parked around us, I saw Siva bleeding profusely from the many slashes on his neck and his back. Roslan held Siva in his arms as he bled continuously.

Murmuring with great effort, Siva said, "Remember the time you saved me from a beating all those years ago? Tonight I repay my debt to you, my friend."

Silent tears flowed down Roslan's cheeks as his friend died in his arms that night.