The Spirit of the Swallow

by Yan Lai Peen

It was dawn and my pet chicken had just begun to crow.

"Shi Yan, wake up, Shi Yan." Someone was shaking me.

Through the slits of my half-opened eyes, I saw Niang sitting on the edge of my bed, peering into my face. Behind her was her maid holding a tray, looking like a dark, tall and imposing tree stump. At her foot was a basin of water.

Niang gently shook me again. I grunted and rubbed my eyes, wondering why I was having an audience. Her maid set the tray down at the foot of my bed and the glimmer of a pair of scissors caught my eyes.

Niang knelt down and cradled my feet in her hands, then dipped them into the basin of warm water. I was puzzled; it wasn't my birthday. I was still half-asleep when she dried my feet, rubbed them with peculiar powder and cut my toenails. I saw her take something - it looked like a roll of cloth - from the tray and unroll it. Then, she grabbed my right foot.

"Niang…" I protested groggily. My mother looked up but said nothing. She held the rough bandage to my foot and bent my last four toes all the way towards the arch of my sole, seemingly sparing my big toe. The cloth went tightly round my foot that I began to feel needles and pins. Then she gave a sharp tug around my heel. I yanked my foot at her chin, throwing her off-balance.

"Niang, why?" I asked in bewilderment, fully awake now, and tears already welling up in my eyes. Niang's cold and clammy hands clutched at mine and she whispered through gritted teeth, "It's for your own good, guai nu. You'll thank me one day. Don't cry." She avoided my eyes but nodded at her maid, who immediately shoved a blouse into my mouth. Then, her maid pinned down my wrists.

"Good girl, good girl." Niang muttered. Her hands moved deftly. When the bandage reached my toes again, Niang forcefully broke them, two by two. Crack! Crack! It thundered in my ears in the stillness of the dawn. Pain shot through my entire sweat-drenched body. I choked on my own cries and wailed through the gag while Niang continued to press my heel to what was left of my toes, swiftly completing another round, never once loosening the grip of the bandage. My pet chicken echoed my wails as though crying in sympathy, as though on my behalf. My eyes, wide opened in horror despite the gushing tears, slowly rolled up towards the ceiling, then rolled sideways. Niang and her maid looked grotesque, their faces contorted and grey. Every thing became grey, then black.
On the following day, Niang held a cane and flicked it in front of my face.

"Walk!"

Sobbing, I tottered around the courtyard in searing pain until the sun was directly over my head. Niang was still flicking away, by then at my rear end. Beads of sweat trickled down my forehead and into my eyes; I collapsed onto the ground in momentum with the stroke of her cane.

"Get up!" Niang said. I saw several maids peeping at me from the corners of the walls and I reached my hands out to them.

"Leave her be!" my mother barked at the maids. "Otherwise she'll be just like you!" She turned back to me, "Get up!" Looming threateningly above me, she held her cane high. I stared defiantly at her. "Or you won't eat tonight," she said loudly enough for the maids to hear.

I looked away towards the maids and reached out my hands once more.

"Help me," I groaned.

Thwack! came down the cane on my thighs.

"Aaaaaaahhhhhh!" I screamed, tears pouring down my face, mixed with sweat and, as I then believed, blood. I fell flat on my stomach. My outstretched hands dropped onto the ground and my palms curled into fists. Thwack! again.

"Aaaaaaaahhhhhhh!" I wailed louder. In my blurred vision, I saw Niang walk away with her maid. The maids scrambled away. I was drenched in my own sweat and urine. I pounded my fists on the ground, pressed my wet face against the earth and cried until the sun set.

My childhood ended that day. I was only five years old. As compensation, Niang gave me a new friend, Xiao Yu. She was to follow me everywhere and spend every moment with me. I later learned that the young maid who attempted to come to my aid that evening with a bowl of porridge was Xiao Yu. She was given five strokes of the cane by my mother who had hawk eyes. Xiao Yu limped for three days.

Every three or four nights from then on, Niang commanded Xiao Yu to leave my room. On those nights, my feet were bound tighter than before as my mother chanted "san cun, san cun, san cun." Before she came in, I hid in a cupboard or under my bed hoping Niang couldn't see me and would go away. But she always managed to find me and dragged me out of my hiding place while I howled for release. When I knew my protests were futile, I squeezed my eyes tightly shut, pressed my lips together and gripped the edge of my seat until my fingers were white and numb. And throughout the process, I clenched my jaw and thought of that day I fell on the ground in my own urine and ate dirt.

Every day for two years, I sat in the confines of my courtyard, learning how to embroider shoes for my then four-inch feet. From where I sat each day, I could see the hills beyond the courtyard walls and the swallows that flew above my head. I embroidered images of them onto my shoes while my brothers ran past me, carrying with them wicker toys. One day, they saw me gazing dreamily at the swallows and paused in their step.

"Look at you!" elder brother scoffed. "You're such a miserable sight! You'll be shut in here forever while we enjoy the warm grass beneath our feet!" I looked at their feet and then mine while they continued to laugh derisively. I glared at them and fumed. There was only one thing I could do; mustering all my spit, I did it.

"Xiao Jie!" Xiao Yu gasped, shocked. "They are boys and can do what they like. We must accept our fate." I stared at her with disbelief.

"No! That's not true! I can do what my brothers do! I will!" I heard my brothers' laughter in the distance as they ran off. "I've forgotten how it feels like to run and skip," I said softly, head bowed. "But one day I will fly away like a swallow."

The day came when I turned fifteen. Father announced that I was to be wed. For nights, I lay awake, thinking what would become of me. Then one night, I realised the time had come.

After the night's meal, I pulled Xiao Yu aside.

"Xiao Yu, we leave tonight." I whispered.

"What?" Xiao Yu exclaimed. "Where to? Why?"

"Shh! I am serious about this." I looked at Xiao Yu desperately. "I will soon be Merchant Wang's fourth wife if I stay here. He is older than father, Xiao Yu! I heard that he even beats his wives." The image of Niang holding the cane above my head flashed across my mind and my stomach lurched. "If we don't escape tonight, I'll be trapped forever. Forever, Xiao Yu."

"Escape?" Xiao Yu gasped. "Master will beat me to death if he finds out, Xiao Jie! I can't, I can't do this. How could we escape? They'll surely catch up with us!" She backed away and shook her head vigorously.

I seized Xiao Yu's hands and said, "Do you remember what I said many years ago that morning in the courtyard? I'll do anything to run away. Believe me, Xiao Yu, we can do this together, we can! You will help me walk. We'll go far, far away where they can't find us. This is my only chance! Help me. We will leave at midnight. There's no moon tonight; no one will see us. Xiao Yu, please, I can't do this without you, you must help me!" I began to drop to my knees.

"No, Xiao Jie, no! Please don't kneel," Xiao Yu whimpered. She bit her lip and looked up at the sky. Then she slowly nodded, looking like a rabbit caught in a snare.

After everyone had retired to their bedchambers, Xiao Yu and I gathered our money and some essentials. We stole through the kitchen and past the outdoor waste chamber. The only sound we heard was the scurry of drain rats. I carefully unlatched the backdoor and stepped across the threshold.

"Don't look back," I said.

We started walking very slowly but we kept our pace. I leaned heavily on Xiao Yu and staggered on in silence. The air was heavy with fear. When we heard a clang in the distance, we jumped. It was the gengfu shouting out the time and clanging on his cymbal. We realised that we had walked for an hour. The gengfu's voice moved slowly out of earshot and silence hung heavily in the air once more. I dug my fingernails into Xiao Yu's arms like my toenails dug into my soles. The blood and pus that oozed from the ruptured boils seeped through the crevices of my feet.

"Let me carry you, Xiao Jie," Xiao Yu murmured. She bent down and I climbed onto her back. Her frail body quivered as she tried to secure me on her back and maintain her balance at the same time. Then, we continued our flight, slower now than before.

The wind began to howl, first like a lost child, and then it became louder and louder til it sounded like a hundred restless souls weeping. Leaves swirled around us as the strong wind blew. The dimly-lit lanterns which hung outside the doorways that we passed cast an unearthly luminescence on the walls as they swayed and creaked. An animal ran across our path. Xiao Yu let out a small yelp and staggered on.

Not long after that, we came to a bridge. Xiao Yu paused and panted. I saw a stone at the other end of the bridge but could not make out what was etched on it. I sucked in a deep breath and gripped her shoulder tighter.

"Don't look back," I said in a barely audible whisper as I breathed out. She carried me slowly across the bridge into an unfamiliar territory. We had left our village. We moved cautiously in the dark across the field and into another village. Lanterns were scarce. An animal yowled in the distance.

Suddenly, there was shuffling of feet behind us.

"Listen!" Xiao Yu gasped, freezing momentarily in her step. My hair stood on end and I darted my eyes to the left and right.

"Can you hear that sound? Is master catching up with us? We will die, we will die," she whined. Twigs broke on the ground behind us. I gripped her shoulder tighter. My heart pounded like a big magistrate's gong against my chest.

"Don't follow us. Go away, go away," Xiao Yu sobbed and wobbled forward as quickly as she could. I squeezed my eyes tightly shut. "Faster! Faster!" I tried to say but only chokes escaped my lips. The sounds behind us came closer. In her panic, Xiao Yu stumbled on a hard object and all I saw then was the ground coming up and slamming on my face. I shook my head in shock while Xiao Yu got back on her feet as swiftly as lightning.

"Crawl! Crawl!" Xiao Yu almost shrieked. I looked up at her, dazed. She grasped me by my arm and pulled hard, dragging my knees over the stones on the ground. I whimpered but nonetheless clawed my way over sand, earth and puddles. We dared not stop to look back. I clambered on for what seemed like an eternity.

When we made a turn around a corner, Xiao Yu exclaimed, "Look!"

In the fog, I could make out the silhouette of a derelict temple. I heaved a sigh of relief and without letting my gaze leave the dilapidated building, I crawled towards it as quickly as my raw knees could endure.

Once we reached the step, we scrambled past the cobwebbed doorway and hid behind the front wall. There we sat huddled, panting and keeping as still as statues, as though a single movement would shatter the fragile calm. We remained in that position for a long time, listening intently for any more sounds. When we heard nothing else save for our own breathing, we regained our spirits.

"Xiao Yu, please get me some water," I said wearily and closed my eyes. Hearing no response from her, I opened my eyes and saw her gaping.

"Where…where from?" she stammered.

"There must be a well at the back of this temple," I sighed, fingering my foot gingerly. "Go quietly and be careful." She gaped at me with her wide terrified eyes. I squeezed her hands and said, "Guan Yin will watch over us."

When she had gone, I tenderly removed my shoes and unwound the soiled bandages. Upon her return, Xiao Yu stood still a few steps away, staring fixedly at my naked feet. Then she hurriedly dumped the bucket at my feet and shrank back. I heard her retch in a corner. I avoided her gaze; neither of us spoke a word. I cleansed my wounds and decaying feet, and cut away the rotten flesh while Xiao Yu made a fire, occasionally clutching at her throat when stealing glances at me.

"Xiao Yu, you are no longer my little maid but my dear friend," I whispered to her later as we huddled together, before sleep claimed us. I dreamed of swallows in flight above green hills and rolling waters.

When we awoke, my feet had dried and the fire was still kindling. I tossed the ten-foot soiled bandages and my three-inch shoes into the flames. The bandages turned into ashes and were carried away with the wind. The shoes blackened and shrivelled. I wrapped my feet with soft cotton cloth and pinned it securely. The sun was rising from the horizon when we headed to the jetty, hand-in-hand.
We boarded the boat just as it sounded its horn.

"Don't look back," I said.

We never did.

Someone Special

by Laura Bakri

I first noticed the little girl as I paused from setting up my stall with items stored overnight in drawers under the tabletop. She was hanging back a little near the automatic doors to the car park, just at the corner by the newsagents next to its stand of multi-coloured plastic handheld windmills and across from another retailer's rack holding row after row of plain white t-shirts emblazoned with bastardised logos and sly puns on famous slogans.

Her big brown eyes were huge in a tiny heart-shaped face as she looked intently past the hanging cotton blouses of the stall next door at my little white cart with its tiers of display shelves and red latticed panels. As I continued laying out earrings and bracelets of jewel-toned glass Murano beads and hanging up embroidered evening bags at eye level on hooks depending from the roof of my mobile display, I watched from the corner of my eye as she scuffed the toe of one shoe on the heel of the other, then took a step closer. Sensing that she was a little uncertain, I decided not to go into my usual mode of cheerfully making eye contact, smiling and beckoning over with friendly chatter and welcoming gestures potential customers attracted to my pretty goods.

Most such persons were female, teens to smart career women and shopping housewives, looking to buy a trinket or two. This child of about five or six years, dressed prettily in a white frock with puff sleeves and pink smocking on its bodice, looked much like any other little girl following her mummy shopping on a warm sultry midday, and for a moment, as others walking by obscured her, I wondered if she might be lost. Then, as she came into view again, a lady in a black baju kurung and white lace selendang straightened up from whispering in the girl's ear, patted her shoulder and handed her something, then moved away towards the travellator up to the main floor.

Scrunching her fists into her skirts, the small child carefully made her way over to where I was just putting out the last of the cute little handphone straps from Thailand, her tiny white shoes tapping daintily closer on the cream tiled flooring. A sweet voice piped, "Excuse me, Auntie," as I finally looked directly at my diminutive visitor.

"Hello adik, that's a pretty dress you're wearing!" was my cheerful greeting. It worked, as the first smile I had seen from her shyly spread across her face.

She took a further step forward, releasing her right hand and placing it on the edge of the lowest display shelf, tipping up on her toes to see the merchandise neatly laid out before her, now level with her chin.

"Are you looking for something special?" I asked brightly as she carefully eyed each item in turn. As she looked at me and nodded once, I stepped closer and handed her one of my small fabric floral hairclips, adding, "Something special for someone special?"

The suddenly troubled look in her eyes surprised me, but she quickly veiled it with thick black lashes and when she looked up again her face was resolute and smiling once more.

"Yes," she said clearly, "something special for someone special. Ibu says my kakak is going way soon to a beautiful country. She will be with new people and learn many new things, so I want to give her a present. Something nice so she will still think about me even though she's far away. Something nice so she won't forget."

She looked carefully at the flowered hair ornament, then raised herself up on tiptoe again to peer once more at the other items.

"I want kakak to always remember me, no matter what," she confided, raising her head to look up at the hanging display of handphone covers clipped to a wire strung across the centre of the cart. She seemed particularly drawn to one in red silk and black velvet, brightly standing out from the rest of its fellows in the middle of the line, and following her gaze, I released it and handed it to her, simultaneously relieving her of the purple orchid hairclip. She looked at the cover intently, then glanced up at me and nodded twice.

"How much is this, please?" she asked politely, her left hand in which I saw the flash of red bill notes finally leaving her skirts.

Glancing at the price tag high above her head next to the line, I replied, "Fifteen Ringgit," and looking at another tag on the shelf top, added, "And if you like the hairclip, that's only Eight Ringgit. Would you like both? I'll give you a special price of Twenty Ringgit, that's Three Ringgit off."

Shyly, she nodded thrice and confided, "Kakak loves orchids, so she will like the hairclip. Kakak also likes red and she's always talking on her handphone, so - " she suddenly paused and bit her lower lip, then looked up at me bravely and smiled once more.

Silently empathising with the little one, I rang up the sale. As I placed the handphone cover in a white box and began to gift wrap it with cream paper, she shyly asked me to leave the hairclip unwrapped. Puzzled but obligingly, after I tied a jaunty red ribbon on the cream parcel, I dropped it and the hair ornament into a small plastic bag and handed that over to the girl.

"Thank you Auntie," she smiled, then carefully turned and walked off. Bemused, I watched her taking quick little steps up the moving walkway, then driven by a whim, turned to my sales assistant setting out flowered slippers by the side of the cart and said, "Could you keep an eye on everything for a moment, please? I just want to pop up for a minute."

As I emerged by the side of the pharmacy, I caught sight of the little girl going up to the lady in black who was by a food stall. As I moved towards them, I saw the lady bend down a little, nod as the child mouthed something, and then take the hairclip out of the bag and place it in the little girl's hair behind her left ear. Straightening, she took the child's hand in her left, picked up a purchase in her right, smiled and nodded to the serving girl in her white apron and black tudung, and walked towards the entrance.

Reaching the display of traditional Malay kueh, neat packets of nasi lemak and plastic containers of meehoon, I was surprised to see the serving girl, who sometimes pops by my stall during her breaks, surreptitiously wiping away a tear.

In response to my enquiring expression, she inclined her head in the direction of her recent customers, who were now getting into a dark blue BMW. "The family always buys kueh from me," she said, and added, "it's so sad, such a pretty girl, the adik will miss her kakak so much ..."

"Well, it's always hard for a little sister when the big sister she adores goes away to study overseas, but I'm sure they'll keep in touch, and her kakak will be back during the holidays, you know ..." I hastened to assure her, then trailed off as I received a blank stare in return.

"No, no, you don't understand - the little girl asked her mother to put the orchid clip in her hair so her sister could see her favourite adik wearing her favourite flower when they said goodbye. She also asked her mother to put her sister's handphone safe in the cover she just bought so that they could always be in touch," she explained, and at my continuing lack of comprehension, elaborated, "The mother had just been telling me her eldest daughter passed away of leukaemia last night and the burial would be soon, after Zohor, so she was quickly getting some lunch for her youngest girl before the funeral."

And as the azan sounded from the nearby mosque, I looked out to see the little girl's solemn face silhouetted in the passenger window as the car pulled silently away.

Chestnut Chocolate Mooncake

By Rumaizah Abu Bakar

Chef Chen sat calmly at the round table. His hands clasped in his lap. He looked distinguish in his tall white hat and matching uniform with his initial neatly sewn above the pocket. He waited patiently as the lady and two gentlemen took their seats at the table.

Seated on his left was the Communications Manager, Mimi, looking cheerful in her light gray suit and pink buttoned down-shirt. Her short wavy hair framed her youthful round face. With her Indian blood, she was dark for a Malay lady. "Hi Chef Chen, I can't wait to taste your lovely desserts," she chirped. That brought a smile to his lips. "And I can't wait to serve you, Ms Mimi," he quipped, equally good-naturedly. In her early 30s, Mimi was much younger than the others.

Max the new Director of Food & Beverage sat on Mimi's left, looking slightly nervous in his round glasses. He had on a formal navy suit with a light blue shirt and aquamarine tie. "Good afternoon, Chef Chen," he greeted the man with a faint hint of a German accent. "I'm sure you have a surprise dessert to dazzle us."

Chef Chen smiled widely, "Yes, Sir. I hope you will be pleased," he said with a slight bow.

At last, Justin, the Swiss blond curly haired gentleman in the black suit and mustard tie took his place on the Chef's right. The Chef got up and bowed courteously to his last guest before sitting down again. "Chef Chen, how are you today? All ready?" he looked at the chef and flashed his famous childlike smile around the table.

"I'm good, Sir. Thank you."

I stood quietly in the corner of the restaurant's private dining room. This is the best spot to observe the group. Chef Chen turned to look at me. "Chef Francois, shall we start now?"

"Yes, Chef Chen, whenever you are ready. It is your show, you are the boss!" I did not smile, I seldom did anyway, but I could see that my words had increased his confidence.

"Very well," he looked at the waiter. "Lim, please bring out our surprise," he patted the young man's shoulder.

"Certainly, Chef," Lim replied politely and tiptoed to the kitchen. He reappeared a few minutes later with two plates filled with the chef's dainty sweet creation. A waitress followed closely behind him, balancing a plate in each hand. They served the group.

"Ladies and gentleman, this is dark Belgium chocolate mooncake filled with chestnut and orange peel filling," he gestured for them to start.

"Hmm…this is good," Mimi put her thumbs up. "It is sweet and crunchy on the outside, and then the moment you bit into it, you'll be enticed by the softness and sourness within the crust," she said a bit dreamily. I quickly took out my notebook and jot down her comments, so did Chef Chen.

It was Max's turn. "It does look sexy on a plate," he winked at Mimi.

"Hmm..." she mumbled.

"However, the presentation can be improved," he commented. The packaging-man, they nicknamed him. To him, appearance or wrapping was more important than the content. "The colour is dull, there is no highlight. Perhaps you can include a tiny ice sculpture next to the mooncake. That will make the dish more elegant," Max added, obviously pleased with his idea.
I sighed. After years of working together, I could sense Chen's quiet discomfort, a painful expression in his eyes.

Justin did not seem amused. "How many of this do we need to serve?" he raised his eyebrows quizzically. Trust their Resident Manager to rescue them.

"We are serving 500 pax, Sir," Chen answered.

"For God sake! We can't make 500 miniature ice sculptures! Our staffs will not be able to do anything else. There will be like twenty functions happening at the same time. It is a busy day for the hotel, we can't afford this." Irritation was clear in his voice. "No, Sir, we can't afford it," I said curtly and immediately signaled to Chen.

"So, are you happy with this, Sir?" Chen asked Justin gently.

"Very good, Chef Chen. You have a winner," he complimented him. "No more food tasting after this. For the big gala dinner, Jade Restaurant's very own Chef Chen will present his Chestnut Chocolate Mooncake!" Justin chuckled, looking like a satisfied kid. He raised his cup of Oolong Tea for a toast, the others followed suit. Chen smiled slowly and nodded.

After finishing their tea, they quickly got up and left the room. It was a hectic day. The kitchen team has taken enough of their time and they were all eager to get back to work.

I pulled a chair at the table and sat next to the chef. "Don't worry, Chen, we are doing the right thing," I assured him. "I don't know, boss. I still don't feel comfortable doing this," he sighed. Chen was a man of integrity. He was brought up the old fashion way by his dim sum peddler father and dish washer mother in a village in Malacca. Come to think of it, I had the same upbringing by my retailer parents back in my hometown Lucerne. Only that we had turned out quite differently.

He seemed so troubled that I felt like patting his shoulders to assure him. However, that was not my style. I was known as a man of few words and even fewer sugary gestures. I have been told that our colleagues from the other departments feared me. However, my brigade of sous chefs knew me very well, and to them I would show a side of me that most people did not get to see. I wanted them to succeed. I care about their future and I would do anything it takes to see that they get the recognition that they deserve.

Unfortunately, doing anything it takes also mean camouflaging the truth, as Chen put it. I would simply pass it off as taking teamwork to a higher level. It was unavoidable. To succeed, one needed to make sacrifices and this included one's own pride.


***


I recalled the day Max broke the news to us during a daily kitchen operation briefing three weeks ago. "We are hosting a fundraising gala dinner for the cancer foundation. Four renowned Chinese chefs from prestigious hotels in Asia Pacific have been selected for this occasion. Each of them will prepare a dish for a four-course fusion dinner next month," he looked at the whole
kitchen team. "The good news is…," he paused for effect, "Chef Chen is one of them!" he hit the table in front of him with his hand.

A few quiet moments passed and then they started to cheer, "Chef Chen, Chef Chen, Chef Chen…" The jolly Chinese chef was everyone's favourite, he was the sunshine after the rain.

I looked at Chen, he was blushing. I smiled. "Chef Francois, can I see Chef Chen and you in your office now," Max asked me.

"Sure," I answered coolly. Generally, I could not stand the sight of my new superior but this time I was curious to hear what he had to say. He followed Chen and me to my tiny office located at the end of the main kitchen. I opened the door and closed it behind them.

My secretary was seated near the door, busy typing away. She looked up to wish Max good morning and then resumed her work. "Okay, gentlemen, you heard my announcement just now," Max begun, a slight nervousness in his voice. We both nodded. "We are expecting 500 guests. As the gracious host, I have requested that Chef Chen do the honour of closing the ceremony with one of his wonderful desserts. The committee has agreed to my suggestion. They have assigned the other dishes to the other chefs." He smiled happily at both of us.

I could not believe what I have just heard. "Did you say dessert?" I asked icily.

Max seemed startled by the coldness in my voice. "Yes. Is there a problem?" he asked me. He pushed his hair behind his ears nervously.

Chen stood timidly next to me. After a few seconds, I spoke, "You should have consulted me first. There is no masterpiece of a fusion Chinese dessert that we can prepare for 500 guests!" I retorted angrily.

Max seemed genuinely puzzled. "I don't understand," he mumbled.

"For maximum quality control, our hotel policy states that we are to prepare hot dishes no earlier than three hours before an event. This means that we are not able to serve a decorative Chinese fusion dessert for a large size dinner!" I glared at him.

Max cleared his throat "Well... I see. I'm sure we can work it out somehow," he laughed, his enthusiasm sounded faked. "What about chilled desserts? I'm sure these can be prepared earlier," Max persisted.

"Delicious as those may be, none is attractive enough visually. Our chilled desserts are definitely not meant for a showy dinner!" I snapped. Max did not say anything. "Max, if the other three selected chefs are going to use our kitchen on the same evening, we have to deal with triple egos, on top of everything else. That is not possible!" I insisted.

"Use your creativity; open up your mind a bit. Do it differently." Max urged on. "Come on, Francois! A man who made Executive Chef at the age of 29 should know what to do. I know you won't disappoint us," he swiftly dismissed me with his right arm, nodded at Chen and opened the door to step out.

I was fuming. The moment he was out of sight, Chen spoke, "What do we do, boss?"

"Hmm...I think we may have to resort Chef Philipp's Western fusion dessert. That can be prepared in advance," I said.

Chen looked shocked. "What? Really?" he asked me in disbelieved. "That means we need to ask Max to present Chef Philipp instead," he reckoned.

"No!" I said firmly. "This is your show. The Pastry Chef will have his turn.We shall pass Philipp's recipe as yours," I decided. "Max did ask us to use our creativity and do things differently."

He shook his head to the left and right in disagreement. "I'm sure this was not what Mr Max meant, boss."

"Oh, come on, Chen. This dinner only stages Chinese chefs, remember?" I reminded him further.

Despite Chen's repeated protests, I managed to convince Philipp to agree to my idea. We were close friends and Philipp trusted me. Moreover, he was still relatively young and had a long way to go. Chen, on the other hand, was meant for bigger shores; he was too talented for a small sea like this. The cancer foundation fundraising gala dinner was a prominent event. It would be graced by the country's top connoisseurs. Esteemed members of high society and celebrities
from Asia Pacific would be present, the Who's who, and with them came the regional media. There would be mass exposure on all the chefs on show. Chen would be noticed. One of the bigger fish would offer him a job at a renowned kitchen elsewhere. Although I valued Chen and knew that it would be tough without him, I had to do it. This was for the man's best interest. A genius in the kitchen like that should not be stuck here forever.

So, I asked Philipp to create a few of his magnificent fusion desserts, something with a touch of oriental. He slaved in the kitchen for a week, while Chen watched guiltily. "Don't worry, Chen. This is your day, I'll scratch your back and next time you can scratch mine," he winked at the man. Chen laughed. Slowly, he started to warm up to the idea. As the day got closer, miraculously we managed to get Chen's full consent

***

The dinner was a huge success. It was a memorable evening of glitz and glam. The four famed chefs took turns parading on the stage and bowing to the guests. In return, all the guests stood up and gave a thunderous applaud. Shortly after, the organiser invited the four gentlemen to step down and adjourned to the next function room for the press conference.

Mimi was already waiting for Chen near the door. She looked chic in a black evening dress. "Nervous, Chef Chen?" she teased him.

Chen smiled, "A little bit, Ms Mimi. Don't worry, I remember what we have discussed," he assured her as they proceeded to the next room. After briefing him in detail a few days ago, she had made him go over the answers to her anticipated questions over and over again. She knew only too well how important the event was to the hotel. There had been wide news coverage with feature articles on the chefs published in several publications in the region.

Chen noticed me walking quietly behind them. My presence was significant to him. It boosted his confidence when I was around. The chefs sat down behind a long desk, their white hats stood tall in unison. Placard with their names were placed in front of them. One by one the hungry media fired up their questions. Their main target was the charming award winning chef from Perth. He had a chain of fine dining restaurants in Perth, Beijing and Kuala Lumpur.

I watched them carefully. The journalists tonight were an aggressive bunch, unlike the usual Malaysian press. Perhaps most of them were from other countries, I observed their accents and complexions, Australian, Hong Kong, India, among others.

Finally, the interrogative Indian broadcast journalist directed his question at Chen. His cameraman immediately zoomed in onto the chef's face. "Chef Chen, tell us how did you get the inspiration to create the Chestnut Chocolate Mooncake?" I watched Chen moving his eyes slowly around the room. I held my breath. "You can do it, Chen," I mouthed silently to myself. Why was he taking so long? My heart started to stammer.

I was relieved when he finally moved his lips; alas he was going to speak. "Ladies and gentlemen..." he began. "I'm afraid I can't take credit for the Chestnut Chocolate Mooncake." "It was actually the creative invention of my colleague, Chef Philipp Hanns," he continued in a small voice; he then shifted his gaze to the floor.

I felt my heart in my mouth. The audience gasped. The room was dead silence.

"No!" I saw Mimi, Max and Justin turning to look at me. In fact, all the people in the room were staring at me.

To my horror, I had screamed out loud. The chilling images continued flashing on my mind. I pictured Chen's 20 years of culinary career being flushed down the toilet; and with that went my own as well.

My Grandpa's Funeral

by Chua Kok Yee

My grandpa passed away this morning, and now I am late for his wake.

Slowly I trudged towards the temporary awning that occupied the narrow street in front of my aunt's house. There were large white lanterns hanging on two opposite top corners, both adorned with Chinese characters with my grandpa's name and age. Despite my poor command of Chinese I could read the character of our family surname, and the numbers 'six' and 'five'.

Underneath the awning were a few rows of plastic chairs and three round tables draped in white cloth. The tables were occupied mostly by elderly guests, engaging in idle conversations while munching away on groundnuts. Sporadically, there were bursts of lively chatters that countered the supposedly solemnity of the occasion.

About ten members of a local Buddhist sect were chanting inside the house compound. Their chorus of incantation filled the night's air with a sense of calm sadness. It's a haunting tune that penetrated deep into the soul like a melodious spear of sorrow.

At the entrance of the living room, the huge black-rimmed picture of my grandpa smiled at the visitors from the altar. The golden urn in front of the picture was filled with joss-sticks, its smoke shrouding the altar in a thin white cloak. There were a few plates of fruits and vegetarian food offerings around the urn, all sprinkled with specks of dark ashes. My grandpa's wooden casket was behind the altar, occupying the middle of the living room. Its lid was opened, offering a final window for the mourners to bid him a farewell.

My mother and the rest of the family were standing in front of the altar in rows of three, holding a yellow booklet in their hands. An elderly monk in yellow robes said something to them, and they began to flip the pages of the booklet. Those who found the particular pages began to chant the Buddhist incantations; their hoarse voices disturbing the harmony of the sect members'.

I was contemplating joining them in the ritual when I saw him.

He was sitting at the back row, alone and isolated from the other guests. Wearing a white long sleeved shirt and a pair of beige pants, he looked as if he was going to the school where he washeadmaster for the past twenty-five years. His grey hair was neatly combed to the back, revealing the prominent forehead on his square face. His slanting eyes were hidden behind the thick glasses of his black-rimmed spectacles.

I walked over, and sat next to him.

He looked intently at the proceeding near the altar, without any hint of acknowledgement of my presence. Perhaps he was enjoying the unintentional comedy of my young nephew, who was obviously lip-synching the incantations as he could not read Chinese. Maybe he was trapped in the deep wall of his own thoughts. Or probably it was presumptuous of me think that he could see me just because I could see him. For a moment we shared a room of silence amidst the droning chatters and incantations.

"It's nice for you to come by," he turned his head and gave me a warm smile. There was a blissful calm in his voice which discomforted me. I was more accustomed to his loud voice, always with a hint of anger, which often sent fear into my heart when I was a little boy.

"Sorry I am late," I apologized.

"It's OK. A few minutes doesn't make much difference now, does it?" he replied.

There was a plump guy sitting in front of us, and he turned around to throw a puzzled glance towards our direction. I returned to him an assuring and comforting smile, but anxiety was already written on his pale face. Abruptly, he stood up and made his way to the crowded tables at the front row, clumsily knocking down a chair in his haste. Although most people do not have the gift, or curse, of vision beyond the living world, they still could sense it at an instinctive level.

"Hahaha, that guy was one of my students. During his younger days, his friends used to mockingly call him Fearless Lim. I guess some people never change," he chuckled at the plump guy's antic.

"Can't blame him. It took me years before I finally stopped being afraid," I put out a defense for Fearless Lim.

"It must have been hard for you. I always knew you're different ... special since you're young," he continued.

"Really? How did you know?" I asked. Not many people knew of my gift, and even less would understand it. Even my mother thought I was either lying or delusional when I told her about it. Even today she still does not believe me.

He paused for a moment, as if he was pulling out pieces of words from the recess of his memory.

"Your eyes. I've been a teacher for over twenty years, and seen thousands of kids growing up. But I have never seen anyone with eyes like yours."

"You have the oldest eyes pair of eyes I have ever seen."

I did not say anything, contented to let my raised eyebrows to implore further explanation. He took another long pause before he continued, "I could see that you had an old soul, even when you were just a young boy. I remember one day when you were about nine or ten, I looked into your eyes and i thought to myself; this boy had seen way more death and suffering that children at his age should."

I remained silent, letting his words to slowly caress my soul like a cold night breeze. I never knew that he understood the burden of the gift that had chained a shadow of gloom to my soul. His words, even if it was a bit too late now, felt like pillars that helped to hold off some of the weights in my heart.

"Why you never tell me this when…" I paused to reassess my choice of words, before rephrasing my question, "Why you never tell me this before, grandpa?"

"Perhaps the living is not granted with the clarity of the dead."

In front of the altar, even among the grieving members of the family, my eldest aunt was a picture of wretchedness. Her usually radiant face was now haggard and tears were streaming down her cheeks from her puffy eyes. Her voice was hoarse and dry as she recited the incantation between her sobbing. Grandpa pointed towards her and turned his face towards me.

"Do you think she's crying for me, or for herself?" grandpa asked me.

"Of course for you," I said, knowing well that was not the reply he wanted. It was an easy question that demanded a difficult answer.

"Maybe. Or she could be crying for herself. Her tears could be out of the regrets for things not said or done, while I was still alive and she had the chance to."

After a long, heaving sigh he continued, "My point is, we often realize the important things only after it's too late."

My grandpa and I sat in silence again, lost in our own mist of contemplation. At the crowded table a few metres in front of us, Fearless Lim was stealing glances in our direction as the colours of fear, doubt and confusion took turns to paint his round face.

When Grandpa spoke again, there were tears welling up in his eyes, "I should have done more for you. At least I could tell you that I understand your burdens. Perhaps it would have made some difference, and you would have not done it."

"It's OK, Grandpa. That's all in the past," I tried comfort to him, despite being stabbed in the heart by the truth in his words. I could have been walking on a totally different path if he had been there for me. Any word of comfort from him, or anyone else, back then could have been the barricade that held me from falling into the abyss of depression. A long, suffocating depression which eventually drove me to suicide at the age of twenty two.

The sobbing at the altar had become louder, at times even drowning out the incantation. A few friends were consoling my eldest aunt who was weeping hysterically, while the other family members were struggling to maintain their composure. My Grandpa flinched uncomfortably at the scene, as if every tear rained a needle onto his heart.

"Maybe it's time for me to move on," he told me as he stood up. There was a flash of reluctance in his teary eyes, which was swiftly replaced by a gleam of steely resolve.

He clenched his hands onto mine, "I'm glad that He sent you."

"It's an honour for me, Grandpa."

Together, we walked towards the blinding, pure light.

END