“Thank you! Did you send them to me, George?”
When they finally fly out of sight, Pansy returns with a lighter step to sit on the bench. She clutches her handbag to her tummy to keep it safe, and as support for her forearms. The warmth is making her slightly drowsy, her eyelids are getting heavy. She has not been sleeping well in her new home, so she tires easily. Here at last she has found peace and quiet, shielded from traffic noise from the ECP Expressway by a small grove of trees. The jogging and walking treks are not busy yet, as most Singaporeans prefer to wait for the cool of the late afternoon or evening to walk, jog or exercise.
The rhythmic sound of the water slapping against the sandy shore lulls her into drowsiness, her eyelids flutter, and her eyes start to close. In her half-consciousness, Pansy has a vague sense that George has come to sit next to her. Trust George to always be looking out for her. He is so dependable, so protective. She knows she can safely doze off if he is there, watching over her. He kisses her forehead, and her face relaxes perceptibly. She smiles without opening her eyes. She knows his kiss from anywhere. Like she knows his every touch, his mannerisms. Even his cough. She swears she could pick him out even in the dark. George stretches his arm out behind her back, so she lets her head loll gently onto his shoulder.
Chapter 3
The gentle sea breeze brushed salt traces across Pansy’s lips, tickling her nostrils. Even though she was barely awake, she could sense light streaming through her closed eyelids. Oh, no! She mustn’t be late! Her eyes shot open. Hastily, she threw aside her thin coverlet, leapt out of bed, dashed across the wooden floor in her bare feet and rushed out towards the back of the house.
“Aiyoh! Tak seronoh sekali! Jalan macham sa-ekor gajah! No delicacy! Walks like an elephant!” her mother admonished, stirring in her own bed. “Especially at this time of the morning. I’m sure our neighbours will hear you stomping on the floor boards lah! Siapa mau kahwin lu? Who wants to marry you? Such a tomboy!”
At home, they always spoke in their Peranakan patois.
Nobody could ever accuse Kim Guek of being tomboyish! She was petite and beautiful, and always feminine, in her sarong kebaya, her smile sweetly lifting the corners of her eyes. Even at thirty four, she had the figure of a youthful maiden. Pansy had never acquired her mother’s genteel manner for anything, let alone walking. Even in her sarong kebaya, she walked as if she was in a hurry, whereas Kim Guek’s steps were small and delicate, causing her hips to undulate sensuously.
Their attap hut on stilts faced the extensive sea at the back—one of a cluster of nipah palm thatched houses on the East Coast. The nipah trees loved moist soil and were often found near mudflats, or in mangrove swamps. There were many varieties of palm trees, and Pansy marvelled at how useful they were. The coconut palm for example, not only provided edible fruit, its dried kernel could be pressed for oil or made into soap, its husk could be made into a brush, its shell into a receptacle, its leaves woven into a basket or mat, and the spine of the leaves made into a broom. So much of nature serves without any expectation of return. Pansy would like to be like that, selfless and of use to others, to someone in particular perhaps, so that her life would acquire a special meaning.
The nipah leaves, called attap in Malay, were long and wider than coconut leaves, supple enough to be stitched into sheaves, arranged and layered onto roofs in such a way that it kept the heat and rain out but could lift for the breeze to enter and circulate into the house—significant in an era where there was no electricity to generate a fan during the hot months. Theirs was a not a large hut but it had expansive views that gladdened the heart. People who lived on the coast would not dream of living inland if they could help it—the sound of the sea, the twittering of birds, the smell of salt and the fresh air were all nectar to their soul. There is a continual flurry of movement by the sea which is not noticeable inland—the constantly moving waves, the wind rustling in the trees, clouds scudding across the open sky, birds scavenging for food, butterflies being playful in flight.
Pansy ran past the remains of fishing crates, nets, ropes and tackle, still crusted with salt, forlorn reminders of a spent life, which sat on one side of their verandah that wrapped itself around the house. But Pansy knew that Kim Guek had no heart to remove them. Each person grieves in her own time and way; the process cannot be hastened.
Besides their own village, Kampong Tepi Laut, there were other villages on this same stretch of beach, known for its fine white sand that had attracted Sang Nila Utama to its shores several centuries ago, when it gleamed in a blaze of white. It was he who changed its name from Temasek to Singapura, ‘Lion City’, when he encountered a hairy beast which his courtiers informed him was a singa. The other villages in the
