Dada 20

We headed back. Iskra seemed to feel better and talked about what we would do later. I walked with him to Shabela’s house and while he went up the wooden stairs, I stopped at the first step. My head was throbbing from the day and I was put off by the effort it would take to climb them and to deal with Mo. Enough had happened.

‘Let’s just get going, ‘I said again.

 I put the knife into folded newspaper and straight into my back pocket. Even with the rain the heat was so intense that it hurt to stand motionless beneath the blinding sheets that poured down like yellow silver from the sky. Whether we stayed or went made no difference. There was something vague within me that I have grown to understand; maybe it was the Dada telling me of all the ports he visited, San Francisco, Montreal and Liverpool, a yearning somehow.

‘They had Malayan clubs and Chinese clubs but they were not like here or the peninsula. Anyone could use them, dark or fair skinned.’ He said.

 ‘They love their power too much here’ the Dada said, ‘ the way they loved their white Rajahs who ruled for a hundred years . It is in them to be loved and dominated.  The Chinese were an afterthought. The Dayaks do not count at all. ‘This is why they hate me so much’ he said.

He laughed when the detectives came for him. To my Ma he would quietly say 

‘Who is my family in  this game of chicken ?’  She would be quiet and give no answer.