I remembered them all, especially the one that
was played on him by his birth and the Chinese comprador that acted as his
father or the estate he managed as a lackey
of Sir Wyver’s vast domain. One
that stretched all the way from the borders
with Kalimantan to the high mountains of Sabah and which the Malays, in
their outrage, like my father, followed a similar path of forgetting.
Time passed. Above the
rooftops, the sky grew green to grey and then to a streaked red. As night fell
the streets started filling up again. The people who'd gone out came back, a
few at a time, some in better repair than others. I recognized the
distinguished-looking family. The children were either crying or letting them-
selves be dragged along. The man held one of them by the hair. Her screams
bounced off the walls. Behind him, his wife sailed up the pavement like a
galleon on a calm sea.
The local cinemas
suddenly let a wave of spectators out into the street, all at the same time.
Some of the young men were more animated than usual, which made me think they'd
seen a thriller. The people coming back from the movies in town arrived a bit
later. They looked more serious. They were laughing, but only every now and again.
They seemed tired and preoccupied. They lingered in the street and knew
that Monday was waiting for them all.
They were coming and going on the pavement opposite. The young girls from the
neighbourhood walked together wearing their hijabs loose. The young men
positioned themselves so the girls would have to pass directly by them. They
made friendly and encouraging remarks and the girls would giggle.
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