Dada 77

The caretaker served everyone coffee. I don’t know what happened next. The night passed. I remember that I opened my eyes at one point and saw that some of the old people were asleep, huddled up against each other, except for one man who had his chin resting on his hands his elbows tucked into the side of his stomach just below his ribs. He had no need of a walking stick but looked frail. He was staring at me as if he were waiting for me to wake up. He looked Chinese. His glare was like an eagle’s. I went back to sleep. I woke up because my back was hurting more and the pain creeping up towards my shoulders. Dada used to say I should meditate more but no amount of freeing my mind that night could rid me of bad thoughts.

Grey crept gradually in through the glass roof as dawn came. A little while afterwards, one of the old people woke up and coughed a lot. He spat into a large chequered handkerchief and each time it sounded as if his cough was being wrenched from his body, like from behind a watertight door of a ship below the bow where the Thai landers keep the immigrant women. He woke the others and the caretaker said it was time for them to go. Everyone stood up. The night had turned all our faces ashen.

To my great astonishment, they each shook hands with me as they filed out – as if this time had sealed a bond of intimacy between us, even though we hadn’t exchanged a single word.

I was tired. The caretaker took me to his room and said I could freshen up a bit. I had another coffee; this time with milk. It was very good. By the time I went outside, day had fully dawned. Reddish streaks filled the sky high over the hills that separate Sarawak from Sabah. From the sea, the wind was blowing from that direction carried with it the scent of salty air. It was going to be a beautiful day before the rain. It had been a long time since I`d gone to the countryside and I thought how nice it would be to go for a long walk, if it hadn’t been for Dada. I stood waiting in the courtyard, beneath a tree.