Old walls had seen many loves, towkays with mistresses younger bored, sailors one night, nurses GH laughed too loud because they dealt with blood all day, teachers who came without wives and left with wives' names on lips when drunk, but not this. Not love that stays after lights off, after till counted, after floor sticky washed. It was plain. Simple. No fights. No slammed doors. No bitter words after too many drinks, because they had seen what bitter words do in Kuala Ketil and Bagan Jermal and Mak Mandin, how they stay longer than smell of curry.
It was kind of love that didn't need to prove itself, because proving is for people who think love is inventory you have to count every day 7 AM and 11 PM or you lose it. In afternoons when bar empty, after lunch rush 1 PM queue around corner gone, after Muthu's plates stained yellow, after 2:15 stools empty saved without saving, Lina would doze off with head on accounts book thick ledger, hair falling over pearl hairpin, and Arun would gently place his towel over her shoulders.
Towel that smelled of lime peel because he kept lime peel in cupboard to keep ants away, same towel that was too clean morning inventory panic when Mr. Chew knocked three sharp raps not Arjun's knock and Lina had cot sheet line on cheek and Arjun had bad lie. At night after closing, chairs up, neon off, pink tube light finally stopped buzzing, till counted heavy, floor sticky needs washing tomorrow, they would sit on back steps sharing single cigarette, not talking at all, because some people pay to disappear for a night but they had learned to appear without talking, like bar remembers in wood not head, in hands not words. He would watch her profile in red emergency light, scar crescent moon catching light, and think: how did someone who was taught empty is safe learn to be full?
She would watch his hands, scar under thumb, and think: how did someone who was taught leaving is strength learn to stay? It was as if it was made in heaven and had just been waiting for both of them to grow up enough to receive it. Not rain girl, not bar boy, but woman and man who know empty is safe but full is better if full is with someone who doesn't need rain to come in, who doesn't need to be hidden, who says behind means don't move when everyone else thinks behind means move. Rest of staff stuck to routine.
Room cleaners hummed same Malay songs that Ah Lan loved, Teresa Teng Moon Represents My Heart until tape stretched and Ah Lan cried but pretended chili in eyes.
Part-time waitress Mei still giggled when she got order wrong, Sheila spilled Anchor on towkay's shoes and towkay shouted then tipped extra because Sheila smiled sorry, Rosie gave fake phone number that was Ah Hock sundry shop and Ah Hock would shout "No Rosie here, only rice!" World turned, Komtar grew taller and cast shadow over Love Lane at 4 PM now, ferry still ran low and mournful 7:30, but bridge was being built, line on government plan pinned to wall in KL now becoming real, steel over water, and old men said bridge will kill ferry and ferry men said bridge will kill us and Chew said bridge is like new beer, everyone talks, no one knows. Only one thing was different. Only one empty that didn't become full with something else. Mr. Chew was hardly seen.
Old man who had once ruled bar, whose laugh could shake bottles, whose mahjong tiles clicked like gunfire late into night, who smoked White Horse cigarettes one every hour timed by clock that lost seven minutes so always seven minutes late for own smoke, who counted limes cloves glasses tamarind whiskey glasses upstairs lime rinds, who crossed out limes 20->16 use properly today, who wrote Towels -1- for baby 1963, who kept Red Anchor ledger ship on cover almost full under loose floorboard 1963 to hide money from mahjong wins, who kept paper I LEAVE THIS JOINT TO CHEW spelling wrong framed behind bar, who kept photo 1938 Muthu Whitby Chew 19 washing glasses frowning and 1978 photo Chew Arjun Lina three people who stayed, who gave brass key green tassel Room 7 best suite real bed teak wardrobe window faces Weld Quay sea, who gave $500 red packet even though not Chinese New Year for basic items don't buy nonsense and don't forget inventory tomorrow and walked off fast because softness embarrassed him like notes, like saying you two make lovely couple awkward in mouth like new cocktail never mixed before.
He stopped coming. His usual corner table, where he would sit with kakis arguing over tiles and sipping Tamarind whiskey Batch 3 $3.50 approved name TAMARIND & SMOKE, remained empty. Dust gathered on green felt mat, because no one dared clean it, because cleaning it would mean he not coming back, and in bar that is built on staying, you don't clean away someone who stayed forty-one years. "Where is towkay?" new customers would sometimes ask, younger clerks new government offices, lorry drivers heard beer cheapest, tourists with cameras. Arun would just smile and say, "Old man tired lah. Counting at home." Truth was, Mr. Chew couldn't come.
Most of his mahjong kakis had already crossed over to other side. One by one, their obituaries had come in Chinese papers Sin Chew Jit Poh that Chew bought yesterday's ten cents cheaper at kopitiam morning walk, paper still smelling of kopi. Chew read them with reading glasses perched on head, small tired eyes, and didn't say anything, just folded paper and put in pocket with four pockets, pen in one, White Horse in another, folded obituary in third, handkerchief ironed in fourth. No one left to call, to shout, to cheat with, to argue whether wind is east or north.
Bar had outlived its own generation, like Chengal bar supposed to be teak outlasted teak, like Muthu's recipe outlasted Muthu. He stayed home small house few minutes drive away, house smelled of medicine and old wood, not like bar smelled of lime and tamarind smoke, and watched small black-and-white TV one channel snow and mynah bird covered with cloth muttered Stay and No rooms! both confused but learning, and where Red Anchor ledger almost full one more page left blank for tomorrow's inventory, and where brass key no longer needed because he gave best key away. Lina noticed first. She noticed because she notices what people don't say.
She noticed Arjun wiping Chew's corner table every morning even though no one sat, noticed him leaving one stout half full at 6 PM like Uncle Mani, noticed him listening for three sharp raps that never came. She noticed and didn't say, because some noticing is inventory you don't write down, you just keep. Arun noticed too. He noticed Lina keeping extra kaya toast on plate at breakfast, for old man who wasn't there, noticed her saving last ladle darkest bottom even though Muthu's queue now at 1 PM and they eat at 2:15 but Chew not eating with them anymore. Noticing is how love counts when counting fails. Christmas Eve, 1980. Bar was ready to go HO! HO!
HO! Not because Christmas makes money, though Chew always said Christmas makes money because Christians drink and non-Christians drink because Christians drinking. But because Lina wanted it to. She wanted lights after year of lights going out. Lina had hung tinsel that caught dim light and made it look like stars, same tinsel she bought with $500 red packet money that was now $212 and lot of bags, flowery gown yellow flowers, tinsel that was cheap but caught light like sequins emerald red cheongsam slit knee.
Arun had dragged small plastic Christmas tree from storeroom and placed near counter, its blinking lights reflecting in rows of whiskey bottles, Batch 3 TAMARIND & SMOKE HANDLE WITH CARE half empty half full now Batch 7 both their names. Smell of curry and fried chicken came from kitchen, Ah Lan didn't shout because Christmas and also because Ah Lan's nephew now cooked and Ah Lan supervised with fly swatter in hand even in sleep, but softer.
Little radio played Silent Night through static, same radio that played Teresa Teng Moon Represents My Heart until tape stretched, that played Casablanca I fell in love with you watching Casablanca back row at the show, that played all sad songs that make people drink more, which is why Chew kept radio even though radio lost FM and only AM now. At 7 p.m. sharp, Arun opened heavy wooden doors.
Same doors Whitby installed 1936, same doors Chew painted whitewash that ran in rain and wrote HOTEL MALAYA BAR black because hotel can let people stay bar only for drinking, doors that jingled bell every time someone came to disappear for night, doors that had seen Japanese boots, British boots, bare feet, towkay shoes shined, nurse shoes white. And there stood one familiar face. It wasn't Santa, though Lina had joked Arun should wear red hat and cotton beard and Arun said no, beard itchy.
It wasn't Mr. Chew, though both had looked for second expecting him to prove them wrong and come, because Chew always proved wrong when you thought he wouldn't come for soft things.
It was Shankar. Mr. Chew's lawyer friend. Loyal patron from old days, who used to sip brandy and never touched beer, who sat on stool number two that old Indian man always fell asleep on, who talked about law and about British who left and about paper that says I LEAVE THIS JOINT TO CHEW spelling wrong is not legal but is true, because truth is sometimes not legal but still true. Lawyers don't come early for Christmas parties. Lawyers come late, after party, with bills.
Same thought scrambled through Lina and Arun's minds at same second, like when bell jingled and both looked up hoping for Uncle Mani, Sergeant Lopez, Cheah who comes only when it rains but new faces now, and stomach dropped, like when you count glasses 24->22 and you know two missing but you don't know where. Shankar dressed too neatly for party, face too still, holding thick brown envelope in hands holding it like something fragile something heavy, like brass key green tassel but heavier, like Red Anchor ledger almost full, like $500 red packet that had been ironed flat because Chew doesn't waste. He walked slowly towards bar counter and placed envelope on top.
Sound it made soft, but in quiet bar, like stone dropping into well, like fan click every seventh turn in silence, like first creek near head of cot when only one moves. Lina's hand found Arun's. Same hands yellow brown making new color, scar crescent moon scar under thumb, map that is private, map no clipboard could count.
To Be Continued:
DISCLAIMER
This work is a work of pure fiction. All characters, names, incidents, dialogues, and locations including Hotel Malaya Bar, Mr. Chew, Lina, Arun, Shankar and all its regulars, staff and patrons are entirely fictitious and products of the author's imagination.
Any resemblance or connection to any actual place, whether still standing today, renovated, demolished, or bombed and destroyed during the Second World War, is purely coincidental.
Any resemblance to any person, whether alive, dead, buried, cremated, or committed to the sea, is also purely coincidental and unintentional.
No identification with actual persons, living or deceased, or with any existing establishment, is intended or should be inferred.
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