Singer sang, "I fell in love with you watching Casablanca, back row at the drive-in show..."
Towkays with mistresses ordered whisky soda. Nurses from GH laughed too loud at nothing. Sailors who had money for one night ordered Carlsberg and asked Rosie for her phone number and Rosie gave fake number that was actually Ah Hock sundry shop.
Lina slipped in again. "Arun, two whisky soda, one with less ice, Mrs. Tan's sister, teeth hurt same family."
He reached for whisky, she reached for soda, hands touched, yellow stain from yesterday's kuah campur still faint on her fingers, brown from tamarind on his, making new color, like kuah campur, like Batch 3 tamarind and smoke.
"Careful," he said, low, over music, over Ah Keat's keyboard missing C sharp.
"I am careful," she said, same way she said I like empty, fact not complaint. "I am always careful."
When singer hit high note — a kiss is still a kiss in Casablanca, a kiss is not a kiss without your sigh... — Lina pretended to lose balance as someone pushed past counter, Ah Mei with six Tigers on tray, shouting "Excuse, excuse!"
She caught herself on Arjun's arm, palm warm, fingers lingering second too long, not grabbing, just resting, same way he left hand open on floor between them that afternoon after confession about Ah Man's house and bamboo board bed rough and rain girl.
He looked down at her. She looked up. Neon from window flickering in her eyes, pink from Ah Hock sundry shop tube light buzzing like tired mosquito, then green from Carlsberg sign, then pink again, like traffic light that couldn't decide.
"Don't fall," he said quietly, over music, over Mat's drums loud because deaf in one ear.
"I won't," she said. "If you're holding the counter."
And she smiled, that first real smile since Kuala Ketil, since Ah Man's house, since bamboo bed, since father, since village said exaggerating, since bus $8 ticket $11 saved address sweated off palm, since Penang far enough that no one would bring her back by force.
Smile that was quick, sharp, only for him, that she never gave customers even those who tipped big, that she gave first time March 1978 when he poured tamarind whiskey and she said it's awful, like drinking forest fire put out with asam water, and then took second sip bigger.
Outside, Georgetown was singing for lovers who would never be together, Casablanca, Rick and Ilsa, airport, fog. Inside Chew's bar, two lovers who had never learned how to be together were learning how to stand in same small space and not need rain to touch.
Night had just begun.
At 9 PM, Chew came back from mahjong, $20 richer, which meant Ah Lan would be angry because he won and she lost, and he would sleep better on floor, which he liked because floor cooler. He looked at bar, at till heavy, at floor sticky, at singer in emerald red cheongsam slit to knee sequins, at three part-time waitresses in tight black skirts darting, at Arjun behind counter, at Lina slipping into counter where only one person supposed to fit.
He didn't say, "Only one person supposed to fit." He said, "Lina, you help behind bar tonight, Sheila spill too much, you pour better."
Lina said, "Yes, boss."
Chew said, "Arjun, you teach her pour, but not free pour, measure, never waste."
Arjun said, "Yes, boss."
Chew went to cover mynah bird with cloth, because bird shouting No rooms! too much and also Stay! which confused customers who thought bird was philosophical.
At 10 PM, singer sang second set, more sad songs, Teresa Teng, Moon Represents My Heart, which Ah Lan loved and played until tape stretched, which made sailors cry because they missed wives.
Lina poured. She had watched Arjun pour for fifteen months, since February 1977, but never poured herself because Chew said waitress pours water, bartender pours whiskey. Now she poured, hands steady, same hands that held tray with four Tiger beers without spilling even when shaking, same hands with crescent moon scar.
Arjun watched hands, not bottle, because bottle he knew, hands he was still learning.
"More smoke or more tamarind?" she asked, making Batch 3, which was now Batch 3 Lina's less bitter, label in her better handwriting HANDLE WITH CARE.
"More smoke," he said. "Saturday night needs smoke."
She burnt gula Melaka over coconut husk, smoke thick, sweet, almost choking, like Muthu taught Chew taught Arjun taught her, like recipe from Alor Setar 1938 that killed bite and made you remember home.
Smoke went up, into fan that clicked every seventh turn, into clock that lost seven minutes, into mirror cracked same corner, into calendar 1972 pretty girl faded pink, into photo of mother face-up, into photo behind bar 1938 Muthu Whitby Chew 15 washing glasses frowning, and 1978 photo of Chew Arjun Lina three people who stayed.
Customers coughed, then liked, because smoke is like confession, you cough first then you like because it means something real.
At 11 PM, singer finished, took $50 plus two beers, plus extra beer because she sang Casablanca and Chew said extra beer for Casablanca because that song makes people drink more. She left in taxi, emerald red cheongsam slit to knee sequins catching street light, not young not old, woman who had sung in three countries.
Bar didn't empty. Saturday night-creepers stay until 12, until 1, until Chew says habis, like Muthu at 2:30, nothing left but stained plates.
At 11:30, Lina and Arjun were still behind counter where only one person supposed to fit, shoulders touching now openly, because Chew said you help behind bar tonight, so touching is work, not hiding.
She whispered, "Arun, if we were in Casablanca, would you get on plane?"
He knew film, because Chew had small black-and-white TV that showed Casablanca once in 1975 and Chew said, "This film about bar, like my bar, but my bar has no plane, only ferry."
He said, "I would stay. Planes leave. Bars stay."
She smiled, gold-dust hour smile even though gold-dust hour gone and neon pink green pink now.
"I would stay too," she said. "No rain needed."
Outside, Weld Quay neon flicked, Red Lion, Carlsberg, Lucky Beer, pink tube light buzzing. Inside, Hotel Malaya Bar, Chengal that was supposed to be teak, fan clicking, clock losing seven minutes, mynah bird under cloth saying Stay and No rooms! both, confused but learning, till heavy, floor sticky, Batch 3 bottle that said HANDLE WITH CARE half empty, two photos behind bar, two empty Nasi Kandar plates washed and shining to be returned tomorrow for lunch at 2:15.
And two kids from nowhere who found room that was actually neat and clean, who napped after confession, who woke to skyline changed, who learned to stand in same small space and not need rain to touch, who would be short tomorrow too, but in good way, like kuah campur, like tamarind whiskey bitter then sweet at end if you waited.
Night had just begun, but for them, night had already been long and good and enough.
Enough to be short tomorrow, too.
At midnight, after last night-creeper left, towkay with mistress younger and bored, sailors money gone ship leaves tomorrow, nurses from GH laughed too loud and then cried too quiet, clerks from Beach Street batik shirts too tight, Chew did inventory.
He counted limes 30->8, very good business, tamarind 50g->10g testing remembering and smoke, gula Melaka gone smoke good very good, whiskey House Pour gone everyone drank Casablanca makes people drink more, glasses 22->22 miracle no missing even though Sheila spilled Anchor on towkay shoes, till heavy $342, floor sticky needs washing tomorrow.
He wrote at bottom small blue Bic: People - 2 staff who learned to stand in same small space and not need rain to touch, still here. Singer - left, sequins catching street light. Mynah bird - learned Stay and No rooms! Both confused. Love - enough to be short tomorrow too, but in good way, like song.
He closed clipboard, turned off yellow bulb, left red emergency light on, because some people pay to disappear for night, but some people pay to remember Casablanca.
Upstairs, cot pushed near big low window, gold-dust hour gone, neon pink green pink now, empty Nasi Kandar plates washed shining to be returned tomorrow, calendar 1972 pretty girl faded pink watching, mirror cracked same corner not judging, fan clicking every seventh turn since 1941, two kids from nowhere who napped after confession and woke to skyline changed, who found room that was actually neat and clean, who learned to not need rain to come in, who learned to hold counter so other doesn't fall.
They didn't nap now. They were awake, listening to bar below, chairs up, till counted, floor still sticky until tomorrow, mynah bird under cloth saying Stay soft then No rooms! loud, correcting, and outside Weld Quay neon flicking Red Lion Carlsberg Lucky Beer pink tube light buzzing like tired mosquito, Saturday night alive, and inside them, quiet, even, breathing finally even, no rain girl no bar boy just Arun and Lina.
And that is how bar remembers Casablanca. Not in song, but in hip finding hip behind counter where only one person supposed to fit, in behind that means don't move, in don't fall if you're holding the counter, in smile that is first real smile since Kuala Ketil since Ah Man's house since bamboo bed since rain.
Enough to be short tomorrow, too.
Some places are built on leaving, Casablanca airport fog plane leaves, Rick stays. Some people stay long enough to make them home, Hotel Malaya Bar Chengal supposed to be teak but still here 1936 to 1978. And some nights, Saturday night, night-creepers come, guest singer emerald red cheongsam slit to knee sequins, and two lovers who never learned how to be together learn how to stand in same small space and not need rain to touch.
End of Part 7
Next Part 8
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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