Bitter Sweet Harvest by Chan Ling Yap

Author:Chan Ling Yap [Yap, Chan Ling]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9789814361644
Publisher: Marshall Cavendish Internationl (Asia) Pte Ltd
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 29

The car powered forward, its engine purred smoothly, leaving behind Kuala Lumpur and its high rises en route for Kemun. Densely packed townships gradually gave way to one-street villages. Two-storey shop houses lined the road on each side, interrupted here and there by ramshackle outbuildings with piles of used rubber tyres and rusty wheels lying on the dirt ground. Potholes filled with brown muddy water and old abandoned cars dotted dirty courtyards. Brightly coloured posters with English and Chinese characters announced the business of the shops. They sold everything: plastic balls vied for space with enamel pails, tins of biscuits, milk powder, cooked food and fresh vegetables. Through the open doors of the shops they could see the goods packed in their dark interiors; there was no particular order in their arrangement and often they spilled out to the common frontage that linked the shops. Children played; some cried, others smiled; their pale faces covered with dirt as they jostled with each other or rode their bicycles.

“Missy! Missy!” they cried running alongside the road, wildly waving their hands.

Casey and An Mei spoke little, aware of the driver. An Mei could see his curious glances reflected in the rear mirror. Slowly the scenery changed. The two-storey shop houses gave way to small wooden houses set on stilts. Sarongs and brightly coloured shirts hung on clothes lines stretched between coconut palms; they waved like flags in the breeze. Old men and women sat in the shade, their brown skin burnt almost to a blackened nutmeg. Here and there, a table was set out in the blazing hot sun offering refreshments. Fresh coconut! A sign said: 20 cents per nut. Durians! said another, 4 for 2 Ringgit. The tables were not manned. Bees and flies buzzed. Nearby, a brown cow stood swishing its tail to ward off the insects. A cloud of dust rose and then settled. A desultory air prevailed. The momentum of life, it appeared, had slowed down to a snail’s pace.

“Mei you huan; seems like not much has changed here,” said Casey switching to Mandarin. “It is exactly like mum used to tell us about life when she was in Malacca.”

Then, suddenly the scenery changed completely with the start of mile upon mile of plantations, palm oil and rubber, their orderliness contrasting sharply with the earlier scenes; the buzz and dirt in the small townships fighting for livelihood and the relaxed laid-back villages of stilt houses. The plantations’ lush green formality shouted wealth.

“There is change. You have to know what to look for. There is a greater divide. And once you recognise it, you will always see it,” said An Mei.

Casey looked at her friend puzzled. “That is quite a profound statement. Tell me more. Tell me what Hussein thinks.”

An Mei made a face, looked at the rear mirror and grimaced once again.

“Shuo putong hua, speak in Mandarin,” Casey suggested.

“I’ll try but it won’t be as good as yours. Remember I had only two years of private study in Oxford,” An Mei replied.

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