Ponti by Sharlene Teo

Author:Sharlene Teo [Teo, Sharlene]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pan Macmillan
Published: 2018-04-18T16:00:00+00:00

13

AMISA

1977

Now that she was newly married, Amisa worked at the Paradise Theatre six days a week. Rocky promoted her to full-time box office and usher, no more dirty toilets. That week, a Hollywood picture opened which astounded her with its popularity. It was called Close Encounters of the Third Kind. When she described it to Wei Loong, it sounded like a bad, drunken dream.

The film centred on a man who was obsessed with UFOs. He became obsessed with the vision of a mountain, tried to recreate it in mashed potatoes, his madness escalating until he built a huge clay structure that overwhelmed his family and his living room. When the aliens revealed themselves, Amisa found the creatures unimpressive and vapid, their pushpin heads backlit in soapy light.

Still, the queue for tickets snaked all the way outside. Everyone wanted to encounter aliens. She was busy all day at the box office, issuing tickets and with no time even to move, until her bottom was sore on the plastic seat. Just before the 8.30 p.m. screening on the Thursday, a man rushed up to the ticket booth. He was middle-aged and had a craggy, tanned face above which rested a thatch of black hair that resembled a toupee. He had a moustache like a gothic caterpillar. He bought a top-tiered ticket: S$3.50. As she handed it to him he looked at her straight on. He had a hard, arresting stare, direct yet not impolite. When she glanced up in annoyance, he did not even blink.

At that moment she remembered watching eagles swoop over the lowland marsh with Didi, five years ago, and Uncle Khim Fatt pointing at a shrewd-looking bird roosting on the bough of an oil palm. It had a dappled brown plumage and a white-tipped crest.

‘That’s a Wallace’s hawk-eagle,’ Uncle Khim Fatt said. He scribbled something in his notebook.

‘Who is Wallace?’ Amisa asked. The bird stared at her.

‘Probably some rich white army man,’ Didi replied, crouching beside her. His small, rough hand rested on her shoulder as he craned his neck to look. ‘I’ve seen this sort of eagle around before, but this one is mighty! Like a bird god.’

They turned their heads at the same time as the eagle shifted on its perch. It spread its wings, showing off their russet span. And then it opened its mouth and called out ‘yik yee, yik yee’ in a shrill, haughty tone.

Afterwards, they made the long trek in silence back to Kampong Mimpi Sedih. Didi was eleven then and held her hand with a cavalier carefreeness, only letting go when they neared the houses.

The man in front of her bore a remarkable resemblance to that Wallace’s hawk-eagle. Stupid moustache aside, the likeness lay in his hooked nose and yellow eyes. Even more astonishing was the complete lack of lust or attraction in his gaze. Maybe he was a homosexual, she thought arrogantly. He was sizing her up as if she was withholding some great wisdom, an answer to a question he had pondered for years.

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