Written in Black by KH Lim

Author:KH Lim
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9789814423984
Publisher: Monsoon Books Pte. Ltd.

Chapter Eleven

It turned out that Mohidin wasn’t so terrible after all. He listened to me attentively, although with a blank face that didn’t give away any emotion, as I basted my story with layer upon layer of acts of filial piety and noble self-sacrifice. I told him of my intention to find Michael and left out the parts about using my brother to try and get a hold of my mother, focusing instead on how he had been Ah Kong’s favourite grandson and that it was my sworn duty to bring him back for the funeral. I didn’t really know why I hadn’t wanted to tell Mohidin the real reason behind my wanting to find Michael, especially since my quest to find out the truth about my mother was just as worthy.

“What a story …” he finally said.

“Yes … Yes, it is,” I nodded solemnly.

“Your mother and then your brother and then your grandfather … All gone.”

“Of cour … Oh, right, yeah …” For a moment, I thought he was referring to my heroic encounters with the dogs and the poklans. “Yeah, all that too …”

“And you are here by yourself …”

“Yup! Well, thanks partly to Radzi.”

“Radzi …”

The shopkeeper’s vacant look betrayed nothing. His face remained blank, and I could not glean anything from the flattened tone of his voice either; it was a different sort of “flat” from my father’s voice, who tended to sound flat from being fed up all the time. Mohidin just sounded and looked emotionless. Radzi certainly hadn’t got to that part of his description (even if whatever little he’d managed to tell me about his cousin did fit, especially the acne).

Mohidin’s English was practically perfect though, much like Radzi’s, and once one got past the monotony of his voice, one would realise that the grammar and diction were spot-on, and that he enunciated his words with minimal hesitation or stutter. Other pieces of soft evidence that tied him to my good friend? His accent also had a mild American twang to it, again, similar to Radzi’s (though this in itself wasn’t too uncommon amongst Bruneian youths in general).

“Um, he said you’d be able to help me …”

“Did he?”

“Er, yeah … He said you were a great guy. His favourite relative. The best shopkeeper in Kampung Daun!”

Mohidin gave a disbelieving look in response to my flattery.

“Boy, what I should do is take you home …”

I began to panic. This was the last thing I needed: one man’s good intentions ruining my last hope of success.

“Oh no, you can’t! You’ve got to help me find my brother! If you take me back, then everything will stay the way it is and nothing will ever get better!” I knew I was babbling, but I had to throw whatever I could at him, no matter how desperate it made me look.

“I should take you back. It’s not safe for you to run around like this.”

“Well, if you’re worried about me being by myself, you could come along. To Badir.

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