Chapter 4

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Eight Years Later


February 6 1960
Kampung Bukit Pantai

The country entered the new decade as the Independent Federation of Malaya; three years ago it gained freedom from the British Empire after months of negotiation. The monumental event was broadcast on television, but the folk of Kampung Bukit Pantai only heard it through the radio as none of the households had a working television. It was enough though, and the atmosphere had been abuzz with excitement.

Even Rafar, who was fifteen when Tunku Abdul Rahman shouted the word ‘Merdeka’ a number of times to an ecstatic crowd in the newly built Merdeka Stadium, had felt the joy and pride to be part of a free nation. The country was still troubled though; currently, the official state was of an Emergency due to communist fighters who were still at large. It would be another five months before it would be declared over.

But then for Rafar, the feeling of excitement had faded as soon as the next day came. And now, three years on from Independence, he barely felt a change in the country. Of course, this could be due to the fact that he lived in a small kampung that was quite far from the nearest city. The changes that were significant had happened in his life, or rather the life of his family. His eldest brother, Rahman, had married three years back and was now living in Kuala Terengganu, working hard labor at the shipyards whilst his wife was a shop assistant. He had quit the life of a fisherman, saying he did not want to spend a lifetime at sea. This had saddened his father, but Rafar knew that Mr. Ramli was also secretly glad. He made no secret that he wanted his sons and daughter to have a better life: an easier life, if you will, than that of a man who went to sea and slave under the sun.

Rafiq and Rakib had packed their bags and left the quaint and quiet of Kampung Bukit Pantai for Kuala Lumpur last year; about once a month Mr. Ramli and Mrs. Latifah would receive a letter containing money and news of their whereabouts. Apparently they were working as lorry drivers and shared a house in the heart of Kuala Lumpur. From the tone of their letters, they were satisfied. But it was with Rafar’s sister, Rafidah, of whom his parents were most proud of: she had been a smart student at school, hardworking and earnest, and a year before she received a scholarship and was accepted into the University of Malaya. She too, sent a letter every month.

Their parents were especially proud; Rafidah was the first child from that kampung to be accepted at the university (it should be noted though that she was amongst the few of the children in the kampung to care for education). Rafidah had grown to be a beautiful young woman, attracting the eyes of many young men of the kampung. Latifah, the mother, was also secretly glad she went to university because she believed it would be safer for her there.

Rafar was now a tall and lean young man of eighteen. He had a messy crop of hair and a pleasant, friendly face. He had finished school the year before. He had been a slightly above average student, with okay instead of great grades, and despite his parents urging him to apply to go to a university, Rafar thought and insisted he wanted to take a break from school.

“I’ve spent ten years in school Ayah, Mak,” he had said. “I think I want to rest a moment before I think about studying again. Maybe work a little.”

His parents accepted his decision, but not before they made him promise he would think about going back to school. That was a good arrangement for him, so he agreed. In the meantime, he found a job working for a man who owned a fruit plantation a few kilometers from the kampung. It was a menial job, but the pay was alright. At least he could support his parents, especially as his father was now spending more time at home than at sea. That was inevitable, really; his father was aging, and the life of a fisherman was a rough one. He was lucky to have made it as far as he could. His boat was still used by Pakcik Amran’s son, Jaafar, who had taken over and had his own crew. Even Pakcik Amran did not go out as often anymore. Mostly they helped their wives process fish into keropok or ikan masin, and sold them in the city.

As for Rafar, his desire to be out at sea had waned little by little during his school years. One day he simply forgot just how much he had wanted to go. In that time he had been on boats; he no longer found the concept of being out at sea as appealing as it had when he had been ten years old. When he was fifteen he had followed his father and Pakcik Amran out to sea for the first time. He had been amazed at how hard the work was, especially when the days were hot and the sun seemed to bake them. He had returned from that trip with strained muscles in his legs and arms. He had spent the week with aching joints. His father had laughed, and Rafar no longer wanted to be a fisherman on that day.

In fact, he had no idea how to start his life. Unlike his sister, who had been so sure that she wanted to become the doctor (and who had the brains and drive for it), Rafar did not see where he would be in the years to come. In school there was no subject that he excelled at that could have been a rough guide as to what he could do with his life… but that was not entirely true, of course.

There was a subject he was good – no, great – at, and that was Art. He had a particular talent for drawing and painting. He had a painting set, which he had saved money and bought himself in Kuala Terengganu, and he often used it to draw and color beautiful landscape paintings. Sometimes he drew the sunset as seen from his beach, or the cliff, or the boats when they are stranded on the sand. Most of these paintings were now framed in his school, a reminder of a time he studied there. But good as he was, he did not know how that skill would be beneficial in the real world. Does the world need painters and artists? Being an unexposed young man, he did not know.

“I think you should pack your bags and go to Kuala Lumpur,” Suhaimi said to him one day as they sat on the beach. Suhaimi was now a lanky young man with acne on his face; his front teeth still jutted out of his upper jaw.

“And become what?” Rafar asked back; he was holding a stick and was drawing pictures in the sand. Beside him sat Luqman, eating a banana. Once chubby, he was now slim and handsome and athletic. He threw the peel behind him and wiped his mouth.

“An artist,” Luqman said through a mouth full of banana. “You could make good money.”

“Luqman you’re disgusting,” said Shahira. Shahira was their friend from school; she also lived in Kampung Bukit Pantai. When they were younger, they barely knew each other. But growing up, they became friends. She was a smart and pretty girl who wanted to be a teacher. She was particularly fond of Rafar, despite Luqman’s more obvious attractions.

Suhaimi and Luqman always teased him about Shahira behind her back; sometimes they would scold him for not making a move. Rafar was not oblivious to this, but he never spoke about it. In truth he felt very shy about the whole matter, and for the record, Shahira never mentioned anything either. But there was something, wasn’t there? It was in the way she would speak in a softer and quieter tone with him, or in the way she rarely let their eyes meet. But right now she was separated from him by the muscular physique of Luqman and the scrawny body of Suhaimi as they sat in a row. All of them had tans, although Shahira was the fairest; her skin was a light honey brown.

She threw a handful of sand at Luqman. “Don’t speak if you’re eating.”

“I’ll speak whenever I want to,” Luqman said and opened his mouth towards her, showing her the masticated bits of fruit on his tongue. Shahira ignored him and leaned forward; her hair fluttered behind her as a wind blew. She spoke to Rafar.

“But he’s right, you know… You could go to Kuala Lumpur and become an artist,” she said. Rafar detected hints of hesitation in her voice, as if she was agreeing with the idea, but reluctant at the possibility.

Rafar shook his head. “Who would use an artist? I don’t know. Besides, how could I leave this place?”

He spread his arms. “How could anyone leave this place?”

“I would,” Suhaimi answered him. “I don’t want to be stuck in Terengganu all my life. I want to be somewhere else. Maybe be an engineer or something.” Suhaimi was undoubtedly the smartest amongst them; he was waiting for an offer to go to university.

“Maybe you,” Rafar said. “You’re a smart guy. You know numbers. I just know how to draw.”

He stood up and turned towards them. “I don’t know where I'm going.”

“Maybe you can be a teacher like I want to,” Shahira said. She got up and stood beside him. There was a small hope in her eyes as she looked at Rafar.

Luqman saw this and murmured “Of course…”

“What?” Shahira said; a faint blush touched her cheeks.

“Nothing,” Luqman said and gave her a wide, mocking grin. Shahira blushed even more; she hoped Rafar would not notice. And he didn’t; he had turned towards the infinite blue of the South China Sea.

“There’s a place I want to be,” he said. “But I just can’t figure out where yet…”

His three friends looked at each other and said nothing.

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Later that night, Shahira spent her time lying down on her sleeping mattress. She was a pretty girl, and she had the attention of plenty of boys from school and her own kampung. Her mother would sometimes drop names at her, in hopes she would take notice. She did, but she pretended not to anyway.

Her mother wanted her to marry; it was typical for someone of her generation, Shahira thought. But her parents did not force her and that was a fact she was thankful of. But she was thinking of Rafar; she supposed she was in love with him, but she did not have the courage to be honest about it. Besides, she was sure Rafar did not feel the same way. He probably thought of her as no more than a friend, and although she was slightly saddened by the fact, she was also glad because it meant he was still part of her life, and that was better than not having him be there at all.

To her, Rafar was a different kind of boy. Most of the boys she knew in school were loud and obnoxious; Rafar, on the other hand, was polite and friendly. She often argued and bickered with Luqman, who liked to tease her, and with Suhaimi, who was studious and insightful, she often studied with. But it was with Rafar she felt closest with; they often talked about their lives together, and Shahira noticed how Rafar never mentioned anything about a girl he liked or wanted to talk to. She took it as hope, no matter how small or pathetic that seemed. He was always nice to her. He made her feel special, even if it was not his intent.

She often thought about the two of them married, happy and with children. It was a fantasy, nothing more, but it made her feel happy… and sad at the same time. Luqman, who knew how she felt about Rafar, always told her to tell him how she felt but she always refused to. She was afraid. But she thought that Luqman was right. She had to tell Rafar. In a few months time she would be leaving the peaceful kampung and go out of state to attend a teacher’s college. The new country needed new teachers, and it was one of her dreams to become one.

I will tell him before I go, she thought as she fell asleep.

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As Shahira was in bed at her house, Rafar, Luqman and Suhaimi were again at the beach, sitting beneath the stars. Luqman had a battered guitar with him and he was strumming some songs and singing in broken English. Rafar and Suhaimi were leaning on a fallen coconut tree. The two of them were quiet, each lost in their own thoughts. Suddenly Rafar spoke.

“Do you guys remember that day we went to the other side of the cliff?” he asked. Luqman, still singing, nodded and Suhaimi turned to look at him.

“You guys didn’t see what happened before I passed out did you?”

Luqman laughed and stopped singing. He put his guitar aside and rested his back on the tree as well. “No,” he said. “When we saw you, you looked like a dead fish.”

Suhaimi snorted. “You did. Why do you ask? It happened so long ago.”

Rafar shook his head. “I don’t know. I was looking at the stars, and it just occurred to me I don’t remember anything about what happened before I passed out. Nothing at all.”

“What’s there to remember? You probably slipped and hit your head, that’s all,” Luqman said.

“I don’t know,” Rafar said. “There’s something I almost… I don’t know…”

“What?”

“I don’t know…”

Luqman waved his hand in a dismissing gesture. “Forget it. It’s better if you think of Shahira. She clearly likes you, as we’ve told you so many times before.”

Suhaimi nodded and smiled; he looked very goofy indeed. “Yes. Man, I’d give anything to have someone like her like me. She is very beautiful.”

Rafar raised an eyebrow at him. “If you like her why don’t you tell her?”

“What? No, no,” Suhaimi said, a little defensively. “It’s not like that. No. Besides, both Luqman and I know how much she likes you, Rafar. She’s told us many times.” Rafar sensed some bitterness and jealousy in the voice, but he kept quiet.

“You’d be crazy to pass off a chance like this,” Luqman said, and looked at Suhaimi for agreement. “She likes you! A LOT. Why don’t you like her back?”

“I like her,” Rafar said. “Just… not in that way, I think…”

“HAH,” Luqman said as he let his body slide lower on the ground. Soon only his head was resting against the trunk of the fallen tree. “You’re just being picky.”

“I'm not…”

“Yeah yeah. You know Rafar, you better think about what you want. You don’t know what to do with your life, you don’t know if you want a girl. Well let me tell you something: you can do whatever you want with your life, but a girl like Shahira doesn’t come along very often. In fact, I think the only way someone would top her in this little kampung would be if she were a fairy or a princess or something. Think about that for a moment,” Luqman said and laid an arm across his eyes. Suhaimi said nothing; he too had lain down on the sand and closed his eyes.

Rafar sat quietly, and he stared absently at the stars.








(to be continued...)