Chapter 6

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March 21, 1960
77km off shore from Kampung Bukit Pantai

The temperature in the air must have plummeted by ten degrees or so, as suddenly it felt awfully cold. That however did not deter the men on board Mr. Ramli’s boat, or the men in the other boats around them. There were about five boats there, and most of the men were still pulling up squid after squid from the depths. Rafar, who had stopped sometime ago, was sitting with Luqman at the stern. Luqman too had slowed down a bit. His spool and jig rested beside him. The boat rocked, and Rafar had a nagging felt that it was rocking harder and harder. The waves were getting higher. Rafar suddenly felt uneasy.

“Relax,” Luqman said.

“What?” Rafar said, surprised.

“You look worried. Just relax. If you’re feeling seasick, go have a nap or something.”

“I'm fine,” Rafar retorted, a little harshly. He ignored Luqman, who grabbed his spool and began jigging again, and went to see his father, who was sitting at the bow of the bow of the boat. His father was gazing out into the darkness; he had a concerned look on his face, and that made Rafar’s uneasiness increase.

“What’s wrong, Ayah?”

Mr. Ramli turned at his son and shook his head. He was unsmiling. “It’s… it’s too cold.” Rafar waited. Mr. Ramli spoke without looking at him. “I hope to Allah I'm wrong. But I think it is going to rain…”

His father’s words trailed at the end. Rafar waited a bit, but when he saw his father wasn’t going to say anything more, he went back to the stern. Luqman was unhooking a glowing, writhing squid from his jig. He chucked it into a plastic container with the rest of his catch. Rafar took a seat next to Luqman.

“My father thinks it’s going to rain,” Rafar said. “And I think he’s right.”

Luqman scoffed. “So? A little rain won’t hurt.”

As if on cue, a streak of lightning ran across the skies in wild and frenzied arcs. Five seconds passed when the distant roar of thunder was heard. And felt, Rafar thought. He turned to look at Luqman who was looking at the skies; suddenly he too, had a worried look on his face.

“It’s going to be fine,” Luqman said, but there was no conviction in his voice.

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In The Forest

The green-eyed woman was now walking towards the beach again. She had left her sisters back at the palace despite their protests that she stayed. They told her to go only when she absolutely needed to. But she refused to listen. She would not sit idly when she thinks she could have a chance to change her fate.

She quickened her pace, her feet racing on the forest floor. It was awkward to move so quickly in her silk sarong and her long selendang, but nevertheless she managed. The sound of the sea grew louder; she was drawing closer to the beach. She whispered something into the air and suddenly her speed increased, as if carried by a wind.

A moment later she came bursting out of the trees and found herself on the white sandy shore, lit by moonlight. She gazed out to the sea, looking left and right, as if scanning. Her eyesight surpassed that of any man alive; within moments she saw what she was looking for. She took a deep breath and abruptly sat herself, cross-legged, just on the water’s edge. She joined middle fingers and thumbs together on each hand and rested them on her knees. The green-eyed woman then closed her eyes, and began to sing softly in a strange language.

She waited.

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77km offshore

The frequency of lightning increased and the sound of thunder drew closer and grew louder as time passed by. By now, all the men on all the boats had pulled their jigs out of the water and were pacing uneasily on their boats. There murmurs of a storm being whispered amongst them, but all were bleakly hoping it would be nothing more than a drizzle. That notion grew more unlikely. The air was even colder now, and a stiff wind began to blow. The boats rocked, making all but the most hardy of the men feeling queasy in their stomachs.

On Mr. Ramli’s boat, the men were all huddled in the small and cramped cabin. Pakcik Dollah Kelapa was chewing his tobacco with deadly concentration; Abang Jaafar and Pakcik Amran were quiet, silently contemplating what would happen, and the younger men, Omar and Salleh, were seated back-to-back and trying to get to sleep; Rafar thought they did so because they just wanted time to pass by as quickly. Rafar himself was squeezed between his father and Luqman.

The air was thick and he thought they all could feel the static and bitterness in the air. The thunder was getting very loud now, very close. Every so often the skies would light up with electricity. The clouds that were carrying the charge were surely close now. It was only a matter of time before it would reach them. Rafar hoped it would pass them by.

“Ayah,” he asked his father, who was looking out of the cabin. Mr. Ramli had a weary and fearful expression on his face when he turned to look at his youngest son. “Can’t we just start the boat and go back to shore?”

Mr. Ramli raised his eyebrows. “In this dark? And with what I think is a storm riding behind us? No. I would not chance it. It is much too dangerous. Our best chance is to ride this out… and pray it would not be so bad,” he sighed.

“I hate it when my gut is right about these kind of things.”

Plink! A drop of water fell beside Mr. Ramli’s hand. Rafar saw it too. Then they began to hear the tip-tap of rain falling on the roof of their boat; the tip-taps started slowly, and then suddenly became faster. There was a flash of lightning and this time the thunder followed immediately. It seemed that the storm cloud was directly above them. Rafar became very afraid, and with a crazy lucidity he recalled the story his father told him. He remembered his father saying how the sea would suddenly decide it hates you. The rest of the men in the cabin were now fully awake; Rafar heard one of them; he thought it was Salleh, say prayers.

“Ya Allah, protect us and keep us safe from harm so that we may return to our families…”

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Kampung Bukit Pantai

Shahira woke up with a jolt; she was sweating although she felt cold. Dazed, she looked around before slowly coming to grips with herself. She was still in her room; the gasoline lamp beside her glowed dimly. Beside her, her younger sister lay soundly asleep. Shahira wiped her face and put a hand to her heart, which was beating wildly.

She had had a nightmare. In it, she saw herself standing on a raft in the middle of a vast ocean where there was no sign of land or life anywhere. She was drifting aimlessly beneath the scorching sun when she suddenly saw someone swimming towards her. It was Rafar. She stood on the raft and with horror realized a huge wave coming up behind Rafar. She shouted and screamed for him to swim faster but he did not seem to hear her. The wave swelled behind him and swallowed him into its deadly roll before diminishing just before reaching her raft. In the dream she heard Rafar scream her name before disappearing beneath the water, and that is what woke her up.

She got up quietly and went to the small kitchen of her kampung home. She poured herself a cup of cold coffee (her mother always kept a pot of cold coffee in the kitchen) and went to the door of her house. She lived about 100 meters away from Rafar, but her house was nearer to the beach; in fact it overlooked the sea, being separated from the sands by a line of tall and thin coconut palms. She opened the door and stood there with the cup in her hands.

She sipped her cold coffee and for the first time in her eighteen years in the kampung thought about how quiet the nights were. There was hardly any sound, not even crickets or owls. There was only the sound of the sea, and at this time of night, it was not entirely pleasant. Rather, it sounded haunted and ghostly. Shahira shivered.

She said a prayer for Rafar, hoping he was safe out there.

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On the sands

The woman was in a trance. Her body swayed ever so slightly from side to side. The water was lapping beneath her, wetting her seat and legs. But she did not notice any of that. Her mind was elsewhere.

In her mind she was flying over a seemingly endless expanse of water. As she approached closer to where she wanted to be, cold, hard raindrops struck at her face; a strong wind almost sent her tumbling wildly through the air. The water beneath her was now foamy and churning. She felt she was getting close. She was drawing nearer to a cluster of vessels that were rolling and crashing on the surface of the water. She distantly heard the shouts of terrified men, but their voices were silenced by the fierce roar of thunder. In the brief flashes of lightning, she saw the terrified looks on their faces. And yet she was looking for only one face among those faces.

She saw all this in her mind as clearly as if she was there herself; she was still on the beach, still in a trance. And then abruptly, her eyes opened. She stood up slowly, ignoring the fact that the lower half of her sarong and the tips of her selendang were now soaked with water.

A glow seemed to radiate from her; she was bathed in a soft golden light. You will not be afraid, she thought. Her eyes narrowed, focused.

I am coming for you.

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77km offshore

Rafar felt the fear coursing through his veins, blocking his every attempt to stay focused. Beside him Mr. Ramli was holding on steadily as their boat rocked. At one point it tilted so acutely that they saw the water, and all of them thought their boat would tip over upside down. It was a miracle it did not happen. But the waves were now swollen and the sea was rough and angry; it foamed and churned, forming vortexes. From the corner of his eyes Rafar could see that the other boats were not faring any better either. He could hear the screams of terrified men amidst the thunder and rain.

Luqman had rolled himself into a ball, his head tucked in and his knees up to his chest. Pakcik Amran was sat in similar fashion, but he only had a grave look on his face. He was not cowering, although the fear was plain to see. His son, the usually friendly and talkative Jaafar, had flattened himself on the floor of the cabin. Pakcik Dollah Kelapa, Omar and Salleh were sat in the corners of the cabin; they were holding on to each other.

Suddenly Rafar felt their boat being carried high by a wave, lifting it stern up higher than the bow. The men were thrown off balance and they crashed into each other out of the cabin and onto the deck. The wave then brought the boat crashing back down and cold, salty water splashed onto the boat. The men were sprawled on the deck, and before they could get up and regain their senses, another wave brought down a wall of water upon them. It was so powerful it caved in the roof of their cabin.

“HANG ON TO SOMETHING!” Mr. Ramli shouted at the top of his lungs. He was lying down on the deck, as were the others, and they each scrambled to get hold of whatever steady object there was on the boat. None of them risked getting up for fear of being thrown into the raging water. Rafar and Luqman grabbed hold of each other and clung on a piece of rope. Lightning flashed violently in the sky above them, and wave upon wave of saltwater slammed onto the boat. The rain was hard and cold and it stung their bodies like bullets. A bolt of electricity, hot and bright, struck one of the lamps that were still hanging off the sides of the boat; the lamp shattered and exploded in a blinding flash, sending sparks flying.

Even in the chaos Rafar could hear prayers; this time it was from Luqman, who was holding onto his arm with one hand and the rope with his other. His eyes were squeezed shut and his hair plastered to his face. Rafar heard him say “YaAllahsaveusYaAllahsaveusYaAllahsaveus”. Rafar was thinking the same thoughts when a loose squid jig, thrown around on by the storm, dug its spikes into his forehead. He cried out in pain and let go of Luqman and the rope, bringing his hands to his face.

The boat tilted and Rafar was sent hurdling on the deck. He heard Luqman shout his name. He crashed into the plastic containers holding their catch. The jig was still on his forehead, and he could feel the steely spikes in his skin. It hurt like mad. His hands fumbled around with it, trying to pull it out when another wave sent him tumbling forward again.

“Rafar!!” Mr. Ramli shouted in fear when he saw his son was being thrown around on the boat like a rag. Rafar fell towards the hull and hit his head. He saw stars and this time a new pain from the back of his head. He tried to get up and heard his father shout “Stay down!” so he did. He touched his forehead and realized the jig was already out; he felt the wound; the spikes had torn a strip of skin roughly an inch long. The pain throbbed.

“Rafar, I'm coming for you,” he heard his father say. He saw his father moving carefully down to the bow. He was moving along the edges of the boat to keep steady. The boat was being thrown around by the sea. The rain had not given up either. “Stay there, keep low!” his father shouted.

But the panic that he had somehow kept in check suddenly exploded; Rafar stood up to try and go to where his father was, but he regretted the move instantly. As soon as he lifted his body, a wall of water that looked so very tall rose beside the boat and came crashing down upon it. A massive volume of water flooded the vessel. The men, who already hanging on for dear life, tightened their grips and held their breath and watched helplessly as some of their equipment and catch were carried into the sea.

Mr. Ramli wiped his face and glanced wildly to where his son was; he had seen Rafar got up and knew instantly that was a mistake. And now his fears doubled; his son was nowhere to be seen.

“Rafar!!!” he shouted. Luqman, who saw what had happened, also began to shout, and soon the other men joined in. “RAFAR!!”

Rafar was no longer on the boat.

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He struggled to keep his head above water. The waves were unpredictable and trying to stay afloat was proving difficult. Rafar tried to swim but kept getting nowhere. The fear threatened to drag him into the depths.

He had been thrown into the water when the huge wave struck, and only because he had made the mistake of standing up with no purchase. He had crashed into the sea and the thrashing water had dragged him far from the boat before he could even shout for help. His attempts to swim back had been thwarted by debris and fatigue; to his dismay he saw that the other boats were nowhere near to him as well.

He kicked with his legs and tried to move forward but the current was winning. He felt himself being carried further away from the boats. He shouted for help but his voice was lost amidst the storm. His limbs began to tire. His whole body ached; his lungs were burning and he had swallowed a lot of seawater. The waves were pushing him further and further out. A strange lucidity took hold of him as he slowly came to believe he was going to die. Time seemed to slow down, and the world became blurry. He stopped kicking and paddling. He felt very tired. His eyelids grew heavy.

So this is what it’s like to die, Rafar thought. And suddenly he saw a face seem to materialize out of the air above him; the face was beautiful and the owner had the dreamiest olive-green eyes. The face then grew into a whole person and in his fading consciousness he thought he must have been going crazy before he kicked the bucket, because how could this someone be in the air above him unless she was flying?

Who was this, an angel?

He was dimly aware that the figure held out her hands and he took them; he felt his body being lifted out of the water and just before he passed out, he felt that he was flying through space, and, so it seemed, time, and was that not strange? And all while that happened he smelled a lovely scent in the air, a scent he knew. It was the scent of a flower that grew on trees and had long, tapered and velvety petals. The sweet scent of the flower the Malays call Bunga Kenanga.












to be continued...