Bitter Sweet Harvest (24 page)

I DIVORCE YOU. I DIVORCE YOU. I DIVORCE YOU. Large writing that stared out at her in obscene boldness.

She dropped the spoon. It fell with a loud clang against the bowl and bounced to the floor. It crashed breaking into smithereens. The tray slid off her knee joining the debris of broken ceramics. The commotion brought Nelly running in.

“What’s the matter? What’s the matter?” she asked. Her eyes went to the letter in An Mei’s hand. She saw the bold writing, large prints and the scrawl at the end. “Hussein?” she asked incredulous. “Not even a single attempt to contact you, and then this?”

Numbly An Mei nodded. “I have no one to blame but myself, Aunt Nelly. At least, I have this.” She clasped her abdomen. “Thank God, he doesn’t know.”

“Oh An Mei! Are you sure you wish to go through with the baby? Will you be able to keep the child under Shariah law?”

“Yes! I will go through with it. And, yes! I will keep the child, no matter what! That is why I am so happy Hussein does not know.” The enormity of what she had to do struck her. She panicked. Wild-eyed, she clutched at Nelly, her fingers digging deeply into Nelly’s arms. “We have to keep my pregnancy a secret. At least until after I have consulted a lawyer.”

“I’ll ask Jeremy if he knows of one. But if the matter is to be kept a secret, Jenny must not know because, for all her goodness, she is related to Hussein’s family by marriage and she might let something slip. We must make your mother understand the need for secrecy; she is too trusting. She must not tell Jenny even if she is her best friend. This is too big a matter,” said Nelly. “I’ll warn your mother now.”

Night fell. As the shadows lengthened, the neighbourhood grew quiet. The members of Nelly’s household had gone to sleep one by one. Only An Mei was still awake.

She was sat on the edge of the bed. Slowly, she slid off it and dropped on her knees. She let herself fall forward and her forehead hit the floor. A muffled sob rose from her throat. A shudder went through her body. Twisting from side to side, she fought for breath; she sought to calm the overwhelming sense of loss she felt. She blamed herself for her own self-deception; to even tarry with the thought that a baby might change things. She told herself that she should have expected the break, even so the cruelty of seeing it in black and white emblazoned across an otherwise blank piece of paper had shocked her to the core. She sobbed convulsively. Gradually the sobs subsided. She got up and crawled into bed. I will call Casey and then Jeremy, she thought, and talk to them.

T
he office was little more than a cubicle, a box room with wall-to-wall shelves, jam-packed with files and volume upon volume of books. On the desk were more papers and files. A phone stood balanced on a stack of journals. Pushed towards one corner was a mug of coffee, its contents long consumed and the dregs black and congealed. Cigarette butts filled a huge ashtray; smoke spiralled from one perched on the side. The whole room was filled with a hazy fog. The air conditioner, an old grey metal Carrier, clanged energetically in one corner, its frame shaking in protest, as it poured out tepid air.

An Mei looked at the chaos and then at the man behind the desk. The apprehension in her eyes seemed to amuse him. He smiled showing a row of teeth yellowed by nicotine. He had come highly recommended by Jeremy.

“He is a good man,” Jeremy had said. “One of the best in his field. Don’t judge him by appearances. He practises civil law, but he is also familiar with Shariah law. What he does not know, he will find out, but even so he may need to refer you to a specialist in Shariah law.”

She swallowed hard and tried not to breathe in the fumes. Nelly held her hand, squeezing it reassuringly.

“Take a seat,” the lawyer said, waving them to two chairs on the other side of the desk. “Thank you for coming in. Jeremy has given me a brief outline of your situation. Perhaps you can now fill me in on the details.”

An Mei opened her mouth to speak only to end up coughing and spluttering. She tried to disperse the spirals of smoke coming her way. Nelly in her concern jumped up and took a wad of paper brandishing it vigorously to fan the smoke away.

“Sorry, sorry, I’ll get rid of this,” the lawyer said, taking the ashtray and tipping its contents into the over flowing waste bin behind his chair. He turned to face them again, a cigarette between his fingers. It was the one that had been perched on the ashtray earlier. He had stubbed it out.

“Apologies, I can’t think without one of these. I will just hold it; I won’t smoke. My name is Tan. People just call me Jay Tee.”

An Mei remained silent. She stared at the cigarette poised in his hand as though mesmerised. Fear and exhaustion from sleepless nights seeped through every limb in her body. Then slowly, as though the words had to be dragged out of her, she asked. “Will what I say in this office stay in this office?”

“Client confidentiality? Absolutely!”

His eyes were steady. Jeremy had the utmost trust in him. They had been to school and later university together. “What you say will stay with him,” Jeremy had said.

Yet she hesitated until Nelly prompted. “An Mei,” she said. “Tell him.”

So for the next hour, she described her situation to him. He did not interrupt her and despite his obvious addiction to cigarettes, he did not light up again. His forehead was a mass of creases as he concentrated on her tale; his eyelids were half closed, but when he looked up after she had finished, his eyes were alert, bright.

“Can he divorce me like this?” she asked showing him the letter. The words “I divorce you, I divorce you, I divorce you,” scrawled across the page.

“Unfortunately, yes! You are a Muslim. Your case, which comes under family matters, falls under the jurisdiction of the Shariah court. Although the legal system in Malaysia is a dual system based on both English common law and Islamic law, the civil court has no jurisdiction over matters that fall under the Shariah court’s mandate. If you were not a Muslim, the situation would be completely different. Under Shariah law, a Muslim man can divorce his wife in this way. It just has to be confirmed by a court. A Muslim woman, by contrast, has to prove her case before she can divorce her spouse.”

“What about any children ensuing from the marriage?” asked An Mei, her face bleached of colour.

Mr. Tan stared at her, his eyes brimming with curiosity, his spectacles halfway down the bridge of his nose. He suspected that his client was not telling him everything. “It is fortunate,” he said, clearing his throat, “that you do not have children from the marriage.”

He paused to give An Mei time to clarify. But An Mei continued her silence. Her eyes cast down on her hands lying limp and lifeless on her lap.

“Divorces that involve children are always messy even in a civil court,” said Mr. Tan, “but it is even more so in a case like yours. Under Shariah law, a mother generally has custody of a young child. By young, it means below seven to nine for a male child and nine to eleven for a girl. However, you have to understand that the father is considered to be the primary guardian under Islamic family law even though the mother has custody. If the mother is to remarry, the whole question of custody can be thrown open if there is uncertainty over the welfare of the child.”

He paused to let his words sink in. He saw the fear and apprehension in An Mei’s eyes. His suspicion grew. He watched her face closely.

“In your case, were you to have a child, the situation would be even muddier,” he continued. “You were a convert to Islam. And you have embraced the faith for only a short time. I am pretty sure that to qualify for custody, you would have to demonstrate that you would be able to bring the child up to follow the true Muslim faith.”

An Mei’s hand flew involuntarily to touch her face. Her lips trembled.

His expression softened. He realised his suspicion was correct. He looked sympathetically at her.

“There is a general perception that mothers who have converted to Islam could not raise their children according to Islamic ways.” He coughed and reached for his packet of cigarettes then checked himself. He drummed his fingers on the table,
rat-a-tat, rat-a-tat!

“Without doubt, if you are found wanting, that is if you were found not to be practising the faith, you would be disqualified from having custody of the child.”

“Any excuse could be used to say a woman is not practising the faith,” she replied, her voice faltering.

He shrugged his shoulder and raised both hands to indicate that that could well be so.

“However,” he said, his eyes fixed on her, “we do not have any such concerns because there are no children from the marriage.” Mr. Tan paused. He had seen women like this before, his eyes swept over her discreetly. Perhaps, he thought, his words would spur her to tell him of her condition.

An Mei fell back in the chair. Until then she had been sitting upright, on the edge of the seat, hands pressing down hard on the sides, her knuckles and her fingers white and blotchy from the pressure. She had no doubt about what he was telling her even though he had not said so specifically. His expression said it all. She suspected he had worked out her condition. He must be warning her against telling Hussein.

Nelly caught hold of An Mei’s hand. The atmosphere was tense and Nelly could sense it even though she could not follow fully what was being discussed. The fear in An Mei’s face worried her. “What are you going to do?” she asked.

An Mei whispered, “I’ll tell you later. Let’s leave!” She got up from her chair and thanked Mr. Tan.

“There are other matters you will also have to consider, like alimony, maintenance...”

“It’s alright. I do not intend to seek any alimony. I’ll get Jeremy to get in touch with you. I am so sorry to cut short this meeting. Thank you so much for your time.”

An Mei grabbed Nelly’s hand and marched to the door. She went quickly down the stairs and walked out into the intense bright light of the street. She continued her brisk walk, marching Nelly along until they reached a corner shop selling dried fish. Sacks and sacks of dried anchovies, prawns, sole and even gingko nuts stood at its doorway, their odours mingling with the hot air and traffic fumes from the streets. An Mei turned to face Nelly. Her eyes were fierce.

“I have made up my mind. Hussein must not know, must not be told about the baby. I do not want to risk losing custody of my baby; I am sure I would not be given a fair chance if either he or his family get to know about it. He has a baby now of his own with Shalimar. This is my baby. I have to leave KL for a place where I can bring up my child in the best way.”

Back in the office, a cigarette smouldered in Mr. Tan’s fingers. He looked at the empty chair. If he had any doubts, her hasty departure had removed them.

Nelly took one last look at the store, a store that she had worked so hard for, her pride and joy. She walked its entire length, touching the shelves, the goods displayed; sometimes a little smile played on her lip; at other times, her eyes were filled with longing and regret. She was the only one in the store. Everyone had long left. Soon she would have to lock up and then drop the keys at her storekeeper’s home. Maan
Sook
had been her right-hand man for a long time. He would see to the smooth running of the store just as he had done when she left for England with Ming Kong and Mei Yin. She sighed and dabbed at the corner of her eyes. Jeremy would help out and arrange for the eventual sale of the place. It would not be an easy task.

Ming Kong knew of the arrangement. In fact when he was told of the circumstances and the divorce, it was he who had suggested closing down the business immediately. He had wanted them to come back to England, but An Mei had other plans. “I just want to leave everything behind; everything that reminds me of Hussein. Oxford holds too many memories. I want to go to a place where I can start afresh,” she had explained. “I have spoken to Casey. I am going to Rome, where she is; she will help me find a small apartment. I will have my baby there and then find a job with her help. She knows of several posts that are coming up in the two UN agencies located there and for which I might be suitable. Applications for posts, she said, typically take a long time to process so if I apply now, by the time they actually recruit, I would have had the baby.”

“I’ll come with you,” Aunt Nelly had insisted.

Aunt Nelly you don’t have to come with me. I know how much you love the store. Please stay in Kuala Lumpur. I will be okay,” An Mei had protested not wishing her to sacrifice herself yet again on her behalf.

“Alright. But I shall come with you and stay until you are settled and the baby has arrived. Then I might decide to stay with Jane and Jeremy in Singapore at least for half of the time. We’ll take it one step at a time and things will fall into place.”

Two days later they flew to Singapore. Jeremy met them. He stood waiting behind the barrier in the disembarkation hall at the airport. He saw the two familiar figures appear. He waved. Without thinking, he fished out his camera and snapped a picture, two women wheeling their suitcases; An Mei looking thin, her eyes swollen; her soft floral skirt clinging to her legs; her little bump barely showed. Next to her was Nelly, his mother, looking up anxiously at An Mei.

“This photo will be a memento for you, An Mei,” he whispered to himself. “A new beginning.”

He hurried towards the two women; his arms wide open to embrace them. He dropped a kiss on their foreheads.

“We’ll spend three days in Singapore, to give us a little time to settle things over here. What cannot be done will be left for later. The important thing is to get An Mei away. We will then fly directly to Rome. I have booked tickets for all of us. I am coming with you. Casey will be meeting us in Rome. She has made all the necessary arrangement at that end.”