Bitter Sweet Harvest (25 page)

“
V
ieni amore
! Come my love,” called Adriana. She waved her arm encouragingly at the little boy paddling in the little makeshift rubber pool in the sandpit. “He’ll be wet,
Signora
and then he’ll catch a cold.”

She ran to the boy, panting, both arms extended to catch him; her pendulous breasts heaved with the exertion. He ran from her, splashing water as he leapt out of the water to the sand.

“
No! Non mi prendi
. No don’t catch me,” he chanted, jumping up and down, a grin on his face, his dark eyes twinkling with mischief.

An Mei smiled. She dropped the pad she was scribbling on and went over to him. She scooped him up into her arms and smothered his face with kisses.

“Listen to Adriana, you little monkey. Don’t make her run after you because you know she cannot run as fast as your little legs.” With one arm, she hitched him on to her hips and said to Adriana, “I’ll clean him up. I am going to take a break from my work anyway. After three hours of solid writing during the weekend, I deserve a break. Would you prepare something for supper while I bathe him?”

“What would you like,
Signora
?”

“
Spaghetti all’amatriciana
, a salad, some of the lovely pecorino cheese and your wonderful
casareccio
bread, would be wonderful. Signora Casey and her husband will be joining us.”

“
Va bene
; okay,” she replied and moved away, turning every now and then to wag her finger at Timothy. “Behave yourself,” she warned rolling her eyes to indicate that she would be cross if he misbehaved.

An Mei carried her son into the house. The interior was cool; the terracotta tiles, polished to a glossy coppery red, gave soothing comfort to her bare feet.

“Mummy, mummy, see! I can go upside down,” Timothy said, bending backwards to let his head hang down.

“Ouch! You are getting too heavy for mummy,” she teased tickling him in the ribs. Immediately he bounced back like jack-in-a-box.

“Too heavy, too heavy. Mummy can’t carry me,” he mimicked.

She sat him down on a stool and filled the bath watching the steam rise from the tap.

“Hot! Hot!” he yelled, his little face screwed up.

“Yes, I know. I will add cold water and I will test the temperature with my elbow. See no more steam. Let’s get you out of these clothes,” she said, threading his chubby arms out of the tee shirt he was wearing. She drew him close to her and breathed in deeply his little boy scent. Fresh, lemony even, with a hint of sweat and sand. She felt her chest tighten with emotion. “I love you,’ she whispered. He smiled revealing four little even teeth. She scooped his little brown body into the bath. Lazily she drew trails of water to dribble on him as he played with his bath toys. They floated around him; a duck, three men in a tub, a swimming frog that powered from one end to the other and a little rubber boat. Silently, she mouthed a prayer of thanks. She had been so lucky.

“There you are,” a voice sounded at the back of her. She turned to see Jeremy standing in the doorway.

Behind him a voice interrupted, “Make way, I want to see that little devil,” Casey popped her head above his shoulders. She shouldered her way in, pushing her husband exaggeratedly to the side and immediately went to the bath. “Let Aunty Casey wash your hair. Please may I?” she said in a little girl’s voice.

“She is enamoured with Tim and if you trust her, we can leave her to finish the bath and go into that lovely den of yours and chat. Come, it has been an age since we’ve had a chat alone,” Jeremy said, raising his voice to ensure that Casey heard.

“No hanky-panky!” she yelled.

“Yes! Madam,” he saluted.

Once in the den, Jeremy took An Mei’s elbow and guided her to an armchair. She sat down. She turned her face up to look at him. A pool of soft light from a table lamp lit up the contours of her face, accentuating its lines and planes. Her round cheeks were long gone; in their place was a face that spelled maturity, grace and softness. Her almond eyes were questioning as she looked at him.

“Is it Aunt Nelly you want to talk about?” she asked.

“She sends you her love. She can’t come this summer. The journey is too trying for her. She is with Jane now.”

“Is she well?” asked An Mei, her voice filled with concern. “I spoke to her on the phone the other day and she sounded cheerful. Has something happened since? I will be going to Bangkok to visit a project in the Menam Chao Praya and had planned to stop over in Singapore to see Nelly. The only thing is that she won’t get a chance to see Tim because I can’t bring him along with me; it’s a working trip. So what do you think? Should I make a separate journey with Tim to see her?”

“Calm down! Don’t fret. She is fine, just a bit tired of long hauls. It is nearly four years since she stopped running the business. Since then, she has been flying to Rome to see you every year. This year, she has decided that she would like to stay with Jane in Singapore. Also, Jane’s household has an additional attraction for her. Jane’s newborn.”

“But no one can beat this baby,” said Casey as she entered the room. She was cradling the struggling Timothy in a pair of pyjamas, and kissing him.

“Let me down,” he wailed.

“Yes, unhand the poor boy and stop smothering him with kisses,” her husband chided.

“Wait till I get my own. I will not let him go,” promised Casey, putting Timothy down. “But when will that be?” she asked. She made a face at her husband. “We have checked and checked and nothing seems wrong with either of us and yet we are still waiting for our first child.”

“It will happen. Don’t worry,” consoled An Mei.

“You sound exactly like Nelly. Come on! Let’s see if Adriana has the food ready. My mouth is already watering with the smells coming from her kitchen. You are so lucky to have her.”

“I am lucky all round,” replied An Mei looking at the friends who had stood by her and made it all possible.

That evening after Casey and Jeremy had left, An Mei opened the album of photographs she kept by the side of her bed. She looked at the photos, each one a vivid reminder of the days that followed Hussein’s renunciation of his marriage vows. Jeremy had taken them saying that they would be her keepsakes. “Look at them only when you are fully recovered from the pain and trauma you are going through now,” he had said. So until a year ago, the album had been kept locked away.

The first photograph showed her arriving in Singapore. Nelly was with her. Jeremy must have caught them when they were just leaving the arrivals hall at the airport after their hasty departure from Kuala Lumpur. She looked thin. It was just three days after she had received the letter from Hussein announcing that he was divorcing her. She recalled her constant fear throughout those three days; how the three days had passed with a blur of frantic activity; how her heart had throbbed; how each little sound had made her jump. She turned the pages of the album, examining her own photos and those of her family, gathered to celebrate Timothy’s full moon. One photo captured her attention. It had written under it, the caption “
Mun yuet!
”

She recalled how Nelly had said, “Tim is one-month old, which would be a year old if we counted his age the Chinese way, because it is measured from the time of conception.” They had argued light-heartedly over the logic of making ten months into a year.

An Mei traced her finger on the next picture and smiled. She recalled how her mother, Mei Yin, had then bustled in with a large ceramic bowl full of boiled eggs that had been dyed red. “
Heh
!” she had announced with great pride, “this is for all your neighbours and friends to celebrate Tim’s
mun yuet
. I also made this huge jar of pickled ginger to eat with the eggs. I just gave some to Adriana to test!”

She chuckled at the image Jeremy captured of them: the red eggs, pickled ginger, Adriana almost gagging and a very pained look on her mother’s face.

She flipped through the pages until she found the one with Casey and Jeremy. Casey was in white holding a bouquet of creamy roses, their petals delicately curling against her arm encased in a pale white three-quarter length glove. Jeremy was looking at her with pride. She peered closer and saw herself standing to one side with her mother, father, aunt Nelly and Casey’s mother. In her arms, she was holding little Timothy, barely a year old. The photographer had captured Nelly’s questioning gaze. They were directed at her. Nelly had been uncertain whether she would be hurt by Jeremy’s marriage to Casey and had asked her directly. “No! Of course not!” she had replied. “I love Jeremy as a brother. I am happy that the two friends who have helped me so much should find love and contentment.”

She sighed. So much had happened in the past four years. She stood up and laid the album down by the side table. She slipped out of her clothes and took out her nightdress from the drawer. She slipped it on followed by her old dressing gown, a faded, pale rose-pink kimono with a wide silk sash that was his present to her. Padding bare-foot into the kitchen she put on the kettle. As the kettle sang and hissed, she heaped two big spoonfuls of cocoa into a mug and then poured the boiling water into the mug. She recalled how he had teased her over her fondness for cocoa made with water and just a dash of milk. “It should be made with hot milk,” he had said. “Not where I come from,” she had replied. “In Malaysia, when I was a child, fresh milk was not that easily available. I use to drink it with condensed milk!”

She took the steaming hot mug into the den and made herself comfortable in an armchair. She picked up a book. “Mark,” she said aloud. “Mark should be home soon.”

T
heir meeting was accidental.

It was a blistering hot summer’s day in Rome. The air was still. Heat radiated from the thick walls of the buildings lining the road. Mark walked rapidly down the cobbled street, weaving his way between the cars parked hither and thither at all angles along the street.

“No pavements!” he grunted. “We need pavements here for pedestrians, but of course that is impossible with so much history around us. I can’t see anyone wishing to take these down just to make way for pavements.” He looked at the massive old buildings on either side. Their grandeur and age never failed to astonish him. Despite the shade they provide, it was still hot. The air was close and the walls warm to his touch. A trickle of sweat fell from his brow; he wiped his forehead and pushed his shirtsleeves further up his arms. He had long relinquished his jacket and held it loosely over his shoulder. He stopped a passer-by.

“
Mi scusi
, do you know of a good restaurant around here?” he asked.

“
No! Niente qui
; there are none on this road; see there,” his informant pointed to a turning, “Viale Mura Gianicolensi, try there.”

Mark hid a smile. A twinkle gleamed in his deep-set brown eyes; his lips moved imperceptibly. He could not believe what he had just heard. No good restaurants on the street and that from a
Romano
!

“
Grazie, grazie
,” he said to the man.

He turned into Viale Mura Gianicolensi. Immediately before him was the imposing building of the Salvator Mundi, a hospital run by sisters of the Divine Saviour. He saw a young woman emerge from its gate. She was just some fifteen yards away. She was crossing the street. Two boys on a scooter stopped in front of her. One of them dismounted and grabbed her bag, pushing her roughly aside while he scrambled back on the scooter before roaring off. Mark saw her stumble and he sprinted forward. He gathered her up. He could feel her shaking uncontrollably. Her hair, which had been tied back into a ponytail, had come undone. It streamed across her face. He placed her gently back on her feet and retrieved a shoe that had become trapped in the cobbles. He could see that she was heavily pregnant. Her tummy was a hard dome that protruded from her slight frame. He pushed her hair away from her face.

“Are you alright?” he asked. She looked at him, her large eyes apprehensive. His heart missed a beat.

“Yes! Thank you,” she said.

“Have you just come out from the hospital?” he asked, his head nodding in the direction of the Salvator Mundi. “Shall we get you back there to check just to make sure everything is okay?” He was anxious for her. Her cheeks were drained of colour, and her lips were trembling. He looked at her bump; she looked away embarrassed.

“Sorry, I was just concerned, since... since...”

“Yes, I am almost due. In four weeks time, the doctor said.”

In his usual brusque manner, Dr. Ginelli had wagged his finger at An Mei shaking his head in disapproval when she asked if she should continue to walk daily as part of her exercise regime. “
Signora deve stare attento
, take a little care; it is too hot to be wandering around the centre.” But she had no wish to return home immediately and she had some last minute shopping to do. So she had stepped out of the archway of the hospital onto the cobbled street of Viale Mura Gianicolensi and then... It had happened so quickly.

“I shall be alright,” she said, attempting to be put on a brave face, “but I have lost my handbag. I have no money with me to take a taxi home.”

A crowd had gathered around them. A few women pushed forward. Mistaking Mark to be An Mei’s husband, they hurled their advice at him.

“
Si
, take the
signora
home. It is too hot. Give her ice tea with a slice of lemon,” they said. They looked at her sympathetically, muttering a range of curses against the thugs.
Figli di puttana! Stronzi!

“Come,” said Mark, “I’ll take you home. If you can manage, we’ll walk to that corner bar and we’ll get you a cool drink. Then I’ll go round the corner to try to flag a taxi.”

“Don’t leave me. Stay with me for a moment, please,” An Mei said. The aftershock of the incident was still with her, every footfall behind her made her jump. “I had everything in my handbag; my address, my credit and identity card, my keys. They will know everything about me. What shall I do?”