ami to fu

Lee Kok Liang

Originally published in Melbourne University Magazine, July 1952.

— —

He grasped his catapult and strode out into the sun.

Somewhere in the cave behind him, his mother shouted at him.

"Silly Q, be careful won't you, dear!"

She then reclined on the wall as he swept round the huge boulder, striding in a manner which, she thought, was like the lumbering of a buffalo. The little one dragged at her clothes, and she drew up her legs, stretching the sarong tight over the knee caps. Her bare feet unfamiliarly sore and tender dug into the soft layer of sand on the floor.

She peered hard to distinguish the objects in the cave. She had lost her spectacles, a priceless one, with delicate gold rims. The little one started to crawl away. She lunged out and grabbed him back. Shoving her hand under his clothes, she fumbled for the lumps, counted four of them, and sat back quietly. He began to bawl out, kicking the tiny legs against her body.

"Be quiet, be quiet, dear one. Mama loves you. Mama won't let you go."

"Is he hurt? The poor dear. Come to Aunty."

A voice boomed out somewhere in the cave. There was a gleam from the gold teeth in the darkness. The little one had stopped crying, and then again made a determined effort to crawl forth, but she had held him tight. Unbuttoning her blouse, she shoved her breast against his tiny mouth, patted him on the back.

"Is he well, dear sister?"

"Oh yes. There's nothing to worry about. Silly Q has gone out.”

"So I see. He will grow up to be a strong man, sister. Have you decided for him yet?"

"Decided for what?"

"I mean your daughter-in-law, sister."

"Oh no. It's up to him. We don't do such things nowadays, do we?"

"I don't know, some do. I am very glad you are modern, dear sister.”

Dear sister, it sounded so respectful when she repeated it. She raised her arm and scraped her gold teeth with the middle finger. Ah, dear sister, how lovely you looked when you sat erect in that shiny car. Bought it from the red-haired barbarians too. So modern besides, with rolls of threaded flowers in your glossy well-oiled hair, new batik sarong, fresh and crisp, and two sparkling golden anklets round the well-washed ankles.

"Sister, you have another lusty one there, by the noise he is making."

Her gold tooth was clean now. She dropped her hand, felt for the blister under her knee. She must try to humour dear sister. Sister had everything. Did you bury some of your wealth in the sand floor dear sister?

"He's a little brat. Came out a bit early. Dropped down like a durian before I knew anything. Hope you are getting on fine over there."

"Oh, I am all right. As fit as a fat sow"—she gave a laugh—"Are you all right with the little one? May I help you sister?"

"Thanks. There is no need. Stay there and keep watch."

Tricky woman, she thought, as she squeezed his tiny head against her body. Why all this sudden show of kindness? Well, thank goodness, they had to stay in their own squares. They had drawn lots for them. She would not budge an inch from her territory and would not allow the other woman to move either, if she could help it. Everyone had to remain in her own place; fate had decided that.

An ant was crawling up her leg. Loosening her grip on the little one, she reached out for it, held it almost lovingly between her fingers. Small plump body, fresh with life. Yet so deadly.

She clamped her fingers sharply and felt a thick dampness running under her nails. Then she suddenly remembered that Lord Buddha had said that no life should be taken, not even that of an earthworm. Cuddling the little one on her lap, she brought her palms together and anguishly whispered. Ami to fu, Buddha. That was it. She dropped her hands, satisfied. Next time she would burn more joss papers. Why she would even buy captive tortoises and set them free in the river. That would atone for this sin. Ami to fu Buddha.

"Dear Sister, Silly Q must have gone for some time. Wonder where he's been to?"

"Only the lord of heavens knows. I am fed up of him. He’s more stubborn than a toad. Wouldn't it be a good idea if I nickname him ‘stubborn toad’. Serves him right too—" she snuffled in reply, and took the little one into her arms.

--

The sun was warm. The stones dug sharply into his bare soles. The boulders and rocks looked challenging. He climbed up one, jumped to another, and then again to the third. It must have been midday. A huge fantastically-shaped boulder was to his right. A few more obstacles to clear. And under the cool shadows of the boulder, he sat on his haunches and carelessly looked around.

The slope before him was covered with rough rocks and boulders of various shapes. There was no smooth accessible path down the slope. No one would try to come up this way. He was sure of that. No need to worry then. He turned his back and was about to return, when he heard a slight scraping behind the boulders.

Swiftly, he snatched the catapult which was hanging round his neck, fitted a hard round pebble in the grip, and hiding himself in the shadows, crouched tense, waiting for the intruder. Loose stones dislodged. Another sound of scuffling. Then a thin lean brown body slipped round the boulder. Two brown eyes stared at him under his nose. White globules of saliva slid down from the hanging tongue. He went forward and flung the catapult round its neck and pulled it forward. Wouldn't they be surprised when he brought the dog back.

"Oh, I see him coming now, dear sister. He looks as if he is hurt, by the manner he walks, stooping, bending, and stopping at every step."

"Let him rot. Serves him right."

He paused before the entrance. Adjusting his pants tightly round him, he then rubbed a grubby forearm against his dust-filled nostrils, and poked his heel at the sore in the right calf. The pants were sliding down again, exposing his tiny navel, blackened by dirt, but he did not care.

"Mama, Aunty, are you in there?"

"Yes, we are, dear," a voice boomed out. It sounded smooth and sweet like a peeled banana. He knew at once it was Aunty.

"May I come in? I have something I would like to show you all."

“What is it?"

"You'll be surprised."

He strode in dragging the dog after. He was careful not to step into the square drawn out for Aunty. He noticed that she was sitting up now, and he could see the heave of her round plump belly. Not long soon before the ripe pumpkin would burst, he thought and laughed.

"What are you laughing at"—the sweet voice grew louder.

"Nothing."

"Nothing. Silly stubborn toad."

"Don't call him stubborn toad. It hurts his heart. He is such a tender child. So sensitive like his father—" from the other end, his mother chipped in defensively,

"I am sorry dear sister. Accept my thousand apologies."

"Come here Silly Q. What have you got there?"

He hauled the dog after him, and stood breathless before his mother. It was very tiring and he relaxed his hold on the catapult for a while.

The dog at once wriggled free, and bounced towards his mother, when he attempted to shoo it into the corner.

She sprawled back when the thing dashed at her. It was a furry thing and heavy. It knocked the child off, and she felt a painful tug when the little one bit hard into the nipple. She had a whiff of the smell that was something like the heavy odour of a newly dried buffalo hide. The child was crying, and all the while Silly Q ran like a mad creature in the cave. She pushed herself up and took the child, felt for the lumps beneath the clothes and counted four.

Recovering the child, she turned her attention to Silly Q. He would have to pay for this. She was about to curse him in his ancestor's name when she realised that she would be cursing herself as well. Besides, she must not behave like those women in the market place, especially before the other woman. She could never lower herself thus. No, she must compose her feelings. Everything must be done on the quiet. She called out.

"Silly Q, don't bring the thing in again. Come here, I want to see if you are hurt, dear."

He walked over to her slowly. She was a formless blotch against the wall, and her breaths came in soft hisses like a kettle boiling. He must try to humour her.

"Are you all right mother? I did not mean it."

“Come nearer. I want to see if you are hurt."

“I am not."

“How do you know? Come forward dear."

She had pushed her face near his. Nestling the child in fork of her arm, she gripped Silly Q with her free hand, and felt almost lovingly for the fat part of his thigh.

He started back; but it was useless.

"Say you are wrong, and loudly, so that Aunty can hear it. But do not make any noise when I punish you. Be quiet, understand.”

Her fingers wrenched at the flesh. One, two, three. She was breathing heavily and her sarong was uncomfortably taut. What training her boy had. Four, five and six. Ah! That was it. She was satisfied.

“I am very sorry, for, for the trouble I made, dear mother."

He gasped out his apology, giving an extra emphasis on for, to relieve the pain which worked into his flesh. He then bit his lips harshly and looked at his mother. She had dropped her hands. Released he went forward and as he approached his aunty, his mother called after him.

“Do not disturb dear aunty. She needs some rest."

“Are you hurt boy? You limped badly, as though you are a beggar without crutches."

“No, I am perfectly all right, aunty. I am going after that dirty dog, and kick its teeth into its stomach."

"Watch your language, Silly Q. Who taught you that? You must be mixing with the hooligans in the gutter again. I'll tell your father," the shout came from the rear. "You hurt dear Aunty by such horrible manners."

"I am sorry mother. It's because the dog brought you such trouble"

His aunty gave a throaty chuckle as he stepped gingerly around her square. He glared at the protruding belly and wished that he was a real buffalo so that he might gore deep into her soft vitals.

The sun was warm and bright. The dog was crouching at the entrance of the cave, and scampered nervously away when he approached. Damn its ancestors, he was going to catch it if this was the last thing he did. He raced after it. It slipped between the boulders and headed for the slope. No, it wasn't to get off that way. He leapt from boulder to boulder, outstripping the dog, still feeling the smarting pain on his left thigh. The dog was tired, he could see that.

He got it at last. He wound his catapult hard round its neck, and holding it in his left hand, drew it up, until the eyes bulged out, kicked it deliberately on its rump. One, two, three, four, he counted, five, six. He released, satisfied somewhat.

He stood arms akimbo. He was alone. Nothing could be over him now, except the sky. The sun blazed down. All round him were red bare rocks squatting in puddles of shadows. Hundreds of yards ahead, he saw a tall straight tree growing high above other vegetation on the sparse slope of the hill. Everything was quiet over there.

Then he noticed a movement, at first indistinct, among the rocks below him, something black, bobbing in and out among the boulders very slowly. Was it another damn dog? He would deal with this one effectively. He crawled forth softly. It would come round the corner in a minute or so. He waited, holding his catapult more firmly.

A figure crept round the corner.

Dressed in a muddy cotton blouse and trousers, with innumerable patches all over, thick stubby toes with uncut nails, a brownish bundle tucked under the armpit, she glared at him through the wisps of black hair which hung like noodles in front of her face. Her arms were brown and strong-looking. No, he must at all costs forbid her to approach. So he shouted out.

"Who are you?"

The girl stood silent as dumb as an ox.

"Who are you? Answer me, you bitch. Why do you come here?"

She came up another two paces, stopped, and glared. She then saw his catapult. Bending forward, she stooped down as if to lay her bundle on the ground.

"No, you don't. Stay still, and answer. Who are you and where are you going?"

Straightening up, she shifted her left foot, so that she stood with legs apart. She rubbed her palms on her hips. Her breasts stood out like two buried papayas, he thought.

"Can't you answer me, you fool. What are you doing here? No don't you come forward. Go away, we don't want the likes of you here. We don't want any young sows around. They can smell you from the village."

She stared hard. Still she remained silent.

"Don't you know they can smell. Especially when young sows are around. We don't want you here. You bring trouble. If you won't move I'm going to slaughter you. Move off."

He released his catapult, and the pellet struck her shin. At once she curled up her leg and stretched her mouth wide open and forced out a funny muffled gurgling sound. Holding her leg in one hand, she hopped backwards, like a stricken hen.

"Now, will you go? I'll shoot your eye the second time—” he threatened as she retreated; he jumped furiously up to the boulder and yelled out—"Go away quickly! They are now here. I can see them. Better hurry. They can smell you out. You'll be a bald hen soon if you don't hurry."

She waddled down the slope, pausing behind one boulder and looking apprehensively around, before she shot out for the next. She was now a mere speck. Ha-ha! He folded his palms across his belly, shook with laughter, until he had to squat down. Then he walked back.

The sun was warm still. He quickened his steps. He kicked aimlessly at the pebbles on the ground, stopping at times to pick up a round one which he shoved neatly into his pockets.

He was nearing the cave when he saw a bent figure hobbling along with a stick. It was the old woman.

"Old woman, are you here already? We don't expect you till evening.”

She stopped, allowing him to walk up.

"Ai, I am here. How are you dear child? Oh, how my feet hurt!”

"Let me help you. Ouay, how tiny your feet are! Why did you bind them old woman?"

He came up to her and adjusted her right elbow on his shoulder and trotted beside her.

"Walk carefully, old woman. There are lots of loose stones. Mama and Aunty are resting now."

He bent his head and watched her tiny feet swathed in cloth shoes shoot in and out of the long billowy trousers like tiny sail boats that had to be puffed along. The nails of her fingers were extraordinarily long, he noticed. How could she ever dig up potatoes with those hands, and the veins floated on her limp flesh like bloated green worms.

"Ai, how hot it is! Please walk a little slower; my feet are not used to such pace. All this trouble! What can they ever want from me? I have nothing to offer. Just an old hen I am, that's all."

"I don't know, old woman. But I think you'll be safer up here. Come, we are near it. See that hole on the side?"

She halted, and leant on the boy's shoulders. What a dark belling the cave had. As if from habit, she paused before the entrance, and carefully wiped her feet on the sandy floor. The mother greeted her in a strong voice from the far end. Opposite, a bulky form lay inert, like some fat sow. It was the boy's aunty.

"Old woman, how tired you are!"

"Ai, a little bit. But I am feeling better. Those stones!"

"Sit down and rest on the wall. You'll feel good," the mother joined in.

"Thank you. How's the little one? I see, he is noisy again. How unfortunate we are to be here!"

"Indeed, how unfortunate. I do hope you feel better, old woman? Dear sister and the baby are getting on fine, though the little one cried out just now. It is because of Silly Q. Shall I help you, old woman?"

As she was saying this, she had pushed her heavy form across towards the old woman. It was darker now in the cave. She crawled up, pulled the old woman by the long sleeves, and adjusted her frail body to the niche in the wall.

While doing so, she stretched her left leg over to her sister's square. Luckily, dear sister was without her spectacles. The floor was piled with heaps of sand, and her limbs worked noiselessly, feeling for that lump which she had marked out. There it was. Softly, with her leg, she kicked away the top layer, and scraped into the sand with her toes. The baby was suckling noisily, so dear sister would be occupied for the moment. How her body ached! Her body hung down like some heavy jack fruit.

"Don't disturb the old woman!" her sister cried out suddenly.

"Oh, I am just fixing her up, dear sister."

"She's tired. All she needs is rest. Please stay in your place. You've got to worry about yourself also. You haven't got many months more, you know."

Her head touched the cool wall when the young woman slid back. The voices buzzed around her pleasantly. How kind they were, and how well behaved. But they dressed differently. She remembered how a week ago they came from the city in a new, shiny vehicle, asking her for board until the trouble blew over. They were willing to pay her anything. But they were funny.

Dressed up in sarongs! Why, they wouldn't wear trousers when she tried to give them some, so that the climb up the hills might be easier. She recollected the tales she had heard when she was young. How women had gone from her village across the seas for years, and wore sarongs in strange countries. Things changed everywhere she was told. Those women must be modern, and that’s what the elders told her she would be when she left the village during the famine. To be modern! But she preferred her trousers. It was so neat and convenient, and reminded her of her young days. Would she ever return? She was that old already.

Could she be really like them, so modern? Did they know any of the oId classics? It was so cool near the wall. She had mumbled them every night when she huddled herself in the tiny passage crowded with smelly, sweating bodies, as the reeky junk wallowed through the seas. She loved one particularly—the Three Character Classic. So soothing it was.

It sounded so lovely so lovely the beginning of man promises of riches in far-off lands junk-stenching dung women with exposed breasts waving before little crying mouths riches coming in showers dig dig for riches the junk rolls rolls through sweat bare hands raw legs dig dig for into the womb sarongs children soak in blood money is modern modern money death is nothing sarong everything the junk rolls into the dung ami to fu buddha all for adventure all for promised land dig dig into womb drag out a child drag out a bagful of gold the nightlashes the lightningleaks the babyjets modern is not modern can never be without gold sleep is nothing gold is everything wake up wake up the beginning of man wake up wake up up.

She opened her eyes. Silly Q was tugging the corner of her dress. What time was it she asked. It was night already. The voices grew clearer, and she recognised the hoarse gutturals from Big Lout. Why, the men had arrived!

They soon built a fire in the open. Big Lout brought some firewood and a young pig. Both the younger women were also out, the boy's aunty sitting on a flat rock twiddling a pebble between her toes.

The mother, who was cuddling the little one, passed him to her husband, who held him closely, moving his palms around the body beneath the clothes in a queer, calculating manner. He paused, nodded his head, smiled, and gave the child back to her.

Turning round, he yelled loudly to the old woman: "Have you heard the good news? The soldiers are gone! Damn their mothers, they are beaten back at last! Curse their ancestors! They got one girl in the hills today. Lucky they did not come up here. How are you, old woman? We leave for the city soon. Back to decent living, that's what I call it!" And laughing, he chided his wife with gusto, while he placed the logs one above another carefully.

"Ai, you need not worry. We'll get back all right. How did you women get along? Wasn't it a great idea to draw squares? Three homes in a cave! Ha-ha, ha-ha!"

Hearing no reply, he turned to the boy.

"How did you behave, Silly Q? I understand you caused Mother and Aunty some trouble. Give me that catapult. You have no need for it. Come, hand it over, or I'll give you a hard whack your bottom!"

He bent down and snatched the catapult from Silly Q's neck, and, with a wide swing, threw it among the burning logs.