ISSUE 2
Edited by Elizabeth Deng, Han Wei Tian, Zack Soh, and Teoh Jing Yang
PROSERain and Stuff
by Wei Qing Family Food
by Wei Qing |
PLAYWater Ghosts
by Eng Yeow |
POETRYChristmas Night
by Sabbath |
PROSE
Rain and Stuff
|
|
I met you atop the bridge over the roaring traffic. Drops of rain dotted your glasses; your hair windswept, your expression flustered. “Coffee?” I watched you mouth. I felt the rain clear inside and outside me as we stepped out of the shade.
In subsequent weeks we would meet in the same café, at the same table, at the same time. Every Saturday and Sunday, sitting at the darkest table furthest from the window, 3 o’clock. It was a simple, unchanging routine amidst the hectic changes of my life and I treasured it dearly. You were everything that I imagined you to be from our conversations online – dark, humorous, easy-going, passionate. But it wasn’t all talk. Sometimes we would observe others in the café, or I would watch you as you slept, how your mouth was barely noticeably open and your hair fell just enough to obscure half of your face. And as we walked out, I watched as you wove the dying rays of light into a nice hat or a lovely dress.
The day it rained was late on a Friday. I was caught in the rain when I saw you strolling into the forest, and I followed, against my better judgement. It was in a small clearing, a circle of people around the fire blazing despite the rain. It was a strange gathering made stranger by the figure lying next to the fire. I watched you walk forward, slowly, purposefully, and the figure squirmed against its chains. The thunder covered its screams and the lightning illuminated your figure as you raised your hand, flashed as you brought it down towards the figure. Once. Twice. Thrice. I backed away as the circle contemplated the motionless figure, and the wind let out a miserable howl.
Saturday. 3 o’clock. I looked at you with fear and intrigue, and you knew I knew. There was no need for words. You left without a backward glance, and I was left alone with the clouds converging both inside and outside me.
It rained for a week. Afterwards, I would retrace our steps, from the café to the bridge, only to find it struck down by lightning, the screams of the man crushed beneath the bridge long silenced by the thunder.
In subsequent weeks we would meet in the same café, at the same table, at the same time. Every Saturday and Sunday, sitting at the darkest table furthest from the window, 3 o’clock. It was a simple, unchanging routine amidst the hectic changes of my life and I treasured it dearly. You were everything that I imagined you to be from our conversations online – dark, humorous, easy-going, passionate. But it wasn’t all talk. Sometimes we would observe others in the café, or I would watch you as you slept, how your mouth was barely noticeably open and your hair fell just enough to obscure half of your face. And as we walked out, I watched as you wove the dying rays of light into a nice hat or a lovely dress.
The day it rained was late on a Friday. I was caught in the rain when I saw you strolling into the forest, and I followed, against my better judgement. It was in a small clearing, a circle of people around the fire blazing despite the rain. It was a strange gathering made stranger by the figure lying next to the fire. I watched you walk forward, slowly, purposefully, and the figure squirmed against its chains. The thunder covered its screams and the lightning illuminated your figure as you raised your hand, flashed as you brought it down towards the figure. Once. Twice. Thrice. I backed away as the circle contemplated the motionless figure, and the wind let out a miserable howl.
Saturday. 3 o’clock. I looked at you with fear and intrigue, and you knew I knew. There was no need for words. You left without a backward glance, and I was left alone with the clouds converging both inside and outside me.
It rained for a week. Afterwards, I would retrace our steps, from the café to the bridge, only to find it struck down by lightning, the screams of the man crushed beneath the bridge long silenced by the thunder.
Family Food
|
“S W E E T” read the paper taped atop the parcel, printed in big, black, bolded font. Inside the parcel was a neatly packaged jar of jam, the lid designed with a drawing of a hand clenched around a bone, a symbol which I recognised as my cousin’s. There were no other notes in the parcel, but I wasn’t too concerned, having been long accustomed to my cousin’s eccentric behaviour. He was quite the opposite of me – social, outgoing, open to new experiences. Having conversations or meetings with strangers who shared similar interests with him was his idea of fun, and this was complemented by his warm and welcoming personality. Despite being quite close to him, I did not know much of his job, apart from the fact that he was involved in the food industry and worked in a restaurant or bakery of some sort. Thus, I consumed the jam without much hesitation, and what followed was a perfectly pleasant day.
A few days later, another parcel came, this time with the paper reading “U M A M I” in similar black font. The package inside contained a slice of aged cheese, its colour beautifully intense, its taste savoury. Again, I didn’t think much about it; I assumed my cousin would explain himself eventually.
The next two packages arrived in similar fashion, one day after the other. “S O U R” was a tiny slice of key lime pie, the taste too sour for my liking, while “S A L T Y” was a jar of salted nuts, the salt making my face scrunch up and my hair stand on end, and leaving behind a slight metallic aftertaste. I spent the rest of the day feeling slightly sick and made a note to call my cousin to give my feedback.
As expected, “B I T T E R” arrived the next day, the package inside containing a handful of coffee beans. The coffee beans were more crunchy than I was used to, and there were bits which were too hard to chew through (I eventually spat them out). Much to my surprise, another parcel arrived the next day, with “B I T T E R” taped on it. Again, there was no letter of explanation, only a package of a few pieces of dark chocolate, which faced the same problem as the coffee beans. I left them aside and called my cousin, but he did not pick up. I left a message, and lost myself in feelings of confusion and restlessness.
“B I T T E R” arrived for the next few days, and my confusion gave in to worry. I left the parcels on the table, unopened. My cousin did not call back.
The day began normally enough. I checked the news on my phone as I went out to open my mailbox. A headline caught my eye: MISSING CHEF’S MURDERER FOUND LIVING IN VICTIM’S APARTMENT, in big, black, bolded font. I opened the article and my heart stopped as I saw my cousin’s name in the article. Missing chef … murderer found in chef’s apartment … bloodstains on the furniture … confession … body not found. With a sense of dread, I opened the mailbox and out tumbled several packages of “B I T T E R”. My fingers trembled as I opened the first package. There was a handful of coffee beans in it, but unlike the smooth oval texture of the first package, these were lumpy. I reached hesitantly for the next package. It was stained in red and my body froze in shock as a single severed finger tumbled out of it, landing with a thud onto the damp ground.
A few days later, another parcel came, this time with the paper reading “U M A M I” in similar black font. The package inside contained a slice of aged cheese, its colour beautifully intense, its taste savoury. Again, I didn’t think much about it; I assumed my cousin would explain himself eventually.
The next two packages arrived in similar fashion, one day after the other. “S O U R” was a tiny slice of key lime pie, the taste too sour for my liking, while “S A L T Y” was a jar of salted nuts, the salt making my face scrunch up and my hair stand on end, and leaving behind a slight metallic aftertaste. I spent the rest of the day feeling slightly sick and made a note to call my cousin to give my feedback.
As expected, “B I T T E R” arrived the next day, the package inside containing a handful of coffee beans. The coffee beans were more crunchy than I was used to, and there were bits which were too hard to chew through (I eventually spat them out). Much to my surprise, another parcel arrived the next day, with “B I T T E R” taped on it. Again, there was no letter of explanation, only a package of a few pieces of dark chocolate, which faced the same problem as the coffee beans. I left them aside and called my cousin, but he did not pick up. I left a message, and lost myself in feelings of confusion and restlessness.
“B I T T E R” arrived for the next few days, and my confusion gave in to worry. I left the parcels on the table, unopened. My cousin did not call back.
The day began normally enough. I checked the news on my phone as I went out to open my mailbox. A headline caught my eye: MISSING CHEF’S MURDERER FOUND LIVING IN VICTIM’S APARTMENT, in big, black, bolded font. I opened the article and my heart stopped as I saw my cousin’s name in the article. Missing chef … murderer found in chef’s apartment … bloodstains on the furniture … confession … body not found. With a sense of dread, I opened the mailbox and out tumbled several packages of “B I T T E R”. My fingers trembled as I opened the first package. There was a handful of coffee beans in it, but unlike the smooth oval texture of the first package, these were lumpy. I reached hesitantly for the next package. It was stained in red and my body froze in shock as a single severed finger tumbled out of it, landing with a thud onto the damp ground.
PLAY
Water Ghosts
|
A Tragicomedy In Three Acts - Written inspired by ‘Water Ghosts’ (Tan Mei Ching, 1992)
CHARACTERS
Hadullam: Father (Ayah)
Abdiya: Son
Suzanna: Mother (Ibu), voice of ghost
Byn-ro: Japanese man
PREAMBLE
This playlet laments on the mixed rejections and acceptance of Japanese identities by Singaporeans after the horror and trauma of WWII. It suggests that acceptance should prevail, in light of impartial inclusion, guided by principles related to humanity. While it briefly addresses themes of family hierarchy, child innocence, and war, owing to its shortness, it strongly advocates the blessing of growing up and moving on.
Playwright’s note: Suzanna’s voice can be a digital playback of a pre-production recording, or a live speaker who doesn’t appear. She should not be casted on stage.
THE PLAY
I.i
Setting is in a fisher’s lone shack. Sounds of waters and rain, vaguely audible, but sufficient to be substantive. Along a shore in Changi. A recent time after WWII.
Two beds, one for sharing, the other single, parallel with each other with space in between, facing audience. On them, large and simple blankets, cheap pillows, slightly messy. To left of beds, small table in any nondescript shape, three chairs. Small national flag (Union Jack) standing on centre of table, optional. Long paddles, fishnets partially fill space between beds, closer to sharing bed. Any lighting should be intimate.
Hadullam is dressed simply, possibly plain white singlet or t-shirt, and bermudas. He sits at the table, reading newspapers.
Abdiya's appearance is unkempt. He is dressed in school uniform, shirt untucked, a few buttons undone, collar raised.
[Enter Abdiya]
Abdiya runs in from stage right through the “door”.
A: Ayah, I’m home!
Abdiya flings his bag into space.
H: Abdiya, how was school today?
A: Ayah, I want to be called Abdi, not Abdiya. All my friends say Abdiya is a stupid name. They laughed at me today. Ayah, why must my name be Abdiya? No one likes me because of Abdiya. Abdi sounds much better.
H: Don’t ask questions. Your Ibu named you. It’s a good name.
A: But, Ayah…
H: Go do your homework.
A: But, Ayah…
Byn-ro is dressed in dark clothes and tall boots or sandals. He is wrapped in a large draping cloth, resemblant of a blanket, from head down. He looks shy, cold.
Byn-ro knocks on the “door”.
A: Ayah, is that Ibu returning from the sea?
H: No, Abdiya. I said, go do your homework.
A: Are you sure, Ayah?
Abdiya walks towards the “door”.
H: Don’t go open the door. (Pauses) Go do your homework, I’ll check the door.
Hadullah walks towards the “door”.
A: Yes, Ayah.
Abdiya retreats to the table.
Hadullam “opens” the “door”, stares at Byn-ro for a few seconds. Byn-ro looks up at Hadullah.
H: Who are you, stranger?
B: My name’s Byn-ro. I come from country far away.
H: What do you want, Byn-ro? Why are you here at my home?
B: Cold! My house is gone. I come from Japan. No shelter. My house, my boat had water in it, it went down the water. Very cold!
H: You’re cold? (Thinks a while) Come, Byn-ro.
Hadullam takes Byn-ro in. Byn-ro sits on a chair, rests his head on folded arms on the table.
A: (Aside to Hadullam) Ayah, who’s this?
H: (Ignoring Abdiya) Listen, Byn-ro. You stay here one night, no more. Before noon tomorrow, you go? You understand? If not, you leave now.
B: Hai.
H: So, are you staying, yes or no?
B: Yes.
A: (Aside to Byn-ro) Byn-ro, how are you?
B: (Aside to Abdiya) Cold, very cold.
A: (Aside to Byn-ro) How old are you?
B: (Aside to Abdiya) Twenty, I think? Sorry, I don’t know.
Silence.
H: Abdiya, go outside and do your homework.
A: Ayah, but Byn-ro!
H: (Sternly) Abdiya.
A: (Reluctantly) Yes, Ayah.
Abdiya does not move.
Hadullam goes to paddles and fishnets and takes them.
H: Byn-ro, do you hear me? (Byn-ro raises his head.) Byn-ro, your kind makes trouble with Singapore. We don’t like you. You are not welcome here. Japan came to fight us, you troublemaking idiots. You stay here, but just one night. You be grateful. You understand, Byn-ro?
B: Hai, sir.
H: Abdiya, watch Byn-ro. If he dies, throw him into the sea.
[Exit Hadullam]
I.ii
As we left off from I.i.
Abdiya goes to join Byn-ro to sit at the table.
A: Byn-ro, you okay?
Byn-ro does not respond.
A: Byn-ro, I actually really like you. Don’t listen to my Ayah. (Excitedly) Hey, who exactly are you?
Byn-ro does not respond.
A: Byn-ro?
B: (Hesitates) I’m sorry, I fought for Japan, against your country.
Abdiya listens intently.
B: I am a soldier, you see. I came four years ago, to this island. I drive small boat, the scout boat kind. But water came in, and the boat went down. I live here for four years already. My people didn’t take me home. I don’t know where I can go. (Trembles) Oh, I’m so cold!
A: I don’t know too.
B: (Looks straight at Abdiya) I’m sorry, I really need… Can you help me?
A: (Panics) I really don’t know! (Pauses) I’m sorry. I’m sorry too, I want to help you but, but I don’t know. My Ayah doesn’t approve. (Sighs)
B: (Shakes head) I’m sorry, I think I should leave. (Gets up)
A: No! (Grasps Bynro’s upper arm) You can stay, please do. Come. (Helps Byn-ro to single bed and sits him) You can rest here. My Ayah won’t be back soon.
B: (Nods head, whispering) Hai. Thank you.
Abdiya hugs Byn-ro.
A: Rest well.
Byn-ro lays himself on bed and tries to sleep.
Abdiya goes to bag, takes homework and stationery from bag, and goes to table to do homework.
II.i
As we left off from I.ii.
Hadullam is holding his paddles and fishnets. The sounds of waters and rain intensify for II.i (only).
[Enter Hadullam]
Hadullam sits behind beds (outside shack), facing the rear, while distanced from the beds.
Hadullam puts his paddles and fishnets down.
Hadullam walks spiritually forwards and rightwards, eventually faces audience while not exactly facing the front.
H: Suzanna, is that you?
S: Hadullam, I see you.
H: Suzanna! Darling Suzanna! You’re...
S: (Interrupts angrily) Shut up Hadullam! Boy, and I see Byn-ro too. You are a fool to have him! Did you not remember what happened when the Japanese came? Have you forgotten my bloodshed and how I was thrown into the sea after they were done with me? Hadullam, are you mad? To leave him and Abdiya together while you are out?
Hadullam trembles, frightened. He turns around and begins to run towards the door.
S: Stop there, idiot.
H: (Stops running) What?
S: You might as well go make a coffin out of your boat. I tell you, Abdiya is probably dead on his bed.
Hadullam returns to original spot behind beds and sits, knees arched obtusely.
S: You are the biggest fool. To think that you would still trust the Japanese. Hadullam, for the love of Allah, never forgive. Never forgive.
Hadullam abruptly buries his head in his knees and clutches his head with his arms.
II.ii
As we left off from II.i.
Byn-ro starts coughing.
Abdiya stands up and goes towards Byn-ro.
A: Byn-ro? Do you want some water?
B: I’m cold. Very cold!
A: Do you want to go outdoors? There’s sun, so it’s hotter.
B: (Shakes head weakly) I want to rest here. (Coughs badly)
A: No, Byn-ro, come with me! I’ll help you outside!
B: I cannot stand anymore, nor sit up. I’m too weak.
A: Byn-ro, you’ve got to try.
B: I cannot. I will die.
A: Byn-ro, please. Trust me.
B: Let me die. And you can throw me into the sea.
A: Byn-ro, trust me. Come on.
B: Thank you, your father too. But I’m dying, so please just let me die.
A: Byn-ro, you don’t understand!
B: Child, you don’t understand. You need to grow up. I love you okay.
A: (Confused) Byn-ro, I love you too.
Byn-ro spreads his arms, gesturing for an embrace.
Abdiya and Byn-ro hug.
Abdiya releases Byn-ro and pats Byn-ro’s shoulders lightly.
A: Rest well, Byn-ro.
Byn-ro does not respond.
A: Rest well, Byn-ro.
Byn-ro does not respond.
A: Byn-ro?
Abdiya checks Byn-ro’s breathing.
A: No, no, Byn-ro. (Shakes head) Why? For the love of Allah!
III
As we left off from II.ii.
Hadullam walks in through the “door”.
H: Abdiya, why, for the love of Allah, is Byn-ro on your bed? Get him off!
A: (Bitterly) Ayah, he needed rest. Would you rather he rest on your bed? Ayah, Byn-ro isn’t breathing. Let him rest.
H: I told you, if he dies, throw him into the sea!
A: Ayah, no. Byn-ro isn’t dead. He’s alive in spirit.
H: What nonsense! Throw him out! O-U-T: Out!
A: We cannot do that! He’s…
H: Of course we can, now! If you aren’t going to do it, I shall! (Walks quickly towards Byn-ro)
A: Ayah, he’s one of us now!
H: He’s a damned Japanese! Not Malay! Not Muslim! Not Singaporean! How dare you say that!
A: He’s human. The war is over. Aren't we human too? We’ve got to accept him for our humanity.
H: (Folds blanket onto Byn-ro) You want to accept him, but I can’t! I’ll throw him out, into the sea, now!
A: Ayah, we could make him a coffin out of your boat. We have to treat him like family. We cared for him.
H: You care about him? Abdiya, I really don’t understand you. What’s your problem? Your Ibu didn’t get any such fancy coffin!
A: (Confused) Ayah, what do you mean? (Flustered) Is Ibu dead? Ayah! Why didn’t you tell me?
Hadullam is in a state of sudden realisation of his mistake. He takes a step back.
H: I… I… (To self) Ugh, why am I so stupid?
A: Ayah, what?
H: No, nothing. I … I’m sorry. Your Ibu isn’t out at sea fishing as I’ve been telling you. Abdiya, I’m very sorry, she had actually died in the war.
A: (Bites lips) It’s okay, Ayah. We cannot do anything about it. I haven’t seen her for three years, and we can move on.
H: I’m sorry, this is a bad time, but we cannot treat Byn-ro any better than the Japanese has done to your Ibu. (Hadullam continues folding the blanket) We have to throw him out now.
A: No, Ayah. You’re wrong. (Hadullam stops folding the blanket) The fault does not lie in me, Ayah, but in us, in sense that we cannot accept and be gracious humans. Ayah, I’ve done my part. You need to understand too. We need to grow up and move on.
Hadullam goes to a chair and takes a seat. He takes a breather.
A: Ayah, I’ve said this before. He’s human and we…
H: Enough! Enough! Enough!
A: Ayah, …
H: (Between heavy breaths) Yes, Abdiya. You’re right, he’s human after all, and we are one human community. Come, Abdi, let’s wrap him in that blanket. We’ll give him a proper burial later. Let’s go for a walk, and think, and grow up. Okay, Abdi?
A: (Smiles) Sure, Ayah.
They wrap Byn-ro in the blanket. They wrap an arm around each other and walk out through the “door”.
[Exit Hadullam, Abdiya]
CHARACTERS
Hadullam: Father (Ayah)
Abdiya: Son
Suzanna: Mother (Ibu), voice of ghost
Byn-ro: Japanese man
PREAMBLE
This playlet laments on the mixed rejections and acceptance of Japanese identities by Singaporeans after the horror and trauma of WWII. It suggests that acceptance should prevail, in light of impartial inclusion, guided by principles related to humanity. While it briefly addresses themes of family hierarchy, child innocence, and war, owing to its shortness, it strongly advocates the blessing of growing up and moving on.
Playwright’s note: Suzanna’s voice can be a digital playback of a pre-production recording, or a live speaker who doesn’t appear. She should not be casted on stage.
THE PLAY
I.i
Setting is in a fisher’s lone shack. Sounds of waters and rain, vaguely audible, but sufficient to be substantive. Along a shore in Changi. A recent time after WWII.
Two beds, one for sharing, the other single, parallel with each other with space in between, facing audience. On them, large and simple blankets, cheap pillows, slightly messy. To left of beds, small table in any nondescript shape, three chairs. Small national flag (Union Jack) standing on centre of table, optional. Long paddles, fishnets partially fill space between beds, closer to sharing bed. Any lighting should be intimate.
Hadullam is dressed simply, possibly plain white singlet or t-shirt, and bermudas. He sits at the table, reading newspapers.
Abdiya's appearance is unkempt. He is dressed in school uniform, shirt untucked, a few buttons undone, collar raised.
[Enter Abdiya]
Abdiya runs in from stage right through the “door”.
A: Ayah, I’m home!
Abdiya flings his bag into space.
H: Abdiya, how was school today?
A: Ayah, I want to be called Abdi, not Abdiya. All my friends say Abdiya is a stupid name. They laughed at me today. Ayah, why must my name be Abdiya? No one likes me because of Abdiya. Abdi sounds much better.
H: Don’t ask questions. Your Ibu named you. It’s a good name.
A: But, Ayah…
H: Go do your homework.
A: But, Ayah…
Byn-ro is dressed in dark clothes and tall boots or sandals. He is wrapped in a large draping cloth, resemblant of a blanket, from head down. He looks shy, cold.
Byn-ro knocks on the “door”.
A: Ayah, is that Ibu returning from the sea?
H: No, Abdiya. I said, go do your homework.
A: Are you sure, Ayah?
Abdiya walks towards the “door”.
H: Don’t go open the door. (Pauses) Go do your homework, I’ll check the door.
Hadullah walks towards the “door”.
A: Yes, Ayah.
Abdiya retreats to the table.
Hadullam “opens” the “door”, stares at Byn-ro for a few seconds. Byn-ro looks up at Hadullah.
H: Who are you, stranger?
B: My name’s Byn-ro. I come from country far away.
H: What do you want, Byn-ro? Why are you here at my home?
B: Cold! My house is gone. I come from Japan. No shelter. My house, my boat had water in it, it went down the water. Very cold!
H: You’re cold? (Thinks a while) Come, Byn-ro.
Hadullam takes Byn-ro in. Byn-ro sits on a chair, rests his head on folded arms on the table.
A: (Aside to Hadullam) Ayah, who’s this?
H: (Ignoring Abdiya) Listen, Byn-ro. You stay here one night, no more. Before noon tomorrow, you go? You understand? If not, you leave now.
B: Hai.
H: So, are you staying, yes or no?
B: Yes.
A: (Aside to Byn-ro) Byn-ro, how are you?
B: (Aside to Abdiya) Cold, very cold.
A: (Aside to Byn-ro) How old are you?
B: (Aside to Abdiya) Twenty, I think? Sorry, I don’t know.
Silence.
H: Abdiya, go outside and do your homework.
A: Ayah, but Byn-ro!
H: (Sternly) Abdiya.
A: (Reluctantly) Yes, Ayah.
Abdiya does not move.
Hadullam goes to paddles and fishnets and takes them.
H: Byn-ro, do you hear me? (Byn-ro raises his head.) Byn-ro, your kind makes trouble with Singapore. We don’t like you. You are not welcome here. Japan came to fight us, you troublemaking idiots. You stay here, but just one night. You be grateful. You understand, Byn-ro?
B: Hai, sir.
H: Abdiya, watch Byn-ro. If he dies, throw him into the sea.
[Exit Hadullam]
I.ii
As we left off from I.i.
Abdiya goes to join Byn-ro to sit at the table.
A: Byn-ro, you okay?
Byn-ro does not respond.
A: Byn-ro, I actually really like you. Don’t listen to my Ayah. (Excitedly) Hey, who exactly are you?
Byn-ro does not respond.
A: Byn-ro?
B: (Hesitates) I’m sorry, I fought for Japan, against your country.
Abdiya listens intently.
B: I am a soldier, you see. I came four years ago, to this island. I drive small boat, the scout boat kind. But water came in, and the boat went down. I live here for four years already. My people didn’t take me home. I don’t know where I can go. (Trembles) Oh, I’m so cold!
A: I don’t know too.
B: (Looks straight at Abdiya) I’m sorry, I really need… Can you help me?
A: (Panics) I really don’t know! (Pauses) I’m sorry. I’m sorry too, I want to help you but, but I don’t know. My Ayah doesn’t approve. (Sighs)
B: (Shakes head) I’m sorry, I think I should leave. (Gets up)
A: No! (Grasps Bynro’s upper arm) You can stay, please do. Come. (Helps Byn-ro to single bed and sits him) You can rest here. My Ayah won’t be back soon.
B: (Nods head, whispering) Hai. Thank you.
Abdiya hugs Byn-ro.
A: Rest well.
Byn-ro lays himself on bed and tries to sleep.
Abdiya goes to bag, takes homework and stationery from bag, and goes to table to do homework.
II.i
As we left off from I.ii.
Hadullam is holding his paddles and fishnets. The sounds of waters and rain intensify for II.i (only).
[Enter Hadullam]
Hadullam sits behind beds (outside shack), facing the rear, while distanced from the beds.
Hadullam puts his paddles and fishnets down.
Hadullam walks spiritually forwards and rightwards, eventually faces audience while not exactly facing the front.
H: Suzanna, is that you?
S: Hadullam, I see you.
H: Suzanna! Darling Suzanna! You’re...
S: (Interrupts angrily) Shut up Hadullam! Boy, and I see Byn-ro too. You are a fool to have him! Did you not remember what happened when the Japanese came? Have you forgotten my bloodshed and how I was thrown into the sea after they were done with me? Hadullam, are you mad? To leave him and Abdiya together while you are out?
Hadullam trembles, frightened. He turns around and begins to run towards the door.
S: Stop there, idiot.
H: (Stops running) What?
S: You might as well go make a coffin out of your boat. I tell you, Abdiya is probably dead on his bed.
Hadullam returns to original spot behind beds and sits, knees arched obtusely.
S: You are the biggest fool. To think that you would still trust the Japanese. Hadullam, for the love of Allah, never forgive. Never forgive.
Hadullam abruptly buries his head in his knees and clutches his head with his arms.
II.ii
As we left off from II.i.
Byn-ro starts coughing.
Abdiya stands up and goes towards Byn-ro.
A: Byn-ro? Do you want some water?
B: I’m cold. Very cold!
A: Do you want to go outdoors? There’s sun, so it’s hotter.
B: (Shakes head weakly) I want to rest here. (Coughs badly)
A: No, Byn-ro, come with me! I’ll help you outside!
B: I cannot stand anymore, nor sit up. I’m too weak.
A: Byn-ro, you’ve got to try.
B: I cannot. I will die.
A: Byn-ro, please. Trust me.
B: Let me die. And you can throw me into the sea.
A: Byn-ro, trust me. Come on.
B: Thank you, your father too. But I’m dying, so please just let me die.
A: Byn-ro, you don’t understand!
B: Child, you don’t understand. You need to grow up. I love you okay.
A: (Confused) Byn-ro, I love you too.
Byn-ro spreads his arms, gesturing for an embrace.
Abdiya and Byn-ro hug.
Abdiya releases Byn-ro and pats Byn-ro’s shoulders lightly.
A: Rest well, Byn-ro.
Byn-ro does not respond.
A: Rest well, Byn-ro.
Byn-ro does not respond.
A: Byn-ro?
Abdiya checks Byn-ro’s breathing.
A: No, no, Byn-ro. (Shakes head) Why? For the love of Allah!
III
As we left off from II.ii.
Hadullam walks in through the “door”.
H: Abdiya, why, for the love of Allah, is Byn-ro on your bed? Get him off!
A: (Bitterly) Ayah, he needed rest. Would you rather he rest on your bed? Ayah, Byn-ro isn’t breathing. Let him rest.
H: I told you, if he dies, throw him into the sea!
A: Ayah, no. Byn-ro isn’t dead. He’s alive in spirit.
H: What nonsense! Throw him out! O-U-T: Out!
A: We cannot do that! He’s…
H: Of course we can, now! If you aren’t going to do it, I shall! (Walks quickly towards Byn-ro)
A: Ayah, he’s one of us now!
H: He’s a damned Japanese! Not Malay! Not Muslim! Not Singaporean! How dare you say that!
A: He’s human. The war is over. Aren't we human too? We’ve got to accept him for our humanity.
H: (Folds blanket onto Byn-ro) You want to accept him, but I can’t! I’ll throw him out, into the sea, now!
A: Ayah, we could make him a coffin out of your boat. We have to treat him like family. We cared for him.
H: You care about him? Abdiya, I really don’t understand you. What’s your problem? Your Ibu didn’t get any such fancy coffin!
A: (Confused) Ayah, what do you mean? (Flustered) Is Ibu dead? Ayah! Why didn’t you tell me?
Hadullam is in a state of sudden realisation of his mistake. He takes a step back.
H: I… I… (To self) Ugh, why am I so stupid?
A: Ayah, what?
H: No, nothing. I … I’m sorry. Your Ibu isn’t out at sea fishing as I’ve been telling you. Abdiya, I’m very sorry, she had actually died in the war.
A: (Bites lips) It’s okay, Ayah. We cannot do anything about it. I haven’t seen her for three years, and we can move on.
H: I’m sorry, this is a bad time, but we cannot treat Byn-ro any better than the Japanese has done to your Ibu. (Hadullam continues folding the blanket) We have to throw him out now.
A: No, Ayah. You’re wrong. (Hadullam stops folding the blanket) The fault does not lie in me, Ayah, but in us, in sense that we cannot accept and be gracious humans. Ayah, I’ve done my part. You need to understand too. We need to grow up and move on.
Hadullam goes to a chair and takes a seat. He takes a breather.
A: Ayah, I’ve said this before. He’s human and we…
H: Enough! Enough! Enough!
A: Ayah, …
H: (Between heavy breaths) Yes, Abdiya. You’re right, he’s human after all, and we are one human community. Come, Abdi, let’s wrap him in that blanket. We’ll give him a proper burial later. Let’s go for a walk, and think, and grow up. Okay, Abdi?
A: (Smiles) Sure, Ayah.
They wrap Byn-ro in the blanket. They wrap an arm around each other and walk out through the “door”.
[Exit Hadullam, Abdiya]
POETRY
Christmas Night
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Such was the night after christmas
The snow heaped in drudgery
The walkways were frozen slowly
The trees had lost all green
Eternal night of celestial nature
Had died away, buried in the frost
Lost in the essence of its own
What's christmas night without snow?
And into a night where
Our darkness comes alive
Nightmares that we heard of
Is now what we only see.
And touch, and breathe in,
Our deepest fears and pain
The deepest, darkest cold
In my empty frozen soul
Santa had dropped off a gift,
A gift of darkness after beauty
Flew back and took all hope
As a gift for his own
A present for his night.
Such eternal and beautiful night,
Left everlasting darkness and cold
The icy winds embrace me in its clasp
What's the night after christmas,
Without snow?
The snow heaped in drudgery
The walkways were frozen slowly
The trees had lost all green
Eternal night of celestial nature
Had died away, buried in the frost
Lost in the essence of its own
What's christmas night without snow?
And into a night where
Our darkness comes alive
Nightmares that we heard of
Is now what we only see.
And touch, and breathe in,
Our deepest fears and pain
The deepest, darkest cold
In my empty frozen soul
Santa had dropped off a gift,
A gift of darkness after beauty
Flew back and took all hope
As a gift for his own
A present for his night.
Such eternal and beautiful night,
Left everlasting darkness and cold
The icy winds embrace me in its clasp
What's the night after christmas,
Without snow?