Short stories

by James Ooi

I could see them ending up fighting each other soon. Yeah. What a way to end twenty years of friendship from the time we were in kindergarten till now, a few years after university graduation.

I could hear them arguing. Siva was berating Roslan for having an affair with this married woman and well, telling him to stay away from trouble and not flirt with fire. But in the argument that followed, Roslan lost his temper.

Roslan shouted at Siva, "Babi punya keling! Jangan sibuk aku punya hal. Siapa kau nak nasihat aku? Kau dah lupa yang aku telah selamatkan kau dulu ya!!! Aku dan kau bukan kawan lagi mulai hari nie! Pegi mampos!!!"

[Loosely translated - "Pig of an Indian. Don't interfere into my matters. Who are you to advise me? You have forgotten that I once saved your life!!! You and I are no longer my friend from this day onwards! Go to hell!!!"]

Angered and deeply wounded at the racial slur, Siva walked off and didn't answer nor did he turn back. It was finally the last straw for him.

Ever since we had started going out again after a few years of absence because each had gone to their own separate universities, we had changed but for some of us even more. In particular Roslan had become kinda arrogant and racist in his outlook these past few years.

Sad to say that two decades of friendship finally had to end today. All because of an argument which led to an exchange of angry words and racial slurs. Ours was a friendship that was based on the fact that we lived in the same housing estate in Petaling Jaya and the fact that we had grown up as neighbors and friends who attended the same schools throughout our teenage years.

We were team mates in the local football team battling other teams not just on the field but standing by each other in some of the occasional fist fights which ensued after either teams lost. And there were many times when we came to each others aid when either one of us was in trouble. Together we became known as the three musketeers.

Funny actually it was. We were bosom friends coming from the three main races that made up Malaysia. A Chinese, Indian and a Malay. Kinda rare these days in Malaysia. But twenty years ago, this was not uncommon and we didn't have the racial segregation you see commonly occurring these days.

I guess when it comes to friendship, perhaps race does matter or does it not? Seems it does in this case. Sad to say. Seems that it does.


~ *** ~


I still remember my first day at the kindergarten. Mom had left me there alone. In the class of thirty other kids, some of whom were getting red eyed and a few were already bawling out in utmost misery, I felt miserable and didn't know what to do.

Suddenly this dark skinned tall boy looked at me and said, "You want some sweets?" Offering me a "Hacks", he smiled at me. I had never had a Hacks before and I popped it in my mouth with much thought. Within seconds the burning sensation hit my mouth and I spat the sweet out onto my right palm.

You know, for a kid aged five, spicy things normally consumed by adults are really unbearable for our delicate palate. Perhaps you may have forgotten this but I remembered it well because that was how we first met up.

I heard a laugh coming from my right side. I turned irritably to the right and there was this small sized Malay boy laughing at me. Pissed off, I handed him my barely eaten sweet saying, "Not funny, you try lah" With that the Malay boy popped the sweet into his mouth and his face suddenly contorted, "Yucks!!!"

Then we both turned onto the Indian boy and spent the next thirty minutes chasing him around the class screaming wildly. By the end of the day, we became friends and this was to be a friendship that would last the next twenty years.

Soon we found out later that we were neighbors and that we stayed nearby to each other. In the afternoons, we'd go to Siva's house for tea and his mom would fry curry puffs and fried bananas and sometimes we'd head off to Roslan's home for some pengat-pisang and later head off to watch the football game being played in the nearby field.

We hung out practically everyday. As we reached our teens, we looked at girls together and blew wolf whistles at the girls every afternoon as they walked past the football field after school. Friendship was just based on our liking for each other, common interests and the fact that we shared so much history over the years.

One evening at about the time when we were about fifteen years old, Roslan and I was walking back home from school and we saw that five Malay youths had surrounded Siva and it appeared that they were beating him. Quickly Roslan called out to some of his Malay kampong pals and we ran to the field with a crowd of ten other people behind us. Roslan shouted at them, "That's my pal. You better leave him alone or I'll get the whole kampong after you. This is our area."

Grudgingly, the five youths left and at that point in time, I really felt that ours was a friendship that transcended even racial barriers. Looking back, we were brothers in spirit even though we were of a different race.

Each of us that is.


~ *** ~


A few weeks had passed since that incident.

It seemed to me that Siva and Roslan had finally ended our two decades of friendship. I said 'we' because in a way the friendship that we had was a tri-party friendship. We did a lot of things together. Clubbing, football, eating and hanging out together.

So when the other two ended it, it seemed to me that I had lost both my friends.

That fateful evening, I met up with Roslan at the football field to talk with him and try to patch things up. It was late. About eight in the evening. Kinda dark and most people had left the field for dinner and prayers I guess.

Without telling both of them, I told Siva to come and meet me at the same place at about eight thirty later. I thought that I would try and reconcile the both of them. But I guess I could only try.

Roslan and I, we talked about the earlier incident and the clash between Siva and him. Roslan sighed, "I feel sad too. I just was too pissed when he interfered with my relationship with Mas. It's my personal matter and I know the risks of having an affair with a married woman. But it's my choice and he should leave it at that."

It was a dark night that day. No moonlight at all.

Suddenly we became aware that a group of six men had surrounded us. It was dark but through their lighted cigarettes and their voices, we knew them to be Malay youths. They were not from around the area and they were holding bottles and a few had sharpened parangs. Seeing the glinting blades in their hands, we sensed that we were in danger.

One of them spoke, "Bastard! You shouldn't sleep with another man's wife!!!" With that they started beating us. I tried to ward off the blows by putting my arm in front of me but to no avail. I felt myself losing consciousness with every blow that fell onto my head.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that Roslan was lying and writhing on the ground in pain. I saw the ringleader lift up the parang to slash Roslan. I tried to reach Roslan in time but in my battered state, I could only look on helplessly.

As the razor-sharp blade swung rapidly downwards, I saw a dark silhouette of a man dive over Roslan's body. The man took the brunt and full force of the blow meant for Roslan. I could hear him groan and the gruesome sound of his neck being slashed by the parang. Despite being slashed over and over again, he refused to leave Roslan and continued to cover him with his own body.

Sirens blared.

Apparently someone had alerted the police. The youths ran for their lives. Under the headlights of the police cars parked around us, I saw Siva bleeding profusely from the many slashes on his neck and his back. Roslan held Siva in his arms as he bled continuously.

Murmuring with great effort, Siva said, "Remember the time you saved me from a beating all those years ago? Tonight I repay my debt to you, my friend."

Silent tears flowed down Roslan's cheeks as his friend died in his arms that night.

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By James Ooi

Sitting down at my favorite hawker stall in Jalan Alor this morning, I was just about to tuck into my bowl of dry curry chicken noodles. The skinny guy sitting in front of me got up abruptly and just sprinted out of the shop.

Suddenly the lady noodle seller Ah Sim screamed and another guy selling snacks outside the shop started running and shouting in Chinese, "Hoi! Hoi! Kannineh! Pok Kai!!!"

Loosely translated that literally means "Hey! Hey! Fuck! Damn!!!"

Pandemonium broke out. In the ensuing chase, some tables got upturned and some plates fell to the floor and broke with a noisy piercing clatter. A minor scuffle ensued as the pursuer managed to catch up with the non-paying fugitive. Then the hawker guy sat on the fugitive's shoulder to keep him still and immobilize the bugger.

The other lady hawkers came and started batting him with brooms, ladles and kicking the shit out of him. I am sure it wasn't pleasant for that poor chap who was being bashed for eating and running off without paying.

Still I couldn't help but find it so funny.

***

I remember those days when I was a student and I didn't have much money to eat. I often thought of like eating and not paying. But somehow I never did that. It was not because I am a good person. It's just that from my early childhood my parents have instilled in me the idea of asking for something and paying for it.

And nobody ever asks for free food unless it's from their relatives or their own parents.

So what did I do when I had no money? I just didn't eat and just accompanied my pals and watched them eat and drink. Most times, they would offer me free food anyway. So it wasn't that bad.

About 30 years ago in Petaling Jaya, there was this supermarket called 'Thrifty' and at that time it was probably one of the few supermarkets in town. I used to collect card pictures of birds and animals that were free gifts coming with the condensed milk cans that my parents bought monthly.

As an eight-year-old kid, playing with these cards was a lot of fun. My brother and I would have endless hours just playing with them and we would often fight over them. Yeah, over nothing but plain old colored cards with pictures of animals. Silly huh.

So at the supermarket we would see these cans of condensed milk and the playing cards attached as free gifts. And the thing was it was so tempting to just reach out and take the cards. The more I thought about it, the more desirous I became to snatch a few. In the end, my brother and started stuffing our tiny pockets with these cards.

Two tiny would-be robbers. One aged eight and the other aged six.

We tore off the playing cards from the cans and stuffed our pockets with them until we would hardly fit another card in. We thought we had got away with it. Happily we ran off to find our parents.

But it was not to be.

Suddenly this huge gigantic security guard, a Sikh guy who appeared to be like a huge gorilla to us boomed loudly, "Stop!!!" We stopped dead in our tracks. At our age, a full-grown adult is so damn bloody huge and a hairy adult is also very scary.

We thought it was lucky that our parents were around. We thought we were safe but instead we got a terrible scolding and were caned until our legs bore red-caned marks on our calves. It was a lesson in honesty and perhaps that's why we never felt like stealing anything for that matter from that day onwards.

It was like if we didn't have money for it, then we'd forego it.

***

It was chaotic. People were rolling around in the street on this bright early morning. Struggling, thrashing and screaming. You can probably imagine the chaos.

There was a fight going on and the 'thief' was severely outnumbered by one man and five old women. A mass and tangle of hands legs and arms waving about wildly. It seemed to me that the hawkers especially the old ladies took perverse pleasure in pinching and kicking and touching the young man all over. If I saw it right, this old lady even grabbed at the guy's crotch. For what reason I just could not imagine.

Possibly she hasn't had sex for years I guessed after looking at her age and haggard looks. And this was the moment that she can finally touch some poor bastard's cock without fear of retribution. Thinking about it. What's the problem with paying for three-ringgit worth of noodles? Don't have the money, just wash plates lah. For God's sake man!!

I think getting your privates molested by some horny old hawker is much more dehumanizing than just washing plates or getting told off for not having money to pay for food.

It really doesn't pay to abscond after eating a meal and not pay. If you have to choose, then abscond from a pretty hawker. That way when she beats you, you can scuffle with her and cop a free caress or cuddle rather than get some old lady having her horrid way with you.

But that's just my point of view lah.

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By James Ooi

I was just sitting at Starbucks on a rainy Sunday afternoon. It was drizzling softly, little raindrops just falling incessantly forming a translucent screen of water drops as I looked out at the quiet street outside.

For a place that's full of action in the evenings with people partying their guts out, Bangsar sure is quiet on a Sunday afternoon. Peaceful even. Across my table, there's this attractive Malay girl dressed in a beige dress that would have been demure if not for the plunging neckline which showed off her ample chest.

Quite a fair woman for a Malay lady, I must say. She highlighted her wavy shoulder-length hair in shades of brown and gold. Her face is serious as she types and peers in full concentration at her laptop screen, sipping occasionally from her steaming cup of coffee. She doesn’t smile much. Probably because she doesn't want to attract any unwanted male suitors.

But dressed as she is. How can any man resist talking to her, much less avoid looking at her. She bends down to collect a dropped pencil. I get an fortuitous eyeful of her full breasts. At that moment, I decided that I would try to get to know her and perhaps get her hand phone number as well.

What the heck man? The most I would get is a slap but that's provided if I am too forward. And the least I would get is, "Please go away." And what I hope for is a smile and the start of something new perhaps. Later on, a meeting for dinner. And who knows what else. My heart beats wildly in anticipation.

I look at her for a moment too long. She senses me looking at her. She looks up and our eyes meet. I smile at her. She smiles back at me. Irresistibly I wink at her. She blushes and that's my cue. I walk over to her table which is just five feet away from me.

Just five feet away from a relationship with her and God knows what else. It's now or never as Elvis used to sing. And for me, it was now. As I walked over to her table, I knew it was going to work.

This time.

We had been dating for the past year or so. Actually a year two months and eight days from the day we actually first met. I can still remember our first meeting, the smell of her scented hair and how she looked on that first day. Reading the first part of my tale here, you pretty much would have guessed it I must say.

In case I forgot to mention the fact, well I am Chinese and Maria my girl friend is a Malay girl. In Malaysia, well that's not a well-accepted thing and because of religious implications, well this kind of matches are by and large a rarity.

The first few months of our courtship was a very traumatic thing with our parents on both sides objecting strongly to the relationship. But we prevailed and after about nine months, plans were afoot for a wedding. So we had gotten engaged just after nine months of dating.

And I know that is was fast by any standards.

We weren't young. I was in my late thirties and she was in her early thirties and we were pretty sure and happy that we would be together for a lifetime if not more. Could we have been lovers in another lifetime? Could we have gotten to know each other previously? I don't really know. Just that we seem to click so well together.

Sometimes my brother Joe would kid around with me, "Koko, so now how? No more bak-kut-teh and your favorite pork sausages man? How about your daily char-siew-pau?"

I laughed and said, "Can still eat beef and other stuff wat. Also not forgetting my beef steak and thank God I can still eat roti canai and tosai man! If pork is something I gotta give up, I guess I can lah for Maria."

Then Peter my younger brother said, "Hey I heard you gotta sacrifice your foreskin to the butchers. You do already? Did it hurt?"

Grinning, I said, "During the circumcision, nah. After they sew you up, it kinda tingles a bit. But you better not get an erection because that could really hurt as the swelling can pull at the sutures and that’s when you can scream bloody murder."

Aside from the initial questions and stuff, everything kinda settled into the normal scheme of things. We got on with the plans for the wedding. Maria got along with my family and relatives well and they loved her and drew her into their hearts. As for me, things couldn't be better. My future in-laws warmed up to me after the initial objections and more than made up for it with the warmth and acceptance that came once they realized that Maria and I had decided to be together for life.

We went for the wedding photo shoot. A full day of posing and changing into different suits for the photo session. It was so tiring at the end of that day. You wouldn't believe how exhausting having a whole day photo session is. No wonder being an actor pays so well. It's a lot of hard work. And that also when you don't even say a single word.

Things were working so well that I was beginning to wonder. Did I do something right in previous life or what? I never felt so happy before in my life before. But I had this nagging feeling that one wasn't meant to be so happy.

I just couldn't understand why she didn't turn up at the wedding reception. She had been missing for the past few days. She must have changed her mind. At least she could have called me and told me about that. Rather than let me wait at the hotel with the crowd of guests there. I felt that it was a betrayal of the worst kind to me.

Groggy and in a state of vertigo, I looked up and there she was standing looking at me. She was standing there in her wedding dress. God, she never looked so beautiful to me. There were tears in her eyes as she tried to be brave and smiled at me.

"Honey, I am so sorry."

"Why? Why? Why? I don't understand."

"Sometimes things don’t work out the way we want it to. I had wanted so much to spend the rest of my life with you. I just want you to know that I love you with all my heart and I always will."

Reaching out to hold her, it was then that I woke up with a hangover in my apartment. Was it a dream? Did she actually come to see me? I couldn’t decide whether I had dreamed it or if it was figment of my imagination?

I had drunk myself silly the night before. I knew it was wrong to drink. I just couldn't help it. I was feeling depressed and broken-hearted. Lost and alone. I just couldn't cry anymore.

All cried out.

I heard someone at the door. Slipping the morning paper under my door. It was Maniam. He delivered newspapers from the mini market store of his, on the ground floor of the condominium. He was a very reliable guy and on time every morning.

Stumbling towards the door, I picked up the day's edition of The Star. Looking on the headlines, I suddenly sat down looking at front page. It just read, "Bride dies in Car Crash"

And outside the balcony the rain had started to drizzle again. Just like the first day I met her. It was raining then as it was now.

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by James Ooi

I am writing this because I am asked to do this. And in thirty minutes. So I'll just write about last week's class where we were asked to go to the nearby mall to talk to someone there and write about it. Raman, my writing class instructor suggested that the class do it as a creative writing project.

Ok lah, he's the boss so here goes.

Damn! It was a hot afternoon. Just walking out of the bookshop and onto the road, I could feel the blistering heat. My hand and arms felt like it was sizzling onto the grill being barbequed to a crisp. Hurriedly, I strode along the weather beaten road and into the cool air conditioning of the mall.

So I had to find someone to talk with. Yeah, hopefully some hot girl is gonna respond to my advances. Or I might get a slap and have to turn back in to class with a red face. I could probably say it's sunburn or something.

Or I could chat up a guy and get punched in the face for propositioning him. Maybe I should send Raman the medical bill for getting us to do this zany exercise. Okay, okay. I'll look for the first gay guy I see and just chat him up. This way I won't get slapped or punched in the face but I'd probably get molested instead, I guess.

Walking along the busy and cluttered upper ground floor, I chanced upon this rustic and ambient arty-farty shop selling some earthen pots with water flowing out of them. Yeah, what a rip-off. RM800 for an urn and water flowing out of it. I could probably buy the same stuff at the local pasar malam.

But still, the shop was nicely decorated and it had a warm rustic feeling to it. You have some statues of Buddha around, a couple of beautifully painted artwork of Buddha's head. I almost bought the painting. And the shop owner, who was gay, was a very handsome guy who came over and started telling me in a very fascinating manner about his shop.

Let's call him Gary. Gary's a clean-cut guy, handsome in the guy-next-door kinda manner, nice short-cropped hair and a smile that girls would probably swoon over. But he is gay. How the heck do I know? I know, I just know he's gay.

I guess even though he wasn't exactly the feminine type but he has some unmistakable mannerisms that actually made me realize that he was one of them. My cousin's gay so I know how to recognize one. Especially after the incident one night of drunken partying at Rum Jungle when this long time friend of mine just grabbed me and gave it straight to me on the lips with some tongue action man! That was so sick that I puked and I washed my mouth with Listerine over and over again when I got back.

Gary had a very interesting manner in the way he spoke. You kinda felt that he was paying attention to you and you alone. It was very hypnotizing and I didn't feel much of a regret as I parted with about a hundred ringgit for some souvenirs.

Suddenly, he said to me conspiratorially, "Say, I just have this feeling that I want to share something with you. It's about your future."

Incredulously, I joked, "What?? I just parted with a hundred ringgit buying stuff from you. You want me to place a standing order for strange Thai artifacts from your shop every month issit?"

Gary laughed, "No, nothing like that. I have some skills in tarot reading. I just felt led to do a reading for you."

Intrigued, I said, "Ok cool. Let's do it."

Sitting at his table, he passed me a deck of cards and told me to shuffle them. I shuffled them and handed it back to him. Gary cut the deck, split the deck into three piles and put the lowest pile back on top of the other two. I was then asked to select 9-cards from the shuffled deck.

Placing a 9-card spread onto the table, Gary said in a low mysterious tone, "The first three cards represent the past, the next three - the present and the last three - the future."

"Looking at the past, I see that you have had many relationships which have started well but ultimately ended as just friends. I also see that you have had 5 serious relationships. It seems to me that you have yet to find the soul mate in your past life."

Impressed I said, "Amazing. That's absolutely true. How do you do that?"

"The present cards tells me that you are now searching for that someone new. And the future tells me that you will find that someone but it will be something that you will not expect it to be."

"Do you believe in reincarnation?"

I replied, "Yes, I do."

Gary grasped my right hand and gazed directly into my eyes, "I have this revelation that I feel I want to tell you but I don't know if I should. How would you want me to do this? It might be traumatic for you, you know."

Feeling more curious and even a bit suspenseful, I said, "Tell me lah. After all, you have gone too far to stop now."

Then Gary smiled suggestively to me, "What I am telling you now may surprise you. I am your wife from your previous life. You and I are meant to be together in this life."

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by James Ooi

I must be insane.

It's a hot afternoon in Bangsar and here I am sitting in a mamak coffee shop with my fellow classmates from the writing class. And we're seated right at the back of the restaurant, right in front of the sizzling grill, frying wok and the areawhere they cook. The fumes from the area are really killing me.

There are three youths standing right in front the kitchen area. One is frying some Indian rice-cakes called vadei and another is frying some noodles. The other chap is just standing dispensing food for the waiters to distribute.

I am drawn to the guy frying the noodles. The scraping, screeching and banging from his cooking is very distracting and I look at him. He's tall, I have to arch my head back to have a look at him. Bony thin, I can see his fingers and it looks like he's just bones covered with a thin layer of skin. He has a red cap on his head and it's turned the other way, he's got a long sleeve denim shirt on and a pair light blue jeans which looks almost white in color and a blue apron draped upon his belly or crotch if you like.

Let's call him Sam. Sam has a moustache and a beard. He kinda reminds me of Osama bin Laden. He works furiously on the wok dishing out fried noodles. He's so thin. I think his ribs would stick out like guitar strings if you ripped out his shirt and took a peek at him. He has on a silver ring? Is he married or does he belong to some secret society that's about to bomb the place down? I don't know and I don't care.

Sam is a very alert person. Every now and then, he looks up and around from just frying his noodles as if he doesn't want to miss a thing. He seems hyperactive. He looks like he is in a hurry to finish his work. Perhaps he has a hot date waiting for him somewhere. Or perhaps he's planning to detonate a bomb somewhere in KLCC.

Who the hell knows?

It is hot here. This kinda weather would just drive normal people nuts. I am going nuts with the fumes from the cooking. The fans whirring above me is not cooling at all. It is dispersing the hot air all over my ears.

I am going bonkers.

Stuck here, I look again at Sam. He has that potentially violent look on his face. His big eyes stick out like lamps out of his bony mustached face. He looks sullen, scrappy and kinda like someone who woke up from sleeping in the gutter last night. His shirt is open, a few buttons at the top and I can see his chest hair sticking out of his shirt. He reminds me of a hairy gorilla but a malnourished hairy gorilla.

He is totally absorbed with his work. Now Sam is working on some egg rolls, then he goes about again frying another plate of noodles. On and off, he turns around and looks here and there. He seems cool in this busy and chaotic place. He doesn't seem like he belongs here.

Sam is too thin. He doesn't look like one of those nerdy guys who lack experience. Sam looks like he's a street-smart guy. I think Sam is on drugs. I think there's more to him than just being one of the cooks hanging around this restaurant. His eyes. They are too alert for a cook. I'll have a plate of his noodles. The smell of it, the fumes floating around the place; it's making me hungry and I think I'll have to eat or go mad here.

Sam is handling the steel spatula, which he uses for cooking in a unusual manner. The way he twirls it around is like holding a knife and stabbing someone with it. It would not be difficult to imagine that he is a killer who just last night slashed some unfortunate person and cut up the body into eighteen parts and disposed of it in the Klang river.

No, that wouldn't be likely.

The noodles taste delicious. The curry served with it is creamy and the color is very appetizing. I can smell the meat in it. Could that be human meat? I have heard on the National Geographic channel on TV that human meat tastes very sweet, somewhat like pork.

Perhaps Sam killed someone and he cut up the pieces and cooked curry with the pieces. Slashing the body into minute parts and cooking the parts until the flesh falls apart from the long hours of boiling and cooking.

The kitchen had just been cleaned recently. The floor just isn't as dirty as it was normally. I could just imagine the victim screaming in terror and agony as Sam decapitated her arms, then her legs and finally her head. The screaming stopped when her head rolled onto the floor. Her blank eyes just staring out and her bloated tongue stuck out from her mouth. I could see the blood flowing and just gushing out on the floor, spreading in a dark red unholy carpet all over the kitchen floor.

Finally, it hit me. I suddenly realized that Sam's look and the way he behaved strangely reminded me of a satanic cult in which I had once been involved in. And the ring, the unmistakable silver with a the glistening silver tree engraved on it - it was the mark of Culthas satanic cult, a long established satanic cult that specialized in human sacrifice.

No wonder he wore that denim long sleeve shirt. From what I know of the Culthas sect, all members have a black tattoo of a snake encircling a nude woman on the inner part of their forehand. And the expression of the woman in the tattoo is one of indescribable agony as if all the tortures of the damned were being experienced by her.

In one of the satanic rituals of the Culthas, is the very act of consuming the victims' blood as she is being decapitated. The effect of such an atrocious evil is the karmic deterioration of one's health in which the body becomes ghostly thin and the bones of a person appear to stick out like a morbid corpse which has been exhumed from the grave after a year. All covered with a thin layer of skin, just like Sam.

Another unmistakable trait is that the eyes are red, red like blood. Something very common with drug addicts in which the veins are swollen and they bleed over the whites of his eyes. Like a film of red, dashed across a screen of virgin-whitecloth. A terrifying aura of madness exuded from Sam as I looked at him.

It is not the first time my psychic powers have revealed to me the dangers that surround me. I must leave this place. They have been hunting for me and they have found me again. Yet, I must not lose my calm. I will escape again and I will be free of them. I will be free of their enchantments and their madness.

I am the Mad Monk.

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