da blogs da thang

continued from here.

OK… I cheated a little. I composed this at the laundromat this morning before checking the comment section. I will use those for the next section. Thank you for leaving them.

You can leave your 5 word sentence starter with every completed section posted.
For those of you who want to play “catch-up” here are the previous sections in sequence.
PART 1
PART 2
PART 3
PART 4
PART 5

As is the case with most Malay funerals, the remains of the deceased had to be buried within 24 hours and the fisherman was buried in the early afternoon. However, unlike most funerals in other parts of the country the village always held a kenduri after the burial. Tents were erected on the padang that hosted a huge community potluck. People brought their best dishes to the event and rolled out mats under the shelter of the tents to partake in this picnic peculiar. It was said this tradition was yet another that found its roots in the old pirate days. Because of the various ethnic, cultural and religious traditions that co-existed there, the kenduri provided a common opportunity to celebrate the life of the recently deceased.

Mina had spent the rest of the morning cooking up a batch of keladi (tapioca fritters) which were a specialty of her grandmother. It helped take her mind away from the confusing events of the night before. She donned a baju kurong for the event mostly so she would not offend the local sensibilities. Due to a travel snafu she had barely made it to her grandmother’s funeral and was forced to attend it in her travel clothes consisting of a white shirt and jeans. The kurong was the attire of choice also because of the comfort afforded by the loose fitting traditional garment.
By the time Mina arrived at the kenduri, everyone was adding their dishes to the 2 long tables set up in the center. She made her contribution to the meal at one of the tables and was invited to join Mr. Osman on his mat. Although generally men and women sat seperately, this was not a hard and fast rule in the village.

There were no formalities at these gatherings except for the signal to begin eating. This was usually provided by the family of the deceased who took the first helpings of the food that everyone had contributed. There was never a rush for the food tables and as Mina had observed a week earlier there seemed to be a certain casual synchronicity to the whole affair.

Mina had already begun to eat when Mr. Osman returned with his plate piled high. He sat down looked at her and chuckled. “I met Mr. Kee Cheong, the fish broker at the table. He said if funerals happened in the village at this rate… we would never get any work done. The dead are going to put us all out of business!”

Mina giggled politely at his joke. She knew full well that this event was not to mourn the dead but to appreciate their lives and even to poke a little fun at them. As she ate Mina marveled and took delight in watching the subtle quirky customs of the funeral kenduri unfold.

The village folk would eat and mill about in a seemingly random fashion. Inevitably they would make their way to where the deceased family sat. Condolences had already been offered at the funeral so this was a time to share stories and enquire about future plans. It was about moving on. There was always a group of no more than three people sitting and chatting with the young widow and her 2 young children. By custom, 2 fisherman baskets were situated close to where they sat. One was empty and the other usually filled with something edible that was the dead person’s favorite. In this cas,e the second basket was filled with the mangosteen fruit.

“It’s a good thing for us Kamal liked mangosteens more than your chicken porridge, Mr. Chong. I would have liked to have seen you try pouring the porridge into that basket… … the widow would be sitting in a padang of porridge by now!”

There was a round of laughter by everyone within earshot and without missing a beat, Mr Chong who was sitting on the next mat came back with, “You can thank his wife. She threatened to leave him if he came into my shop to eat my porridge more than 2 times a week!” Of course this sparked yet another round of laughter.

Mina laughed along but kept her eyes on the widow and the children. Once the brief and casual chit-chat was done the 3 “visitors” wished the widow well, walked over and picked a fruit from one of the baskets and dropped a cash donation into the empty one. The donations were given to defray the cost of the funeral leaving more than enough to support a living for a year. Mina had already decided to donate the donations she had received the week before to the clinic in the village.

Within moments, like a strange dance yet another set of “visitors” took the place of the departing group on the mat with the widow and her family.

Mr. Chong suddenly said, “I think he’s going to do it.”

“Who is it?” enquired Mr, Osman not turning his head to look behind.
“Lim. He’s going to be the first one.” shot back Cheong.

“The carpenter?” quizzed Mr. Osman who had his back turned to the view.

“No, his son.”

“Well, they did go to school together. They’ve known each other since they were children.”

Everyone took a discreet glance at where the widow sat. Staring would be rude and disrespectful. Young Lim stood patiently out of eye-sight behind the widow. Out of the 2 others who had “visited” with him earlier, he was the only one who had not cracked open the fruit and eaten it yet. As soon as the current visitors got up to leave he placed the fruit beside the widow. By doing so he was announcing that he was prepared to “shelter” her from this point on. This gesture given to a widow, as was the case here, was also a proposition of intent on the part of the giver. That after a suitable span of time for mourning, usually no less than a year, she would place a broom outside her front door to indicate her readiness to be courted.

“That didn’t take long at all.” Mused Mina. “I didn’t receive my first one for at least 2 hours last week.”

“And I was the first.” Said Mr. Osman proudly. “By the end of the day you received at least 12 starfruit.”

Not letting the opportunity go Chong said, “So, you are planning on taking a third wife then, Osman!”

“Miss Mina is a western educated independent woman, Chong. I think she may have her own plans that do not include the waning virility of an old uneducated man!” came the quick retort from Osman.

Mina quickly followed up with, “Mr. Osman, you may be surprised by what my real plans could be. In 2 months I may be sitting where the widow sits now.” This of course ignited yet another round of laughter and good natured ribbing. This also made everyone around feel more comfortable with Mina and many thereafter began conversing with her.

Once their plates were free of food, Osman leaned over, “Miss Mina, I will be visiting the family now. Will you honor me with your company?”

“Yes, of course. Thank you. But, the honor will be mine” They stood up and strolled in a direction away from the widow. That was part and parcel of the choreography of this quirky village custom – one’s destination should always appear to be a happy casual accident.

As they engaged in this promenade, they stopped to chit-chat with other groups of folk. Finding themselves relatively alone at one point Mr. Osman slyly mentioned, “The widow is expecting another child, you know.”

“Yes, I think she would be about 4 months now.”

Osman looked at her impressed. “You have been trained well to notice that under her baju kurong. I only mentioned it because… perhaps this could be the topic of conversation between you and the widow when we visit. You could give her some of your expert advice.”

“Execellent suggestion… as always, Mr. Osman.” She smiled at Osman’s gesture to help her save face by avoiding awkward silences during the visit with the widow.

“Pardon my asking… have your plans changed?”

Mina looked at the old man and smiled. “I’m afraid not. I will be leaving in a few days.”

Osman paused for a moment, then smiled and asked, “Then time is of the essence. Later this evening, after the kenduri… if you wouldn’t mind… the other arrangers and I would like to speak with you.”

“About what?”

“A proposition… a business proposition.”

“Of course, Mr. Osman… of course.”

By the time they reached their destination there was a pile of at least 20 mangosteens next to the widow. Mina was hardly surprised. As they sat to visit, the widow who appeared so plain and unassuming from a distance was positively radiant up close. Mina could not help but admire how beautiful she was in her simplicity. She was indeed a worthy catch. By evenings end there was a pile of fruit had grown to 65… half of them from married men.

continued here…

continued from here.

Once again to reiterate… what you are reading are straight drafts… raw with no edits…warts, open sores and all! LOL! As it unfolds for me… .. it’s unfolding to you. And depending on if the flow continues there could be yet one more section before the weekend is up. You can leave your 5 word sentence starter with every completed section posted. For those of you who want to play “catch-up” here are the previous sections in sequence.
PART 1
PART 2
PART 3
PART 4
Contributers to this section:
And yet anxiety gripped her… lelly
She knew it would end… cosima
She lifted her smoldering eyes… mustang

She knew it would end as she succumbed to him… at least that’s what she kept telling herself as their tongues intertwined while locked in a tight embrace. It sent an electrifying tingle that coursed throughout her entire being. Then he brought his hands up to hold the sides of her face as he began kissing her hard, desperately… almost violently. All she could do was attempt to validate his fervent actions with equal responses. He suddenly pulled away from her and gazed at her face. His hands then loosened and tenderly slid down her cheek as if to validate that she was indeed real.

She lifted her smoldering eyes to meet his and saw what she had first seen on the stone path outside the bathhouse. He drew her close to him and nestled his face into the side of her neck. He held her with a gentleness she had never ever experienced before and yet anxiety gripped her because of the newness of this sensation. This was unlike any sensual experience she had ever had.

He began to slide down to his knees, his chin dislodging the knot of her sarong and releasing its hold on her falling away down to the plank flooring. She stood there naked as the weight of his body finally rested on his knees. His arms wrapped around her as he buried his face into the curve of her right hip. She brought her hands to his head and slowly ran her fingers through his hair.

She looked down and realized that he was sobbing. She began to feel the tentativeness of confusion begin to overtake what until this point was a mounting sexual desire. He tilted his head up and looked at her. She was totally taken aback and mesmerized by the gratitude glowing from his eyes. He then stood up and backed away from her never for a moment taking his eyes off her.

“I’m sorry… I just had to know… I had to know that you are real.” With that he turned and left the room.

From outside the window she heard the voices of children singing an old Malay folk ditty, only slower… it almost sounded like a dirge.

Di mana dia, anak kambing saya,
Anak kambing saya main di tepi bendang,
Di mana dia, cinta hati saya,
Cinta hati saya yang berjalan lenggang,

She gathered up her sarong, quickly tied it and hurried to the window to look out. She saw nothing as the singing began fading into the distance. She made her way outside and walked around the house several times to see where he had gone but was only greeted by the serene sounds of the evening.

She finally sat on the verandah in the back trying to make sense of what had transpired. Her mind was racing at a fevered pitch. Nothing was making sense… nothing at all. Soon, overcome by exhaustion she curled up in her grandfather’s rattan chair and drifted off to sleep. As she lay there sleeping a figure of a woman stood by her side and pulled a sheet over Mina to insulate her from the cool night air.
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She awoke to the sounds of a lorry out front and a male voice calling out. “Miss Mina! Miss Mina…”

She stumbled out of the rattan chair and managed to formulate a response. “Just a moment! I’ll be out in a minute!” She made her way in and slipped on a blouse over her sarong in a hastened attempt to conform to the modest propriety of the village. When she walked out the front door she was greeted by Mr. Osman.

“Good morning, Miss Mina. I hope we did not wake you.”

“No, no, I was just… Good Morning, Mr Osman.”
“Where do you want these materials to be delivered?”

“Around to where the kitchen is… in the back.”

Mr. Osman tuned to the driver of the lorry and the 2 men who rode in the back. “Around to the back of the house, gentleman!”

As the men began unloading and carrying assorted materials to the back Mina walked down to Mr. Osman.

“Mr. Osman, is it possible to find someone to rebuild the kitchen.”

“What happened to the person you said you had?”

“That just didn’t work out.”

“Miss Mina, everyone is involved with the funeral today… but I’m sure I will have someone here tomorrow morning to begin the work.”

“That will be fine… Thank You. Also please provide me with a list of expenses together with that for my Grandmother’s funeral last week. And once again I want to thank you deeply for making all those arrangements.”

“Oh, there will be no bill for any of this, Miss Mina. This is the very least we can do for your grandmother for all she has done for us over the years.”

“But… “

“Miss Mina, if you insist on paying us… the entire village will be deeply insulted. It would be a great disrespect to us… and an insult to the memory of your grandmother.”

Mina knew that this was firm and no amount if insistence would change his mind. All she could muster was a humble thank you. The lorry had now been emptied of its contents and the men were ready to head back.

“We will go now Miss Mina. We will see you at the funeral this afternoon, yes? If not the funeral… perhaps the kenduri after.”

Funerals were a community event and Mina knew that her presence would act as a gesture of thanks to the village for pitching in for her grandmother’s funeral just the week before.

“I will be at the kenduri.”

“Of course.” Came Osman’s gracious reply.

Just as he turned to head to the truck Mina interjected.

“Mr. Osman, is there a family living nearby… a family with children?”

“Children?” A glint flashed in the old man’s eye. “Things are as they were from your last visit 7 years ago, Miss Mina. Other than your grandparents property no one lives between here and the village.”

“What about up the road?”

“The next town is 20 miles away.” He was about to leave when he stopped again and turned to her. “Please forgive me for asking… yesterday in the village… what did you see?” Mina looked at Osman with a slight frown on her brow. Seeing this he quickly made an attempt to clarify. “Outside the coffee shop… across in the padang.”

“Children. They were playing tops.”

“Huh. Children… playing tops. Very good. Very good.” He chuckled to himself and hurriedly got into the passenger side of the old lorry. “I will see you at the kenduri later!” The vehicle drove down the road back toward the village in a rising trail of dust.

continued here…

Continued from this post which was a continuation of this post which all began with this post. And here’s a post on why I’m doing this (though that really shouldn’t matter) with a mini-rant and other crap.

Did more writing so, I’m posting. From this point on you can leave your 5 word sentence starter with every completed section posted. It’s coming pretty fast and frurious so there may be more sections as the weekend rolls along. (So, I’m altering the rules… but, hey… it’s my process.)

Contributers to this section…

“here at the right time but wrong place or right place but the wrong time” – kfarmer
“tripping over her own ego” – jade ed girl
“Osmun hurried to the padang…” apj

Mina spent the rest of the day busy with her chores of sorting and packing. She had already engaged in this process for the last 5 days and was no longer prone to mull over the preciousness of every other item her grandparents had owned. On a couple of occasions she thought she heard someone outside… but when she went to look there was no one around.

By 4 in the afternoon she had pretty much given up on ‘him-who-has-no-name’ actually turning up. This was the little joke moniker she had privately bestowed on him as she was walking back from the village earlier in the day. She chuckled a little while thinking to herself that he probably ran on typical village time. The only events that ran on time in the village were births and funerals. Everything else was sort of an interpretive dance of life. After all he did say “in the afternoon” and didn’t specify which. She also reasoned to herself that everyone the village knew everyone else and each others’ business. Chances are he was helping out with arrangements for the recently deceased fisherman during which he ran into Mr. Osman who probably told him that the materials were only being delivered the next day.

Feeling a little spent from all that sorting and packing she decided to slip into her sarong and take a nap. As she lay on her side she spotted her grandmother’s workbag that she had placed beside the bed the night before. It was an old fashioned leather doctor’s case that stood upright and opened from the top. She remembered that there was a certain mystical prestige that was attached to it. On any ordinary day her grandmother was Mak Cik (aunty) to everyone in the village. One those days that she carried the bag she was always addressed as Puan (lady). It was a phenomenon she first took notice of at the age of 9 when she first followed and witnessed her grandmother delivering a baby. She remembered also the sense of awe and pride she felt knowing that her Nenek helped to coax life into this world.

She lay on her front, positioned herself on the edge of the bed, opened the bag and looked inside. She took delight and marveled at the simplicity of the instruments… also noting how little they had really changed over time. She decided almost immediately that this would be one of the few items she would keep and take with her when she left for London in a couple of weeks. After all, it was her grandmother’s position as the village mid-wife that inspired her in pursuing a career as ObGyn. The soft breeze wafting through the window soon lulled her into the land of dreams.

When she awoke she first noticed the colors of dusk beginning to envelop the sky outside. She lolled in bed for a while enjoying the low buzz of being half awake as thoughts floated in and out of her still dreamy state. Some of them involved the new life she was embarking on in London. Some were memories of past lovers. And yet some involved the decision of what to have for dinner. Soon enough she decided that dinner would be some fresh fruit from the trees in the garden. Besides she was still satiated from a late lunch.

She walked through the small orchard outside with a basket in one hand and a kerosene lamp in another as the dusk began to give way to the night. She picked a couple of bananas and a starfruit then made her way along the stone pathway to bathhouse which was situated a respectable distance away from the house and closer to the jungle stream that bordered the 3 acre property. This was a half roofless structure measuring ten by ten feet built on top of a flattened granite rock. 4 wooden 8 foot walls provided the bather’s privacy. On the roofless end stood 2 large clay jars, 4 feet high with an equal radius. One was fed by a bamboo spout that siphoned water from the stream and was in a constant state of overflow that drained down the slight gradient of the granite floor toward a hole in the corner out back toward the stream. The other jar was used to catch rainwater. The covered half was the dry area where one hung up towels and changed in and out of clothes.

Mina hung up her lamp, pulled out her bottle of shampoo from her basket, and made her way to the jar that caught rainwater. Once her hair was shampooed and rinsed she reached for the bar of soap from the basket. The fresh cold stream water felt great against her skin as she stood bathing in the moonlight. The moonbeams lit everything with an ethereal blue glow. As she poured the last bucket to rinse off she felt a presence outside. She turned to look at the door she had left opened and saw him standing outside watching her.

How long had he been there she wondered. Without drying herself she quickly slipped back into her sarong, picked up her basket and walked out. Once outside they stood there for several moments looking at each other not more than 10 feet apart. She was not afraid but there was a propriety that had been breeched and yet there seemed to be no courtesy of any apology forthcoming. The whimsy in his eyes from the morning had now been replaced with intensity. She realized that he probably saw the same in hers and decided to make her way past him back to the house as quickly as she could. As she drew nearer she suddenly became aware that the intensity in his eyes possessed a vulnerability that she had only ever known in the eyes of a new born facing the first moments of life.

As she walked past him she felt his hand on her bare shoulder. It was a firm yet gentle touch of a man that transformed the slight annoyance she first felt inside into a stirring desire. It was the kind of touch she had forgotten a man was capable of… the kind of touch that belonged to a more innocent and pure age. She stopped, turned and looked at him, her mind reeling. From the quagmire of this situation she wasn’t sure if here was the right time but wrong place or right place but the wrong time. Should she brush him off or respond to the warmth mounting within her? She turned to look at his hand on her shoulder… then back into his eyes. He withdrew his hand. She turned to walk away before her own eyes betrayed her further. She knew full well if she looked back the primal within would win.

The walk back to the house seemed like an eternity as half thoughts added to the confusion caused by the desire of her body clashing up against the rationale of her mind. They were from different worlds yet from the same beginnings of the village. He was decidedly uneducated yet possessed a quick an uncanny intelligence that was innate and could never be schooled. Her future lay elsewhere yet why should she deprive herself of the moment. Both relief and regret hit her simultaneously as she reached the door of the back verandah. As she closed the door to lock out the night she saw him still standing in the moonlight where she left him.

She headed for the safety of her room and slipped out of her now wet sarong. She dried herself off, found a replacement sarong and slipped into it. As she secured the knot to secure it she felt the gentle touch of his hand caress the softness of her belly. She swung around and their lips met as the last cogent thought slipped fleetingly out of her mind. This is safe as she would be leaving for another life in a few days.

continued here…

Continued from this post.

I may add to this as the weekend rolls along. Contributers to this section.
(The) subtle movement caught her eye…. apj
From the quagmire of this…….kien
The village children stopped playing…lolly
again she hear the flute… sol
she needed the fresh air….lime
she was a good bitch… ssm

A subtle movement caught her eye as Mina strolled through the open pasar or market of the village. It almost seemed as if everyone stiffened ever so slightly at the sight of her. She was used to this. Even though she was born in the village she was always considered an outsider. Her father had died suddenly after her birth and her mother moved back to the city soon after to begin a new life. The 8 weeks she spent every year with her father’s parents until she was 17 hardly qualified her as a true resident. Although she had a deep affection for the place she never dared call it home.

She headed to a local coffee shop to meet with a certain Mr. Osman who was one of the local “arrangers” in the village. He was one of an exclusive group of 5 elders who were part legal advisors, part brokers, part negotiators, and part mediators. Each one of these individuals had a direct family line to the first 5 settlers in the area. Local lore had it that the original 5 were captains of rival pirate vessels who formed a collective to more efficiently ply their “trades” in these waters.

On the padang (field) across the street from the coffee shop a small group of children were gleefully engaged in a game of “gasing” or tops. The object of the game was to strike the top of your opponent out of the circle drawn in the dirt and of course to spin the longest. Mina stopped outside the coffee shop to watch for a bit marveling at the level of skill these children had already attained. It was also a curious delight for her to know that there were still places in the world where children still played these sort of games outside.

In the musty but pleasant coffee shop Mr. Osman, a slight gentleman with a kindly face rose from his usual table to greet Mina as she entered.

“What’s news?” He greeted her, extending his hand lightly touching hers then bringing it back to touch his chest… the traditional Malay handshake. They exchanged pleasantries and he invited her to sit with him.

“The storm last night blew off the roof off the kitchen…”

“How unfortunate… are you OK?”

“I’m fine thank you. I have a list here of materials for the repairs and… “

“Please give it to me.” Osman looked at the list impressed by the detail. “Yes, it does seem like it’s all there. I’ll arrange for everything.”

“Thank You Mr. Osman. You are most kind.”

“The materials will be delivered this afternoon. I’m afraid however that work may only be able to begin tomorrow. A fishing boat did not return this morning and most of the men are still out searching…”

“The storm last night?”

“Yes, but we are hopeful. Here in the village most of our men learned to swim before they could crawl. In fact, your grandmother use to say that they were swimming in the womb and only stopped to be born!” The old man chuckled.

“Oh, I will not be needing help to build.”

The old man stopped laughing and looked at her quizzically. “Are you planning to build it yourself Miss Mina? A western education has certainly made you very resourceful.”

Mina couldn’t help but laugh. “No, no… someone has already offered to build it for me.”

“I see. Of course… someone from the village?”

“I think so.”

“What is his name?” She was about to answer when an Indian man walked into the coffee shop. “Excuse me, Miss Mina…” Then, calling to the man. “Yes, Mr Sami…”

As he walked over the Indian man shared a look of dread with the Chinese owner of the coffee shop. He then whispered something into Osman’s ear. Mina also noticed the absence of gleeful laughter from the children outside. The village children stopped playing and seemed to be staring at something down the road.

“Begging your pardon, Miss Mina… I’m afraid there is some bad news.”

“What’s wrong?” Instinctively she blurted, “The boat?”

“Yes, unfortunately we lost one of our own in the storm last night.” They all made their way to the front of the coffee shop as a quiet procession of men accompanied a stretcher carrying a covered body. “Miss Mina, due to the circumstance your materials can only be delivered tomorrow.”

“Of course. I understand.”

“Pardon me, arrangements have to be made.” With that the old man walked out and joined the procession.

Once it passed, Mina looked across to the padang where the children seemed to resume their game where they left off. They continued to play with glee as if this was an everyday occurrence. She found this a little peculiar but passed it off and headed back home.

As she walked down the road, Chong, the owner of the coffee shop looked out at the padang then to Mr. Sami. “Sami, did you see her look across to the padang?”

“I did.”

“Let’s make sure Mr. Osman is informed of this.”

continued here.

6 AM – Leave your 5 word sentence starter in the comments and I’ll attempt to use them in the next section of the story.

If you haven’t been by since the AM yesterday… I added to “untitled 5-3-1 b”… check it out 2 posts down.

Come back in the AM tomorrow to see how it developed. Thanks fort your input. Cheers!

If you are new to my latest insanity… go to this post.

EDIT: I just got back from the laundromat to find that my jungle webs thing got cancelled. Made a call and they found the screwup and have since reinstated it but it will be a couple of hours before it will be fully up.

So Solitaire is giving up blogging. Not sure why but I’ll support her decision. Now go over to her place and wish her well.

The day is turning out busier than I thought it would… but I’ll still attempt a section of the 5-3-1 project for uploading tomorrow.

This also means that HNT this evening is going to be iffy at best… I’ll know a little later.

… of the 5-3-1 project? Because I learned years ago that it’s actually the insane projects that keep me strangely grounded. Why is it insane? Because being a playwright the form that I have chosen this project to be created in is simply alien to me… and it’s the challenge of this “discomfort zone” that I’m totally digging. (yes, I’m a pretty strange individual.)

One may argue that playwriting is writing. Tis true… but the rules and techniques are different. Short stories and novels require setting down the character’s thoughts and uber description. With play and screen-writing those elements are kept to a minimum… and often (especially in playwriting) totally negated… simply because it’s designed to be played.

This is why I often roll my eyes when someone makes a statement like… “I hated the movie… it’s just not like the book.” Of course not! They are 2 different forms, people! That would be like comparing Michaelangelo’s pieta to one by Van Gogh… different forms… or attempting to READ A MOVIE and WATCH A BOOK! Am I saying all movie adaptations are successful? Hardly. However, many do succeed as just plain good movies. Whenever someone makes a statement like that they just look like a pseudo – snob. O.K…. mini rant over. Next!

The other exciting aspect is that I have no fucking clue where this is heading… storywise, that is. So, my own discovery of the piece will only precede yours by only a few hours. Also, so as not to stymie the flow there is very little editing… so, you’ll also be privy to bad spelling, klunky grammer, etc. So, let’s see where it goes together!
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Terra Naomi’s concert last night was a wonderful break. This girl is talented and going places. Besides, she is also a very sweet person. It was especially sweet that she actually remembered me by name… even though we first met over 3 years ago when she played the Rogue. Our table consisted of SSM, Katie, Jag and his bevy of babes… and me. We volunteered to dog-sit her Elliot while she played. Of course, being a little dog, SSM and I almost instantaneously decided that it is the kind of dog that gay guys would have. So, we got a picture taken to further perpetuate the rumor that we are a gay couple. LOL! If blogger wasn’t being a bugger today… you would actually see the picture. Perhaps later in the day I’ll create a short slideshow of pictures from last night.

EDIT: 1 – Enjoy the slideshow.

EDIT: 2 – I did some writing today and have added to “untitled 5-3-1 b”. Look for the “EDIT” on the post below.

EDIT: 3 – Sugasm & 39! Woot Woot to Mel!

continued from this post.

But something made her turn to look as she leaned up against closed the door inside. A window shutter had blown open with the wind. She walked over to shut it. She turned to return to the bedroom when she nearly tripped over something on the floor… her grandmother’s workbag. Within was everything a village mid-wife would ever need. As she picked it up she wondered how she had missed it on her way to shut the window.

Back in the bedroom she laid it beside the bed. She would deal with it along with the rest of the packing in the morning. Mina stretched out on the bed, loosened the knot of her sarong and the steady rhythm of the rain outside soon lulled her back into a deep sleep.

As she lay sleeping, the wind blew the shutters of the bedroom window open. And again, the melody of the flute could be heard faintly playing through the pounding sound of the rain. A female silhouette in the corner sitting in the shadows calmly stood up, and made her way over to the window. and seemed to address someone outside. “Not yet. The choice must be hers.” she whispered. Then, gently she closed and secured the shutters.
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It was just before dawn when the rain ceased. The sudden absence of sound was what woke Mina. It was going to be another long day of packing and sorting that made her decide to get up and begin her morning routine.

20 minutes later, dressed in her favorite jeans and a baggy t-shirt she stood sipping the rich local coffee blend on the verandah surveying the damage. Half the atap roof on the outside kitchen had been torn off by the storm. Here was yet one more thing for her to deal with and time was already a premium.

She barely had a week left. There were bills to settle from the funeral the week before, legalities to take care of, the sale of the property and of course the packing before she had to leave for the city. Then there was a week’s grace period before she flew to London to begin her new position at a prestigious Harley Street clinic. Time was of the essence and this just added yet another wrinkle to everything.

“It’s going to be tough trying to sell a place like this with a roof like that.” A male voice piped up from behind the damaged hut. Mina tilted her head to the side to see who it was when he walked from behind the damage into view. “Begging your pardon, did I startle you?”

“No.” Mina collected her thoughts quickly. “Do you want to buy the place?” She was sizing him up. He was of average build, about 35, straight black hair that hung down to his shoulders.

“Are you joking? Didn’t the canning factory make a generous offer on the property?” His eyes never wavered from examining the ripped up roof as he continued to speak. “The village is small. News travels faster here than a fish being chased by a water-snake. If you are selling it to them… there would be no point fixing this. They would just tear it down to put up their factory.”

“I haven’t decided yet.”

“Hmmm… I could never buy this place. I wouldn’t buy this place with this kind of damage.”

She noticed a slight swagger to his gait as he slowly walked around still inspecting the damage.

“With the right materials… I could finish it in 2 days.”

Mina felt her heart leap a little when she heard this. This would certainly bring everything back on schedule. “How much will you charge me for the work?”

“What makes you think I want to work on this?” He continued assessing the damage and she said nothing. Finally he looked at her and smirked. “You are a city girl… you can afford me.”

There was a certain logic to this that made her smile.

“And meals.” He quickly added. “I want meals with the job… 3 meals a day! Do you cook?” His eyes seemed to glow with a whimsy when he spoke. Before she could answer he interjected. “Do you cook as well as your grandmother?”

“I know most of her recepies.”

He frowned, scratched his head, and then smiled. “Then even your worse could be quite good.” She stifled a chuckle at this. “Very well, I will do it. There is a list on the chair behind you of what will be needed… and where you can get them in the village. When I return in the afternoon… if everything is here… I will start work.” With that he sauntered down the side of the house.

It suddenly struck her that she had forgotten to ask his name. “Wait!” She hurried to the end of the verandah and poked her head around the corner but there was no sight of him. Well, he would be back in the afternoon… she could ask him then.

EDIT: MORE

She picked up the list and looked at it. She was a little surprised by the detail it went into including how to transport the material and from whom the said transport could be hired from. What really struck her though was the handwriting. It was charmingly quaint… almost from a different era. Yet, this was the same quality she loved about her grandparent’s house and the village. It was infused by the slower, gentler and friendlier pace and feel of a bygone time. Until recently, the knock on the door by the progress of the modern world had successfully been kept at bay.

Her curiosity then shifted back to what she thought she had seen in the dark hours of the morning. When she reached the bamboo grove she looked around but there was no path. The morning sun was still low on the horizon, but shafts of sunlight began breaking through as if the jungle had held it prisoner through the night. Mina decided to head into the village, about a mile away to make arrangements for the purchase and delivery of the materials on the list.

The village itself was unique to most of the outside world. It consisted of 2 distinct halves… the inland half and the seaside half. In her grandparents youth each half were actually 2 different villages connected by a mile of jungle road. The seaside half was called Pasir Putih (White Sands) and the inland half was Pasir Hitam (Black Sands). Over 2 generations homes were built along the connecting road and the villages eventually merged. There were other villages and towns with the same names in the country but these 2 were quite unlike the others.

Legend had it that Pasir Putih began it’s existence as a pirate port where the spoils were initially delivered. Once unloaded the boats would then sail through a complex network of waterways in the mangrove swamps nearby to be hidden from the possible incursion of the Sultan’s Fleet. On the odd occasion that any authorities did turn up, none of the evidence could ever be found as the booty had already been hidden and fenced in Pasir Hitam – up the road where the “respectable” people lived.

So a symbiosis had always existed between both villages. This also explained the population mix of both Pasirs. Unlike most villages in the country which were primarily ethnic spacific, these Pasirs consisted of an easy and equal mix of Malays, Chinese and Indians who had lived in respectful harmony with each other for close to 4 centuries. Piracy was hardly an ethnically exclusive profession. In fact, no family that had lived in the village for the past 4 generations could claim any form of racial purity as “mixed unions” were not uncommon here. Although her race was official listed as Malay, Mina could connect her blood line to each of the races in the village including to that of the Portuguese and Dutch who use to ply these waters in the 17th and 18th centuries in search of the spice trade. So much so, the race riots that gripped the capital and other parts of the country in 1969 was a curious befuddlement to the citizens of both Pasirs.

continued here.

Thank you again to the contributers for this section:

But something made her turn… lelly
And again, came the melody…. apj
When she reached the bamboo… lolly
His eyes seemed to glow… cosima
Her dreams guided her feet… mustang
If only I knew then… the melody censor

I didn’t use all of them but I just may at a future time. “5-3-1 c” will be posted 6 PM Wednesday for your 5 word sentence starters. If you have no clue what I’m talking about… click here for part 1.

1. At 6 AM (Pacific time) on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays I will upload a post simply titled 5-3-1.
2. 5 – When posted YOU get to contribute a “5 word start to a sentence” toward the first sentance to the next part. For instance in this section the first 5 words were…
   But something made her turn … I will use the first entry via comment to begin the next part.
3. 3 – I will use at least 3 other contributions of “5 word start to a sentence” for that part in the story.
4. 1 – One page is the minimum I will be allowed to complete that day and will be posted by the next morning (Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday.)