Tham Cheng-E - Surrogate Protocol

Later, Arthur went to the back of the eatery, where Poppy had been toying with a ball of crushed paper alone. He presented the photograph to Poppy, holding it conspicuously between his thumb and forefinger. Enticed by the novel inducement Poppy inched closer, and plucked it from Arthur’s hand. He tenuously ran his little fingers along its edges. Then they stole over the faces of Arthur and himself.

Poppy concealed his glee by precociously miming the frown of an adult, as if deep in thought, and then scurrying into the backroom to retrieve his biscuit tin from a rickety wall-shelf. He pried open its lid, cleared a space among the other paltry trinkets and laid the memento at the bottom of it.

At the table Poppy began removing the tin’s contents one by one and arranging them neatly in a sequential order, just so that he could go on admiring the photographic miracle beneath them all. Arthur had to sit through the safekeeping ritual before the child would agree to eat his lunch.

Lunch was congee that day. Arthur ladled it steaming from a clay pot into ceramic bowls and doggedly tried to whistle a tune that came out hopelessly flat. It was a special day because Hannah had at last agreed to a ‘date” that evening at a nearby fair. The prospect of it kept him in excellent spirits even though a relationship had scarcely existed between them.

He hoped it might be embryonic at the very least.

Between Geylang Road and Grove Road a triangular tract of land sported a glittering fair known endearingly to locals as Happy World. It still crackled with a bustling atmosphere, particularly in the evenings, though the spot had seen better days.

Coloured electric bulbs flared against a smouldering evening sky. The colonnaded gateway to Happy World retained a good deal of its former grandeur. But its weary paintwork and shabby interior were testament to the inexorable erosion of the changing times.

Arthur and Poppy alighted at a stop near the Kallang aerodrome and picked out Hannah in a snug floral dress. She was strolling the length of the gateway, under a series of neon Mandarin ideograms, watching them approach with a sidelong glance.

Arthur’s heart grew heavy; he was supposed to be early. Without mercy he lugged Poppy along and broke into a run.

“I’m so sorry,” he said as he reached her, his lips parting in a wobbly smile.

Hannah twitched an eyebrow. “Quite a fawner, are you?”

Arthur, his chest heaving, gave her a quizzical frown.

“What’s there to apologise for, except to please me?”

Arthur’s face burned. What was she expecting him to say? His mind wrestled with the dispiriting prospect of a botched evening.

“I’m always early for dates because I like a leisurely wait.” Hannah’s cheeky titter subsided into a coy little smile. She thumbed at the entrance behind her. “Shall we?”

“You don’t mind Poppy tagging along?” asked Arthur. He had meant to ask if she had many dates before.

“Of course I do. Dates are meant for only two.” She flapped her fingers at Poppy, who responded with an effusive, innocent smile. “Stop being neurotic, Arthur. Let’s go.”

An octagonal roofed stadium stood like a monument at the centre of the fair. Inside, a wrestling match was taking place. Tickets were still on sale, but Hannah said she loathed violence and suggested the game booths instead.

At one rickety shack Poppy was beside himself with joy after winning a sack of glass marbles on his first attempt at tikam tikam. At Poppy’s insistence, Arthur was inclined to allow a second attempt at the game, but Hannah disagreed. Arthur had to drag the bawling child away from the shack when Hannah marched off.

“Don’t be naïve, Arthur.” Hannah scoffed over her shoulder. “He’s won the only prize in the game. There’s no sense in slashing profits for more prizes when the very rarity of winning is the name of the game. It’s like getting nations to drop self-interests for the pursuit of world peace.”

Arthur felt the numbing pangs of embarrassment. “Shall we catch a movie?”

Hannah turned glumly to the direction of the Victory Theatre. “It’s the dullest of dates to be staring at a screen. You have two more tries before I dump you, Arthur.”

“Dance?” Arthur suggested. Poppy, impatient with the grownups” indecision, swung his arms and began to stir a ruckus. Arthur ignored him. “There’s a nice band going on,” he added. “I heard the big blues when we passed the hall.”

“Nice try,” she said. “But we need a prelude.”

“And what might that be?”

Hannah joggled her eyebrows. “The Ghost Train.”

Arthur laughed aloud and led the way. Hannah cajoled the operator into letting them cut the queue for in a final pair of seats on the next ride. They had to pack their bums into a fibreglass crate and Arthur never felt so privileged as to be rubbing shoulders with Hannah, literally, even with Poppy propped stiffly on his knees. As the train jerked and rattled through the farcical, macabre props he caught the scent of her hair. Perhaps it was intentional.

They poured out of the raggedy ghost train shack chortling over the ride, which had tickled rather than terrified. Arthur headed straight for the dance hall. This time Hannah expressed no objection.

The space was copious. Marble columns skirted an elliptical dance floor of excellent waxed teak. Three-quarters of the tables were filled, and on stage a band in white jackets was playing Let’s have a Natural Ball by Albert King.

“I’ll have the first dance with Poppy,” said Hannah as she took her seat before Arthur could pull a chair for her.

“What about me?” said Arthur.

“You can get a taxi-girl at a dollar for three dances.”

“You’ll get jealous.”

“No, I won’t,” said Hannah sweetly. “We haven’t taken anything that far.”

“No, we haven’t.”

Just then Poppy gave a raspy wail and grabbed at his crotch, indicating an urge to urinate. He took the boy’s hand. “I’m taking him to the shrubs.” Just as well; the silence after their conversation had grown discomfiting. He thought Hannah appeared a little regretful over her remarks, at least.

After Arthur left with Poppy, Hannah ordered a drink from a liveried, lanky waiter. When it came the air turned heavy with a dreadfully familiar presence. She looked up and met Khun’s gloating eyes.

“This island’s too small for the both of us,” he said, lowering himself into Arthur’s seat.

Hannah looked away. “What are you doing here?”

“The usual.” Khun popped a cigarette between his lips. “Minding my own business and deciding who gets nicked and who doesn’t.” He struck a match.

On the dance floor patrons were twisting to a number by Chubby Checker. Khun puffed a cloud of smoke into the space above him. “So what brought you here?”

“Why ask the obvious?”

“It isn’t obvious, that’s why I asked.” Khun leaned closer. “You’re either on a case or you aren’t.”

“I’m here for leisure.”

Khun guffawed, the sleeves of his shirt taut over his muscled arms. He stuck his nose scarcely an inch from her ear and whispered, “I think I know what you’re up to, dolly. Maybe you could give me some leisure of yours to shut me up.”

“Go to hell.”

Khun inhaled the scent of her perfume. “It’s something I can never get enough of, like money. Something I once had and lost.”

Hannah bolted from her seat and stormed out of the airconditioned hall and the humid night air struck her like a steam bath. Khun sauntered up after her and began roving about like a shark; the end of his cigarette glowed fiercely in the gloom.