Abdul Hamat shouted, running to her and pulling at her arm. She pushed him back and bending down cradled Ibrahim’s head in her arms once more.
“Ibrahim, my darling we are free. I won’t let anyone lock you up ever again. You will always sit out on the veranda with your coke. I promise. All day - if that is what you want - I’ll see to it - my dear husband” She wept over him, eyes tender.
With a wobbly smile, Ibrahim looked up into her eyes.
Aziza pulled him up and let the driver help them into the car.
Robert and Margery stepped aside. Too afraid and embarrassed to say or to ask. They had simply become invisible.
“Is no one going to put out the fire?” Robert finally ventured to croak as he saw the driver get into the car.
“It’s too late, Sir. There are no fire engines in this area. In any case by the time they arrive, the whole thing will have disappeared.” His eyes averted from his passengers, the driver looked at the burning building through his car mirror. “Do you mind if I take this lady and the man to the hospital, he needs seeing to.”
“Not at all.” Margery quickly got into the car. “Come on, Bob”
“But the host – Margery – we can’t just leave him behind - Not like this! What is he going to do?”
“Shush –just get in, Bob.” She pulled her husband into the car and waited for the driver to explain. It was all too surreal for them.
The driver was not in a mood to divulge anything, however. The woman had suffered enough indignities in her life already, than to have it capped it further by sharing it with these western tourists.
Ibrahim was belted into the front passenger seat. Aziza stiffly sat next to Margery. They had exchanged a quick nervous smile before Aziza gazed out of the car window. The driver turned to his other passengers. His eyes not quite meeting theirs in the driver’s mirror, he asked. “Sir and Madam would you want to try the scorpion farm now or the Batu Caves?”
Bob and Margery turned to look back. Their Malay host stood stooped against the tree, staring at the remains of his house. “Don’t worry, Sir, I will go back for the host later!” the driver reassured.
“Margery– Did we do the right thing leaving that poor man?” Three miles later Margery whispered “Did that really happen, Bob, or did I imagine it all?”
Her husband was staring at the wobbling head of the passenger in the front seat.
A PAIR OF JEANS
Miriam slid off the bus seat and glanced quickly at her watch. They were coming! And she was very late. Murmuring her goodbye to her two university friends, she made her way to the door and waited for her bus stop to approach. Once there she got off the bus and hurriedly waved goodbye to her friends again. She pulled the jacket close to her body, becoming suddenly very self-conscious about her jean-clad legs and the short vest she wore beneath it. It had, unfortunately, shrunk in the wash. All day she had kept pulling it down to cover her midriff. Strange but she felt odd in her clothing. Yet they were just the type of clothes she had needed to wear today; for hill walking in the Peak District, in the North West of England. Somehow here, in the vicinity of her home, however, she felt different. As she crossed the road and headed for her own street, she was very conscious of her appearance and hoped that she would not meet anyone she knew. She tugged at the hemline of her vest; it had ridden up yet again. With the other hand, she held onto the jacket front as it had no buttons.
Her mind turned to the outing. It had been a wonderful day, but her legs ached after climbing all those green hills – still it was worth it. Her eye on her watch, she quickened her pace. It was much later than she had anticipated. She remembered the phone call of yesterday evening. They said they were coming today. What if they had already arrived? She glanced down at her tightly jean-clad legs. As soon as she got home she must discreetly
“Ibrahim, my darling we are free. I won’t let anyone lock you up ever again. You will always sit out on the veranda with your coke. I promise. All day - if that is what you want - I’ll see to it - my dear husband” She wept over him, eyes tender.
With a wobbly smile, Ibrahim looked up into her eyes.
Aziza pulled him up and let the driver help them into the car.
Robert and Margery stepped aside. Too afraid and embarrassed to say or to ask. They had simply become invisible.
“Is no one going to put out the fire?” Robert finally ventured to croak as he saw the driver get into the car.
“It’s too late, Sir. There are no fire engines in this area. In any case by the time they arrive, the whole thing will have disappeared.” His eyes averted from his passengers, the driver looked at the burning building through his car mirror. “Do you mind if I take this lady and the man to the hospital, he needs seeing to.”
“Not at all.” Margery quickly got into the car. “Come on, Bob”
“But the host – Margery – we can’t just leave him behind - Not like this! What is he going to do?”
“Shush –just get in, Bob.” She pulled her husband into the car and waited for the driver to explain. It was all too surreal for them.
The driver was not in a mood to divulge anything, however. The woman had suffered enough indignities in her life already, than to have it capped it further by sharing it with these western tourists.
Ibrahim was belted into the front passenger seat. Aziza stiffly sat next to Margery. They had exchanged a quick nervous smile before Aziza gazed out of the car window. The driver turned to his other passengers. His eyes not quite meeting theirs in the driver’s mirror, he asked. “Sir and Madam would you want to try the scorpion farm now or the Batu Caves?”
Bob and Margery turned to look back. Their Malay host stood stooped against the tree, staring at the remains of his house. “Don’t worry, Sir, I will go back for the host later!” the driver reassured.
“Margery– Did we do the right thing leaving that poor man?” Three miles later Margery whispered “Did that really happen, Bob, or did I imagine it all?”
Her husband was staring at the wobbling head of the passenger in the front seat.
A PAIR OF JEANS
Miriam slid off the bus seat and glanced quickly at her watch. They were coming! And she was very late. Murmuring her goodbye to her two university friends, she made her way to the door and waited for her bus stop to approach. Once there she got off the bus and hurriedly waved goodbye to her friends again. She pulled the jacket close to her body, becoming suddenly very self-conscious about her jean-clad legs and the short vest she wore beneath it. It had, unfortunately, shrunk in the wash. All day she had kept pulling it down to cover her midriff. Strange but she felt odd in her clothing. Yet they were just the type of clothes she had needed to wear today; for hill walking in the Peak District, in the North West of England. Somehow here, in the vicinity of her home, however, she felt different. As she crossed the road and headed for her own street, she was very conscious of her appearance and hoped that she would not meet anyone she knew. She tugged at the hemline of her vest; it had ridden up yet again. With the other hand, she held onto the jacket front as it had no buttons.
Her mind turned to the outing. It had been a wonderful day, but her legs ached after climbing all those green hills – still it was worth it. Her eye on her watch, she quickened her pace. It was much later than she had anticipated. She remembered the phone call of yesterday evening. They said they were coming today. What if they had already arrived? She glanced down at her tightly jean-clad legs. As soon as she got home she must discreetly
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