Ewe Paik Leong, The Wordslinger: Sample Chapter 2 of "Burma Road Driver, Resistance Fighter"

Chapter 2

Singapore

1939

Inside Great Southern Hotel, the iron-cage lift jolted to a halt and Kwong Eng-Liang pulled apart the scissor-grille door. He and his room-mate, a reedy and dark man, stepped out. They walked down the wide corridor to the hotel’s diner, Southern Restaurant. At its entrance, Eng-Liang stopped and gave the place a once-over. More than twenty tables draped with spick-and-span white cloths filled the restaurant. Cardboard signs scrawled with “Reserved for Nanyang Transport Volunteers” sat on several tables. There were views of the star-lit night in two open windows adorned with arabesque-designed grilles set at one wall. From a juke box, over the babble, Shanghai singer Pai Kwang was crooning a Mandarin song titled I Am Waiting for You in her trade-mark dark voice

“Shall we sit near a window?” his companion asked. “I like to enjoy the view.”

“Fine.”

Eng-Liang and his companion started to tread between tables.

Earlier in the morning, he had taken a Malayan Railway train from Kuala Lumpur and had reached Singapore in the afternoon. He had ridden a trishaw to the Ee Hoe Hean Club at No 43, Bukit Basoh Road, which served as the headquarters of the China Relief Fund. After his registration, a female clerk had told him to check into Great Southern Hotel, located at Cross Street, which had agreed to provide accommodation and food for Nanyang Transport Volunteers. Two men shared a room, while a woman was given sole occupancy.

Eng-Liang’s gaze froze at the sight of a woman—probably in her mid-twenties—occupying a table in the centre. A rose among the thorns! Such a feisty girl! And pleasant-looking from what I observe from here. Women with a strong personality attracted him. He and his elder brother had been raised by a tough mother who had often fought with his drunkard father.

Eng-Liang sized up the two men sitting across the woman and chatting with her. The stocky man was in his early twenties. His rawboned companion was tanned, not more than thirty in age. Probably both are coolies, he sneered mentally. Breaking away from his room-mate, he strode to the table and drew out a chair beside the woman. He introduced himself in English, “Sorry to interrupt. My name’s Kwong Eng-Liang. May I sit here?”

The woman flicks her gaze up. “You’ve pulled yourself a seat,” she said, her perfectly sculpted brows inching up, “haven’t you?” She wore a high-collared floral print top with matching pants in orange.

The blunt words startled Eng-Liang but he gazed at her with warm, melting eyes, flashing a forced smile. Sagging his body slightly, he gestured to the seat with an open palm. “May I?” he asked again.

His heart fluttered when she upturned her lips in a half-smile. “Of course.”

Eng-Liang sat down and exchanged pleasantries with the other two men. He segued to compliment the plush accommodation and the facilities within the hotel. Everyone nodded and praised the generosity of its owner, Eu Tong Sen. Eng-Liang threw a distant glance at his room-mate– now seated at a window table–who fired back an annoyed expression. I don’t give a hoot to him, he mused. This woman’s more important.

The preliminaries in courtesy with the two men over, Eng-Liang turned to the woman beside him, his eyes lit in a sensual gleam. “You haven’t told me your name,” he said. Her eyes, though small, sparkled with zest, warming his heart. Her high nose bridge conveyed an air of elegance. Her rosebud lips fascinated him. Such kissable lips, even without lipstick! From her head, two braids hung at the sides of her squarish face, revealing peaches-and-cream complexion. Though not exactly buxom, nature had endowed her with a svelte figure with everything in the right proportions in her five-feet-five frame.

“My name’s Su Liu-Shan. Just call me by my first name. After all, we’re compatriots in the National Spiritual Mobilization Movement.”

“Actually, we’re small cogs in the war effort. Like pawns in a chess game.”

“Every bit of contribution counts. Individuals working as a team accomplish more compared to those acting independently. It’s like machinery. Each part has its own function. But by combining all the functions, a more powerful function results.”

Impressed with her logical faculties, Eng-Liang felt drawn to her. “Wow, your English’s good.” She’s beauty with brains. “Were you from Convent School?”

A bob-haired waitress in a high-slit cheong sum came to the table and started to set empty glasses, chopsticks and spoons in front of the diners.

“No, I’m a B.B.G.Sian. And you?” Liu-Shan tossed a glance at the waitress. “Thank you,” she said and the waitress went away.

“That stands for Bukit Bintang Girls School in Kuala Lumpur, right?” He smiled. “I’m a Johannian.”

“Ah, St. John’s Institution on Bukit Nenas Road. That’s just a short distance away from my former school. Brother Cornelius Nulty’s still in charge?”

“Yes. He’s a tough cookie but a fair man.” Eng-Liang knitted his fingers to a placid clasp and placed his hands on the table. “Students are scared stiff of him. Is KL your hometown?”

“Yes, I was born and raised there. What about you?”

“Kajang’s my hometown. My mother’s still there with my elder brother.” He swung a gaze at the two men sitting across. They were now chatting with each other in Cantonese dialect. They don’t seem to understand English. He was pleased. “After my father died when I was ten, I was sent to stay in KL with my uncle. So, I grew up there. After I got a job, I moved out.”

The same waitress returned with a pear-shaped porcelain pot and filled the glasses with steaming tea. The fragrance of jasmine tinged with a faint sweet scent wafted about as steam curled upward from the brew. She left the pot in the centre of the table and went away.

Liu-Shan flicked a downward gaze at his hands. “You look like a pen-pusher.” Her eyes met his. “What was your occupation?”

“I was a purchasing clerk at the Cold Storage. Have been there for five years. I started as a store assistant, doing almost everything. From sweeping the floor to lugging crates of canned food to arranging displays. Two years later, I was promoted to my former position. I updated inventory records and issued purchase orders to London. Sometimes, I sourced for new suppliers, get quotations.”

“That’s admirable.” She smiled to reveal pearly white teeth. “You left a secure, comfortable post to become a truck driver. Patriotism certainly runs deep in you. Other men in your position would prefer to remain in the comfort zone.” Her gaze held his for a moment.

“What can I say? I was always the boy in my neighbor-hood to rescue cats stranded on trees.” Eng-Liang flashed a quick smile and turned away as a lump arose in his throat. I want to go to China to run away from my gambling creditor. China may also offer opportunities for some lucrative deals. Contraband, black market goods or whatever. He raised his glass, blew at the steaming tea and took a long sip.

A waiter came with a tray filled with platters of stewed pork, fried fish, roasted chicken and stir-fried vegetables and bowls of rice and transferred them to the table.

Using chopsticks, Eng-Liang gripped a chicken drumstick and placed it on Liu-Shan’s bowl. “Come, let’s eat!”

**********

At 8 a.m. the bus ferrying the Nanyang Transport Volunteers entered the massive gateway of Shuang Lin Monastery in the squatter district of Toa Payoh. Inside the bus, Liu-Shan rubbed her palms over each arm alternately a few times. I shouldn’t have worn a sleeveless top. But again, long sleeves would be hot in the afternoon. She looked out the window. The monastery consisted of a single pagoda in the front yard and a cluster of buildings with saddle-shaped roofs sporting upturned eaves.

Sitting beside her, Eng-Ling shifted in his seat. “I never expected the Driving Institute to be located here. I always thought that monks should be apolitical, not et involved with affairs of the state.”

Liu Shan turned away from the window to face Eng-Liang. “The fight for justice and liberty extends across both secular and religious institutions. Don’t look at life only in terms of black and white.”

For a moment, she admired his distinct cheekbones, angular jaw and hazel eyes. Mama once told me that if a person’s eyes are brown, he is not pure Han Chinese but has minority blood, she recalled. But brown eyes make him more captivating.

The bus jerked to a stop and everyone got to their feet to get out. Eng-Liang noticed a gap in the shuffling stream of passengers. “Let’s make a move.” He stood up, stepped out in the aisle and took a step backward. Liu-Shan rose, moved forward into the space and they shuffled out. A saffron-robed monk, his neck weighted down by a string of red-sandalwood beads, greeted the visitors, “Welcome to Shuang Lin Monastery. Please proceed to the hall at the right wing.”

Twenty minutes later, Liu-Shan and Eng-Liang were sitting in front-row seats facing a half-bald man with a paunch who stood on a small wooden rostrum. He wore a white shirt and a worn-out belt which secured his pants under his beer belly. “Good morning, lady and gentleman. I’m Chester Choo. I’m the supervisor of the Driving Institute.” His voice sounded like he was shouting through his nose. “During your one month’s training here, every morning will start with callisthenics and simple military drills. These will take about one hour. Then, our drivers will teach you how to drive Bedford trucks. Each vehicle has a kerb weight of 14,450 pounds. They are similar to those you’ll be driving in China. Because of the difficult terrain and the sheer size of the truck, hand and eye co-ordination and judgment are extremely important. I must tell you in advance that the Burma route stretches over two mountain ranges and crosses more than 400 bridges over deep gorges. The height of the road above sea level varies from six hundred to more than a thousand feet.” He paused to emphasize what he was about to say, his eyes gleaming like steel. “Therefore, your lives may depend on your driving skills you acquire here. So, please give your fullest attention to your instructors. I shudder to imagine what will be the fate of the driver if his —” he looked at Liu-Shan for a moment “—or her truck plunges down a ravine.” The audience remained silent for a few moments as Chester gazed at the faces before him with the expression of a funeral undertaker. “After graduation, you’ll receive a certificate of completion. Some of you will then board a ship bound for Haiphong in French Indo-China and from there proceed by train to Yunnan. Others will travel by rail to Malaya, up to Rangoon and eventually to Lashio. From Lashio, trucks will transport them for Kunming. I’ll give finer details when your course is nearing completion.” He took a breather again before finishing his briefing. “If you encounter any problems during training, you can come see me personally. My office is the smaller one next to Venerable Pu Ling’s.” He gave the audience an once-over. “Now, let’s go to the training grounds to meet your instructors.”

**********

In the Chinese opera theatre in New World Park, the final scene of “Madame White Snake” was being played out. To the rapid rhythmic clashing of cymbals and the clacking of wooden clappers, Siao-Ching, the green-snake incarnate, was battling Buddhist monk Fa-Hai, both players twirling and circling. Alas, in a flurry of cascading sleeves, Siao-Ching stabbed the staff-wielding Fa-Hai with her sword, freeing Madame White Snake from Thunder Pagoda. There was a moment’s silence followed by a vivacious screeching of the fiddle and plucking of the zither as Madame White Snake, her face in white and pink, rushed with open arms to her awaiting mortal husband Hsu-Sheng. As the audience hollered and clap- ped, the curtain closed. Only for three seconds. It drew apart again and all members of the cast, faces painted and wearing elaborate headdresses, stepped forward and took a bow.

After a cacophony of cheering, applause and stamping of feet, there was a scuffing of chairs against the floor as people rose to their feet. Liu-Shan and Eng-Liang shuffled to the middle corridor between two groupings of seats and moved to the exit. Outside the theatre, Liu-Shan felt refreshed by the cool air. She saw Eng-Liang in front, jostling between people to create a path for her to move, and occasionally glancing back to make sure she was not lost. He’s quite a gentleman, thought Liu-Shan. Over the past three weeks, he’s been pulling chairs out for me at Southern Restaurant.

When Eng-Liang reached a row of games stall where it was quieter, he stopped walking and turned to face Liu-Shan. “Care for a bite?” He flicked his wrist to read the time on his watch. “It’s not too late. We still have time.”

“I’m not hungry. Let’s get back.”

Eng-Liang directed her by placing a palm on the small of her back. “Did you like the plot?”

“I love it. The original legend was a horror story; however, this evening’s performance portrayed the story as a romance.”

They passed stalls selling clockwork crocodiles, wooden soldiers, rice-paste figurines, teddy bears and cap guns.

Eng-Liang cast a side gaze at Liu-Shan. “The lead singer acted well as Madame White Snake.”

“I wonder if Madame White Snake is as pretty without her makeup.”

Eng-Liang chuckled, revealing white orderly teeth.

“What’s so funny?”

“Madame White Snake was played by a man! That’s Peking-style opera.”

“Huh?” The corners of Liu-Shan’s lips upturn in a grin. “Really?”

“In ancient China, women were conservative. They weren’t allowed to perform in public. Therefore, males took on female roles. Though times have changed, there’s still a shortage of opera actresses.”

“I don’t understand Hsu Sheng. First, he died of fright after seeing the white snake beside him on his bed. Later, when Madame White Snake brought him back to life with magical herbs, he chose to remain with her. He seems like a contradiction.”

“That’s because his love for her is true.”

Let me test the waters, thought Liu-Shan. “Blind love or true love?”

“True love.”

“Loving a snake-demoness is blind love.”

“A husband should love his wife as she is. True love is always blind. And it’s eternal.”

“Yes, their love for each other was eternal and true.”

They exited the park under a pagoda-roofed arch with neon lights glittering on its twin pillars. A crowd of rickshaw pullers came running up, gathering around in a circle, balancing the shafts of their bicycle-tyred conveyances. Eng-Liang and Liu-Shan moved to a young puller whose trousers were tied at his ankles, above his black cloth slippers. Eng-Liang held out his hand to help Liu-Shan up the rickshaw and after she had settled down, he climbed aboard and announced, “Great Southern Hotel.” The puller started to plod away along Besar Road lined with shop-houses and sheltered sidewalks.

Liu-Shan leaned back, taking in the drab scenery. “Tell me something about your family.”

“My Dad owned a coconut plantation, about six acres. He didn’t produce copra but palm toddy.” Eng-Liang chuckled. “He started drinking his own product and eventually became a drunk. He then graduated to moonshine. My Mom thrashed him whenever he came home tipsy. One evening, he didn’t come home. The next morning, the Sikh milkman found him dead in his truck, just outside our home. He had died of an apparent heart attack.”

“Have you tried palm toddy?”

“No, it stinks.” Eng-Liang made a face. “Smells like vinegar. After my father’s death, my Mom managed the business, drove his truck to deliver the tanks of palm toddy. Around that time, she sent me to KL to stay with my uncle. She wanted me to give me a secondary English-education. My elder brother had already dropped out of primary school many years ago. He remained with her.”

“Any plan to get involved in palm toddy?”

“Nope, agriculture’s not for me. I’ll probably sell off my future share of the plantation. Start some sort of trading business.”

Seems like potential husband material, thought Liu-Shan.

They kept quiet for the rest of the journey until they reached Great Southern Hotel. They entered the lift and when it stopped at Liu-Shan’s floor, she bade him a warm “Good-night.”

**********

Tientsin

August 23, 1939

The clomp of boots on concrete floor sounded in the dark corridor of a prison as four Chinese men, all in their twenties, were led by eight Japanese soldiers to the back doorway into an open courtyard surrounded by a high perimeter stone wall. The prisoners were bare-footed, their hands tied behind their backs and their faces bruised from the beatings suffered during their earlier interrogation by the British police.

Captain Kasuki Fukuda sat at a desk placed under the shadow of one wall, thrown by the morning sun hanging low in the sky. The Japanese soldiers herded the four men in a single line to face Kasuki who flitted his gaze across their faces.

“All of you have confessed to the British police of having planned and carried out the assassination of Cheng Hsi-Keng,” he said in English, “who’s the esteemed manager of the Federal Reserve Bank of North China. In accordance with Japanese law, the penalty for this offence is execution by beheading!” He hiked his stubbly chin. “Does any one of you have any last words?”

Heads downcast, the four prisoners remained silent.

Kasuki nodded to one of his men. “Let the execution be carried out now.”

**********

Watch the trailer on YouTube on this link:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vrU4fJIEBJk

Get the full novel on this link: