Jessica’s eyes hold Chow Kah’s hostage for several beats. “Today is 15th April, the day Father Damien died one hundred and thirty years ago in Molokai, Hawaii.” Her eyes are big, shimmery gold circles around massive pools of copper-brown.
Sitting beside Jessica on the settee, Chow Kah takes a hit of his Dogfish Head 120 Minute—his Adam’s apple wiggling like a fish— and grimace. “Who’s this fella Damien?” He wipes his mouth with a spotless cotton hanky yanked from his shirt pocket. “Sheesh! This beer’s terribly bitter. I should have taken the 90 Minute.”
The light in the KTV room is low—shades of blue and aquamarine—and the music is soft and romantic. The kind of music which sinks into your blood with a slow soothing beat, where it fuses with your emotions and sets your oxytocin on a slow, steady drip. On a separate sofa, Hussein and Wati are feeding each other cashew nuts from a three-compartment melamine platter on the coffee table. The three compartments are filled with water melon seeds, cashew nuts and candied winter melon respectively.
Jessica unlocks her eyes from Chow Kah’s, leans back on the sofa and crosses her slender legs. The hem of her miniskirt slides upward, revealing creamy thighs. “The IBU for the120 Minute is 120, 90 for the 90 Minute.” She flicks her gaze from Chow Kah to Wati sitting opposite her across the shiny coffee table. “He was known as the Leper Priest, canonized as a Saint in 2009.”
Wati hikes her chin and pushes strands of stray hair from her forehead. “Sounds like a fascinating man, his life story?” Her halter neck tank top sports a circular neckline, showing off the uppermost curves of her perfect breasts. Purple eye shadow and scarlet lipstick complete her tingle-inducing look and her buttocks look like watermelons.
Jessica drops her gaze to the platter. “He was born Joseph de Veuster in Belgium, 1840.” She picks up a strip of candied winter melon and pops it into her mouth. “Entered priesthood when he was nineteen years old, took the name Damien. In 1873, Damien arrived in Molokai Island. His purpose was to attend to the spiritual needs of the leper colony on Kalaupapa peninsula.”
Hussein places a hand on Wati’s lap and playfully squeezes it. “Wow, Jessica, you’re good with history dates.” In a dark red checked shirt that matches his thick hair, he has a rough face of blunt angles and a solid jaw.
Something flits over Jessica’s face, a shade of memory. “Last time, I always scored A in my History.” Her voice becomes sharper and louder. “Back to Damien. He built a church, houses, a hospital, a water system and an orphanage. Also tended to the sores of the lepers and buried the dead.” She shifts in her spot, creaking the springs of the settee. “One day, ten years later, he accidentally scalded himself with boiling water but felt little pain. He realized he himself had contracted the disease.” She taps on her cell phone and shows the screen to Chow Kah. “See? The before-and-after pictures of Damien?”
Chow Kah lifts his brows. “Holy shit! A symptom is not feeling pain?”
“The disease affects the nerves,” Wati says. “So, there’s loss of sensation.”
“But Damien slogged for several more years and died in 1889. In his last letter to his brother in Belgium, he wrote”— Jessica reads from her cell phone —“ ‘I am gently going to my grave. It is the will of God, and I thank Him very much for letting me die of the same disease and in the same way as my lepers. I am very satisfied and very happy.’ He was buried next to the church he built.” She pulls a piece of Kleenex from a box and wipes a tear from the corner of her eye. “His Feast Day is May 10, and I’ll be on leave for two days.” Her long eyelashes are threaded with tears and they sparkle as she blinks
Chow Kah angles to face Jessica. “Oh, what purpose?” He wipes her cheek with his handkerchief.
Jessica wads the piece of Kleenex. “I’ll be in Penang to pray at St Damien’s Church.” She puts the crumpled tissue in the glass ashtray. “Damien is important to me. My parents were residents of the Sungei Buloh leprosarium. That’s how they met.”
Chow Kah bulges his eyes in shock. “What! Your parents were lepers?” Stuffing his handkerchief back in his shirt pocket, he makes a face, and his voice is a croak. “Oh, my God! Sure you don’t have the disease?”
Wati gives Chow Kah a shark-like smile. “Now you regret having kissed Jessica?” Scorn makes a shadow play in her thick-lashed glittering eyes.
Hussein shakes his head and makes a flinging gesture with one hand. “No need to be alarmed, buddy.” He pours more beer into his willybecher. “Leprosy’s not a hereditary disease, a bacteria causes it. It’s curable.”
"Yes, honey, they were lepers." Jessica turns sideways and scoots nearer to Chow Kah. “Come, darling, French-kiss me!” She pouts her lips.
Chow Kah jerks his head back. “No, no, darling, not tonight. I’ve a sore throat, may spread the infection to you.” He clamps a gnarled hand over his mouth.
Silence slices the room for a beat as all eyes focus on Chow Kah.
A chuckle escapes from Wati’s lips. “Jessica’s only pulling your leg!” The humour does not reach her eyes. “Her parents are normal, healthy folks. I’ve met them before.”
Jessica stabs Chow Kah with a guilt-inducing stare “You asshole, I was only kidding!” She lifts her shot glass and twirls it in one hand, her lips curling in a cross between a grin and a sneer. “There’s no Saint Damien Church in Penang or anywhere else in Malaysia.” She takes a glug of her vodka, the depths of her eyes displaying hurt feelings. “I’m disappointed in you! Coz you always say you love me!”
Hefting his willybecher, Hussein chortles and says “Chow Kah, now you can accept Jessica’s kiss with relish, huh?” but Jessica wags her forefinger and—tossing her gaze from Hussein to Chow Kah—rebuts, “My offer is closed, I don’t want to catch your throat infection!”
Chow Kah slaps his forehead with an open palm. “Oh, fuck! I really screwed up this time!” He throws a sheepish smile at Hussein who rewards him with a shrug.
Wati squishes her brows, her mind grabbing the rungs of a memory ladder. “But—Jessica— a leper did come here, two years back, remember?”
Jessica nods, her gaze turned inward toward the past. “I was off, but Mummy told me about the incident.”
Hussein takes Wati’s hand in his and caresses his thumb across her knuckles. “So, anything happened?” He brings her hand to his lips and kisses it.
Wati sits up straight, thrusting her bosom forward. “That night, business was slow, so several girls not booked. No girl wanted to entertain the leper. So he sat at the bar, stared at the girls on the settee. He drank one beer after another. Then, one girl noticed a big bulge in his crotch. The leper went to the gents. Ten minutes passed. He did not return. The girl who spotted his hard-on suspected he had gone to masturbate. Mummy sent James, our bartender, to check on the leper. When James entered the loo, he saw the leper come out of a stall. The fucker’s face was twisted in a grimace. James inspected the stall the leper was in earlier. The leper’s dick was lying on the floor! He had pulled it off while masturbating!”
The walls of the KTV room rattle with laughter.
The expression on Hussein’s flushed face turns skeptical. “True story, darling?”
“Of course!” A shadow of seriousness moves across Wati’s lively eyes. “A leper’s fingers and toes can fall off!”
“Hmmm, I see.” Chow Kah checks his wrist watch. “Anything else about lepers before we call it a night?” He finishes his 120 Minute, makes a face like he may spit it out and releases an exhale.
Jessica slides towards the edge of her seat. “Yeah, World Leprosy Day falls on January 30th.” She jabs a button on the electronic waiter pager sitting on the coffee table. Then, straightening up, she leans over to Chow Kah, and her luscious lips meld on his cheek, leaving a red imprint. “You’re forgiven for your antics just now, honey.”
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