The Rickshaw Man.
Glossary:
Cheongsam- a one-piece sleeveless bodice that has a high mandarin collar, darts in at the waist and high slits at the side of the dress. (i.e. highly uncomfortable to wear in my opinion)
Bukit Timah road - a real street in Singapore
rickshaw - see author's notes
"Sadly, sadly my heart will break during the night
But still i'll believe in what i'm looking for with my fragile hopes."
- Lyrics from "Sorairo", composed and sung by Ritsuko Okazaki.
He was a contented man who depended on his rickshaw for a living, although all looked down on him.
She was a woman who was the apple of many men's eyes, but none of them captured her lonely heart.
He wiped off the perspiration that gathered on his brows with the thin, white towel that was draped over his neck. Today was a very hot day, and he longed for a bowl of the dark herbal tea that the mobile stall parked opposite the street was selling.
"Five cents for a bowl! Five cents for a bowl of herbal tea!"
He opened up his coin pouch and took a good look. Perhaps he should buy that bowl of herbal tea after he had one customer. The moment he snapped close his pouch, someone had gotten up his rickshaw and he could smell the faint sweet jasmine scent that accompanied the customer.
"Bukit Timah road," her soft voice was almost drowned in the noise of the crowd.
He adjusted his straw hat and lifted up the heavy bars, causing the rickshaw to tilt backwards. "Yes Madam!"
As he pulled and jogged his way down the streets and corners, he wondered who this woman was. She must be a rich lady that lives in one of those big expensive mansions, he thought to himself as he blinked away the perspiration that got into his eyes. He hoped that this lady customer would give him a large tip so that he could get that bowl of herbal tea for himself.
"Madam, we are here!" His rickshaw came to a steady halt and he let go of the bars.
"Thank you," the lady pushed a one-dollar note into his sweaty palm before he could even straighten up.
By the time he had managed to do so, he only saw the slender back view of her elaborate red cheongsam and her beautiful long black curls. The jasmine scent disappeared with her departure and he could only stare jaw-dropped at the light paper note in his outstretched palm, which felt wonderfully heavy to him.
"One dollar! One dollar!" He waved the note in the air for five seconds and decided that he could also have a chicken drumstick for tonight's dinner. At the thought of his mother's smile on her wrinkled face, he headed for the nearest market immediately.
He waited at the same spot again, hoping to be able to see the rich lady who had gave him a dollar. It was not everyday customers gave him tips, not to mention a one-dollar note. A whooping one-dollar note! He smiled happily to himself as he whistled, keeping a lookout for young, slender ladies with long black curls. Perhaps today she would take his rickshaw, and give him another note.
Sure enough, he felt someone getting up into his rickshaw and he turned his face around with a wide smile on his face, "where would you like to go today Madam?"
"Bukit Timah road," she gave the same answer again.
He nodded his head and lifted up the bars while his customer looked down at her gloved hands. As he jogged his way to the destination, he wondered whether the lady behind him was a prostitute. She was dressed in an expensive silk cheongsam, with pearls around her neck and rouge on her lips. Her gloved hands were holding onto a small sequinned bag and she had perfume on. Most women wore drabs and had dull complexions, from working too much under the sun or looking haggard from taking care of the many children they had. But her skin was perfect and fair, as if she had never seen the sun before.
And she was young, very young. He guessed her age to be no more than his, and he was only twenty.
But of course, he was a poor boy who lived in squalors with his single mother, and had to eke out a living with his mother at the market selling hand-made fishballs when he was twelve. His father had died when he was ten and left nothing for them except a pair of shorts that now fit him snugly. His mother's health was weak and he knew that her body could not take the strain of making and selling fishballs for long. And so he decided to take their savings and purchased himself a rickshaw. Afterall it was a mean of transport and he was young and strong. He figured out that he could pull the rickshaw for a good twenty years before he saved enough for a small business. Although only five years had passed, he was happy with his life and his mother was well. That was all that he asked for; health and contentment.
She might be the daughter from a rich family, he tried to defend the girl sitting behind him although he knew that the possibility was low. Why would a rich family's lady travel alone? They would be escorted by many suitors and their parents. But she was alone and her face looked sad.
Perhaps he should try to cheer her up, he thought to himself.
"Missus, do you live at Bukit Timah road?"
Her eyes rounded at his question. She seldom held conversations, although she knew that many lusted after her with their greedy eyes. She looked up at the young tanned lad in front of him. There was a small hole in his sheer white cotton top which revealed his thin lean back.
"Yes," she wondered how old the lad was.
"Ah I see... then you must be very rich!" he laughed a little and thought that he sounded stupid.
She smiled a little at the lad's courage; few dared to speak to her. Perhaps he did not know who she was. He was just a young boy pulling rickshaws and had no idea of the dark life that people like her led.
"You can say so, although that is not my house," her eyes squinted a little under the bright sun.
He blew out a breath of relief when she responded.
"Not your house?" he asked.
She frowned a little, how was she going to answer him?
"Hn," was her simply reply for a lack of a better answer.
He smiled a little, "I hope you are not offended Missus. It's just that I thought perhaps we should talk a little lest you get bored."
She did not respond, so he continued on his own.
"Today is very hot, isn't it?"
She looked down at her gloved hands, "yes. It is always very hot."
"We are here Missus!" He was careful to pull to a slow halt and made sure that he could get another look at her.
She handed another one-dollar note to his hand and he instantly said, "it is too much Missus."
Both looked up to each other's eyes and his lips parted a little at her eyes. They were round and big, very dark and soulful, as if there was an immeasurable amount of sadness hiding behind that curtain of long black lashes.
She smiled a little, and he thought that even her smile was tainted with that hidden grief.
"It's okay, I have a lot of money anyway," she pressed the note to his hand, thanked him and walked away.
He made sure that she got into the gates and wondered why there were no guards posted. He gripped the dollar-note in his hand and told himself that he would try and do something for her. iNo one should ever be that sad/i he pulled his rickshaw and left her mansion.
"Missus!" He waved his straw hat happily to catch her attention.
She looked up, all startled like a frightened rabbit and hurried towards him.
"Don't do that! It attracts attention," she chided him as she got up his rickshaw.
He grinned to himself and handed her a bowl of the dark herbal tea, "drink it. It's good for this hot weather."
Her eyes widened at the murky black liquid swirling in the chipped ceramic bowl. And she wanted to cry.
"You... bought this for me...?" She could believe her eyes and ears.
He nodded his head and scratched the back of his head while the other held on to his tattered straw hat, "ah yes... because you said that it was always very hot, and I thought that you might want some of this."
She lowered her face, not wanting to see his happy, awkward smile lest she really cried.
"Thank you," she whispered and downed the herbal tea, not minding its bitterness at all. Someone had out of his goodness of the heart, not wanting anything out from her, bought her a cup of herbal tea. All because she mentioned that the weather was always hot.
As the lad jogged his way back to the stall to pass back the bowl, she thought that bowl of herbal tea was the best gift she had ever received, in comparison to the pearls, jewels, money and clothing she had gotten from men who wanted her body. She was nothing but a caged bird, one who had everything in the world except love and freedom.
He made his way back to his rickshaw, afraid to keep her waiting and lifted up the bars, "Bukit Timah road?"
For the first time in a long while, she let out a genuine smile, "yes please."
"Did you not get yourself a bowl too?" She enquired and noticed the new cotton top that he had gotten for himself. She tried not to giggle and told herself that she would give him more next time, since he needed money and she did not.
He turned his face half around and smiled widely, "ah I already have one before you arrived!"
Her heart felt incredibly lightened at his innocent free-spirited smile, and decided that she would take his rickshaw for as long as possible.
"Missus!" He tried not to shout and she noticed that he had painted the cover of his rickshaw. She wanted to laugh at the red and yellow circles on the dark-green waxed cover, and thought that he was the most endearing lad she had ever known.
"Did you paint this yourself?"
His hand went to the back of his head again as he smiled, "yeah! Is it nice? I borrowed some leftover paint from my Malay friend and decided to decorate the cover. You are so pretty, so you should sit in a nicer rickshaw."
Her heart warmed at his answer, and she realized that he was much taller than her now that they were standing side by side.
"You are really very tall!" She gestured to the difference in their heights and smiled.
His jaw dropped at her brilliant smile; it was sweet, lovely and captivating. He felt as if his soul might be taken by her smile and instantly turned his heated face away, "my mother says I am like a bean sprout. Tall and skinny."
She laughed softly and upon that, he turned around wide-eyed. He had never heard her laugh before and never thought that a woman's laughter could be so melodious. Like bells, small church bells, he stared at her and realized that he was being rude when she blushed and looked away.
"Please get on!" He tried to laugh as she got onto his rickshaw quietly.
As he pulled the vehicle along the streets, she suddenly called out.
"Stop!"
He did, and turned around, "but we are not there yet..."
She smiled and he helped her down the rickshaw, hoping that she would not mind his dirty hand on her gloved ones.
"Wait for me here, I want to get something first."
He did not have to wait for long before she ran back, half panting and half smiling at him. He felt himself weak at his knees even though he knew that she was not some rich daughter of upper-class family. He was no knowledgeable man but he was a streetwise person, and he had seen enough tragic stories to tell himself that he was very, very lucky.
"I got this!" She waved the paper butterfly in his face and laughed, "I'm silly, isn't it?"
He shook his head, a little shy and embarrassed that she was standing so near to him.
"I wanted to have one of these when I was very young, but could not afford it since my family is very poor. And when we passed by the stalls, I instantly remembered and decided to get it. Isn't it pretty?" She blew at the hand-made butterfly and the wings flapped a little.
He nodded his head and noted mentally to get himself one later when he had dropped her off.
"How old are you?" She realized that she had taken his rickshaw for two months, shared a lot about their likes and dislikes and yet she knew nothing of his age.
He panted a little as he strived to answer, "twenty this year!"
She nodded her head and thought that the clouds today seemed particularly fluffy and pretty. Or perhaps it was because she was looking at them from his moving rickshaw.
"How old are you Missus?" he knew her name, yet he could not kick the habit of addressing her as such. They had talked to each other everyday and he knew that even though she was rich and pretty, there was something dark hidden behind her smiles that she would not reveal to him. And he never pressed her for answers because he was sure that she had a reason. Everyone had a reason for not talking about the difficulties of their lives, and ever since he was very young, he knew that there was no point in trying to know more when one could not help.
She smiled, "make a guess."
"Eighteen?" He always thought her to be younger than him.
She shook her head, "wrong!"
He frowned a little, could she be younger, or older? "Nineteen?"
She laughed, "do I really look that young?"
He half-turned his face around again, "are you not?"
She leaned forward a little and the sweet jasmine scent wafted into his nostrils along with her action. His heart quickened as she whispered, "this is a secret, but I am already twenty-two!"
He never felt this disappointed when he heard her reply. He let out a silent sigh and realized that not only was she richer than him, she was also older than him. But then again, what did he want out from their relationship? He was merely her rickshaw driver, and she was his customer that he saw not more than an hour everyday.
After a long pause, she spoke again.
"But I feel like thirty."
His eyelids drooped, because he understood. Sometimes he felt as if he was much older too.
"I know how you feel, but life is like that. So look at the bright side of it," he tried his best to comfort her. He did not really know what she was going through, but he did not have to think too hard either.
She smiled sadly at his lean back, "by the way, I really like your rickshaw. It's as if it's my special sedan you know."
The corners of his eyes curled up in return as he nodded his head quietly.
"For you!" He pushed the thin stick in between her gloved fingers.
She stared at the paper butterfly for a long while before she asked quietly, "did you make this yourself?"
He scratched the back of his head awkwardly, "ah... I bought one myself and tried to learn. It's quite complicated actually... is it nice?"
She folded her soft red lips in as she willed herself not to cry. The butterfly he had made from coloured translucent paper for her was large, although one wing was slightly larger than the other one. She blew gently on the wings and they flapped smoothly and perfectly. She smiled as tears rimmed her sparkling eyes, "thank you. It is very lovely."
He caught sight of her wet eyes and instantly turned his head, "I'm glad that you liked it! Let's go!"
She wiped off the salty trails and smiled, "yes, let's go."
She told herself that no matter how much money she could give him, she could never repay his kindness and love.
He swiveled his head around worriedly. He had waited for more than two hours, and he could not see her at all.
He ruffled his messily cropped hair, is she sick? Is she tired of me? Maybe she's busy. He looked down at the bowl of sweet beancurd that he had gotten for her, it had already turned cold.
He let out a sight of relief when he caught the familiar light jasmine scent of hers, and instantly turned around. The bowl of beancurd broke dropped from his hand when he saw her hobbling towards him.
She tried to cover her face with a dainty lacy umbrella, but he could see blue-black bruises on her face and the corners of her mouth were bleeding. He ran to her without another word, tore the umbrella from her tightly-gripped hand and yelled, "who did this to you!"
Her eyes rounded and her gloved hand was instantly over his opened mouth.
"Sshh! Let's just go, please. Don't make a scene, not here at least."
He frowned and glared at his surroundings, but there were no one suspicious-looking around. When she pleaded with him silently with her teary eyes, he nodded his head and to her shock and surprise, he carried her in his arms gently until they reached his rickshaw.
"I will bring you to my home first," he headed towards his house without her consent. When they reached the squalors that he lived with his mother, he apologized and hoped that she would not be offended, "I am sorry. But your dress might get dirty..."
She shook her head and tried to smile at him. She had after all lived in such slums before.
He brought her to his room and made her sit on the straw mat. "Please wait here."
She did not dare to disobey because she had never seen him so angry before. Yet she felt oddly happy that he was, because it meant that he cared for her. And that alone was worth far more than anything she could have in her possession.
He returned with a hard-boiled egg and sat down cross-legged in front of her. "This might hurt a little, but my mother always uses this whenever I fought."
She wanted to giggle, but it hurt every time her mouth widened, "you fought?"
He nodded his head, "why? You don't believe?"
She wanted to laugh at the solemn expression on his face as he gently rolled the soft, warm egg over her closed eye and cheeks. He was always so easy-going and carefree that she thought it was a rarity to see him so serious and solemn; he looked older than her like that.
"I thought you would be a very obedient kid, that's all."
He snorted and grinned to her relief, "nah. I was very mischievous when I was a little boy. It was only when my dad passed away then I grew up. But I still fought with the boys once in a while if they teased me about it."
She opened the other eye and tried to look at his eyes; she loved them because they were warm, wide and open. Something that she wanted to run into, to take shelter and refuge in.
"My parents died when I was young too, I fought with the girls when they called me an orphan."
He laughed at her remark, and she closed her eyes, trying to remember the sound of his laughter.
When the egg finally moved down to her mouth, she opened her eyes and saw his collar-bone.
He immediately straightened his back and coughed a little, "I wanted to see whether your eyes are better..."
She smiled inwardly at his innocence and placed her ungloved hands over his rough big ones. He stopped, with the egg still under his right hand. Her hand felt so smooth and soft and fragile.
"Thank you, for everything. Really," she leaned forward and placed a kiss on his cheek.
His eyes rounded like saucers as his face flushed. She had kissed him! On his cheek!
She took the egg from him and wrapped it with her lacy gloves, "I need to go." She did not want to, but she had to.
He nodded and thought that his heart might leap out from his ribcage.
"I will send you home."
"MISSUS!" He yelled out for her while she hid behind a pillar away from the grocery shop.
Her heart lightened when she saw him pushing and elbowing his way towards her through the angry mob, "be careful!"
He nodded his head finally broke free from the throng. As he sprinted towards her, a burning bottle of alcohol flew over his head and he quickly lowered his head before it got smashed. When he finally reached her, he realized that she was shivering all over from fright and quickly carried her in his arms.
"Don't worry Missus!" He frowned and made his way as safely as he could back to his rickshaw while the people continued to throw burning newspaper, kerosene and beer bottles at a grocery shop.
She turned her head back and looked at the tall, dancing flames of fire that licked hungrily at the three-storey houses above the grocery shop, "what happened!"
He pulled his rickshaw as fast as he could to her house, wanting to get her out from that dangerous area. He never knew what might happen and she could get hurt. To him, she was a delicate fragile flower who needed to be protected at all time.
"The boss of that rice stall jacked up his prices. These are quite common; there was a strike from some workers just a few nights ago because they have not been paid for six months."
She nodded silently, her heart still thumping hard from the fright. She almost got herself burned and did not know what to do until he came and rescued her from there. She chided herself for being so weak and timid and turned her face away from the burning scene. iHave I become so sheltered/i She chewed on her rouge-stained lip and wrung her clammy hands. Five years in captivity, and she had lost the courage and defiance that she once demonstrated when she was just a street urchin. She leaned back on his rickshaw and closed her eyes, wondering how many more years this would continue before she would gain her freedom and pride.
"Missus?" He was worried because she was so quiet.
She opened her eyes, glad that she had heard his voice, "huh?"
"Are you alright?" The dark clouds started to gather and he could smell the scent of a thunderstorm in the wind that rushed past his face.
She nodded her head, even though she knew that she was not alright at all deep down in her heart. She had never been alright ever since she had been the kept, prized mistress of him.
She looked up to the skies and a peal of thunder drowned out her voice, "I'm fine, don't worry."
Before he could ask again, drops of rain started to fall. He started to pull faster because even though his rickshaw was covered, he knew that her health was not good and the last thing he wanted to see was her falling sick. So he hurried up and thought that he might run out of breath as rain soaked through his straw hat and white cotton top.
He stopped in front of her mansion and turned around, "Missus, do you have an umbrella?"
She opened her umbrella, got down and stood beside him, "you are wet."
He grinned at her, "its fine! I always get drenched, I'm used to it!"
She frowned, the rain made his body looked skinnier and taller. Perhaps today she could bring him in, since ihe/i was away in Malaysia for a week. "Wait."
His eyes rounded at her command and when she opened the gates wide enough, she beckoned him in.
He shook his head and waved his hands.
She half-ran and half-skipped to him, "come in! You need to dry yourself! Don't be stubborn!"
He knew that the thunderstorm would only get heavier, and he was curious about the western-styled house. Did she live alone? So he agreed and pulled the rickshaw in, parking it in front of the empty car garage.
When she made him sit on the sofa and disappeared, he looked around nervously and noticed that the house was rather simple inside with not many decorations, other than vases of fresh red roses standing around on window sills, black marble table, piano and ivory chests of drawers.
She is really rich, he relaxed a bit when he noticed that there was no one in the house except for him and her.
"Use this to dry yourself up. I'm sorry that I don't have new clothes for you," she handed him a large, thick dry towel and lied. She did have men's clothing but they belonged to him and she did not dare to lend it to him for fear that he might discover.
He smiled and thanked her, while he tried to dry himself with it.
"Take off your top and wipe dry, if not you'll fall sick," she frowned and stood silently before him.
He gulped and replied nervously, "no.. no need for that. I'm very strong!"
She snatched the towel from him and frowned harder, "do what I say. I'm older than you. Do you think that I will be embarrassed? I had a little brother before."
His eyes rounded; he never knew that she had a younger brother. He swiftly turned around, yanked off the wet cotton top and held it in his hands, not knowing where to put it lest it dirtied her expensive furniture. But instead of returning the towel back him, she started to drag the towel over his back slowly, as if she was deliberating over something.
"You have a scar here, what happened?"
"Oh that. I was scratched by an angry dog when I climbed into a rich man's garden to steal his rambutans."
She smiled to herself and wondered what else he did when he was young. "Turn around, let me wipe your front."
He obeyed obediently and looked down at her beautiful head of long ebony hair while she gently patted his upper torso. The jasmine scent was stronger in her house and his nostrils were flooded with the sweetness of it. He longed to dip his nose into her hair, to hug her tightly and to never let her go. He wanted to rescue her out from her cage, to give her happiness, to always make paper butterflies for her.
She bit her lip again when she sighted the angry red patch on his left hand, "you didn't tell me you were injured!"
He tried to laugh it off, "nah it's alright. I told you I'm very strong. This little-"
He stopped, because she cried. He was flustered; not knowing what to do or how to comfort her and angry; because he had made her cry.
So he said the only thing that came first to his mind, "Missus! Please don't cry! I'm really fine, really, really fine! See?" He slapped the red patch and winced inwardly at the pain, "it doesn't hurt!"
She stopped his hand but her tears continued to fall. His heart broke when she gripped his hand so tightly that the burning pain no longer reached his brain. He gently pried off her gloved hand and wiped her face dry with the towel.
"Don't cry, I am fine," he dropped the towel on the sofa and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. She was small, so small that he thought she was like a delicate rose that was stripped of its thorns to defend herself.
She trembled and smiled in his arms when she realized that she could not stop her tears. Tears of joy because he cared for her more than himself; tears of gratitude because he had given her a piece of freedom that she could enjoy while she was with him; and tears of sadness because she knew that she had fallen deep in love with him.
She buried her face into his bare chest and smiled, even though thoughts of worries plagued the back of her mind. What if he discovered? She knew that he would probably break his limbs, or even kill him. But for now, she just wanted to let go and embrace him, to immerse her soul in his warmth and not think of anything else.
One night, just one night will be enough, she told herself as raindrops continued to splatter against the window panes.
She pulled away from his chest, tip-toed and with her wet eyes closed, kissed him on his lips. He felt a strange sensation enveloping his head and his body and decided that he wanted her. No matter whom she had been with, no matter what she had done, and no matter how dangerous it was. He knew that she was a kept mistress even though she did not tell him anything. He knew that she was no longer pure and innocent but he still want her. He knew that this might cost him his life but he wanted to be in her arms, to merge into one with her and to give her some of his warmth that she seemed to crave for.
She led him up the spiral stairs, down the dark corridor, and to the four-post bed that had translucent curtains of white chiffon that laid within her bedroom. He noticed a vase of fresh red roses on her vanity table and his hand-made butterfly beside it.
"Do you know who I really am?"
He nodded his head and hugged her tightly, "I don't care. I love you Missus. Enough to see beyond all that."
She teared again, and he kissed away her tears.
"Let me take care of your heart, this I can do."
He took off her gloves and his fingers trembled a little as he pulled down the zip of her long white cheongsam. She pulled the chiffon curtains together and guided him on her bed as they made love to each other, slowly first then so passionately that the four wooden posts shook.
When both lay fulfilled in each other's arms, they could hear another loud deep roll of the thunder. He took a glance at the window and realized that night had come. "The thunderstorm will last through the night."
She closed her eyes as he ran his fingers through her hair, "I'm glad it rained."
"Do you blame me?" She looked up to his face while he sat propped up against two of her large pillows.
He smiled at her and kissed the tip of her small nose, "why would I?"
She frowned to herself; this could not go on for long. Their secret rendezvous had continued safely for three months, but she knew that surely one day he would discover their illicit relationship. She feared for him, feared for his life and safety.
"He might discover," she closed her eyes as he caressed her full breasts.
He lowered his head and kissed her deeply, "I don't care. I've told you before, and it will remain the same."
She climbed onto him and wrapped her arms around his long neck, "I love you so much that I am scared."
He dipped his nose into her hair and smoothed his hand down her bare back, "I know. But don't be, we cannot hide from what will happen in future. I will rescue you one day."
She looked forlornly at her pillows and knew that it was impossible. He was the boss of the biggest triad society in Singapore, feared and respected by many. He had so many connections that she knew that it would be a miracle if they could flee without being discovered. She was his pet, someone to satisfy his carnal desires and a beautiful woman to boost his ego in front of his triad members and enemies.
He kissed her ear, and then her neck, down to her collarbone as his hands roamed over her well-defined curves. She bit her lower lip and shut her eyelids as he entered her slowly and gently. She told herself to remember all these as he pushed against her. He braced himself on his arms and as he made love to her, he silently promised her that he would one day free her from the cage. She should be spreading her beautiful wings against the breeze and not made to wait inside the cage for her freedom that might never come.
He frowned as he stood in front of the unlocked door of her bedroom. He had not seen her for weeks; she was avoiding him.
"Don't come in!" He could hear her shrieks.
He knocked again, "why? Let me come in!"
She shook her head, she could never let him see her in this state. She would never go near him again.
He could hear her cries, and his heartbeat escalated. Had he beat her up again? He put his hand on the doorknob and opened the door, not caring whether she would be angry or not.
The first thing that greeted his sight was broken pieces of mirror scattered on the floor. The windows were opened and her white chiffon curtains were billowing from the four-post bed. He rushed to her but she only shrieked and covered her face with the blankets while she turned her back on him.
"Don't come near me!" She cried out helplessly.
He stood motionlessly in front of the bed. The chiffon curtains that brushed against his face did not block his view of her at all. He could see small bumpy red spots on her exposed arms and neck. His lips parted when she turned her face around slowly, angry tears trailing down her cheeks and over the same bumpy spots that spotted her cheeks.
"You've seen me, are you disgusted? Afraid?" Her voice was laced with hatred, anger and pointed sarcasm.
His eyebrows drooped to the sides as he closed his eyes and shook his head. No, this can't be happening to her, he balled his fists and wished that he could kill that man who had brought this onto her.
She laughed a little and looked out of the opened window. She had tried jumping out from it but it did not take her life. It was ironic that she could go where she wanted to but she would never be able to free herself.
"Leave, you might get infected too," she could taste her own salty tears.
He passed through the chiffon curtains and sat behind her, on the bed where they had made love to each other countless times when he was not around.
"How many times do you want me to repeat myself? I am not afraid, and I don't care," he hugged her from behind and she still smelled like jasmine. It was then he realized that the scent was spiked with salt and was not her perfume, but the sad longing scent of her desire to break free from her cage.
"You will always be my butterfly, no matter what happens to you."
He climbed up the spiral staircase as he carried a bowl of plain porridge in his hand. He had not visited her ever since she was stricken down with the illness, and he was glad for that. He pushed open the door to her bedroom and made his way towards her.
She was as usual, sitting on the edge of her bed and looking out of the window.
"Come and eat," he sat beside her and noticed that her once fair and flawless complexion was now ruddy and red with the bumpy welts. She no longer smelled of jasmine but the stronger scent of roses.
"I'm very happy now," she coughed. He noticed that her hair was thinner now, so was her body.
She turned and looked at him with both joy and sadness in her eyes, "I've gained my freedom now. And I have your love."
At her words, he broke down for the first time in front of her, his tears falling into the porridge that he had made for her.
He rushed down the corridor to her bedroom, with another paper butterfly in his hand.
"Missus! Look at-"
He dropped his hand-made butterfly as he stood at her door motionlessly.
She was lying lifelessly on the floor, with a peaceful smile on her face as she held onto his paper butterfly tightly in her right hand.
He did not know how much time had passed until dusk approached. He then carried her cold stiff body onto her bed and pulled the blankets up her neck. He retrieved the second paper butterfly that he made for her and laid it beside her head.
The last remaining petal of the deep red rose fluttered away with the night breeze as the moonlight shone through the opened window. He planted a dry kiss on her cold forehead and whispered softly, "I will make sure that I live long enough to find you next time."
He thought he could hear her sweet laughter floating together with the cool breeze, and noticed that there was the same red, bumpy spot on the back of his hand.
He knew that he had missed the chance to be with her for three lifetimes as he stood alone before the Door of Reincarnation, telling himself that he would not let her go the next time he found her.
She told herself that she would not let it be the next time she see him and stepped out into the blinding Light with the notion strong in her mind while her soul was transported.
A one-dollar note is a hundred cents, which was able to purchase much then. (Talk abt currency deflation...)
Rambutans: a kind of hairy tropical fruits that has a red thick shell.
I tried to set this chapter in the early times of my country (Singapore), around 1950s after the Japanese had been defeated and driven away by the Americans (World War II). A rickshaw looks something like a hybrid between a covered-coach and a cart-wagon, and if you want a picture of it, I'm sure Googling it will give you one. This was inspired by a local-made show that I watched when I was younger (say 10 years ago?). And because it was so sad, I remembered it very well. This show also provided the inspiration and backbone of this fanfiction, which I think most of you have gotten the gist of it by now.
Enough with my rambling, the next chapter will be the last one. And then I shall return to my long fic... (faints)
Pseudomonas