The Red Wall

"Haha! Blackjack, bitches!" Loo Kar Weng hollered, tossing down his winning cards onto the table. "Pay up!"

"Blardy hell," Mike chidded.

"Celaka laaa..." whined Iskandar Lutfi.

The other boys of Tingkatan 3 Biru were also in various stages of chaos. One group had cleared the desks at the back of the class and had started a breakdance tournament. In the narrow corridor outside, a 2-on-2 game of futsal was in progress. One third of the class was missing. And of course, the class monitor Daniel Aziz was sound asleep on his desk.

The environment in a classroom of boys after PMR would put a troop of caged monkeys to shame.

They really didn't have a reason to show up at school. Except that they were threatened by the Guru Kanan Disiplin to have their PMR results witheld unless they scored a perfect attendance for the rest of the school year.

"Weih," Daniel - still sleepy eyed - staggered over to the Blackjack table. "Jom fly, nak?"

It was 10.47am - unusually late for someone to suggest 'fly'ing. Most others would have taken off by 9.30am. Even so, Mike, Kar Weng and two others decided to take Daniel up on his offer.

Being a boys school located in the heart of town and bordered on one side by thick tropical underbrush, it wasn't unheard of that a student would go missing, only to show up later at a cybercafe playing Half-life Counterstrike. However there was one more factor in the equation that Mike and his friends had forgotten to take into consideration, which they would only discover later.

The five boys in white shirts and shit green uniform pants stealthily made their way to the Red Wall at the back of the school. It was named such because legend has it that during the Japanese occupation, detainees were lined up against the wall and bayoneted to death by Jap soldiers. A hostel boy once told Mike and I that one night he saw a black figure standing against the wall, crying blood and begging for mercy.

The ten foot wall which kept the students inside and the jungle outside didn't prove much of a challenge for five cunning young men nearing their physical peak. Mike and Daniel were the last two. Daniel gave Mike a boost as he did for everyone, and Mike hauled himself onto the top of the wall.

Looking down at the beautiful green bushes and trees on the other side, Mike wondered why it was unusual to fly school after 10.30am. A school basketball player, Daniel took a running start and pounced onto the wall, grabbing it at the top. Mike pulled him up and they jumped over together.

That's when they saw it. 

Parked 40 feet away was a police car. And standing outside it, watching all the action from behind his dark glasses was a police officer on patrol. Now Mike knew why it was stupid to jump the wall after 10.30am.

The five boys froze, waiting for the law enforcer to react. He responded with an ice cold stare, as if daring them to move another muscle. Mike considered crying blood and begging for mercy. A whole 30 seconds passed.

"Aku dah nampak korang buat apa," yelled the police officer, his booming voice sending a chill right down to Mike's testicles.

"Aku bagi korang dua pilihan," he continued from across the shrubs.

"Satu," he counted. "Korang semua masuk balik cara yang sama korang keluar."

"Dua," he offered an option. "Korang semua naik keta aku. Aku bawak korang masuk skolah ikut pintu depan."

"Mana satu korang nak?"

Never in my life had I seen five boys scale a wall that fast to get INTO a school.

The Bloodhound

Mike got into the driver's seat of the white Proton Saga and started the engine. The car was nearly as old as he was, but it was ever loyal to the Stone family. As far as Mike could remember, its Magma engine hadn't acted up even once in the last two decades.

Now if only the same could be said for Diana Ying.

Mike rubbed the bite mark on his left arm. Diana was so sweet, that if they made an action figure of her, it would come with an insulin shot. But when she went crazy, she was a maniac. 

Keeping up with Diana was emotionally draining for Mike. Keeping up with Mike was physically draining for Diana. So they complemented each other in some weird way. 

Mike hadn't had time to check if her farewell bite had left a mark under the sleeve of his Black Sabbath t-shirt. Mama Stone had wanted to go to Makro, so Mike obliged his old lady. Mama Stone locked the front gate of the house and made her way to the car. 

She seemed preoccupied with her shopping list - the scribbling on which only she could read. However, as soon as she got into the front passenger seat, she looked up from the white piece of paper. She took a whiff of the air and paused.

"What's her name?" she asked, looking back to the shopping list.

"Huh?..." Mike's eyes widened. "Who you talking about, ma?" he asked, innocently.

"The girl you brought in the car." she responded flatly, eyes still scrolling down the list.

Mike sneaked a glance into the back seat to see if Diana was actually hiding back there. She wasn't.

What the hell? How could she possibly know?

"...Nobody in our family uses Clairol Herbal Essence." Mama Stone said, looking up at Mike. She was still waiting for an answer.

All Indian women must become bloodhounds the moment they give birth.

The New Kindergarten

For the first two years of preschool, Little Mikey went to a Chinese kindergarten where he spoke Mandrin to most of his friends. After school his aunt would walk him back to his grandparents' house where the lingua franca was Tamil. When his parents picked him up after work, they would speak English to him.

So Little Mikey never really had much of a use for Malay - that is, until he got moved to a different kindergarten.

I know most of you probably cried on your first day of kindergarten, but after moving to the new Tadika Smurfs, Little Mikey cried every damned day for two whole weeks. Why?

"Nobody wanna friend meeee-eeee," he sobbed.

You see, Tadika Smurfs was a kindergarten in a dominantly Malay neighbourhood. Little Mikey was moved there because it was nearer to his parents' house. 

(By the way, if you're too young to know what Smurfs are, they were a popular cartoon in the '80s about a community of little creatures - kinda like Spongebob, only much less obscene)

To the social elite of Tadika Smurfs, Little Mikey was the awkward English speaking new kid whom nobody understood. And to Little Mikey, Tadika Smurfs was a lot like France, where people looked down their noses at you for speaking English instead of the local language.

"Appa, I don't like school la." Little Mikey complained. "I donno how to talk Malay."

"You must make friends la." Papa Stone said. "Then only you can learn from them."

"But nobody wanna friend me." Little Mikey whined.

"Why?"

"Because I donno how to talk Malay!"

Papa Stone scratched his head. Was this really the idiot who would look after him when he was old? "Maybe I should make another one, just in case?" he wondered.

"Ok," Papa Stone said. "I'll teach you how to make friends."

Little Mikey listened.

"When you go to school tomorrow," Papa Stone began. "You walk up to the first Malay boy you see... and you look him in the eyes... like this." He motioned with two fingers.

"And you say... Sa - ya"

"Sa - ya" Little Mikey repeated.

"Nak"

"Nak"

"Ka - wan"

"Ka - wan"

"A - wak"

"Awak!" 

Little Mikey was excited now that he knew the secret code words. He couldn't wait to show up at kindergarten the next day and be one of the cool kids. Maybe they'd even let him play polis sentri!

    *     *    *    *     *

The next morning, Papa Stone dropped Little Mikey off at the front gate of Tadika Smurfs. Little Mikey hopped off the Honda kapchai, ready to grab the bull by the horns. In his head, he repeated the magic phrase over and over again. 

He looked for the first person who would be his new best friend. Mohd Saiful Imran stood by the swings sipping a Junior Juice sachet. Little Mikey closed in. Out of pure curiousity, Papa Stone decided to stay and watch.

His son, in sailor uniform and red Kiki Lala shoes, walked valiantly up to the Malay boy by the swings.

"Imran," Little Mikey said, bold and clear. "Saya nak kahwin awak!"

An uneasy silence followed.

"Eeeeee!... Tak nak lah!" Little Imran cried out, running away.

Little Mikey felt a cry ball rising in his throat. Papa Stone was laughing so hard he almost fell of his motorcycle. 

The Air Traffic Controller

“Fox 02, this is Lumut Tower,” Air Force Captain Nazrul Johar spoke loud and clear into the microphone addressing the pilot. The navy helicopter hovered at the other end of the airfield from the control tower. Captain Nazrul referred the pilot over to ground control.

Down on the tarmac below, Navy Sub Lieutenant Michael Stone signaled the aircraft forward. When it was right above the yellow square on the ground, he began to motion it downward. Inch by inch, he guided the pilot until the helicopter skids came into contact with the cement helipad in front of him.

That was the last one.

Stone lowered his ear muffs and goggles. Wiping the sweat from his brows, he exhaled deeply. It had been a long and humid day. He shook hands with the rest of the ground control men on duty that day and trudged back toward the main building. He needed a cold drink.

In the crew room he found Captain Nazrul reclined in a chair, sipping Nescafe and watching the 6pm news.

“Slamat petang tuan,” Stone greeted.

“Ha, Subby,” Nazrul replied sheepishly when he saw Stone. “Satu hari ni dari tower aku duk perhati kau jadi air field marshaller. Aku suka la gaya kau.”

Stone smiled. “Gaya macamana tu, tuan?”

“Kau ni rilek je. Sempoi.” Nazrul said. “Biasa kalau orang baru, dia punya gelabah takyah cakap la. Macam takut kena makan aircraft tu.”

Stone chuckled.

Despite having a credible Air Wing, the Navy’s air traffic control (ATC) department was operated by a small but highly competent team of loaned personnel from the Air Force. Nazrul was one of those few who wore the Air Force colours but played by Navy rules.

He confessed that he joined the armed forces to be a pilot, but ended up doing ATC instead. Stone chatted with Nazrul about his Air Force training and experience in the service.

“Zaman aku kadet dulu lain,” Nazrul said. “Training kau macamana?”

“Kalau nak bandingkan dengan tuan,” Stone tried to be as tactful as possible. “memang la lain. Sekarang squat jump pun dah takde dah.”

Squat jumps are a physical training routine intended for stamina and knee strength. Never mind that after thirty in a row, the trainee feels as if his kneecaps are going to pop like corks. The trainee crouches with his hand clasped behind his head. When the count is given, the trainee jumps in the air as high as possible and lands back in the crouching position.

“Ha? Squat jump dah takde?” Nazrul seemed alarmed. “Apasal?”

“Punca kerosakan sendi lutut, tuan.” Stone grinned, quoting his training officer.

“Mana ada?” challenged Nazrul. “Kalau tak buat betul-betul baru la sendi lutut rosak. Kau tau tak? Squat jump tu penting untuk kekuatan lutut tau.”

Stone grinned.

“Kau tau tak kekuatan lutut tu penting untuk apa?” Nazrul asked.

Stone full well knew the answer, but he kept in mind that this was a senior officer he was addressing.

“Untuk berlari , tuan.”

“Mana ada? Lari pakai otot betis. Cuba kau pikir lagi.”

“Untuk angkat barang, tuan.”

“Mana ada? Angkat barang pakai otot belakang la. Cuba kau pikir kreatif sikit.”

Stone smiled. “Entah la saya tuan.”

Nazrul sighed. “Kau ni dah kahwin ke belum, Michael?”

“Belum, tuan.”

“Haih… patut la kau tak tahu jawapan dia!”

Stone was the butt end of a joke, but the buildup to the joke was so darned good he laughed.

“Kau tengok aku,” Nazrul continued. “Masa aku kadet dulu, rajin aku buat squat jump. Skarang isteri aku bahagia.”