Rina
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I had forgotten how beautiful a twilight over the sea at Batu Ferringgi can be. I had not witnessed the sight for many years since I was a callow youth in the late teens looking out unashamedly into the violet horizon straight into the great beyond.
I had longed to be a sailor then, had heard the call, and felt the beckoning of the ocean, longed to discover the mysteries of the sea and capture its essence. Vain, vain hope! The sea, the very epitome of infinity and eternity, never has nor will surrender her secrets to a mere man, and continues to allure and mock him.
Now, looking at the scene with eyes that had known joy, yes, tears too, and suffering and acceptance, I wondered anew and perceived more than I had ever done in my youth. The sky was inside of an amethyst pouring down dusk on the world. The delicate elusive scent of twilight tantalised my nostrils. It was the perfume of a woman who had passed though happiness and sorrow and who had learned to take everything that comes her way with tolerance and perhaps a little amused smile.
Standing there, I remember Rina on this spot, long ago, telling me that when she was a little girl, coming down to the sea with her mother in the evening, she turn to her mother and exclaimed joyously, “Someone’s singing!”
Her mother, understandably perturbed since she had heard nothing, promptly asked who it was. Rina could only reply, “It’s not a person. It’s the angels.”
“Then,” Rina had recalled, “how worried my mother was! She thought there was something wrong with my ears. She told the rest of the family and they teased me mercilessly, so I didn’t speak about it to them anymore.”
She turned her eyes to me, large and luminous as they always were when such thoughts as these, touched with moonshine, filled her mind. “But I heard it! I can still hear it! At first I used to think it was the angels, but now I don’t. There’s evil and sorrow in it as well as goodness and happiness. But --- it’s giving praises to God anyway, isn’t it?”
At that time I did not have the heart nor the courage to tell this wide-eyed girl that my hearing was thus mystically tuned. Now, however, I fancied I heard a faint echo of the eternal song of the sea, born of the sound of waves, the call of a seagull and the vast silence of infinity.
The sound of the footsteps on the sand told me I was not alone. Turning, I saw a young girl standing there before the sea. She reminded me a little of Rina, but then, how many girls whom I had seen walking down the streets of Geogretown, seemed to remind me of her then.
The girl became aware of my presence at about the same moment I realised hers. There seemed to spring up between us an affinity of two human beings in a world that seemed to be created before man was born. -
DS!!!
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wah ....
if you wrote this then u're a champion!!!!!! well done!! continue pls!~~
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haha.. i'm not that good..Originally posted by jOhO:wah ....
if you wrote this then u're a champion!!!!!! well done!! continue pls!~~
==> just sharing my fav story wif u all -
“What are you doing here?” I finally asked, to break the suspense.
“For peace and quiet,” she replied simply, and asked me the same question.
“I was thinking about a girl I once knew, who used to live here,” I replied.
She was agog with girlish curiosity. “Who was she? What was she like? Was she pretty? Did you come back to look for her?”
“Her name was… Rina. No, she was not pretty really, but… I’ll tell you about her.” Thus then, I told her all the time in my youth when I had known Rina, and loved her.
The first time I saw her, I was returning home from church with my family. We passed the `Miniature Victoria Memorial Hall`, called so because of its grand size and impressive exterior. It had been a Japanese torture chamber during the Japanese Occupation and had the cheerful reputation of being haunted by the restless spirits of the victims. As long as we could remember, it had remained unoccupied. We had heard some time ago that a buyer had been found for it.
That day, we espied a family with five children, the eldest, a girl of sixteen or seventeen, and the youngest, a boy of about five, moving in.
“Dr. de Costa and his family,” commented Father,” moving down from Georgetown. Dr. de Costa is a GP in Middle Road hospital --- one of the best, but inclined to shoot his mouth off too much.”
“ Whatever possessed them to buy that house?” Mother wondered. “Hetty de Costa is a real party animal and a marvellous hostess. She is sure to hold a party soon --- you’ll see.”
I looked that the family with interest. The eldest girl, who was swinging to and fro the gate, caught my attention by dint of the gently curious, apprising gaze she was levelling at me. She was, I thought, not as pretty as many other girls in the neighbourhood, but her face had a certain piquant charm, the slant of her eyes was distinctly Chinese, but they held a searching, asking expression that was unusual and that, fascinated me. Her complexion was duskier, her lips fuller and her dark tresses held more hints of curls than the average Chinese damsel. She promptly looked down with confusion the moment she caught my eyes, and I noticed her eyelashes were long and upturned, making fan-like shadows on her rounded cheeks.
We passed the house and I thought no more of the girl. The invitation to Hetty de CostaÂ’s party came soon enough and I too was pulled along by mother who had decided that it was time I moved into society. Halfway through, I managed to slip out through the back door. A path gave way to a flight of stone steps, which led down to the stone.
I sat on a low rock. Behind me, the Rhu trees hummed eerie melodies of things shadowy and long past. The sea breeze wafted in, carrying in the scent of brine and whispering half- formed fancies to a young boy. Footsteps behind me told my solitude was interrupted. They belonged to the girl I had seen a few days ago. Drawing on my limited experiences with the female sex? I decided my silence would soon be broken, and was not loath to show my displeasure on my expression. -
The girl shot a sharp look at me. “Don’t worry,” she finally said. “I won’t open my mouth at all. We’ll just sit here and not say a word.”
She promptly went to do just that. This carried on for a full half hour, till a particular perverse wave crashed up the coast and liberally drenched both of us. The girl looked outraged for a few seconds, and I expected a furious outburst. Then she burst out laughing merrily.
“A gift from sea!” she exclaimed. “ You should never reject a gift from the sea.”
I felt a heightened interest in this strange girl. “What’s your name?” I asked her.
Her name was Rina.