think I’ve got nothing better to do anyway, so I’ll
attach here a very nice short story that I just read. credits
to the author below.
Ah… The Fragrance of
Durians by David Leo
Few people really understood the passion Madam Moh had for durians. If there was something which this poor
widow, living in a small, dank and dilapidated room in old Chinatown looked
forward to each year as it sped by, it was that time of the year when she could
savour and exult in the taste of that awesome fruit.
Ah… the fragrance of durians. It was enough to set her heart yearning. No
wonder June, beset with heat and high humidity, was Madam Moh’s
favourite month.
By an old kerosene lamp which
provided only a faint light, the simple woman would be counting the dollars and
cents she had saved in a little, rusty cigarette tin. The few odd dollars were
all creased and dirty. Her skinny fingers trembled as she poured them out of
the tin, eager with childlike excitement, not so much for the touch of money as
to feel the power it embodied. A good durian could cost as much as twenty
dollars. But Madam Moh would be content with
something less expensive. Fifteen dollars was all that she could afford. If she
could wait for the glut, which normally arrived mid-season as rapacious vendors
competed to unload the fruit, or for the tail-end of the season when most
durian lovers had had their fill, she might be able to got
more for less. By then, too, she could have saved a little more.
By day Madam Moh
roamed the back lanes, collecting discarded carton boxes and performing a
mixture of odd jobs; folding take-away lunch boxes, stitching buttons and
hemlines, and stuffing soft toys. Sum Sum’s magazine stall on the sidewalk
downstairs was a good source of income at night. Madam Moh
would offer to look after the stall for a dollar or two. Most times, she would
be sitting by it to keep Sum Sum company,
and the two women would yarn all night long.
“The durian season has arrived,”
said Madam Moh one evening.
“Aye, it’s too expensive,” remarked
Sum Sum.
“Aiya,
once a year, why worry about the price? But I have some good news; Ah Long told
me the price would fall.”
“Fall? Even
then, it will still not be cheap. Since when, anyway, is
durian cheap?”
“Ah Long said there were many lorry
loads coming from
“You believe him?”
Madam Moh
shrugged her shoulders. Ah Long was a young man who lived two doors away. He
was a notorious job-hopper who professed to know everything under the sun. Last
year he reaped a small fortune selling the thorny fruit, and gave his neighbours a treat. He made a bid for five huge baskets at
a wholesale market and retailed the durians at hefty street prices. However, he
was not getting into the business this year as, according to Madam Moh, he foresaw a glut. Moreover, there had been too much
rain and the crop was not so good. They were sensible reasons, from a good
head. But what Madam Moh never knew was that the
spendthrift Ah Long was penniless; he had not a copper to make a bid.
“I don’t understand why so many
people are crazy about durians,” said Sum Sum.
“They’re so smelly.”
“Not to me,” asserted Madam Moh. “I simply love the fruit.”
Ah… the fragrance of durians. To
Madam Moh it was both exotic and exulting, like
nothing on earth. For days after a durian feast, the fragrance would linger on
in her tiny room and remain on her fingers. She could not remember anything
more uplifting. And the taste of the fruit’s fleshy pulp was inexplicable,
sometimes bitter, but always fantastic. No wonder the durian was hailed the
king of fruit, ugly-looking, but overpowering when eaten. If she could affored the luxury, Madam Moh
believed that she could live on durians alone!
Sum Sum
recounted the story of how a group of guai-los on a tour
of
*
Ah… the fragrance of durians and the
sweet thoughts of Mui Kwai
that it brought! Although Madam Moh would not admit
it, she had fond memories of the orphan she adopted. Openly she balked at any
mention of the name, brushing it aside with bitterness. So when Sum Sum asked what happened to Mui Kwai, Madam Moh frowned and
grunted, “Heaven know what’s happened to her!”
“She used to bring you one or two
durians every year, didn’t she?”
“Used to, indeed! Not for five years
now.”
Mui Kwai was brought to Madam Moh
without any identification papers, and while the kind woman provided the child
with food and shelter, she never sent her to school, afraid that she might be
wrenched from her if this became known when she registered for school.
Moreover, they were poor and an extra pair of hands to help with the sewing
meant a little more money for sustenance. Mui Kwai grew up stubborn, rebellious and hating the world. As
a child, she fought with boys, and knocked a tooth out of one who could not
resist tugging her pony tail. She had fights with the older women too, and
sometimes disappeared from home after a severe bout, the skin of her legs
smarting from the caning she had received. The first time in happened, she was
found in the marker picking taugehs. She made
fifty cents in the two days. Madam Moh was quietly
proud of her. That girl sure had gumption! Poverty had made her a very hard
person, one determined to collect her pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. At
sixteen, she gave up sewing for dancing and became a much sought after hostess
at a sleazy night club. Thereafter life became easier for Madam Moh and Mui Kwai.
“You want to know why I named her Mui Kwai?” Madam Moh said one day in
better times. Mui Kwai was
Cantonese for “rose”, and Madam Moh had hoped that
the bud that was brought to her would blossom into a fine woman. The rose was
no ordinary flower, the intricate pattern formed by its petals mysterious and
alluring. It was the ultimate beauty.
Ah… the bitter-sweet memories of Mui Kwai. Madam Moh remembered the morning when the young lady came home
with her first pay-packet. Mui Kwai
had said she would like to celebrate her independence and, at the same time,
give Madam Moh a treat. Arm in arm, they trotted down
the street and feasted on durians at a makeshift stall. As they walked slowly
home, Madam Moh wondered sadly if they had done the
right thing. She was afraid that Mui Kwai was growing up too fast in a harsh world. Ah… the
fragrance of durians. It was good only while it lasted. But what choices were
there for Mui Kwai,
handicapped by a lack of formal education and an absence of worthy connections?
To be a seamstress all her life? Certainly
not, when Mui Kwai wanted
so much more from the world. Maybe Madam Moh
should look someone up who would make her a good husband.
Just as the old woman had feared, Mui Kwai got her first bag of
woes at eighteen, when she became pregnant. Marriage was out of the question as
the man involved was already married and had a family. Mui
Kwai had a painful abortion in a backstreet clinic,
and stayed home without work for months. When she got over her misery, it was
back to the night club as a hostess. Toughened and more cynical about the world
around her, she became belligerent and detached. Madam Moh
began to feel her slipping away as she came home less frequently. Sometimes she
stayed away for weeks, but whenever she returned, there was money; not much,
but good enough to eke out a meagre living.
Madam Moh
would have liked to have seen more of Mui Kwai, but she knew it would be foolish to demand it. Though
the occasions of her homecoming decreased steadily with time, Mui Kwai seldom failed to return
when the fragrance of durians wafted through the air. Madam Moh’s
craving for the soft, creamy pulp of the fruit and her longing to see Mui Kwai, became one and the same desire each time the season came
round. Her heart would pump with expectation as she strained to catch the sound
of Mui Kwai’s feet
clattering up the narrow stairs. Mother and daughter would then dig voraciously
into the fruit that Mui Kwai
had brought, and yarn away the night. Despite the tumultuous early years, the
two women had never felt closer as their relationship matured. But Madam Moh knew that Mui Kwai was not hers to keep. The last the old woman heard of
her, after making some enquiries from the few acquaintances known to her, was
that Mui Kwai had gone to
*
“I’m going down the street to check
out the prices,” said Madam Moh as she made an excuse
to leave the magazine stall when Sum Sum mentioned Mui Kwai. “Maybe they have come
down.” With that, she strutted off, leaving Sum Sum
shaking her head in disbelief.
Ah Long was right about the glut, as
the prices had come down. Madam Moh noted with
excitement the range of prices advertised on pieces of crude cardboard hanging
overhead, or stuck between the fruit. Some stallholders were retailing their
wares at six dollars each, a far cry from the twenty dollars in better times.
There were also basketfuls of little ones for as low as two dollars each. But
these were not good enough for Madam Moh, who had
boundless reasons for turning her nose up at them. Too small.
Not quite ripe. No fragrance. Why not give yourself a good treat after having
waited a full year for it? By the end of the week, she should be able to afford
three reasonably good ones.
“So did you buy yourself any durian
last night?” Sum Sum asked her the following day.
“No, but the prices have come down.
You can get quite a good one for six dollars.”
“Six dollars?
I saw Ah Long just a couple of minutes ago. He said some were going for two
dollars each.”
“Aye, who wants to buy those?
They’re only good for making durian cakes.”
The day arrived for Madam Moh’s big splurge. She trotted down dirty
With experience garnered over the years,
Madam Moh wasted no time in choosing her stall. From
her recce she had decided that Tai Fatt had the best-looking sampah durians at the best prices.
Ah… the fragrance of durians. Madam Moh could feel it tickling her nostrils as she busied
herself with the selection. She looked an expert as she held each durian under
her nose and sniffed at it. If the aroma was absent, she was told, it could be
that the fruit was still unripe. Then she shook it close to her ear; if there
was a hollow sound, it could mean that the fruit was old or immaturely formed,
and the pulp would be thin. She examined the thorns carefully and made sure
that they were sharp and not too far apart. That would tell the age of the
fruit. Much to the annoyance of the stallholder, a burly and unshaven fellow,
Madam Moh took her time making her pick, enjoying
every moment of it. When she had finished her meticulous inspection of the
fruit, she reached under her samfoo for her
purse. Just as she took it out, a quick hand from behind
snatched it away.
“Thief!
Help!” cried Madam Moh. “Someone’s stolen my money!
Help! Help!”
The old woman turned to pursue the
thief, pushing her way through the throng of people falling upon her. Several
heads turned too, only to watch nonchalantly what had happened. Some others
rushed forward to fill the vacuum created by Madam Moh,
and the stallholder continued to advertise his wares at the top of his voice.
It was a futile chase. More bad luck
befell poor Madam Moh as she tripped, fell, and cut herself. She trudged home, crying, her face and arms
bleeding. Sum Sum was terrified at the sight of her
and helped her upstairs to her room. Besides a table, two stools and an old
bed, covered by a blanket sewn of rags, there was very little else in the room.
A disused sewing machine, rusty through neglect, was left in a dark corner
covered with cobwebs. There was a musty smell, heavy with incense, and the
pungency of some herbal oil, quite unlike the fragrance of durians.
There was nothing much that Sum Sum could do but to offer words of consolation. She had
enough on her hands without minding other people’s business. Shaking her head,
she left Madam Moh moaning and groaning in her bed.
The poor woman implored the gods for justice, unable to comprehend why they had
been cruel to her. The days stole by without any intervention, earthly or
supernatural. Madam Moh alienated herself from the
world, seeing no one and talking with no one.
Not long after, illness befell her.
“She’s stubborn as a mule,” said Sum
Sum to a neighbour. “She’s determined
to starve herself to death.”
“Tsk tsk.” It was all anyone who heard her story could say.
For Sum Sum,
it was painful knowing that someone was suffering upstairs without being able
to help. She was beginning to miss Madam Moh’s loquacity. Manning a magazine stall by a dim street
light could be so dull without some gossiping as a diversion. Most of her
customers were teenagers. Some of them spending hours browsing without buying,
but Sum Sum rarely turned them away. Sometimes, when
business was tardy, she wished more readers would hang by her stall even if
they had no intention of buying anything.
*
It was one of those slow nights and
Sum Sum was dozing by her stall, waking up now and
then to ward off mosquitoes, when a voice fell sharply upon her ears, almost
throwing her off her stool. She opened her eyes and beheld a young woman, quite
round and all dolled up, grinning before her. Clinging onto the woman were two
children, who had the same big, round, ebony eyes like their mother’s. Sum Sum swore they sparkled in the dark.
“Sum Sum,
don’t you recognise me?” said the young woman. “I’m Mui Kwai.”
Sum Sum
could not believe her eyes. “Oh, Mui Kwai,” she said, her heart pumping with excitement. “You
look different; so much prettier. And your children, wah!
They’re so big!”
Mui Kwai smiled. There was pride in her smile. “I’d better go
up and see my mother,” she said.
“Yes, yes, why don’t you?” Sum Sum ushered them forward. “I’m sure your mother will be
very happy to see you and the children.”
Sum Sum’s eyes gleamed with tears.
It was such an endearment to hear Mui Kwai calling Madam Moh her
mother. In the early days, it was always a distant and unaffected auntie, as Mui
Kwai knew she was adopted, and resented being born
and growing up in poverty. Now she looked changed and well. Sum Sum was touched and happy that the young woman had returned
at a time when Madam Moh needed help most. Perhaps
the old woman’s invocation of the gods had finally brought an answer to her
woes. At last, the gods had heard her pleas.
As Mui Kwai made her way up the narrow staircase, the children
struggling after her to catch up, she heard the apprehensive voice of Sum Sum. She turned, sensing something not right. Sum Sum was fumbling for words.
“Perhaps I should tell you this, Mui Kwai,” said Sum Sum.
Mui Kwai waited anxiously for more.
“Your mother’s not well.”
“What’s wrong with her?”
“I don’t know. She just won’t see or
speak with anyone. I’m not even sure if she eats at all. It’s been many, many days
now.”
“I’d better hurry up to see her.”
The room was dark and the window
half-closed. Mui Kwai went
straight to the bed where Madam Moh was lying, a
pathetic figure of lifelessness. She had grown scrawny. Mui
Kwai took her skinny hand in hers, massaged it
gently, and cried, “Ma…”. The children were frightened
and kept very quiet, staying close by their mother’s side. Madam Moh stirred and opened her eyes slowly. She swore she heard
a familiar voice, and wondered if she had been dreaming. Mui
Kwai bit her lip, in tears she continued to mutter
uninhibitedly, “Ma…”.
“Mui Kwai, is that you?”
Mui Kwai could only nod, the tears rolling down her cheeks.
“Ah, Mui Kwai, it is you.
I hope the gods have been taking good care of you. They have not been too kind
towards me. Maybe they’re punishing me for the sins I committed in my previous
life. But what does it matte? It’ll all be over soon. I’m old; too old to wish
for anything now.”
Although there was not a light in
the room, Mui Kwai could
feel scars on Madam Moh’s face and hands. She
surmised that the latter had fallen and hurt herself.
In the silence that ensued, only the young woman’s sobbing could be heard.
“Ma, I’ve brought the children to
see you,” said Mui Kwai
after a short while, regaining her composure and ushering the children forward.
“Tai Kwong and Siew Tin,
this is your Por Por.”
“Por Por,” echoed the children.
Madam Moh
was pleasantly surprised. “Come, let Por Por take a closer look at you,” she said as she
struggled to sit up. “Ah, you look just like your mother. Those eyes, you can’t
run away from those eyes. I used to know what Mui Kwai thought by looking at them. Didn’t I, Mui Kwai? Come
closer, let Por Por feel that
you are real.” She placed her hands on them, running her scrawny fingers
through their hair and down their faces. “Mui Kwai, why don’t you light the lamp? I want to have a good
look at my grandchildren.”
“By the way,” said Mui Kwai as she lit the kerosene
lamp, “I’ve brought something else for you.” She went to the doorway where she
had left a brown paper bag.
“Don’t tell me,” said Madam Moh. “I can smell it. Ah… the fragrance
of durians.”
nope, I don’t exactly love durians, but found this story to be
nice. just a tinge of sadness laced with heartwarming human
nature.
credits to David Leo, (1993). Ah… the Fragrance of Durians and Other Stories. (
hope he won’t sue me for plagiarism… I’ve credited him and
plagiarism’s a form of flattery after all, (despite it being the lowest form). and I spent an hour typing this out. proves
how cool I think this story is. heh.
alright. enough of typing for
now.
dejectium out
1805 hrs gmt +8
p/s. ooh it’s friday the 13th! hope
everyone had a safe day… ;p