Lime Pickled and Other Stories

Red Monkey Sam

Every time I opened the kitchen window Sam came in. He paused to bare his teeth and hiss at me, then ran wild through the house, climbing over furniture, opening cupboards, biting into anything that looked edible. And those teeth - as long and sharp as needles. Proper scared the life out of me, they did.

You must shoot him, said Encik Azan.

Easy for him to say. While I didn’t want him in my house – the monkey I mean, not our neighbour – I certainly didn’t want to kill him. Besides, I knew Encik Azan was one of those bossy men who think they can go around telling women what to do. I wasn’t having none of it and was starting to get right peeved off about how this geezer always seemed to show up as soon as my Andy was out of the house.

But this is how we do. Otherwise how to stop him?

Well, couldn’t we just catch him somehow and take him away? Put him in a box and drive him to the other side of the island?

He come back. He likes it here. This island not so big. This monkey clever. He knows where you live.

Andy reckoned Sam must have lived here before the house was built. Whatever drew him, the monkey just kept coming back.

The sole of one of my shoes was coming undone. That’s what happens when you buy cheap shoes and get caught out by surprise in a monsoon storm. But I’m not one for throwing out a perfectly good pair of shoes, cheap or not. That’s the problem with the world nowadays, everything disposable.

I bought a tube of Superglue at the little supermarket at the crossroads. It’s a messy place, stuff all piled up higgledy-piggledy, but if you root around you can find nearly everything you need, except ginger-nut biscuits. Andy likes them with a cup of tea. Have to keep them in a box in the fridge or the ants will have them, or the humidity will make them go soft. They stopped stocking them about six months ago. I asked Puan Azizah to get them in again.

No point, she smiled, putting dimples in her chubby cheeks. All you Mat Salleh buy them and there are none left for anyone else.

I thought about that for a moment and was going to say something, but instead I just shook my head, paid for the superglue and left, reminding myself to get gingernuts at the Chinese supermarket on my next trip to town.

The superglue was on the kitchen counter, still in its plastic and cardboard wrapping. So much packaging for a tiny tube of glue. Madness. The world these days, honestly. I was working my way down my to-do list, sweating after pushing a damp mop around the kitchen floor. I opened the window in the hope that the breeze would dry the lino. Of course the moment I opened the window, in jumps the bloody monkey.

I had taken to calling him Sam. I don’t know why, it just seemed like a name that suited him. So Sam came barging past me, started opening cupboards, pulling out all my pots and pans. I suppose the shiny plastic wrapping caught his eye. He ripped the packaging open with his teeth, and pulled out the little yellow tube of glue, like taking a nut from a shell. It usually takes me ten minutes of pulling and struggling to open those packets until I give up and throw them at Andy in frustration. Andy is practical. He uses a box cutter to open everything, a trick he learned when we used to buy CDs. They were always bloody impossible to unwrap.

I suppose he thought the tube of glue was some sort of fruit – Sam I mean, not Andy. He looked at it, sniffed it, then popped it in his mouth.

No, I shouted. I had a sudden vision of Sam with his teeth and lips permanently stuck together and wasting away from starvation and thirst. Even though the thought of it was terrible, I couldn’t help but laugh.

Take it from me, don’t ever laugh at a monkey. Don’t even smile. When they see your teeth they take it as a threat. Sam lunged at me. I’d never faced him down or threatened him before, but I still had the mop in my hands, so I suppose it was natural to lash out, but Sam was fast and dodged around me, running into the living room, where he smashed some of the porcelain figurines I had brought over to remind us of home.

Lately I don’t want to be reminded of our old lives back there, so losing the ornaments was no big deal. In fact I used the mop handle to smash a few more, knowing that if Andy asked, I could just blame it on the monkey. Crash went the little blue boy with curls, joined by his pink sister. I wanted to smash everything. Little horses and bunnies and dogs shattered on impact. The owl and the pussycat in their beautiful pea-green boat bounced off the floor, but didn’t break. I flung it at Sam, missed, but it exploded into pieces that I kept finding for days afterwards. No more dancing by the light of the moon for you two, I shouted. I don’t know what came over me. Anyway, I frightened the monkey good and proper. Frightened myself and all, if truth be told. Off he went back through the kitchen and out the window.

I found the tube of glue while I was sweeping up bits of broken porcelain. It was a miracle it hadn’t burst. I still have it in a drawer in the kitchen. I used to take it out and show the little teeth marks on the soft metal tube to visitors.

When we moved here first we invited almost every white person we met over for dinner. Very few of them ever invited us back. No loss I can tell you. Well fond of the bottle most of them are. I’m not saying that I don’t like a tipple myself now and then, but there’s a limit. To be honest it doesn’t get any easier as I get older. These days the hangovers seem to come on even before I’m drunk, so what’s the point? It’s just straight to the punishment. So between one thing and the other, we don’t mix much these days. We’ll nod and say hello, or have a little chat if we run into anyone we know at the supermarket, but otherwise, we pretty much keep ourselves to ourselves. Besides, you get bored of hearing stories about their bloody sailboats, as if that’s the only thing that matters in life. People like them can’t accept people like us having money. They always want to know what school Andy went to, or what he did back home. We came here to get away from that sort of thing. If he’s pushed Andy just mumbles something about a job in a bank. Course, he never says that the job lasted just one night and gave us enough cash to retire on, and then some. Best keep a low profile. Anyone asks Andy his name, he always says Frank. I tell them I’m May, though really I’m June. We might be on the other side of the world, but you can’t be too careful.

Auntie!

Old Encik Azan was standing at the bottom of the steps up to the veranda. He was holding a sort of metal cage with a wire hoop on it.

I bring this for your monkey. It is a trap and you will catch him inside. You must open it like this, he said, opening the spring-loaded door. Then you put a banana on this hook. Push the hook all the way in, top to bottom, then when monkey try the take the banana the door will close. He let the metal door slam shut with a sudden crash.

But then what can we do? You said the monkey will come back.

Then what we do is we bring the cage to the sea and tie a big rock.

You mean you drown the monkey? But that’s awful.

Yes, if we don’t shoot the monkey we drown the monkey. But wait, there is one other way.

I’m not sure I want to know another way to kill a monkey, thank you very much.

No, I know you white people do not like to kill wild things, so I bring you this.

From the folds of his long shirt, Encik Azan produced an aerosol can. Probably had it tucked into the hem of his sarong. He handed it to me. The lid was bright red.

Red paint?

Yes. This. When you catch the monkey, you must spray on him. Make him all red. Then when you set him free he will go away. Other monkeys will not accept him.

I talked it over with Andy that evening when he came back from his cycle. He was breathless and sweat was pouring down his face.

Was you waiting long my love? Ran out of steam, didn’t I.

He looked tired. Neither of us is getting any younger. We’ll probably die on this island. We certainly can’t risk going back. I told Andy that if I go first I want to be cremated at the Hindu temple up by the rubber plantation. A few old expats have been sent off that way. I used to think death was something terrible, but some days I’m so tired that I feel it will be a rest.

Still, we have a few more years in us yet and Andy’s cycling keeps him fit. He has a body of a man 15 years younger, so I’m not going to complain, am I? You’re only as old as the man you feel, as they say.

Once he’d had his shower and guzzled a bottle of water we sat down to watch the sunset. It’s like a ritual we have. We started the very first day we moved to this house. It’s our time together. Most days we don’t even talk, just sit and watch the sunset in silence and sip our drinks, but this evening I tell Andy about Encik Azan’s visit and the spray can of red paint.

Can’t do any harm to try, said Andy.

The next day we set up the trap in the kitchen and left the window open. Within minutes we heard the snap of the cage door spring shut and a surprised shriek from poor little Sam.

Andy picked up the cage by the hoop and brought it outdoors, while Sam jumped around hissing and grunting.

Heavy bastard. Hard to carry with him moving around like that.

My heart went out to him – Sam that is. Well to Andy as well I suppose but in a different way. He brought Sam to the end of the garden, down by the bougainvillaea. I followed along with the spray can and passed it to Andy.

I’m not bloody doing it, he said, handing the paint back to me. This was your idea, not mine.

It was Encik Azan’s idea, I said. Anyways you always say painting’s a man’s job.

Yeah, but I meant painting walls or doors. Never said nothing about no bloody monkeys.

I responded with a silent pout.

Oh, give me the bloody thing then, said Andy, snatching the aerosol from my hand. I had to turn away to hide a victorious smile.

Step back, he said. Don’t want you painted red as well, do we?

I did as I was told and Andy shook the can making that rattling sound that spray cans always make. Sam was quieter now but kept looking from Andy to me and back again. Andy pushed down on the little white button. The hissing sound of the aerosol was drowned out by Sam’s shrieks. You could tell the poor thing was terrified. Andy threw down the can in disgust. Sam was still screaming, but he just had a red stripe down the front of his chest.

This ain’t right, Andy said, shaking his head. You deal with it. Then he stormed off back to the house.

I stood looking at poor Sam trying to wipe off the paint, but getting his tiny grey hands and mouth all red instead.

One nice thing about Andy is he can never stay angry for long. It’s just not in his nature. While I might simmer for hours Andy’s tantrums are usually short and swift, over almost as soon as begun. Within minutes he was back again. He had a bowl, a plastic-wrapped pan of Gardenia bread, the wholemeal one, because the white one is awful and is full of sugar and preservatives. As well as the bowl and the bread he had a bottle.

Brandy, he said. Let’s knock the little bugger out cold.

Sam eyed Andy warily, sniffing the air as he watched him break the bread into small chunks. Then he poured the best part of half a bottle of brandy on top.

If this won’t quieten him down, nothing will, said Andy. I thought of mentioning the packet of Valium I keep in the bathroom cabinet - amazing that you can just buy the stuff over the counter here – but I decided to see how the booze worked first.

The trick was keeping Sam in the cage while opening the door wide enough to put the bowl inside. Andy puffed himself up big and roared at Sam, showing his teeth and rattling the cage. Sam crouched in the corner trying to make himself small, suitably intimidated by my Alpha-Male husband, then Andy quickly opened the spring-loaded door and slipped the bowl of boozy bread inside.

At first Sam didn’t move. He stayed in the corner, watching us. You could see he was frightened. I felt a lump in my throat, but at the same time, told myself that we were doing the right thing, that it was better for Sam than being shot or drowned. We backed away to make him feel less threatened and after a minute or so he crept forward to investigate his brandy-spiked bread. After one or two tentative sniffs he took a handful of the mush and slurped it into his mouth. I swear I saw a tremor run through his little body, then a devious gleam light up in his eyes. He took more of the bread, and then more and soon he was properly drunk. He finished the bowl with his head lowered inside, licking it clean of every last drop. Then he let out a loud belch and fell onto his back with his head moving from side to side and a little string of drool running down the side of his mouth. For a moment I thought we had killed him, but then he rolled over and soon we could tell by his regular breathing that he was asleep.

Andy crept forward, armed with the aerosol, got up close and opened fire. This time Sam hardly reacted. He moaned and coughed a little, but was too drunk to care what was going on. Andy kicked the cage over; Sam’s little body rolling over inside. Then Andy painted the rest of him red. I should have gone for the camera, but didn’t even think of it at the time.

We let Sam sleep it off for a bit, then Andy opened the cage and lifted it, letting Sam flop to the ground. After a moment or two he stirred and staggered to his feet. It took him a few tries. He stared at us in confusion, then turned and made for the forest. We watched him try to climb a tree, but halfway up he fell down. He tried another tree with a similar result. In the end he just slunk away, his bright red coat of paint visible through the undergrowth for quite a distance until finally he was lost from sight.

Silver Spoons

P rema. We need to talk.

Yes, Madam, said Prema, suddenly flustered by the unfamiliar harshness in Mrs Hutchinson’s voice.

About the silverware, Prema.

Silverware, Madam?

Don’t you play coy with me, young lady. How long have you been with us now?

Four years, Madam. April five years starting.

Indeed. Four years and more. Haven’t we always been kind to you during that time?

Prema felt the blood rush from her pounding heart towards her face. She blinked back tears, swallowed the uncomfortable lump that had appeared in her throat, suddenly aware of the sound of the ceiling fan stirring the humid air, its feeble breeze providing no relief.

Yes, Madam, very kind. Very kind. You have been like mother to me.

Like mother, indeed, the very words. Took you in, gave you a home, fed you, clothed you, shared our food with you. Our good fortune has been your good fortune. And this is how you repay us?

Prema couldn’t control her quivering lip, couldn’t trust herself to speak without breaking down completely. Without breaking apart. So she said nothing, and just lowered her head, which Mrs Hutchinson apparently took as an admission of guilt.

It’s my turn, whined Jeremy.

But there’s only one left, said Christopher.

Their voices echoed strangely back at them as both boys leaned over the circular stonework of the well. Their 1950s haircuts, the perennial short-back-and-sides, made inverted wedges of their jug-eared heads as they peered down into the darkness. The well was too deep for the light to reach the surface of the water. There wasn’t even a reflected glimmer at the bottom of the blackness.

But you did it last time.

We’ll do it together then, said Christopher cheerily. I’m the oldest, so I decide.

That’s not fair. I’m going to tell Mother that you wouldn’t let me have my turn.

No telling Mother anything about this, you hear? Alright, you do it then. But you have to be very quiet. And you have to spin it right.

Jeremy took the spoon and reached out as far as he could.

You have to drop it down the centre, otherwise it won’t work.

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