Charter 3 : Buck Rogers.

A sequel to Chapter 2. The ghosts of my life, an autobiography.

“That is not dead which can eternal lie,
And with strange aeons even death may die.”

- The Necronomicon in The Nameless City, by H.P. Lovecraft.

6.

It tasted like mountains; maybe skies (or maybe just the lake), i was 6, maybe 5, but the rain, i remember.

The rain, i remember. It sounded slow, like a lazy piano going steady on the crescendo, slow.

It was yesterday, i remember.

It was always yesterday, i remember.

The clouds moved; became slower, heavier, and they became one color : the color of curfew i remember, running with Abang and leaving our camp and guns and grenades behind and charging at 18, Jalan Pauh.

7.

18, Jalan Pauh was a double-story terrace with 4 rooms — 5 rooms if the torture room were to be included. The house was white, and the white walls were decorated with our art — there were aeroplanes drawn by Abang, there were helicopters drawn by me; and for each aircraft we produced on the wall, there would be marks that looked like safety boats to complement our drawings — made by Umie’s sharp fingernails when she pinched them hard onto our skin.

These marks (or these safety boats), were usually red and painful but sometimes, sometimes the red could turn green, and the green could turn blue, and the blue could turn black, (and eventually, the pain could disappear too if i cried long enough), but the spectrum and the shades of the safety boats were determined by Umie’s natural talent of holding her breath.

“Kau dua orang ni, deeggiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiilll la sangat!” would probably make red boats to appear on our skin (and pleasure to rise from Umie’s face).

And if Umie had too much pleasure, she would then continue with :

“Coteng lagi, conteeeeeeeeeeeeennnnnnnggggggggggg la lagi dinding tu!” This would definitely turn the red boats into blue (and an instant regret to rise on my face).

And sometimes, before i could show Umie my regretful face, Umie had made tears come out from it — because tears would satisfy Umie, made Umie happy and maybe, just maybe, it would save Abang as well. I had always been loyal to Abang and for that, Abang had thought me how to not have any regret and what we could do with bicycles.

What we could do with bicycles was to first learn the names of the streets we lived in. Every street had a name and every name was after the varieties of mangoes. Jalan Pauh was a second street, the first street was Jalan Mangga, the third street was Jalan Bacang, and the forth street was Jalan Kuini. Then we had to assign each letter for each mango: A for Jalan Mangga, B for Jalan Pauh, C for Jalan Bacang, and D for Jalan Kuini. Every street shared a common section : section 4/2, and put the assigned letter behind. And that made 18, Jalan Pauh, 4/2B.

Perhaps because Pauh was a B-grade mango.

8.

I pushed my laptop aside, and went to see the color of curfew i remember. I opened the window; the air today, it smells of tall buildings and long highways. It smells of fear, and anger. Everybody wants to be somebody. They do not want drops of clear water from the sky. They want air conditioners and hot showers. They want to replace wild flowers with plastic balloons; and fresh daises with frozen roses; and hearts with ambitions, ambitions to become fucking losers — drive big cars and work in the tallest building, read motivational books and listen to crappy music.

9.

Next to Jalan Kuini was a main road and next to the main road was a recreational park and a lake and this park and this lake, would become our big secret — the secret of a good rain. Next to our big secret, was a massive construction of the largest mosque — the color of its dome was blue like the ocean — ever built in my country and this mosque would become our bigger secret.

Our biggest secret was what we could do with bicycles.

What we could do with big secrets was to pedal our small bicycles around the mosque before someone named it, and someone, had named the blue mosque after the Sultan of Selangor, Sultan Salahuddin Abdul Aziz Shah, while Abang and i knew a better name for it : Tempat Rahsia Besar. People talked about Tempat Rahsia Besar differently from what Abang and i talked. The elders would whisper among themselves of how this mosque was built using the money the state government made from selling Kuala Lumpur to the federal government and how this mosque was not only the largest in my country, it made one believe in God.

Its dome was the biggest in the world, its minaret was the tallest in the world, its floor was made of white marble — complementing its blue dome, and there were electronic sensors for wudu’, there were elevators to access all floors, and except for one’s Solah, everything else was fully automatic.

One had no excuse not to believe in God. Not in this mosque. Not in 1985.

What we couldn’t do with bicycles however, was to escape Abah’s ‘tempat rahsia’ : the closet below the stairs in 18, Jalan Pauh, the torture room, the 5th room in a double-story terrace with 4 rooms. This room was for cockroaches, rats, ghosts, being too naughty, not having any regret; and for Abang and me to say hi to them.

“Adek, orang rasa bilik ni ada hantu,” Abang would share his opinion about the room.

“Huhuhuhuhuhuhuhu,” and i would cry listening to his opinion.

Ghosts were everywhere in our house. They came from the 5th room and lived there, watching us in the house. If i was alone in any area in the house, there would be a ghost touching the back of my neck, maybe 2 ghosts, maybe 3, and would be too many if it was at night because daylight; and Quran and Azan; would burn the evil spirits. They were made of fire, everyone had told us. And when they die, they become fire again.

And to see a burning ghost, i needed to have faith in God. So i believed in Him, for a decade plus.

8.

“Eh Adek, tu baju jalan la. Baju tidur kau mana?”

“Baju tidur tak tahu. Tapi baju tidur bukan cantik pun. Semalam dah pakai, hari ni pun kena pakai lagi ke?”

“Bodoh. Nanti Umie marah tahu tak. Tidur pakai baju jalan.”

“Kau lah bodoh, panggil orang bodoh. Bodoh.”

Abang had a high fever that night but was also trying to protect me from Umie, because Abang loved me and i loved Abang. We loved each other better if one of us could make the other cry. So when we were not throwing toys at each other, and when we were not calling each other “bodoh”, Abang would actually protect me from Umie and Abah because Umie and Abah loved us better only when they could make both of us cry.

“Apa bising lagi dua orang tu. Pegi masuk tidur! Abah masuk bilik nanti siap korang!”

If the word Abah was mentioned, nothing frightened us more, not even ghosts. Because ghosts would never beat us with leather belts. But ghosts would come visit us that night, 3 of them, none of them were wearing a leather belt of course, but one of them, would play a guitar. They would sing to Abang and me. And they would jump out the window before Abah entered our room because he heard noises.

We saw ghosts, at least Abang saw them, he told me there were ghosts. Abah told me Abang had a bad fever. I told Abah i wanted to sleep in my Buck Rogers t-shirt.

And with Kunta and Kinte, my two cats. Well, actually Kunta belonged to Abang (and the Buck Rogers t-shirt too).

10.

It’s raining outside, i went to the balcony to taste the rain, but the rain in Damansara, 2009, tastes like fucking smoke and fucking boring dead concrete. Lifeless. It doesn’t taste like mountains anymore, it doesn’t taste like the lake (or the sky), but the rain in 1985, that i remember.

I remember the rain, it was yesterday.

It was always yesterday, i remember.