Bunga

By Ismim Putera 

The house of Cikgu Zul, whom Akim knew, appeared as he rode by. After ingesting the cheap petrol that his son Azrin had purchased last week, his kapcai revved throatily. It belched out greenish smoke.

As Cikgu Zul kept watering a row of orchids, Akim saw him and smiled. Wild orchids bloomed in the shady areas, casting a deep blue glow over the veranda.

I wish my house looked like that, Akim thought. The illumination took him back to an old pub in Kuching’s Waterfront. Who knew where Shanti was now? Had she gotten out of there?

Akim swung by Cikgu Zul’s residence the next day while out on his bike. Azrin was seated on the pillion, holding tight to a gunnysack stuffed with green bananas.

“Akim!” waved Cikgu Zul, almost causing him to drop the water sprinkler.

“Akim!” yelled Cikgu Zul. The water sprinkler almost went flying as he gave Akim a vigorous wave.

Both of their gazes met. Akim smiled briefly and then hurried on.

“Eh! The orchids are blood red today,” muttered Akim “How is that even possible?”

“The orchids can change colour, pak,” replied Azrin.

***

The orchids flooded the house with a crimson glow. The walls transformed into a square enclosure with four corners, standing still to form a cube. Chinese characters were imprinted on the wall by the tree’s shadowy aerial roots. Vertical rows of squares and parallel lines made up the largest character. Some others were simply a combination of curved and straight lines.

Tiny sparks flew from the entrance gate as its waxy vermillion paint caught fire. Door knockers made of copper hissed as they were heated by the fire. The entrance was guarded by a pair of stone lions.

“Cikgu Zul?” called Akim.

Sleepily, a stone lion with chains that resembled snakes wrapped around its neck raised its head and hrrr-ed. It got up by stomping its paws firmly on the floor and spreading its toes apart to expose its claws. Claw marks highlighted white lines embedded in the jade floor.

“Akim!” Cikgu Zul craned his head out of the window. “Are you going to the mosque?”

“Yes.”

“Jom!”

Cikgu Zul strolled nonchalantly beneath the lion’s belly. A brief cing sounded as his shoulders brushed up against the dangling chains.

“It’s very hot!” complained Cikgu Zul. “Do you want an umbrella?”

“Huh?”

Cikgu Zul picked a flower from a morning glory plant. It deflated like an airbag and opened like an upside-down umbrella.

***

“Feel free to drop by my place whenever you like, Akim. It’s not that far.” Cikgu Zul put on his slippers. The morning glory umbrella wilted at the umbrella stand, leaving a purple mesh on the floor.

“Sure. Maybe this evening?”

“Can.”

Akim walked slowly next to Cikgu Zul. Their mid-afternoon shadows overlapped. Sweat dyed their baju melayu a shade darker.

“Akim, what do you think about the sermon just now?”

“I didn’t listen. I was sleeping. Sorry.” Akim took off his songkok and scratched his head. “Is it something about gay people?”

“No, that was last week’s topic. The sermon earlier on was about suicide.”

“Suicide?”

“Yes. The government is considering reopening the mosques in CMCO areas. This lockdown has made people crazy. Praying would prevent them from having suicidal ideation.”

“I don’t think it’ll work.”

“Why?” Cikgu Zul wiped the sweat nesting on his nose.

“A tight noose was around that poor guy’s neck. You can’t just tell him to rub his head on the floor and expect him to and find peace.”

***

Through the kite-shaped window, Akim surveyed the mansion’s interior. A shade of jade green carpeted the floor. Lanterns cast a soft glow on the walls. An enclosed bed with medicine chests around it caught his eye.

Shanti had fallen asleep on the couch. The expression on her face was eerily blank. A long robe embroidered with gold beads hung from her shoulders. When Akim knocked on the window and called her name, she looked around nervously.

Shanti? What’s she doing in there?

Akim called her name again. Instantly, she woke up and rolled off the bed. She scuttled into an empty strongbox and locked herself in it.

The stone lion let out an unwarranted roar. It made a slashing noise at the door and sliced through the air. The veranda was covered in a thin layer of dust. Akim scurried to a nearby display of cacti and hid behind one. He saw the other stone lion slouching and grunting near the entrance. Out of its distended stomach, a greasy chain dangled.

“Oh no, is he dead?” queried Akim.

Cikgu Zul opened the door with a mighty yank. He could have yelled at the dying animal, but instead, he went to water his orchids. Akim was so shocked by what he saw that he stood back and stared. 

The red orchids hissed in protest as the water drops were concentrated acids. They compacted into little red marbles. The blue orchids that bloomed next to them glowed like the lights used to decorate homes for Hari Raya Aidilfitri.

Almost instantly, the house shook as if it were sinking. Particles of dust rained from the sky. The walls leaned to one side and curled up like mahjong paper stacks. The lion snuggled up next to its ailing or deceased companion. The fur of both lions thinned out to wavy contours. The jade tiles melted into bricks of a muddy brown colour.

“Oh, Akim! I didn’t see you there. Come in!”

***

“This is my mother’s house.” Cikgu Zul removed his gloves and washed his hands

“This place is... amazing.”

“This kitchen?”

“No, the garden.”

“It’s just orchids and some dying cacti. She left this house for months and didn’t ask for the neighbours’ help to water them.”

“I like the white orchids,” said Akim.

“Those are ghost orchids.”

“Ghost?”

“Yes. Because of their habitat. They grow best in dark and moist places, like ghosts.”

“Is it ngutik to keep them?”

“Ngutik? Hah!” chortled Cikgu Zul. “I haven’t heard that word in a while. No. They’re just white flowers. White like ghosts.”

***

Akim took a brisk walk around his house. There was a mossy green hue to the walls. The front lawn’s long, unmanageable grass had become a disaster. Bottles of plastic stunk up the drain.

He rushed back in and found his wife, Azila, curled up like a dugong ensnared in a fishnet. The blanket had thinned out from prolonged use or perhaps from being compressed by an overweight body for too long. He did not mind the extra layers of fat gripping her waist like loose cords. At night, they wriggled when he teased them with his elbow.

Azrin’s room came up next. His bed chamber lacked a door and instead was obscured by a sheer orange curtain. This year marked his eighteenth birthday. Like his mom, he slept with no shirt on. He had a wide range of interests, including aeroplanes, tanks of war, subs, nukes, and, most recently, helicopters. He liked things that accelerated with pressure and energy.

Above Azrin’s head, three palm-sized helicopters circled frantically. One fell on his chest and exploded into dust upon impact.

Azrin made him think of orchids. Depending on the time of day, they would freely switch between the colours red and blue.

About a month ago, the neighbours spotted a group of spinsters performing the Main Puteri dance on the veranda of Cikgu Zul’s house. They shouted and cheered along with the commotion like there was no tomorrow. The festivities ended when Cikgu Zul arrived with his Myvi. The ladies rushed back into the house, giggling in delight as if welcoming their master’s return. Curious, the neighbours demanded to see the dancers again. When Cikgu Zul unlocked the door, they saw nobody inside.

Akim took his parang out of its sheath and hacked at the grass. An hour later, the front lawn appeared less cluttered. A marble-white stone lion appeared on the lawn as if it were dropped from the sky. It took Akim by surprise. It looked up at the towering hut with astonishment on its face. Silvery saliva dribbled from its gaping mouth. The smell was like damp, stale straw.

“What are you doing?” asked Azila when she saw Akim wandering around a heap of grass.

Akim turned around. Azila was standing by the window with a batik sarong wrapping her plump body. Her left eyelid drooped. Her hair was crinkled from too much sleep.

“I’ve cleared the front yard. Azrin said he saw a snake in the grass yesterday.”

“The snake’s dead. We killed it with your parang.”

“Where’s Azrin?”

“He’s still sleeping.”

“This lockdown is doing no good to people,” sighed Akim as he stowed his parang away. He removed his hat and looked at the statue of the lion. It had found a quiet spot on the far side of the front yard to rest. Its slender greyish mane swayed in the sunlight.

***

“This is my parrot, Akim. My father kept him in here for many years.”

“The parrot is beautiful. The feathers are like a rainbow.” Akim tapped the cage gently. The parrot angled its head and offered friendly eye contact.

“Ada apa, Tuan?”

“Wah, he can speak Malay!”

“Yes. Only these two lines: ‘ada apa’ and ‘mau makan apa’.”

“Rich people like to keep many things.”

“No lah. I’m not rich. The things in this house are mostly useless. I threw them away and cleaned the entire place. I like clean and wide spaces. To be wealthy, you don’t need to burden yourself with weird and useless things.”

Akim stomped his feet on the ground. The jade was real, and it had a pleasant jasmine aroma. Earlier on, when Cikgu Zul was not looking, he had slapped the walls with the back of his hand. The rubies inside them clanked and shattered. He had reached up and thrust his hand into the massive red tangle that hung above the living room. He opened it up and discovered a wad of paper money inside.

“My house is very messy and dirty.” Akim hung his head in shame. “I wish I could live here. This mansion is stunning.”

“Clean up your house. It’ll become a mansion too. This place was a real mess too when I first came in.”

“Betul tu, Tuan!”

***

“Where are you going to put it?” asked Azila.

“The living room, maybe. It must not get too much sunlight.”

“How long do we keep the plants in here?” Azila flicked a tendril of the ghost orchids. It coiled around her finger.

“One month, or at least until Cikgu Zul comes back from the town.”

Akim dragged a cabinet outside onto the front lawn after dinner. It held an unlimited supply of plates, glasses, and canisters. Most were broken into a rainbow of shards. Azrin swatted the bottom drawer with a broom, and cockroaches ran screaming from the room.

“Are you going to throw it away?” asked Azila.

“Yes. It’s dusty and it can’t even stand properly.”

Akim pushed out another cupboard and parked it near the lion’s hind legs. The lion groaned for a moment before curling back to sleep.

“See? What’s inside these boxes? Old shoes and clothes. Are these even yours?”

“I don’t know,” replied Azila, widening and squinting her eyes alternately. She unfolded and folded the garments over and over.

“Choose the ones that are still good. I’m going to burn the rest.”

The cleaning ended at two in the morning. Akim had used Clorox to scrub the floor and whitewash the walls. He and Azrin then dug up the hardened chunk of soil from the living room carpet. Coloured glass mosaics were uncovered beneath it.

“Why is pak so hardworking tonight?” asked Azrin, panting hard from all the hard work.

“I don’t know. You ask him. My neck hurts. Let me sleep here in your bed. Akim has discarded the bed in our room. I don’t know where else to sleep.”

***

Azila grabbed her batik and drew it close. Something hummed in her head and gave her a tingle in the shoulder. Azrin, who was sleeping peacefully next to her, had his arms and legs spread wide like a starfish. Palm-sized helicopters swooped above his bare chest

“What is this?” She grabbed a helicopter by its tail, and it burst instantly in her hand. The pieces were as crisp as paddy husks.

Yearning for a cup of water, she then exited the room only to discover that she was stepping into a vast pool.

“What happened here? Did Akim forget to turn off the pipe?” she muttered.

Azila waded through the water slowly. She was drawn there by the blossoming orchids. The blooms were huge, easily fitting on a dinner plate. Their bulbous rhizomes filled the house with a pulsating turquoise light. The flowers dripped iridescent nectar, which trickled to the ground and eventually reached the roots.

Azila cupped her hands and brought a tiny flowering branch to her nose. She shrieked as the purple light shone from under her nails. The water around her legs gurgled before she could take another whiff. She set down the flower she was holding and jumped onto a chair. An angler fish glared at her from below the surface. A lure of glowing flesh was presented to her on a pole-like structure.

Krrrak!

The floor cracked like a glass and Azila let out a yelp. The water formed a whirlpool that drained into the crack. She got down on her hands and knees, her feet wet and cold, and crawled into bed.

“Azrin, help! Wake up! There’s something in the water!” shouted Azila.

Azrin jumped to his feet and glanced at his mother, who was kneeling at the foot of the bed.

“What, mak?”

“The living room is flooded! There’s something in there.”

With only his boxer briefs on, Azrin strutted out of his bedroom and looked around the living area. “It’s nothing here. You’ve been tricked by the light from the orchids.”

“Why is the floor wet? It was a pool just now!” moaned Azila. With white smoke drifting around them, she clutched at Azrin’s arms, firmly.

“It’s probably the mist,” said Azrin. “The floor is too cold and dew is forming on it.”

***

“Cikgu Zul, the flowers are dead.”

“It’s okay. Every living thing must die. And turn into a ghost.”

“Ghost?”

“My mother planted the ghost orchids years ago. She said they remind her of her late father.”

“Where is she now?”

“In the hospital. Covid.”

“Aduh! Sorry to hear that. How’s her condition?”

The doctor had put her on oxygen.

“Better bring her home, Cikgu. The doctors will not make her any better.”

“I know, of course.”

“Why?” Akim raised his eyebrows.

“Because she refused vaccines like most of my family members. And now she’s sick, and none of us can visit her.” Tears welled up in Cikgu Zul’s eyes.

“But the vaccines can’t do anything.”

“I know. But at least if she’d taken them earlier, her condition wouldn’t be this bad. There’s always a better option.”

“Sorry.”

“I’m closing this house down. You can have the orchids and the birds. The company will come next week to demolish the walls. I don’t want this place to be a lair for thugs.”

***

“Have you registered for vaccination in MySejahtera?”

“No. I don’t want to get vaccinated. I don’t want them to put weird stuff in my body.” Azila turned off the stove.

“What exactly are they going to put in your body?”

“Those weird ingredients.”

“What ingredients?”

Azila sighed and stared at her husband for as long as she could. “Microchips, maybe?”

“Microchips?” Akim widened his eyes. “Do you think they want to control your body?”

Azila nodded hastily.

“You already walk and talk like a robot, even without those microchips in your body. Help me clean the kitchen today.”

***

Who gave Cikgu Zul a beautiful Chinese mansion and a shabby shack? Akim thought about this. Not even the drooling lion was as frightening as some of the urban legends that depicted him. It slept like the Sphinx, appearing to gaze out over the horizon with its head held high.

Was there something wrong with the house that prevented the rezeki from coming over? Akim gave every possible scenario serious thought. That afternoon, he had mowed the lawn, cleaned out the sink and swept the kitchen. At precisely one o’clock, water began to flood the living room.

Weary, he pushed aside the drape and entered Azrin’s bedroom.

There were aeroplanes all over the floor. The most eye-catching of them was the Sukhoi-Su 30MKM. The pointed cockpit and coppery fuselage radiated. Each plane had a broken spinner or bent flaps, and they were the most among the wreckage. There was a collection of landing gears, fuel tanks, engines, wheels, and winglets lying close to the heap.

Near his big toe, Akim noticed a miniature aeroplane, about the size of his thumb. A Hornet F/A-18, to be precise. He put it down on his palm, spun the wheels, and gave it a gentle blow from behind to ensure it was stable. It took off and hovered in the air over the bed, just like the helicopters were doing.

A faulty helicopter with a smokey trail mistook his head for an emergency helipad and crashed down on top of him. He identified it as a Nuri. The tail boom was probably severed when the engine exploded. Akim seized the helicopter by its tail and lifted it. It shattered into dust before he could examine its interior.

A ship graveyard occupied the other half of the floor. The remains of the Maharajah Lela, which had been ravaged by time, resembled the skeleton of a whale. A dozen submarines of the Scorpène class floated aimlessly near the wall, resembling coconut husks in a river. His time in the Malaysian Navy was reflected in its sleek, sophisticated, and emotionless body. He fondly remembered his time spent on calm, sandy beaches of Layang-Layangan. The name initially sounded strange to him, but he eventually came to refer to it as “layang-layang”, which means “kite”. One afternoon, he went out of the house because he was bored and bought a dozen kites from the convenience store. Together with his pals, he played the kites on the beach.

Akim sat cross-legged on the floor. A v-shaped formation of Kasturi-class corvettes sailed out from under Azrin’s bed. Under the mattress, a lone navy ship from the KD Jebat sailed aimlessly. The antenna on its radio sent out barely visible red signals. The periscope swivelled. Its irises contracted and widened. Someone was viewing him through it.

***

The excavator raised a clawlike bucket and flicked it. The front of the house was the first to go, and it was dismantled section by section.

Krooooom! The elaborate entrance gate collapsed, sending chunks of rock flying through the air. The skinny stone lions ran in all directions.

“What is that?” asked a curious neighbour.

“Just a rock,” replied a worker. He flung the defaced sculpture into the back of the truck. It landed on all fours next to a heap of wooden beams. When another worker came across some severed mannequin heads, he screamed in horror. After calming himself down, he hid their modesty by covering them in newspapers. Youngsters, uninterested in the trinkets, went in search of coins. Under a stack of asbestos ceiling tiles, an elderly lady uncovered a treasure trove of shawls, dokoh, and kain kelubung.

“Can I take these, Cikgu?” asked the old lady.

“Yes,” answered Cikgu Zul.

The old lady bragged, “I used to dance in this mansion.” In a show of glee, she shook her hips and twirled her hands. She was seen dancing next to the excavator.

“You’re leaving?” asked Akim.

“My mother has passed away, Akim. Covid positive. We can’t bathe her for the funeral. They kept her in the mortuary, wrapped her in thick layers of plastic, and buried her instantly. We only watched from afar.”

“Innalillah.”

“Thanks for the prayers. It’s over. The neighbours can plant whatever they want on this plot of land.”

“Yes. The demonstration was useless. None of those so-called anti-vaxxers came. I waited. I felt cheated. They’re just shadows. They’re like ghosts. I’m going to take my first dose tomorrow. Take vaccines, Akim. At least that little vial can protect you and your small family.”

***

There was a ghost orchid keiki that bloomed in the drain, turning the muck a vibrant red. Akim brought it inside and replanted it with the help of a bamboo pole. After blooming overnight, the orchids turned the entire home a deep pink.

“It’s the ghost of the mansion,” reasoned Akim. He slumped onto the sofa. After a decade of being a brothel during the Japanese Occupation era, the British government closed it down. Years later, it became a hall for young girls to practice classical Malay dance. Then, Cikgu Zul’s parents bought it.

It was 3 a.m. Akim looked into the water. He saw a young man sneering at him. His sideburns were thick. His beard was as flourishing as a bush. His cheeks were tomato red under the hot afternoon sun. He was standing next to the Scorpène’s forward fin, laughing with other crew members. The Scorpène was later driven to Australia for some operations. This was back in 2007.

The navy ships were the sturdiest of his foamy memories. He met Shanti when the submarine nosed up and docked at the harbour on Labuan Island. They dated and spent many evenings walking barefoot along the beach.

He would tell her about fighting off sea monsters and his adventures on dinosaur-infested islands. She would laugh her heart out. She nicknamed him Sinbad.

The still water froze, glinting like a mirror. A large one. Deep. Dark. Dreamy. Akim clutched his chest. He recognised the water. It was from the deepest trench somewhere near the Philippines. The propellers failed, and they plunged deeper into the darkness. They cursed at the coal-black water. Soon, the lack of oxygen made them curse louder. After listening to their multilingual prayers, the Almighty God scooped the soggy vessel out of the abyss. He was urgently hospitalized for decompression sickness and acute angina.

The helicopters were Azrin’s little ghosts. He had turned down the interview at the Royal Malaysian Army College a month ago.

But what did the stone lion represent?

Courage?

Fear?

Uncertainty?

Chance?

“He should go for that interview,” Akim said, stepping back into the water. “It’s time for him to fly.”

“Betul tu, Tuan!” replied the parrot.

***

“You must have faith in him,” said Shanti, while clutching Akim’s hands. “He likes helicopters just the way you like the sea.”

Her cheeks were a rosy coral colour and her lips were agape with a smile. The pulsating indigo LED neon sign above her seat read BUNGA PUB.

“Sure,” said Akim as he removed his mask. He wanted to smoke but could not bring himself to light up. There were probably fewer than ten cigarette butts buried in the triangular plastic ashtray.

Red light flooded the bar, much like it did in the Chinese palace. The seats were relatively empty for a Friday evening, despite the eased restrictions on inter-district travel. There were no draped beds, and no strongboxes lying around. Shanti was fine. She did not need to hide in one of those strongboxes.

“Have you gotten your vaccine? They won’t allow unvaccinated customers to come in. They’ll kick you out.”

“Have you all been vaccinated?”

“Yes. I got Pfizer. My boss wants each one of us to be vaccinated. Do you know Datuk Ong? He demanded the Ministry of Health give Pfizer to all frontline workers in Sarawak first, including pub and nightclub workers. He refused other brands. The ministry obeyed his request.”

“That’s weird,” smiled Akim. “People in my village are extremely scared of vaccines. Even the mosque committee members refused them.”

“Well, what can I say? It’s their choice.” Shanti tied her hair into a frizzy bun.

“Do you still want to work here?”

“Yes. I like this place. My boss and colleagues are nice. You? When will your next voyage be, Sinbad?”

“I’m a kampong boy. I’m planting orchids now.”

“Orchids? What colour? Can you bring some for me, please?”

***

“Azrin! Wake up and put on your shirt. We’re going for the booster dose.”

Azrin rubbed his eyes and blinked. “But mak doesn’t want us to get the vaccines anymore. She’ll get angry.”

“She can’t get angry if everyone in this house dies.”

“Have you packed your things? Make sure to bring all the documents. You’re going for the interview this Thursday.”

“Is it still available?”

“Because of Covid, the walk-in interview is available till the end of this year. How’s your arm?”

“It’s getting better. It’s not as painful it was when I got the first shot.”

“Good.”

“But how about mak? Is she coming with us, too?”

Akim eyed Azila from afar. She had not spoken a word since last night. She trapped herself under a blanket, regretting the first dose of AstraZeneca she had received three days ago. Her hands quivered non-stop. Akim believed it must be because of some sort of short circuit in the microchips.

“She’ll be fine.”

***

Azrin was accepted into the Royal Malaysian Army College after he completed the interview process. He decided to attend the Malaysian Air Force Academy to further his education.

“We don’t have money,” cried Azila, pinching her temples after reading the offer letter. “Is he—is he becoming a pilot?”

“He has secured the B40 Kenyalang scholarship. Don’t worry. Datuk Ong will sponsor his studies too.”

“Datuk Ong?”

“Yes. He’s the best friend of YB Karim. I brought the orchids to him and we had a little chat. I told him Azrin is the only Sarawakian that won a place in the Malaysian Air Force Academy.”

“But he’s still young.”

“No. He’s an adult now and I’m proud of him. TV Sarawak will interview Azrin in two weeks.”

“TVS… they will interview him?”

“Yes. A live studio interview. And Datuk Ong has invited us to dinner at his place this Friday evening.”

“Oh! A dinner?”

“Yes. Why don’t you get your booster dose and go to the saloon tomorrow?”

***

Akim freed the parrot. It perched on the bamboo pole infested with dreadlock-like garlands of ghost orchids. The lion paced the front lawn, seemingly in pursuit of something.

“Banyak bunga, Tuan!” said the parrot while nodding its head. Akim smiled and petted its beak.

Akim showered, shaved for the first time in thirteen months and oiled his hair. His collarbone was pink-tinged, as if a bouquet of roses had just sprung out from his ribcage. He put on his leather jacket and secured a basket of orchid saplings on the Bujang Senang, a Suzuki V-Strom 650.

“I almost forget about Bujang Senang,” commented Azrin while dusting the seat.

“Yeah, me too. Bujang has been sleeping in the outhouse for too long. I’m taking him out tonight.”

“Pak, can I try riding him tomorrow?”

“Sure. Sleep early tonight. You did well in the TV interview. Your mother looked gorgeous. We’ll go to the clinic for your medical check-up tomorrow. I’ll be back late. Lots of rich people are buying these strange orchids.”

“How much is each plant?”

“One thousand.”

The parrot perched on Akim’s left shoulder as he was about to hit the road. It flapped its tail and wolf-whistled softly, “Nak jumpa siapa malam ini, Tuan?” 

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Ismim Putera is a poet and writer from Sarawak, Malaysian Borneo. His works can be found in many online journals and anthologised in To Let the Light In: An Anthology of Life and Death, Instincts: Asian Speculative Poetry 2021, A Tapestry of Colours 2: Stories from Asia, Unsaid: An Asian Anthology, and recently in The Big Book of Malaysian Horror Stories, A Spoonful of Malaysian Magic: An Anthology, and The Pathbreakers and other stories. His poem “Durian Blossoms” won third place in the 7th Singapore Poetry Contest (2021), and “Jantina” was longlisted for the Malaysian Poetry Competition (2021). Nipah Nightmares (Gerakbudaya Publishing, 2023) is his debut novel.

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