Again Shauqina

Chapter 20 - Of love and durians

I miss them.

I really do. I never knew that I could miss my friends this much.

I miss Geraldine with her wide-eyed innocence and gentle berating of our manners. I missed Wilma's mischievous youthfulness, I missed Sammy wildness, I missed Kumar's chivalric solemnness and yes, above all else, I miss them, of course.

I miss Zack and Zahid. I miss Zack's insolent coldness and Zahid's warmth concern. I miss Zack's unpredictable eruptions and Zahid's consistent worry. I miss Zack's brooding intensity and Zahid's calming cheerfulness. I miss them as much as I missed the rest of my study group members.

June holidays found us all going our separate ways.

Wilma finally was backpacking on her European dream tour, with two other fearless friends. Gerry went visiting relatives in Canada, Sammy went back to the States and Kumar was, well, nowhere to be found. He suddenly went kaput—poof!—vanished into thin air.

Zack was in London and Zahid went to Malaysia with his family and extended family for a short break.

Zack kept sending text messages and shared photo-moments. I found pleasure at the pictures of his mother and him cleaning his London house. It was a rambling single storey bungalow with a dreamy lawn of yellow and red and purple crocus, of white daisies and pink and red roses. A white rattan outdoor swing sat placidly under a big, ancient oak tree and I could imagine Zack's mother and his father there, when they were younger—happier, together. Then there was the wedding. Zack's stepmother was tall and elegant, with swept up auburn hair and eyes the colour of emeralds. She smiled into the camera and my heart soared for her. Mr. Williams was a gentleman in his own right and she was a lucky lady! I almost felt jealous of her happiness! At last, I saw genuine smiles from Zack. Aunt Sumaiyah looked like she was fussing the bride as though she was the elder sister! One candid picture saw her whispering something into the bride's ears, who was laughing gleefully. What secrets were they sharing? Guess matters of the adults should be left with the adults. But matters of the heart—the mystery of Allah's will and plan is beyond the understanding of mere mortals like us. Ours is not to question why. I guessed ours is to ask why not, and be happy.

Zahid popped up in front of my door, unannounced—hair, smiles and smell, much to my parents' pleasant surprise and my consternation. How dare he comes without any invitation! But Abah, shock aside, was smiling widely at the two, heavy baskets whose occupants made known their presence in their most signature way—their fragrance or odour, or whatever you call it. Durians. That sneaky Zahid had just came back from his kampong in Segamat and had brought back the pride of his grandfather's orchards—that elusively much-love or much-hated durians.

Just for the record, my family are nuts over durians.

Zahid apologized happily and profusely for coming unannounced.

Then there was my mother. 'Oh! The baskets look heavy! Thank you! Come, come, let's all eat together!' Really Mak. How could you be so predictably hospitable? I rolled my eyes, glared at Zahid but he looked so smugly back at me, basking in on the adulation of my family. All because of the durians.

On the behest of my Abah, my brothers took out the checkered, picnic mat and spread it on the living room floor, pushing aside the teak sofa to make way for the durians. Thus, amidst the savouring of the ripe, yellow flesh of the durian, amidst happy grunts at the forcing open of those thorny pods, Zahid recountered how his uncle and him sat under a makeshift hut, exchanging ghostly stories while waiting for the ripe durians to fall. Zahid had always been a clown and his exploits in the fast running river, hand fishing, were all greeted with mirthful laughter. Unlike the seriously earnest Zack, Zahid was an instant hit with my younger brothers. In fact, his manners were easy—too easy and familiar to my liking. He was not pushy or showy or trying hard to win over my parents' approval. There was something else about him that I could not really place. He was so at home—here at my home. How? He has only been here once. Could it be you, Akhi? Zahid, was after all, your cousin, your best friend. But why, Akhi? Why would you tell Zahid of my family's routines and likes and dislikes? Why Akhi?