The Making of a Heartbroken Boy | ✔️

CHAPTER 6

1945, JOHOR, Malaya.

Ali stayed hidden in the shadows of the tall grasses, watching his wire trap float in the river water.

He had been staring for no more than two minutes when he heard the voices.

He swerved farther into the grass and listened through the shuffling of the needles.

"This is ridiculous. There's no way the Japanese are surrendering." A man spoke in Chinese.

"That is not up for debate," a familiar one said. "What is important is what we're doing after they do." Ali lumbered closer on his hands and knees.

"Why is that so important? Won't things just go back to the way they were? Back to normal?"

"That's precisely my point. How could they possibly go back to how they were? And how far would it go back? When we owned the land we were born on? Or when the British were taking it for their own?" Ali recognized the voice. It can't be.

"Amadi's right. There is no normal," a third voice intervened. "The Communists will stand for what we believe in, no matter who it's against.

"We'll take necessary actions to make our words heard. Is that understood?"

It was Amadi. He would've recognized his brother's voice anywhere.

"Yes sir," Amadi and the other voice answered, and their footsteps travelled away from the riverbed.

Ali peered between the tall grasses and followed their silhouettes on the horizon. He shuffled through the weeds, finally nearing the firepit that the men had made in a clearing. Their shadows stretched and danced along the ground in the flickering firelight.

He hadn't noticed their conversation had paused until the bulkier of the men swivelled in his direction, eyeing the scenery around Ali.

He squinted.

Ali's heart had started racing sometime before. He didn't notice.

He slowly slunk into the grasses, cowering until he lay flat on his stomach, his knees bent.

Silently, he struggled to slow his staggering breathing.

Suddenly having the urge to stretch, he cursed himself and cautiously squirmed in his spot.

He stretched his legs out and gasped.

A twig snatched beneath his boot.

Their eyes latched briefly and a moment too late Ali was sprinting from the scene.
The large man followed behind urgently. Ali searched for an escape. The river, he thought.

The view changed as he swerved towards the muddy shoreline.
I can't do it again, he thought. He only ran faster. I have to.

The footsteps behind him slowed.

Lompat. Blue eyes flashed before him. He shook his head.

"No way, Ali. I'm not jumping!"

He heard the breaths. The feel of his shirt in his grasp. The fast, shallow breathing. The water not two meters away now.

Not a step away from a jump he stopped, arms flailing at the loss of balance and his toes just touching the water.

The footsteps behind him raced and then ground to a halt behind him in the slick mud, dark brown splashing as the man grabbed his collar and spun him around.

Ali brought his hands to his head.

"Amadi Mumit -"

"Not a word, boy." The man shook Ali violently. Then, shifting hands he began to work his way back towards the fire, dragging Ali behind him.

"But Amadi is -"

"Do you want to make this harder for yourself? Quiet down."

"He's my brother."

The man's eyes slid down his uniform then met Ali's again.

"Right." The man tightened his fist on Ali's collar, putting pressure on his throat. Ali let out a staggering rumble of coughs as he watched the grass pass. Finally, the grass turned into the rougher crumble of dirt and rock, and the campfire light drew their shadows into the depths of the wilderness around the clearing.

Ali twisted in the hand around his collar, to no avail. Indignant, he pulled his feet under himself and squatted, perched like a dog next to its master. Two boys emerged from the shadows, taking place near to the dancing firelight.

He swivelled in his shirt to find their faces.

"Ali?"

The man let go of his collar and Amadi pulled Ali into a hug.

Ali wrapped his arms around his little brother.

"What are you doing here, Ali? You're supposed to be caring for mother."

"Well, we couldn't have you being the only heroic son, could we?"
"Very funny," Ali rolled his eyes. I missed you so much, he wanted to say. But even thinking of the words brought tears to his eyes. "What's this about the Japanese surrendering?"

"Word has it they're retreating," Amadi replied. He pulled back from the hug, and Ali could see his glossed eyes in the dim light.

"So, what is this?" The bulky man said.

"So sorry, Sir. This is my older brother, Ali." Ali raised his hand to shake. The man stared at it.

"Is he joining the cause?" He urged.

"Well..." Amadi turned to Ali. "I don't -"
"Then we don't have time for this. Either he joins us, or he's gone by morning. Understood?"

"Sir, you can't ask him to just commit like that. He could travel with us until we reach town."

"Understood?"

Reluctantly, Amadi nodded, and the man turned on his heel.

The other had disappeared sometime.

"He's a little sour," Amadi admitted. "According to some gossip from the group, he lost his own brother to the cause. He got cranky whenever I talked about you."

"What cause is this exactly? And what others? There's no one else here."

"We're on the move from our last base. Another group is carrying the supplies, but we travel in smaller groups to stay hidden."

"And the cause?"

"We fight for communism in Malaya. Malayan Communist Party." He shrugged, displaying a red star sewn into the shoulder of his jacket.

"I did too."

"What? I thought you fought in the Malay Army. I didn't realize..."

"That I fought for a cause too?"

"No, I just didn't think that you would support this."

"Why not?"

"Because it's not meant for you."

"What on earth is that supposed to mean, 'Adi?"

"It means," Amadi readjusted his coat. "Look, we thought you joined the army to stop the war."

Ali nodded.

Amadi breathed deeply. "It's just that... Well, it's our job to start them."