Shroud: Jinn

4 - Bewitched

The drive home was horrid. I had taken the rest of the day off; I was still visibly shaken from today's events.

First, the death of a breech baby that suddenly turned blue and stopped breathing. Second, the missing placenta. Third, the tragic death of a newborn's life. My eyes began to water as I recalled the image below the parapet. I knew I had a part to play in the little girl's death.

The thing about being a Muslim was that we had to accept qada and qadr, which was predestination. One of which was the date of our death and how we would die was already predestined for all of us. But I was having a hard time fathoming all of that. If I had not spoken with the young midwife, would she have reached the newborn in time at the nursery and rescued the little baby from the mother?

I smacked on the dashboard in anger and silently screamed as my knuckles turned white from gripping the steering wheel too tight. I started blaming myself for the recent death. I was not sure how long I was zoned out; something shiny suddenly appeared and whizzed past right into my lane in front of me. I attempted to swerve away from the cyclist who, in turn, lost his balance upon seeing me tailgating so close.

The sudden swerve almost made me hit someone walking along the durian plantation. I stepped on the brakes as hard as I could and the car screeched to a halt, stopping mere inches from the woman who had fallen backwards on the muddy path. I rushed out to check on the woman but I was shoved back roughly against the car.

"Jahanam punya drebar! Kau buta kah? Ingatkan ini datuk kau punya jalan raya, kah?! Kereta saja besar tapi otak campak dalam longkang! Nasib baik rambut palsu aku tak jatuh. Kalau tak, aku cepuk kau puas-puas! (Hellish driver! Are you blind? Do you think that your grandfather owns the road?! Big car but clearly you threw your brain in the drains! Luckily, my wig's still intact and didn't fall off. Otherwise, I'll whack you until I'm satisfied!)" The cyclist spat at my face and eyed me up and down.

I mumbled an apology but the man just snorted, gave me one last shove and turned on his heels. As he approached his bicycle, he cocked his head to the side and looked towards the front of my car, making him stop in his tracks. I hurried over to the woman who fell earlier and like the man, I stopped walking midway too.

It was Kamsaton. What was she doing here? Did she live here or was she visiting someone? Did she take the rest of the day off as well?

The man raised his eyebrows in surprise, "Eh! Awak sedara Mak Bidan, kan? Maaf kalau saya tersilap. Saya agak saja kerana selalu ternampak saudari dengan Mak Bidan. (Eh! Aren't you Mak Bidan's relative? I apologise if I'm mistaken. I merely guessed because I often see you around Mak Bidan.)"

Kamsaton fidgeted with her fingers and looked downwards, "Pakcik kenal Mak Bidan ke? (Do you know Mak Bidan, *Uncle?)

*It was common courtesy and respectful in Singapore and other Asian countries for anyone to address elders as an Uncle or an Auntie even though they were not officially related in any way.

"Takkan lah tak kenal, kampung kita sebelah saja. Uh...janganlah panggil saya Pakcik. Panggil saya Rashid saja. Atau 'abang' kalau nak lagi manja. (How can I not know her? Our villages are just beside one another. Uh...please don't call me Uncle. Just call me Rashid. Or 'brother' if you want it to be more endearing)." Rashid winked at Kamsaton in a leery manner and ran his hand through his lopsided toupee.

I attempted to stifle the bile that was creeping upwards the back of my throat.

I never really understood why husbands in most Malay households were usually called, "Abang" which literally meant brother. It seemed borderline incestuous at first glance but I understood that the word was simply used as a mark of respect. However, I was more than relieved when Melati decided to call me "Sayang (Dear)" instead and it just stuck.