KL,
December ‘65
I
felt like I had been guarding my luggage for ages before I caught sight of a kuning langsat nymphet fluttering in
through the haloed entrance (or was it the arched exit of the Kuala Lumpur
Railway Station?) like a capricious illusion created by the morning mist.
The yellow-skinned young
lady looked around the station platform and waved frantically as soon as she saw Mak circumnavigating our bags and boxes. Mak and I frowned and blinked. And frowned and blinked.
It was hard to
reconcile the image of this pretty lass in her black, shiny, tight sarong which
split in the center up to her knee caps and her soft, pink chiffon
blouse which ended just above the V-shaped creases which followed the shape of
her now flat tummy with the picture of the miserable, pregnant teen in her drab blue a baju kurung when we first
saw her sitting on that white iron swing in the garden of the Home for Wayward Girls
on Jalan Rimau.
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