The glass rolled off the table and broke. Rentap looked up with terror-filled eyes, but his intoxicated father only mumbled a few incoherent words. Quickly, he groped for the dustpan under the kitchen cupboard.
“Rentap. Is everything alright in there?” the old lady called from next door through the thin plywood wall.
“Yes, Indai Bansa. Father and I are fine.”
“Very well, then.”
He grasped a broom hung from a hook embedded in the kitchen door then swept the glass off the floor. As he emptied the dustpan into a bin placed under the sink, Rentap felt someone watching him. He peeped out the window, but there was nobody outside. Behind him, his father suddenly lurched and vomited onto the floor. Then with a moan, he leaned forward and cradled his head in his arms which were placed on the table in front of him. Rentap trembled: Would his father be angry if he found out that he had put the rice wine on the table because Indai Bansa had asked him to?
One thing he was sure, his father would definitely flog him if he did not clean the mess off the floor. Again he took out the dustpan, but instead of using the broom, he used his own hand to sweep up the vomit. Though he retched over and over, he dared not stop until he had scooped up most of the mess. Then he went on all fours and scrubbed the floor with a worn-down plastic brush until the reek of the semi-digested tuak had somewhat abated.
It was growing late, so he went into the living room to do his homework. At about 9.30, he looked into the kitchen. The man was still where he had left him. Rentap went about the house, cheking both the front and back doors, and the latch of every window, and each time before he shut them tight against the night, he would peep outside and pray that he would find his mother standing there. But she had not come home. He went to bed.
At 5 a.m. when the alarm went off, Rentap immediately jolted to a sitting position and switched it off before it could give out a third blare. He tiptoed into the kitchen. It was empty, but the door leading to the back of the longhouse was opened. Rentap peeked outside and saw, on the veranda, the old lady next door pouring water from a jar over his father’s head. Was she giving him a bath, he wondered but dared not call out to ask.
He went to the kettle on the stove with the intent of filling it and boiling water for breakfast, but he found that the kettle was hot. He started when the back door creaked open and his father stepped in, soaking wet and wearing a towel that he tied across his chest.
“Are you hungry, Rentap?” the man asked. Rentap nodded, and his father said, “Let me put on some clothes first, then I will make you breakfast, okay?”
Again Rentap nodded. While his father was out of the kitchen, he sat down on his usual seat at the table and looked about him. On a small table next to the stove were fresh eggs in a basket, and potatoes and tapioca leaves from the backyard. And he saw that the cold rice from the night before had been squeezed to separate the grains.
His father again reappeared, fully dressed. He said, “Let’s have fried rice for breakfast.”
Rentap smiled. He was hungry, for he could barely finish his dinner the night before. He watched his father sliced an onion then unhooked a wok from the wall and heated it on the stove. The aroma of frying onions and dry anchovies made Rentap drool. Next the rice went in, and after a dozen tossing or so, his father cracked two eggs into the mixture.
After the hearty breakfast, Rentap washed and changed to get ready for school. Walking passed the kitchen on his way out, he was startled to find his father on his knees scrubbing the floor.
Apai Rentap looked up and smiled. “Are you going to school now?”
Rentap swallowed, afraid and confused. “Yes, the longboat will be going soon.”
His father got up on his feet and passed him a plastic container and bottle. “There you go, for recess. It should hold you till you come back for lunch.”
“Thank you, apai,” he said, his voice quacking. He wondered if the old lady next door had anything to do with the change in his father. The neighbors did say that no one should cross her path because she was a witch. He went to the shoe rack behind the front door, and was surprised to find that his white school shoes had been brushed clean, exactly the way his mother had always done.
Could indai be home, he thought as relief and happiness welled in his heart. Maybe that was why his father was kinder and happier, he reasoned. At that moment, he wanted to rush into his parents’ bedroom to hug her, but then he heard the boatman calling from the common gallery outside. He couldn’t miss the boat, he couldn’t risk making his father angry. So he walked out of their family bilek, hoping and praying that she would still be home when he returns.
Yet that afternoon, only his father was home. He had a wide smile on his face and met Rentap with arms outspread as though expecting an embrace. He asked about school, and told funny stories during lunch. Rentap felt happy beyond words. How he wished that his mother would come home now. Then the family would be complete.
The old lady could hear the sound of happy conversation from next door through the thin walls. She nodded contentedly, for her spell had worked.
She put down her sewing and turned to the brown cat stretched over the chair next to her and said, “He thought he could get away with it. He thought that he could lie to Rentap and tell him that his mother had run away because he was a bad boy. Well we showed him didn’t we, Manja.” She snorted. “How improper. He would not even let her body come back from the hospital for a ceremonial burial. He sent her to some remote cemetery, and told everyone that she fell from the back ladder. We know don’t we, Manja. We know that he must have kicked her down because we have seen him do it many times. And we know that Rentap must have seen him kill her, that is why he didn't want the boy to know she is dead. He is afraid Rentap will talk.”
Again she picked up her sewing. “But that was the reason why the spell worked, Manja,” she said to the cat. “That was the reason why. Little Rentap did not realize that his mother had died, so he prayed for her to come home every day.”
She hummed a little tune under her breath.
“And came she did, and came she did.” She paused and eyed the cat. “You saw her didn’t you? You saw her first, lurking by the river, hiding behind the doors, peeking in through the windows. You saw her first.”
She knotted the thread, and bit it free. As she folded the cloth she said, “Oh but Apai Rentap did enjoy the wine I gave him. He enjoyed it so much he finished the bottle in one sitting.” She cackled. “He didn’t realize that her spirit was inside the bottle.” She reached out to pat the cat. “She is home now, Manja. Yes, she is home now. And he knows it.”
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