It was onerous to reproduce the terrible matter on Jalan Trus. And equally, once fully revealed, it was impossible to avoid or neglect.
The initial fuss on the street, whatever it was, had failed to interest for over an hour. At one point a look was taken up the hill from the front rail at Muthu, when the crowd had not fully gathered and only an ambulance was visible out front of Nilla. By the time of departure an hour & half later, the street had slipped from mind, completely forgotten.
Exiting the resto with the paper underarm, the Tamil Sec. Guard at the Gold Shop was sought. The arrangement of the last few visits to JB would be kept up: after finishing with the newspaper and moving off from Muthu, the Sec. Guard would get it. On his chair out front of the shop he could be caught sometimes later in the afternoon still leafing through.
It was only the Sec. Guard’s mention that returned the focus to the gathering on the street. Coming out nothing had been noticed.
Further down from Muthu, both sides of the street, scores of people had gathered. In numerous knots comprising many dozens.
How had the Sec. man broached the event immediately before his reveal? That part too quickly slipped from mind.
The man at the shop over there had hung himself, the Sec. Guard revealed.
The man was waiting for the body to be brought out, he added; the blue truck or van would take it away.
On our side nearby the vehicle was indicated. Jl. Trus was narrow single lane, one-way down to the water.
The way it came out and his manner seemed to suggest the Sec. had a role to play in those finals with the body. The day before the man had mentioned his recent trip to KL, which had been rightly guessed as a church matter. Possibly the Sec was a Catholic; certainly Christian. If the Indian victim of his own hand, from India proper, had been a co-religionist, particularly of the same denomination, that would explain it.
Memorably, the Sec. Guard had revealed a few years before that the Indian selling the Hindu devotional items a few doors down from the Gold Shop was in fact a Christian, of the same denomination as himself, from memory. The Sec. had known the father who had established the business. Mornings back then when the devotional guy rolled up in his shiny big Merc, the Sec would come over to guide him into his spot and arrange the red witches hats afterward to protect the expensive motor.
The Guard was a powerfully built man, his strength clearly retained into his 60s; no doubt chosen for that reason by the Chinese gold merchant.
It was rare one had the opportunity to relate one’s own close encounter with a hanging. Here the relation produced the usual reaction; not with much gobsmacking from the Sec.
The deceased here was known to the Security Guard, unexpectedly a young man only in his twenties, with whom he had exchanged words. It was a love matter, the Sec. added. Unrequited understood. An hour later back in the room at the hotel an ABC item carried an analogous case in Australia, where another Indian had murdered a co-worker after his advances were rebuffed.
At least 40 - 50 people had lined Jl. Trus by this time, a good number like the Sec. Guard having had some kinda acquaintance with the poor young man. Such a number could not have gathered otherwise.
Being from the Sub-Continent, the lad must have been a fetch-it shop boy. Most of the shutters of his shop remained down, but through one opening the colourful traditional apparel could be seen.
The discovery had been made after 9. Going along that section earlier to Muthu there had been nothing. A quart hour later Doria had passed that way too.
It was after Doria left around 10:30 that the gathering outdoors was noticed, after a number of the Muthu lads came out to see. By then definite word must have gotten out. There were many Indian nationals working along that end of Trus, Straight Road, both genders. (The girl who had returned to Tamil Nadu and broken the heart left behind had worked in the same store, it emerged next day.)
After the Sec. Guard was given his newspaper, rounding back directly to the hotel was preferred; there was no need to make a pass by the shop. Another brief look showed the Indian quarter there looking wholly Indian now.
Back over on Muthu’s side, a Thai she might have been was coming along in the same direction. Neat in black slacks and some kind of white branded polo or tee. Mid or late-30s, made-up. Bright-eyed and more than pretty.
Something on the spur of the moment was ventured, with a gesture back at the crowd.
The lady could not respond in English, but she made a sign that the point was understood; or at least the essential matter.
Both hands were brought together to her right cheek to make a pillow, a slight inclination of the head on that side, with a fine smile.
Beddie-byes.
The young Tamil hanging in the shop could be visualised much more easily than this gesture on the street before one’s very own eyes could be credited.
Had the Thai pretty seen so much in her life in her parts? Was she incapable of any kind of disturbance on that front, death truly having no sting? Perhaps it was the language gulf more than anything.
The child-like element in the gesture gave a hint of compassion; an odd hint from the Land of Smiles.
Onerous to record these same things, but in our line the responsibility was unavoidable.
Johor Bahru, Malaysia
