“She’s a traitor!” one of the boys from Kampong Dalam shouted. “I saw her walking with a Chinese boy!”
“I am not!” she shot back, trying to defend herself. But Rosli wasn’t there today. His mother had said he’d gone to visit his aunt in Kampong Pagak for a few days. Without him, there was no one to speak up for her. All the boys turned to look at her—accusingly. All except Razali. He stood quietly at the side, eyes steady, saying nothing. He and Rosli had always been gentle with her. But now, she felt exposed. Alone.
“Then what were you doing walking with a Chinese boy?” the voice pressed on. “Maybe you’re the one who told them our strategy!”
“I would never do such a thing!” she said, her voice cracking slightly. “Then how come they know? Huh?” another boy chimed in. “For the past few days, the Chinese boys have been getting to the center before us! We blocked all the roads leading there, and yet somehow—they’re still getting there first.”
He shook his head in frustration. “You see what’s happening now? We end up waiting hours before they let us use the center. And sometimes, we can’t play at all! They dominate the whole place until it’s nearly dark, until the center closes. How can we let them keep doing this?”
The group murmured in agreement. Razali stayed silent, listening to everything—but his mind was elsewhere. He didn’t believe she was a traitor. He was thinking. The Chinese boys must have found another route—a way to bypass the blockades that none of the Malay boys knew about. It wasn’t sabotage. It was strategy. Clever strategy.
He would have to find this new path they were using. And fast. “Who’s the one that always gets there first?” Razali asked, turning to Herman, one of the boys from Kampong Ladang. Herman had been assigned to reach the community center early each day to collect the game room key from the caretaker—since he usually got home from school before the rest.
In their little kampong system, whoever held the key got full access to the center for as long as they wanted. “Ah Seng,” Herman replied. “That small boy?” Razali frowned. “But he stays near the bus interchange, that’s further up! How’s he getting here so fast? And how come nobody sees him entering the kampong?” He paused, eyes narrowing.
“There must be another way in... we have to find out.” He turned to the group. “Who stays near him?”
“Me!” shouted Karim, one of the boys from Kampong Wak Tanjong. “I know that boy—we go to the same school.”
“Good,” Razali nodded. “Here’s what you’ll do. As soon as school ends, trail him. Follow him quietly and see how he gets to the center so quickly.”
Then he turned to her, his voice calm but firm. “Now, here’s what you can do for us,” he said, looking directly at her. “Can you search around... see if there’s a new path we don’t know about? Something hidden. A shortcut.”
“Her again? Why is it always her?” one of the boys snapped, his voice rising with frustration.
“Because she lives near the community center,” someone replied. “And she knows the area better than all of us. Wasn’t it her who first told us about the shortcuts around here?” A few heads nodded in agreement.
“But what about that Chinese boy?” another voice piped up. “We saw her walking with him the other day…”
“We went to the library,” she shot back, eyes flashing. “What’s wrong with that?”
“He’s still a Chinese. He’ll ask questions… and you’ll answer,” the boy accused.
“I did not! He never even asked!” she shouted, her voice trembling slightly.
“He’s not like the other Chinese boys. He’s different.”
“How different can he be?” someone sneered.
“He doesn’t eat pork.” That made the group pause.
“All Chinese eat pork. How can he be Chinese and not take pork?”
“It’s true,” she insisted. “If you don’t believe me, ask him yourself. Or ask his cousin. He’s the only one in the family who doesn’t eat pork.” One of the boys narrowed his eyes.
“Is he that Chinese boy who stays near the center… but on the other side?”
She rolled her eyes, her irritation showing now. “He has a name,” she snapped. “At home, they call him Poh Poh.”
Chpt 15 / 36
