THE MEMOIRS OF MUSTAPHA HUSSAIN - Malaysia Today

Continuing the Political Struggle 353
be carted away. Since she was a wealthy lady, she had a lot to lose. The
tenants then twisted water pipes and poked holes in the roofing. Loyal
to each other, no one breathed a word.
One night, tragedy struck. A female tenant hanged herself by her long
cloth waist binder. We were too late to save her. Just after her burial, a
vampire cricket (pelesit) appeared while the tenants were busy reading
Qur’anic verses. It perched first on the beam from which the woman had
hanged herself and then moved to the husband’s shirt hanging on a wall.
From that day on, the vampire cricket made the eerie screeching sound
from the rambai fruit tree outside the house every night at the time of
her death, until the tree was felled.
One after another, the tenants left, including the now famous comedian,
Ibrahim Din, who lived next to the tragic room. We could not
leave; we had nowhere to go. My wife and children were indeed made
of stern stuff. After all, they had endured far worse situations. They had
hidden in the jungle during the Japanese Invasion; were left in Lumut
while I was in Singapore for the formation of Malai Giyu Gun; sat frozen
as a tiger fought with stray dogs under our farm-hut; hid themselves in a
friend’s hut during the Bintang Tiga days; were deserted again when I
was imprisoned and had been told I would be hanged. Living in a house
with a spooky history was nothing by comparison. I heard later that the
landlady herself left the house. She should have learned not to exploit
the poor.
Hawking Food at the Sunday Market
With capital totalling $42, I bought a charcoal stove, some pots, a dozen
small plates, some small forks, several stools and two round tables. I
experimented on a sauce until the tasters, my children, confirmed that,
“Father, this tasted great.” After that, I began selling boiled squid,
cockleshells and kangkong (watercress, a leafy green vegetable) served
with my special spicy-sweet sauce. I was ashamed to be a food hawker,
but went out bravely on the first day. This eating area, although called
the Sunday Market, was actually open every night, with Saturday being
the busiest time. During better days, I had taken my wife and children in
my sports car to eat to our hearts’ content at this Sunday Market. Now,
I was scrounging five cents here and there hawking food in what was
once my ‘playground’.
Soon, shame and embarrassment dissipated, replaced by satisfaction
that my boiled squid and cockleshells were strong favourites. I did a
roaring business. My first customer was satay-seller Saaim who led the