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The Seaforth News, 1961-12-21, Page 2On Arab Street in Singapore Arab Street in Smgeeere is the place where merchants front Indonesia have their shops: aent approach from any of the modern hotels that dot the city, or even from the Victorian elegance of Raffles; via the Chinese quarter, noisy, busy ,and exciting. Thence through some wandering; back alleys to an avenue of shuttered stores where placid old men doze in doorways and doe -eye 1 chil- dren play in shadowy corners. We came to buy some sarongs to take home as gifts, and being rank amateurs, did not know that there are shops for gentle- men's sarongs and those for ladies. We stepped into the first and asked; the tall young man who rose from behind the coun- ter eyed my husband with n tailar's statistical gaze. "Winter weight or summer, Tuan?" he asked. We backed out quietly and went to the ladies' emporium across the street. Three young men arose. as we went in It was like stepping into a rainbow: the sarongs were hung, the full three meters of them, in clusters from the room, from the balcony that went around the second floor, from hooks on the first that held great blooming swaths of color, The young men smiled at our gasp. 'Beautiful, Madame?" one of them asked quietly, "Beautiful," we agreed. They began -reaching them down with long rods as we walk- ed and exclaimed, "Now here," offered the tallest, the one with the soft slurring voice, "here is what American ladies sometimes buy for even- ing skirts." I turned and gasped; it must have been the only hideous arti- cle in the shop. On a black back- ground bloomed cabbage -sized roses in red, green, and pink- pusey. They had scintillant hearts and gave off a general air of circus posters. "Don't tell me," I began in- dignantly, when another young man slid up quietly and took over for the team, "Madame would like something , quieter . , perhaps?" "Perhaps!" The long rods reached down meters of brown, green, black, dull blue, and orchid, even gray, slate, and stone. Interesting, but nothing to make the heart jump. "W -ell," we said. From a corner we had not noticed arose a tall, thin old man, with a square black cap on his head. He bowed to us and took the rod from the hands of the young man. He reached, juggler - like, behind a swath of cloth and brought out something that glow- ed and glistened and shone with subdued lights. "This, Madame, might interest you?" The old man's voice was cultivated and soft. Interest us! The soft old fin- gers spread it out on the rubbed counter; it was as a sarong on an old design, beige and brown and strewed cunningly with jewellike blots of color: emerald, carmine, purple, gold. We crowd- ed up to look at it closely. The jewels were the patterns of small fish; some women, somewhere on a tropical island, had watched this play of shape and brilliance in coral pools or off some atoll beach. The anima- tion, the life, the variety were there in natural abundance: the control, the elimination of the non-essential were there in strict design. Q. What is a good formula for a "homemade" furniture polish? A. One very good one consists of equal parts of kettle -boiled linseed oil, turpentine, and vine- gar. Rub on all that the wood will absorb, then rub off the sur- plus with a clean cloth, Rub dry, and polish with a chamois or soft woolen cloth without lint. "This has been made,' began the quiet voice, "out of love and artistic pleasure! She had an ex- quisite sense, as you see, of value and may have made it for a daughter or a friend! Women Med to .do these things, you know," he went on. "It took months, even years. She did it when' the other work was done, sitting under a tree and working with her bone needles, her wax, and her dyes. Sometimes she might tire and go out for a swim among the coral and trees and tumbling fishes," He sighed. "I know, I -was born in such a place: Amboina." There was silence in the glow- ing room, Then the gentle tone went on: "This has been here fol quite a time, A young man brought it in ane day , , he came from my Moluccas, the Spice Islands. I bought it . . and I have kept it ! , till now", He smiled. The Tuan asked; "It is old, then?" "We -ell, Tuan, not old, as we know old," The tall man mur- mured, "Forty, fifty years, per- haps , who can exactly tell? But it belongs to the good times, Tuan; that you can see!" We nodded obediently "The old spellbinder," murmured my husband in my ear. But his eyes were fixed, too, on the glowing stuff. "You need not cut it all, Madame , , . that would be a pity, would it not?" He held it up to me and the tiny fishes swam and the great dark blooms blew softly, I was lost of course Even the wrapping paper was enchanting: brown,, with moth - like flowers printed on it in black. "Please to return," said the shopkeeper as we were leaving. He offered his slim hand; the other held the plentiful bills we had given him. 'Please to honor our shop again before you leave. You do not live here, of course?" • "Of course," we agreed and, with bows and smiles, departed, Our plane was delayed so that we had a few extra days to spend in Singapore; we had done all the tourist things; the rides to the monkey parks, the trips up the peninsula, the jade collect- ions. The last days we were bored. "Let's go back to Arab Street," suggested the Tuan. It was all as it had been, sleepy, warm, and quiet. We walked toward our favorite shop, and slipped in. It had several people in it; we wandered toward the rear, to a sort of backwater of the commerce between two tall racks of sarongs. Then we heard again the quiet, delicate old voice. We peered around a bush of glowing cottons. The old man in the square cap had a young American before him: 26, 28. Before them on the counter lay a sarong and it glow- ed, too, but not, of\course, with the grace and precision of ours! "For your wife, sir?" inquired the tall gentleman back of the counter. "We -ell. "Ah, I tee! Well, not this then, but this!" Se pulled out a cloth from un- der the counter; on it wavered an underwater garden in green, coral and blue, with silvery - sprays. No fish moved in this, but one could feel the undulation of clear tides,. "From Djailolo," murmured the old man. "A volcanic island but green and moist. Deer and baboons are common there and babirusa, the great birds, which build mounds of branches to hatch their eggs. Also cassowar- ies and birds of paradise!" He stopped and closed his eyes. "Nutmegs, cloves and sandal- wood , mace and fruits and peppers!" We felt suddenly indignant; we had not been treated to cas- sowaries and pepper! But the young man was play- ing now a high violin accompani- ment to these 'cello notes • "I shall give it to a young lady ". , . FOR AMBER WAVES OF GRAIN" -- Coleman Foley, once a penniless immigrant, stands in his wheat field; Foley has given 50 tons of wheat to three Greek towns as a part of the "Food for Peace" program. IKE LIKES — Former President Eisenhower studies a mahogany likeness of himself, presented at his Gettysburg home by sculptress Frau Annie Hofken•Hempel, Trier, Germany. Eisenhower told her he thoughtit the best likeness ever clone of him. Nightmare. Like A Jigsaw Puzzle A Complete .Story By ROY WINLEY. Click -Clock, click -clock, right - left, right -left — how ueorge hated the monotonous swing of the windscreen wipers, Living in the country was fine in'the sum- mer, but he began to wonder if •it was worth the strain of driv- ing home on a night like this, "Good Heavens! What's that?" The exclamation and question were automatic for he knew the answer. The sickening thud, the lurch of the car as the nearside front wheel rose and fell could mean only one thing — he had hit something. The screech of brakes hardly out of his ears, he stood staring down at the figure of the man stretched out on the road. His headlights outlined the figure like the spotlight on the final scene of some grim drama, while the steady drip, drip of the rain from the straggling hedgegrows each side of him kept time, like a muted orchestra, with the steady splash, splash of the rain on the puddles scattered about the lonely country. lane, Hurrying angrily across the sky, the dark clouds obscured the moon, as though to deny the scene even the meagre comfort of a. little cold, cheerless light, Relenting now and again, they allowed the moon to break through for a moment or so, and in one such moment he saw that one of the man's hands, in the shadow cast by the headlights, rested in a puddle. Above him the wind whistled in a subdued minor key through the lonely telephone wires that led to some remote farm, All the forces of nature seemed in a subdued and solemn mood, as if in keeping with the tragedy of the moment His inner voices„started . , , "There's not a soul in sight — who is to know it was you?” "One whisky smells much the same as half a dozen. How will you convince the police that you had only your nightly double at the Bull and Bell? "Don't forget Mabel. She didn't think much of you before, but if this is splashed all over the papers . . . Looks as though he's dead — giving yourself up won't bring him back, "But what if he is not dead? Help now may save his life. , who will, I hope, appreciate these things!" The old man bowed, a smile of satisfaction crossing his dark face. We stepped out into the street and began to make our way to- ward the city; the young man from the shop caught up with us quickly. "Quite an old boy, wasn't he?" he inquired, smiling. He had the packages under his arm. "I did buy this for a girl . , , we're both Fulbrighters and have been working on a research problem in Nepal. She says romance' is dead all over the East , , . gone in now for tractors and the mini- mum wage! Wait till I tell her well , . , i don't know just what . ." A. puzzled look fled over his face, as though he were waking from a dream, My husband gave him a sharp, quick look. When he spoke, his voice had its driest editorial tone: "Wring her heart," he advis- ed. "I quote you from the re- nowned Bushaq of Shiraz. 'By reason of the saltecetlar of his mouth Blood wilt Roto from her heart, nus from a salted kebab!"" The young man threw back his head and laughed, "Philosophy on Arab Street••, but it might work!"—By Hazel Bruce in the Christian Science Monitor. "An accident is one thing, but to leave a chap to die like that is murder." He pressed button A in .the telephone kiosk. "Downville Hospital? Send am- bulance to Dean's Lane — man run over." He spoke in a rough and deep voice. "Who is that call . "' The voice clicked off as he replaced the receiver and hurried from the kiosk. Hanging his wet clothes in the hall, he braced his shoulders back as though gathering strength be- fore greeting Mabel. Before marriage she had seem- ed attractive and pleasant, but now the mask of affability had Flipped. "You're late," she complained, as, she received her routine peck on the cheek, "and you needn't think you can just flop in an armchair, dinner's nearly spoiled as it is." For a while they ate in silence, for Mabel liked to concentrate on her food, In the mirror on the wall opposite him, he caught his own reflection and as his jaws' rose and fell rhythmically on the overdone steak he was reminded of a docile cow chewing the cud. That's what ten years with Mabel had reduced him to, a meek little man with a weak face. He could not face her endless questioning, certainly not to- night. So after the meal he com-a plained of a headache. "I think I'll take a couple of aspirins and go to bed," he said. "No wonder you have a head — late home and giving no rea- son. The Bull and Bell could ex- plain both. What about Jim, he said he'd bring a bag of fertilizer around to -night?" "Weather made him change his mind, I suppose, but if he does come he can put it In the gar- age." As he expected, he had a troubled night; his two inner voices swayed him this way and that, Every time he closed his eyes tight to shut out his thoughts he was 'back at the scene of the accident, reliving it in every small detail, The scene was re- peated again and again but each time he felt he had overlooked something, It was like a jigsaw puzzle with just one small piece missing, and when eventually he fell into a troubled sleep the piece was still missing, He tried not to appear anxious next morning at breakfast as he scanned through the paper for news of the accident. Twice he skimmed' the headlines before realizing that what was a major disaster to him and his future would hardly hit the headlines of the national newspapers "No wonder Jim didn'tcome last night," Mabel said, looking up from the Downville News. "He was knocked over by a hit- and-run driver. Thank goodness the police have a lead. Shooting will be too good for the chap when they catch him!" "How is Jim?" George asked, "It just says he's in hospital and as comfortable as can be expected." The troubled night was as nothing compared to the night- mare day at the office. Try as he might to conbentrate on the accounts before him, the figures would slide slowly out of focus and in their place would be Jim, spreadeagled' on the road, his hand in the puddle. Old Jim, his— odd-job isodd-job gardener, with whom he'd had many pleasant little chats. Then Jim's picture would fade out to be replaced by a police- man, notebook in hand. Back came the voices. "To injure a stranger and run away is bad enough, but to leave a friend possibly to die ., The voices would die away as the scene of the accident floated once more before his mind and he found himself searching yet again for the missing piece of the jigsaw which had troubled him last night. Something vital was missing — but what, what, what? When, at last, he left the office he decided to call at the Bull and Bell on the way home. After all, he had done so each night since he came to Down- ville, so to miss a night would certainly give rise to questions. "Hallo George," Nellie said. "Usual?" He nodded., "How's Jim getting on?" "Why ask me?" he said, sud- denly on his guard. "Thought you might know, Nellie said, "especially as he did a bit of gardening for you, I'm, jolly glad they caught the fellow who did it. Fancy leaving Jim like that, might have died from, loss of blood. He downed his whisky and soda in one gulp, then called for another; "What's the celebration sone into a fortune?" inquired Nellie. "Sort of. By the way, how did they trace the fellow?" "Search nte," she replied, then, bustled away to serve another eustomer. Back came the voices. "This is a trap by the pollee to catch you off your guard. They want you to make inquiries', you'll soon give yourself away. Look, your hand's trembling" "Jim would know what hap- pened. Why not go, and see him? After all, he is your gardener." Jim looked quite perky as he sat propped up in bed, in spite of his bandages, "Hallo Jim, Didn't expect to see you as lively as this. How did they catch the chap?" No sooner were the wards out of his mouth than he imagined she was walking right into the trap, His eagerness would arouse Jim's suspicions, but no , , "Fellow from Cackfield — it was in a hired oar. Police found , a bit of my jacket on the bump- ers when they checked round the garages." George tried to cover up his previous anxiety. "Well, to look at you now, no- body would think you had been run over, I must say." "Durned near run over twice 1 was, and maybe I wouldn't have been so lucky second time. Police say I owe my life to a man and a sack. I was coming round to your place with the sack of fertilizer on my back when the chap from Cackfield knocked the for six and drove off, Another chap came along, hit the sack, saw me, and rang the hospital. Saved my life he did, but so did the sack." Click, the jigsaw was complete, Jim had been in the road several feet in front of the car, he hadn't hit him after all. Instead of the cosy little chat Jim expected, all he saw Was George bracing his shoulders as he left. Mabel also saw the bracing of the shoulders as he entered the living room, "And what time do you call this. I would like to know?" she demanded. He raised his arm, glanced calmly at his wrist watch. "7.47 precisely. Now perhaps you will please serve my meal instead of asking foolish questions to which you aready knowthe answer."— From "Tit -Bits." 'Nine players have hit two home runs in one inning, in- cluding Al Kaline and Jini Lemon among active men. deck Fore and Aft The Traffic Flow Then Decide When to Go 1 RUSK-GROMYKO MEET ON LAOS •-- U.S, Secretary of State Dean Rusk and Soviet Foreign Minister Andrei Gromyko shake hands following a meeting an the Laos problem in Geneva. They attempted to break the deadlock whioh has stalled negotlat!ans on that nation's future. At right is U.S. Ambassador Averell Harriman.