Free Shadow Theatre by Fiona Cheong Page B

put them on afterwards when her angmo boyfriend picked her up. She was wearing
them now, the high heels, and a black skirt so tight, you had to
wonder how her hips could get enough oxygen to sway so hard
from side to side as she walked. I had heard her approaching us,
of course, clickety clack all the way across the floor. And even
though I hadn't turned around, I knew how Chandra walked,
and also, Jason's eyes had confirmed it. The look he had given her. If he were a dog, his tongue would have been hanging out
already.

    "How's Shak?" she asked, finally.
    "She's fine," I said, very politely on purpose.
    "I hear she's due in December."
    "Yes."
    "How is she coping with the heat?"
    "Getting used to it." Only a white lie, right? This is her
home, you know."
    "Well, they say the blood gets altered after you've lived
overseas." Chandra smiled at Jason, in such a way that she was
almost batting her eyelashes, for no reason except to be alluring. He hadn't said anything, and she wasn't even talking directly to him.
    If Shak's boyfriend had come home with her, she would
never have behaved that way, I thought, and I was certain.
Especially not in front of me, because it was rude to do this, like
almost making love in public.
    But that was how Chandra was. Sometimes I couldn't stand
the sight of her. Otherwise, live and let live, as even the Mother
Superior would say.
    I was trying not to watch Chandra and her boyfriend as
they left the library, their hips bumping like magnets. Because it
was what she wanted, to draw attention to herself. So I turned
to the windows and tried to wipe the picture of them out of my
mind, the two of them pulok-pulok as if long-lost lovers, while
I stared at the bougainvillea, at the hot sky, at the yellow library
wall, at the black hair of teenagers leaning glumly with their
elbows on the long table near the windows, studying. (Younger
children also used our library, but their reading section was
upstairs.)
    A hand tapped me on the shoulder, and before I turned
around, I knew who it was, because her scent had been there from
the moment Chandra and her boyfriend had started walking away, that scent of her habit, of her hair, shorter now, rolled up
like an old-fashioned Chinese scroll underneath her wimple. A
whiff of the dampness in her armpits, making dewdrops on her
skin.

    She had waited until they left, I realized, and I wondered
how I could have missed seeing her come over.
    Isabella, whom Shak had already asked me about, because
Shak didn't know, and how could she? Being away fifteen years
and not even replying to my earlier letters with a postcard (which
was why I had stopped writing to her, to Shak, because my feelings were hurt, although what I had told myself out loud was to
be frugal and not waste stamps).
    "Long time no see." Isabella was smiling such a wide smile, as
if truly, from the bottom of her heart, she was happy to see me.
    As I've said, I had been avoiding people from the past, so I
hadn't stepped foot in the convent in years, you know. And as
Isabella usually used the main library on Stamford Road when
she was doing research for her teaching, she was easy to avoid,
although I used to daydream sometimes that for some reason,
she might come to use our library.
    Now here she was, and I suspected I knew why.
    Outside the revolving door, Chandra and her boyfriend
were kissing, his pale hands holding her waist, not grabbing or
fondling but so gentlemanly. He was like a Hollywood
boyfriend in a black-and-white classic film, but I could tell from
the way he wasn't letting go of her, their tongues were smacking inside their mouths. And also from the way some teenagers
leaving the library were averting their eyes, because even they
were embarrassed at such lack of self-restraint.
    I wanted Isabella to know I also was glad to see her, but
when I echoed her words, "Long time no see," they toppled out
like tin cans, empty and false.
    She pretended not