Dinner taught her the real meaning of the word spicy in Aunt Maisara's vocabulary. Ain was on her third glass of cold water which finally extinguished the fires raging on the tip of her tongue, the caverns of her mouth and midway down her throat.
It was nobody else's fault but hers. She had finished two plates of rice together with the fiery asam pedas – she should have known the name was a dead give-away to the ensuing torture – and, to Ain's horror and the other's delight - her face just blossomed, went flush red straight away.
"It's okay. (Gasp!) I'm all right. Just a bit hotter than I imagined…" muttered Ain to her two hosts, as she caught Arman guffawing in his mind.
Aunt Maisara? The same nothingness, with a hint of blue skies on the fringes of her mind. Ain wondered how the old woman managed to achieve such serene calmness as she battled the searing spiciness threatening to scar her.
"It will go away, Ain," Arman said, offering her another glass of water, which she declined.
She sat back in her chair, her lips curled, hissing (hot! hot!), and then said: "No offense, Aunt Maisara. Your dish was awesome. It's just me. At least I know now I cannot take spicy food."
Her host stood up, went to the fridge, took out a bowl of bright yellow mango slices, and placed it on the dining table.
"This will help cool you down, dear. Finish it. There's plenty more where that came from."
Ain took a bite, glad to feel the cool, sweet flesh of the mango cutting through the heat, her eyes gazing in appreciation to the older woman, and she, returning Ain's wordless message with her own soundless "don't mention it" answer. They then sat in quiet bemusement as she finished off what's left in the bowl.
"Sorry. I guess there goes my chance of impressing you, Aunt Maisara," said Ain, glancing at Arman who blushed, his mind going "ohmygod now SHE'S making fun of me".
The older woman turned to Arman, her features hardening.
"What exactly is your plan, Ayai? You are forever following your instincts. This is one of those occasions you should think a bit more. Is there any way I can help the two of you?"
Arman shrugged his shoulders, replied: "I'm just thinking of heading to Putrajaya…"
"I don't mean your immediate plans, Ayai. What happens when she gets there? Do you just let her go? Are you going back to the hospital, to your life in that backwater? You know something Ain? He deliberately chose to work there to get away from his loved ones. Isn't that right, Ayai?"
And here we go again
Ain interest piqued in the sudden burgeoning intensity of an issue she knew now had been simmering underneath the tranquil relationship between her accidental companion and his auntie.
Arman quickly wiped his brow from the sudden appearance in beads of perspiration, his gaze stuck to a small part of the patterned tiled of the kitchen floor, lips pursed.
How am I going to answer her I don't even know what I'm doing myself…
Instinctively Ain tried to calm him down, drawing from his memories' mental images of his successes, his first stumbled as a toddler, riding the bicycle, scoring a goal, catching his first catfish by hand, his first kiss of a petite young girl (hmmm…interesting, she mentally noted for future egging) and so on, a stream of feel-good waves countering the building dark clouds.
"I really don't know, Auntie. I'm hoping to just help Ain get a lead on her life and see how best I could help her. For all I know, there might be someone out there waiting for her. She needs help and I can't say no."
A sidelong gaze and a sigh were her immediate answer. Followed by the shortest pause.
"Day by day, I'm not getting any younger Ayai. Doesn't look like Wan will be coming home so soon. This house…. At night you can hear the wind whistling outside, caressing the walls. It's not that I'm afraid. Most days I am alone anyway.…."
Another sigh followed, a distant look in her eyes.
"Do you remember the day your uncle died, Ayai? You were there. Wan wasn't. My heart broke to see his eyes. They were searching, Ayai. Looking for his son, and not finding him. I remember you cradling his head on your lap. His blood all over you. Your whispering into his ears the syahadah and then hearing him call out the name of a son who wasn't there…"
Silence enveloped the house amplifying her muffled tears. Ain tried to hold back the sadness building in her heart and found herself failing. As she turned her gaze to the floor, Ain saw a teardrop fell, landing softly to mark the dusty surface.
"Uncle did say the syahadah. And Wan did return. He flew back as soon as he was able to get a ticket. His heart broken. A death that happened far too soon, he said."
"Wan was saving money to fly you and Uncle to Canada. To see where he worked, to meet the girl he was in love with. He wanted your blessings…. Wan said you refused to leave this house. Is that true, Auntie?"
Her voice was soft voice, yet it seared through a moment of silence.
"This house holds all my memories, Ayai. For me to leave this place…would be to leave my whole life. I cannot do that. It's all I've left with.…."
Her tears were flowing freely, streaming down the cheeks.
Arman stood up, went to Aunt Maisara and kissed the top of her head, his hands on her shoulders.
"Wan really wished you would join him. He told me they had even decorated your room the way he remembered it. You know he can't leave his job there. I was just lucky to be around when Uncle died. If it makes you comfortable, I can help take care of this house while you're away. One month, two months, I'll be here. How about that, Auntie?"
A small laughter from the old woman, as Ain saw the light blue-sky fringes breaking more of the nothingness in her mind, finding herself fascinated by sudden change prompted by such a simple utterance.
"You know you'd be bored silly, Ayai."
"I can re-activate the cable television. I can bring my games here. I can read. I can catch fish with my hands again. I won't be bored," he said, standing ramrod as though he was reciting a solemn oath.
"Ayai, Ayai…. Always diverting when he knew exactly what I mean," said Aunt Maisara, her gaze lovingly turned towards Ain.
Ain caught the soft glow of warm thoughts in Aunt Maisara directed to her and then heard in Arman's mind: Annnd here we go again.
"You know me well, Aunty. I promise you I will keep this house as rustic as it needs to be. I won't do anything to better it. How's that for a promise?" he said, a broad grin flashing at his lame joke.
Aunt Maisara rolled her eyes, wiped the tear marks from her cheeks, and then turned her attention to Ain.
"I'm sorry you had to witness that. I've been bottling these feelings for far too long. Anyway, in case you eventually find yourself still single, I don't suppose you'd consider Ayai as a potential husband, would you?"
Ain saw Aunt Maisara poked Arman with her elbows, grazing exactly where he had been injured during the night attack on Ain. He grimaced in pain, nearly doubling over, but regained his composure quickly, his eyes looking away towards the kitchen cabinet to avoid giving away too much.
Stunned to hear the question, Ain didn't know how to respond, an awkward smile on her lips. She searched her heart and found nothing. Just an icy coolness to the suggestion.
"Well, do give it thought, my dear. I'm sure you'd make a good couple," said Aunt Maisara.
If only Canny was here...
The image of a bespectacled Caucasian woman she caught from Arman's mind was gone in a flash, as she felt a chill in her own lack of any emotional resonance in matters of the heart. Suspicious the explicit nonchalance was disguising an important absentee within herself.
Shouldn't I be feeling something here?
"Now if you excuse me, I have to make you two wash the dishes," said Aunt Maisara, the quip breaking Ain's hallowed thoughts.
They obliged. And the sound emanating later from the kitchen were those of gushing taps, the clanging of plates stacked, and the laughter of small jokes and warm chats.