Desperate Measures A Famous story IN ENGLISH

APA Tunggu Lagi, promised carats! This is exactly what this old Cikgu rotten Hashim told me during lunch at the school canteen. The newly registered members of the profession may not have understood. Mr. Lim seemed amusing. Miss Lau looked appalled. Cikgu Hashim's comment might also apply to you. She was like me, in her thirties and single.

Later in the washroom, Miss Lau sealed the lead. "Do you think I spoke of menopause?" It could be. For now his wife would be dry. He talks about the experience. Then we both laughed, our faces red and the midday heat caused drop sweat on our forehead. See you tomorrow. I have a course with the five-way Alamanda. I crashed into the class while Miss Lau went to the teacher's lounge.

The comment bored me. I was the head of the English department. I have a master's degree in Applied linguistics. I helped the school to manage a department of twelve English teachers. I am the senior supervisor during the SPM review every year. And still, respect seems to be only when you have the title of a lady.

Tea time at home was always something to wait for. Today mother had prepared Chapatis with mashed potatoes. She noticed my mediocre appreciation for her efforts as she drank the hot tea from thoughtful milk. "Was there a lot of work in school?" I just nodded. Mother knew it was the work of the bowl, which occupied most of my spare time. I also recently noticed that the head of the English department kept me in school until late at night. On Saturday they set aside to meet other heads of service. Sundays were only to satisfy the needs of the mother to lead to the market. "By the way I met this lady again in the temple this morning, my mother interrupted my thoughts." He once again told me about the temple of KAPAR, where a priest has performed miracles. It seemed that he was able to break the obstacles that prevented marriages. "Shall we go to this temple tomorrow?"

Mother went to the temple every morning near our house in Subang Jaya. I suspected that a great deal of his silent monologue was asked with God for help to find a suitable husband for me. Lately, the mother had been disturbed by the comments of the parents who had begun to ask questions about my unique condition. He had even begun to avoid some social functions, just to get away from the "worried" parents who are already married to their old daughters.

I agree this time without creating the usual stories. I have never been to KAPAR and the reader would comment on my mind from unpleasant to my colleague's "karat". I wondered who Rusty was. Lately, Cikgu Hashim has become really "carats". Several professors saw him nodding his head to sleep during the last weekly meetings. It was Monday, the beginning of the week, and I wondered how he had remained awake to this day. On the other hand, I have always been up to date with the latest theories about teaching and learning the second language.

Anyway, it was a free Saturday meeting, and the mom and I could do with a trip after going on the market.

 

"Do you know the way to this temple?" Asked. "The Lady of the temple told us to enter the city of KAPAR and ask Akhil Kovil, who said that every adult is able to give instructions." By the way, it's free after 6:00. We are also obliged to bring a live chicken, a bottle of wine, a small turmeric powder, jasmine flowers, three kinds of fruit and cigars. I was tempted to tell the mother that these purchases seemed to be preparing for a rich dinner instead of tools to eliminate the obstacles that blocked my prospects for a quick wedding.

We went to KAPAR town with our shopping around four o'clock in the evening. Mother ensured that the chicken feet were properly insured and the other offers properly packaged in a box.

It was not hard to find the temple. Everyone in KAPAR City seemed to know where the temple was. Some even asked if we had bought the bargains. After crossing a dusty road, we arrived at a rubber plantation. There were wooden houses just before the temple. The entrance to the wooden temple, which had a zinc roof, was guarded by the dreaded goddess Kali. When we reached the inner sanctuary, a young man greeted us, who presented himself as an assistant to the chief priest. Apparently, the chief priest was busy with a trailer in one of the consulting rooms. It became clear that this assistant priest would take care of my problem.

The mother explained in detail that several proposals of marriage had not been worked by the parties for me. I am the one who rejected some good marriage suggestions. The help of the priest gave me a curious look. After the mother's narration, we were asked to leave the temple. The priest's assistant told my mother to sit on a rug. The mother asked if the purchases for the ritual withdrawal obstacle are taken. The answer was only one word: later.

After whispering some prayers, the young priest sat beside me. He closed his eyes and sang very strong phrases and shouted the word "WAA" several times. It sounded like an order to come in both Tamils. He finally opened his eyes, and looked more red and tired after his winks and cries. He had even started with foam in his mouth. To our great surprise he approached a short hand hoe and dug a pot. He looked old and dirty. He opened it and presented it with a piece of red cloth. He ordered us to examine it. Although we had no idea what it was, he told us that the fabric from our clothing line had been stolen from our backyard and used by our enemies to cast a spell on me. Now that he had recovered, I should not be married at any time.

Mother and I broke laughter, much to the horror of the young priest. I explained that we lived on the 15th floor in a condo and that our clothes were sent to the laundromat. My mother supported me by saying that the red color was simply horrible and that we would never have owned a piece of cloth. The desperate young man found it difficult to find a contradiction. Mom and I have to walk to the car. The young man insisted on his fee. Mom gave him the bottle of wine and cigars. He was thoughtful of her because she needed a lot of smoke and drink to deal with our reaction.

The chicken was released from the temple after the hunt. The fruits and the flowers, we bring home. I was having fun, but at the same time I realized that I was allowed to go in such a hopeless situation. Perhaps it is time to go to more social events rather than bury myself in books on language theories.

 

Shih-Li Kow's new novel Part - 2 Famous story

Mr. Miller took his position on the bow and spilled his life jacket, which made him sweat. I saw that his shirt was all wet, the moist circles that began in his deodorant differed from the rest of his shirt. I was sitting in my back with a bucket and my bait. With a respectful expectation of fun, I turned from my phone. In recent years, the telecommunications signals had improved so much that we could get calls in the middle of the lake. Instead of air and sky and the purity of space beyond, we live under a new invisible wave-shelter sky that leads conversations, data transfer packages and millions of pornographic downloads. It was an unpleasant thought that reminded me of dying cells and cancer.

I welcome my phone to Ismet. He said, "I have already silenced my phone, brother."

"OK".

He hung a worm with a chicken skin tag and threw it away, slowing my heartbeat while I was in wait to settle. I loved the fishing of the meditation Stupor, which came with the expectation. There were not many things for which he declared a lasting love. Fishing was one of the few, and had now become better with time no longer a luxury. As much as, or perhaps even more affirm life, that an act of the spouse stopped when there was no tick-tack of the clock.

The silence was deep and rich bones of lonely pleasure. There were occasional cries of Howling monkeys, a flutter of a bird in the trees, a call that the cliff and the vibrations of insects, trembling and invisible. The water was green gray, clear and clean, but I could not see through the depths. It was like trying to look through the tinted glass and see that shadows and reflections.

The boat went smooth and I lost the sense of time. I sank into the family movement and I forgot to ISMT, the woman turns the sides of her book, and the man at the front turn red in the sun.

Nobody talked to me. I didn't know if Ismet or Mr. Miller caught anything. I'm dodging. Sometimes I pulled the line, changed the bait and toss it back, smooth, always so smooth with a short arm stroke and a wrist. There was a Lotus bank in bloom on the other side of the lake. The flowers were open, pink, large and extravagantly beautiful. No one is reaping the roots of lotus; They were not disturbed.

I took a plug and a little Ikan Hantu that I raised and threw back into the water. I watched Ismet. He crouches on a seat, with his sleeves raised on his shoulders, writing text messages on his cell phone with two inches. His angel stuck between the seats. Mrs. Miller had her book concealed, separated on her knees. His wide-brim straw hat protected his eyes while he slept peacefully.

"Holy crap," said Mr. Miller suddenly. His line was tense. Fought and released, rolling in a fish. I looked at it as a corset, changing its weight, shaking a little the boat. His movements were smooth and practiced.

The lake had given a great front, the biggest I had seen, the catch hooked by Cikgu tea in a fishing contest a few years ago. He still had a picture of her in her wallet. Mr. Miller shifted into a revolution and raised the bent stalk. The fish fought under the water, forcing the tug, but we could not see it yet.

Miller said: "He's a monster, boys." Very big.

Ismet stopped to see. Mrs. Miller took her camera out and take pictures. Miller stepped on the step at the front and stepped back.

"Honey..." Mrs. Miller. Before I finished, I was in the water with a scream. Ismet hurried forward, ready to overthrow. We saw the surface of Mr. Miller, hovering in the water, waving and smiling. His glasses were still on his face. Ismet threw the report and we all began to laugh, even Mrs. Miller.

Mr. Miller called water, "sorry guys, I lost the line and the fish." Isn't that something to say to people home?

We laughed until we saw a wave in the water to travel to Mr. Miller.

"Go away," cried Ismet.

 

Fear caught me, my instinct. Ismet Bent and held an arm. "Quick, quick," he cried. Miller swam his head on the water. It was two shots of the boat, a ridiculous smile splitting his face. I couldn't see what was under the wave, but it was fast, heading right for people like a tracking rocket. I looked around for something, everything to throw at the thing that came. There was nothing in his hand except the book of Mrs. Miller and the shoes that slipped from her feet.

"Quick!" cried Ismet. The high fish, exposing a long snout in an incredibly long body. "Get Outta Here!"

Miller yelled, his finger still on the shutter button of the camera. Mr. Miller greeted him with an arm, always smiling. A white look at his face replaced his teeth smile as he was resurrected from the water, raised by the snout between his legs. I threw the book into the fish, but could not tell if it met me at all. I threw the shoe and plunged into his body. Mr. Miller's poor vertebrae and fall back. The disturbing water, the long body of the fish snake a curve that stirred the water in moss and Rose.

The water was closed to him and never returned to the surface.

Peggy Miller shouted again, this time a horrible sound, many layers that have remained with me for years. We saw the water from our rocking boat, but there was nothing but a growing silence, as the water soothed. The red spots hover, mark the place where he descends like a tombstone. I heard my heart beat in my ears and later their slowdown brought a sense of shame. I was afraid, but fear was selfish, a fear for me that the boat was toppled, and my body joined Mr. Miller, and my destiny tied to it with the creature in the water. I had responded by preserving myself; I had no memory of the intention of Saving Mr. Miller. I just wanted to stop coming to the monster to talk to me. My relief of being on the boat, unscathed, was marred by the discomfort of guilt. I could have jumped to save him from the fish, but I didn't.

Something like the rain fell. The rain that seemed to rise from the lake to the water of heaven.

Miller's been under sedative for two days. My condolences and the offer of aid fell into the stunned ears. She asked to leave the big house. The old furniture, he said, was celebrated death in them. She moved to one of Hemingway's rooms and her daughter flew to take her home.

ASP-Sevaraja, which had a well-trained nose for gossip, like a wine sommelier, told us that Mr. Miller had three wives before Peggy. The legend of the fourth wife Lake has gained a new life. Every man who was married four times and dared to defy the water would test the hatred of the lady of the Lake; He, after Mr. Miller, who had developed an appetite for male meat. The Chinese princess had become a dragon fish.

"But don't worry, Auyong." She's not married yet, huh? ASP-Sevaraja joke.

"Everyone will stop fishing for a few months." There is human flesh in the ecosystem. Do the Navy divers move? I didn't tell him he could return to the lake.

"No one goes there." Let's try to excavate the ground, but it could be too deep. He showed me the pictures of Peggy Miller's camera. Tim Miller had a glimpse of amazement on his face as if a rogue had poured ice water on him. The Serpentine fish was silver grey.

ASP Sevaraja said, "We sent the photos to the wildlife Department to identify the species." They think it's an imported fish.

"Will you try to catch it?" Asked.

"For what?" Make it famous as the monster of Loch Ness. We always love to be famous for stupid things, huh? "Anyway," said ASP-Sevaraja, "I have enough to do catch two-legged monsters."

I didn't tell him the fish had a face I knew. He knew me too. I saw how he looked at me when I threw the book. It was the fish that Benoit had released during the flooding two years ago. I didn't tell Benoit, either. Somehow, a silly balance told me to protect them from guilt, it was for mine to atone. I thought he would feel guilty, and my redemption is based on this hypothesis, but the balance worked. All I needed was to keep him at that pivot point for a year or two, maybe three, and it would fade from memory. He always did.

 

Shih-Li Kow's A Famous STORY Part 1. ITS A Novel

                                       

Shi-li Pictures at nine o'clock in the morning, the Millers hurried to feel their presence. They called their greetings and congratulated Benoit on the fat breakfast of noodles. The quality of the cuisine of Benoit was unpredictable; I suspected she echoed her mood, Sosa, when she was bored, with a lot of taste when she was stressed, and almost ungenius when she was in bad spirits. The kitchen of a Benoit in recovery, in equilibrium, was a mystery.

The miller told him that they wanted to see the three lakes. I had arranged for her to pay Ismet to take her, and Mr. Miller wanted to fish. Mrs. Miller said with an exaggerated sigh: "I shall be so angry, but she loves to fish." I was the fourth person at this angel party. Too many weeks have passed since I was last in the water and I am looking forward to the trip. I was accustomed to the ISMT company, but I had to endure the other two.

We went to the pier in Jerome hired by the Millers. Mr. Miller wanted to drive and get into the driver's seat with the car around him as a box of armored matches. A big man like him should have picked up a bigger car. I was imagining Peggy Miller at the car rental counter at the airport, standing next to their trolley pockets, saying, "Oh, darling." We need to rent a small car from May-lay-sian. "We have to see for ourselves how much it leads." To be fair, I hardly knew Mrs. Miller, and certainly not good enough to make these assumptions about you. She was probably a perfect woman, but, well, I just don't like her face. As long as I have not said it, we could preserve the demands of hospitality.

The farther away from the city we drove, the narrower it became the streets until there was no sidewalk and the thickets grew on the edge of the runway. "Turn left, after the shield," said Ismet, pointing out a sign faded by the Ministry of Cultural Diversity, cultural heritage and Tourism, urging eco-tourism. "The fourth woman in the lake." Discover the natural wonders of Malaysia, he said. Someone had injected a black line of paint sur ' wonders ' et écrit ' Pajeros ' à this topic. I thought it was a little weird. This was not a common word spoken in Lubok-yong, much less seen in writing.

We went down the road on a road dented by motorcycles that run the average kilometer to the lakes. This was limited by a brushed wall on both sides, so high that some feather tips to dust the top of our car bent. Some were smashed, perhaps by a car in front of us, that to give another way, and long broken blades were wounded on the ground. We beat the old mud and heard the occasional piece of laterite noise against our undercarriage. Mrs. Miller, sitting with me in the back, was without complaining and took the heat and the potholes in a good mood.

Mr. Miller laughed and said, "Let's go." Farewell to the Green Sea. It was delayed for Mrs. Miller to take a picture.

We saw the hill first. The cliff climbed forward, a monolithic limestone mass with dense dark trees. Then the lakes came in sight, black green and not reflected in spite of the calm of the water. Where you have waited on a mirror, reflected a blue sky diluted with clouds of canvas floating on its surface, there was none. Fourth woman of the lake swallowed all reflections and did not offer such a beauty. There was a slight murmur of rain, but the sun took over and the clouds of rain kept their content, obedient to the light of day and the patron of the fishermen. If there was a threat of rain, I felt it in the abundance of the lake and not in the sky.

When we arrived at the pier, we saw some motorcycles accidentally parked on the grass like grazing animals. Our rental boat, a tourist boat that took visitors to a loop from the lake, waited. For ten Ringgit, donned a life vest, sits in one of the eight plastic seats that collected the water to dampen the suspected media, and rose near the limestone rocks to see the darkness, the Maws of the caves. A Outcrop with a solitary shrub from the wall of the cliff came to show something, and say, "This is where the princess jumped," a beautiful improvement in history.

With few tourists the boat was hardly used. Mrs. Miller seemed to know what she had to do. He pulled out a towel from his pocket and deleted his seat. Then he turned to his arms with a mosquito repellent. Husband and wife slipped into the life jackets hanging beside their seats.

Ismet killed the engine and took the boat on a big sign-curve. A wave of croissant has fanned behind us. The men who fish on the benches greeted and forgave the noise we made. Mrs. Miller came back, smiling. We have a sweep near the limestone for the teats to make pictures. I was not in the mood to do the Tour-guide chatter, so I kept my mouth shut, and pretending to inspect my bars and buckets. I did not underline the Outcrop, and I ignored ISMT when he looked at me. His English was not good enough to tell the whole story of the princess and the CSA, but I did not speak that day. When I spoke, these tourists would speak again, and I wanted to fish, not to make polite noises and play the silly native.

He had a plastic tub of crickets and maggots for bait. I also had some chicken skin flavored with fish food that I wanted to try. It was an idea I got out of the swamp people, these crocodile hunters I saw on Astro. We had a fishing for Mr. Miller. Ismet took the boat in the middle of the lake, in the shadow of the cliffs that were thrown on the water, and cut the engine. Mrs. Miller drew a book from her pocket.