Shadow Theatre Read Online Free PDF Page B

in particular, had to think for two, as they say.
    It still looked the same, the cemetery, except that the
hinges on the iron gate at the River Road entrance were so rusted now, no one bothered to try to close the gate anymore and
it was always ajar. But the fence was still only on the River Road
side. Along the side facing our houses there had never been a
fence, and even though I remember people would talk about
putting up some kind of barrier, no one had tried to do it. In
our schooldays that was the side Shak would use to enter the
cemetery, you know, right there in front of everyone's windows. Of course she would do it only at night, waiting until
after people were supposed to be asleep. Then she would slip
out of her house and cross the road. It was easier than walking
down to River Road and all the way to the iron gate. Still, I
wouldn't have taken that sort of risk if I were the one meeting
boys in secret, to experiment with you know what, over by the
baby's shrine, because they could find shelter there in case it
rained.
    No one else knew how reckless Shak could be. People
around here always knew she was wild (only at the convent was
anyone fooled into believing Shak was Miss Goody Two
Shoes-Mrs. Sandhu for sure, our Secondary One form-mistress who had been Shak's favorite teacher the whole time we
were in school-although of course the Sisters always knew the
truth, about Shak, because you can't fool nuns, you know). But
only I knew what Shak actually did, and what her limits were,
because I was her best friend, her oldest and closest friend. That
was why nowadays I had fallen into the habit of avoiding people from our past, which is not an easy thing to do in Singapore,
but how else was I to save face? Because if someone were to ask me directly why Shak hadn't kept in touch with anyone-not
even me-while she was in America, what could I say?

    Fifteen years she was over there. And now, out of the blue,
she was back. Pregnant and without a single sparkle on her finger. Not even an engagement ring-imagine.
    Still, what was important was that she had come home at
last. Not for good, but at least to visit. Let bygones be bygones,
I kept telling myself.
    True friendship never dies, you know.

    RY SEEING MR. DHARMA'S garden the way it was, not
overgrown with neglect as it is now but ripe with rambutans
and papayas where they hung, nestled richly in his trees, the
grove of tall, green sugar cane that leaned on the fence in
the corner, the wild barrage of stalky, umbrella-shaped weeds
in the stippled shade. He offered Jo and me four cents for every
weed when the going rate was three, because he knew we were
thorough. (You must dig a weed out at its base, work your trowel carefully through the dirt so you can scoop the whole thing
out, with its roots intact. Most of the other weeders would give
up halfway down and just yank out what they could. Weeds will almost always grow back in this soil, no matter what you do, but
they take longer if you attack them at their roots.) Charlotte
liked teasing us about it off and on, or rather, she liked teasing
me, and if it weren't for Jo's reminding me each time that
Charlotte was just speaking out of envy, I may have minded
more than I did.

    And I did mind, but not enough to stop hanging around
with her. I put this information down so you'll know our history with Charlotte and how it was to be friends with her, so you
won't be surprised when I tell you that Jo and I hadn't spoken
with her (except at school) since our afternoon in the cemetery,
nor with Phillipa and Fay, until they stopped by Mr. Dharma's
garden the following week.
    Anyone willing to talk about that Friday will probably want
to tell you about Auntie Coco's sister and how she disappeared
that night, never to be found. One or two of our neighbors
might even share with you some gossip, if you're patient enough
to get them going, if you can wait without interfering for subtle