a sunset on an old fort

I could not fathom this wild urge to go to the northern shore.

Speeding through the grid-like narrow streets of Tanjong Penaga which used to be full of mangrove, passing rows and rows of dilapidated pre-war ancient shophouses complacent in yesterdays' dreams, I tried to unravel this puzzling situation.

A languid drizzle made the twilight a canvas splashed with dripping water colours. I shivered in the gathering dusk.

Treading the lichen covered rough hewn stone steps of the weathered old fort, I heard a gentle cry. Someone was leaning against the huge iron cannon. I held my grey head scarf in place as a gust of cold wet wind suddenly blew in from the north channel.

And then it happened. All street lights went out. Even lights from the surrounding buildings were gone.

I peered down and saw horse carriages on the esplanade! No more cars, no more tall buildings. In fact, only a few single storey habitats could be seen here and there. Even the fort was not of bricks and stone anymore! I was on a nibong platform!

"Anna...promise me you will wait for me. " he was obviously in pain.

That was my great-great grandmother's name! Ana!

I took off my headscarf and tied it around his injured arm. His startling blue eyes, caucasian features, manner of speaking and quaint clothes suggested he was not local.

A bolt of lightning struck the fort about six meters away. I was blinded for a second. 

And then, "Is this yours?" 

I turned to see a man, a western tourist probably, a tired backpack slung carelessly on his shoulders, dressed in normal sweat shirt and blue jeans; my grey scarf in his hands.......



1996
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