A Pair of Jeans and other stories by Qaisra Shahraz Read Free Book Online

looking up at the quaint wooden building he visited daily. He loved both the house and the wily old host with his receding grease scraped hair, gracious manners and fantastic command of English.
    Margery and Robert, a retired couple on a tour of South East Asia, stared in awe at the black and white painted house, standing on a raised wooden platform. The facade was indeed impressive with tall trees, mass of other foliage and pots of colourful orchids and hibiscus bushes strategically lining the sides of the wooden steps leading up to the house.
    “It’s a Malay version of a Welsh country cottage, Bob,” Margery marvelled, continuing to feast her eyes on the picturesque scene before them, “An opportunity to see a real Malaysian house – how enchanting, Bob. How lucky we are!” She smiled in delight.
    “Look” Robert nudged her on the arm.
    An elderly Malay man stood on the porch – smiling and beckoning for them to come up. Something was digging into Margery’s heel. She bent down to remove her sandal. It was then her startled gaze levelled with that of Aziza’s, squatting under the platform, half hidden behind the stilt. Margery smiled and waited. But the Malay woman didn’t smile back. Instead she treated her to a pointed hostile stare. Disconcerted and the smile slipping from her face, Margery stood up to follow her husband into the house whispering to him. “Bob there is a woman hiding under the house!”
    Their host stood in the middle of the room, a warm smile of welcome spread across his narrow face.
    “Salam. Welcome to my home, lady and gentleman.” He jovially began, charming them with his gentle accent.
    “Thank you.” They echoed together, curiously looking around the large, tidy room. Its four wooden shuttered windows were thrown open, allowing a warm breeze to flow through the room. ‘It’s as if we are standing on a raised platform in the middle of the jungle!’ Margery voiced in awe.
    The host’s brown face split into a wider smile – his line of greyish-black moustache more pronounced, and gestured for them to sit down.
    Margery smiled her thanks as he gallantly drew out a chair for her. Then suddenly sobered, remembering the woman down below.
    “This is my house,” continued the Malay host, sitting down on another chair. “Please make yourself at home and feel free to look around.”
    His European guests shyly let their eyes fan over the rows of greying sepia and black and white family portraits in glass frames hanging on the two walls.
    Getting up, their host proudly pointed to one picture of a young man in a military uniform.
    “This is me, when I was young. And this - my mother – She got married at fifteen and had me at sixteen!” he explained, nervously laughing, expecting them to look surprised, “Come and look. It’s alright. You are welcome.”
    Robert and Margery peered at the photographs.
    “Is this your wife? She’s very beautiful Mr -?” Margery asked, staring at the picture of a young woman dressed in traditional Malay clothes with a serene expression on her face.
    “I beg your pardon, Madam!” Colour flooded his cheeks making them a shade darker. “I haven’t introduced myself properly. I am Abdul Hamat and you are…?” His eyes on Margery, the wide smile fixed firmly in place.
    “Margery, and this is my husband Robert”, she volunteered sitting down again.
    “Welcome to Malaysia, Margery and Robert. This house belonged to my father. That man there.” He pointed to the portrait of another male. “He opened our home to the public forty years ago. Since then we have had thousands of foreign visitors - thanks to this friend of ours. They come from all over the world. Are you from the UK, Madam?”
    “Yes – Wales actually.”
    “Right, Madam Wales. Let me show you something special.”
    He padded in his soft sandals to the far corner of the room. Robert and Margery turned to look.
    “This is our bridal dais, where the bride and groom sit together when