Kampong Umbi was on fire. Forty houses were burnt down. 

Finally everything came under control. The fire trucks and the rescue team had left. Only a number of distraught old mothers remained, weeping and wishing they were dead. An old man, who had been critically ill, had also been found burnt to death in his home. Two conflagrations of fire were seen about a hundred and forty-two yards from the burnt houses. 

At nightfall the area became still. The heat from the fire could still be felt and it made the stomach churned. Yazid saw puffs of tiny smoke dancing in the haze. He trembled. He visualised houses being destroyed; nothing was left untouched by the flames. He raised his face and stared far ahead and saw sparks of fire flickering as if they were suspended in the darkness of the night. Then he caught a glimpse of his own shadow in the mist but it was slowly disintegrating. It was no longer his shadow. So whose was it? The shadow doubled, and at times appeared to be swaying left and right.

“Are you searching for the stumps of your house Yazid?” Adam asked. 

“I am searching for the stumps of all houses,” he replied. 

Covered with coal dust his naked feet had turned black. He wanted to feel the heat from the fire that had razed his village to the ground. He wanted his skin to be burned by that same fire that had destroyed his village. He was cursing the fate of his village but he was full of praise for the happiness and peace that he had experienced living there.

“Maybe you should just leave this place,” Adam suggested. “Find a new place to build your home.”

 Their shadows moved. Rings of fire far and near were blown by the wind. It was a moonless night, with thick clouds covering the sky.

“How was the old man?” Yazid asked.

 “Dead.”

 “When will he be buried?” 

“Tomorrow.” 

“We should help dig his grave.”

 “Sure,” Adam replied. 

“At the very least I have the right to put out the fire that had destroyed my house.” 

“Where are you sleeping tonight?” Adam asked. 

“I don’t know.” 

“You can stay at my place.” 

“Anywhere will do.”

“Let’s go home. You need to take a shower and remove all those worries.

In the bedroom, he laid sprawled on his front, with his face pushed under the pillow. Outside, he could hear Adam telling a friend about the fire. Another story unfolded and they laughed hysterically. Their voices echoed through the silence of the night. Yazid covered one ear, then the other. In his imagination, he saw fire smouldering wildly outside, burning every grass and twig on the beach and rising to the treetop. 

The large sparks of fire on the Casuarina tree danced in the rhythm of the wind blowing from the South China Sea. The old man would be buried on that beach the next day. He remembered the old man very well. He was a cock fighter with a peculiar style when facing a new contender. His movements were agile and his stamina seemed to increase the minute he entered the ring. His preoccupation with cock fighting took away all thoughts of death. He was only upset when his gamecock fluttered in defeat.

The vision and memory of the fire were slowly disappearing from his mind. What he saw then was the dead body of the old man, being washed. And in the distance he could see little flames floating on the South China Sea, the tall derrick and, from its top, a falling object. His heart stopped when the object hit the ground. The vibration caused by a passing truck lulled him to sleep. That night he dreamt of fighting the fire that had engulfed five villages. 

He was out early the following day in the mist of the morning dew. He headed straight for the graveyard. Walking on sand and pebbles, he walked across the wet grass and then turned right to avoid them. He crossed the bridge and looked down. The water was black due to the oil spill. In between puddles of oil, he saw his own reflection, his head white, covered with dew. 

Far across the sea, the sun was shining radiantly while the lights slowly dimmed. He passed through an alley. He observed the wreckage. There were traces of rain from the day before, which had snuffed out the fire and smoke. Bits of white dusts could be seen among the black columns which still stood erect. Amidst the haze, black stumps could be seen still rooted to the earth. His steps were slow but he was no longer looking around. He saw some men arriving with their hoes and scoops. The sandy soil made it easy for them to dig. 

He continued walking slowly and directed his gaze straight ahead. At times his eyes glimpsed at the pebbles he was about to step on. And he was very careful with his steps. Climbing with a pair of wet shoes could be disastrous. He could see another derrick at the end of the road. A new oilfield had been discovered there. He felt tired. He could feel the cool sea breeze on his body. He had been troubled since morning. And that feeling got worse when all eyes fell on him. Their stares were taunting. Having nothing to say, he proceeded to climb the derrick. When his friends, who were on top looked down, the glaring sunlight that was reflected from their metal helmets hurt his eyes. 

“You look very high-spirited today, Yazid!” exclaimed Jamal from the top. The glaring light that bounced of Yazid’s helmet hit his eyes. Jamal quickly shifted his glance to the greenery nearby.

Ignoring them, he climbed up further to where they were. Now his vision was dazzled by the light from the sea and by the whiteness of the foams on the sand. He could no longer hear the splashing waves hitting the beach. He looked up. Jamal, Ghani and Ibrahim were observing him. “Stop right there!” shouted Ghani, as he flung a coil of wire to Jamal. Yazid secured his safety buckle and wiped off his sweat, the shadow of the derrick’s poles emblazoned across his chest. 

Yazid looked at his friends. Their faces were dark red. He could even see beads of perspiration on the wrinkles beneath their helmets. “Catch,” said Jamal. Yazid grabbed the wire. A black bag of tools was hung onto the baluster before him. He tied the bag with the wire. Jamal pulled the wire slowly. That morning, the workers were only preparing the equipment which would be assembled later in the evening. 

They climbed down at almost eleven. The sky was cloudy by then. The labourers rested, enveloped by thin shadows, their bodies wet, from the sea vapour.

 “Jamal,” asked Yazid, “did you see the condition of the old man when he was dying last night?”

 “Yes. Why? I even carried him.” 

“How was he?” 

“His clothes were completely burnt. His skin, crinkled and black. His flesh was red and moist. He was screaming hysterically.” 

“Do many people die that way?” 

“Not many.” Jamal was only forty-nine years old. “Because such terrible fires seldom occur.” 

“Easy, wasn’t it?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Death without having to suffer long illness.” 

“Perhaps his pain was far greater than that suffered by those having a normal illness,” Jamal suggested. 

“Was he unconscious yesterday?” 

“He lost consciousness after screaming hysterically. After that he died.” 

“Did he recall what he was leaving behind?” asked Yazid. 

 “What did he leave behind?” Jamal asked. 

“Whatever that he might have left behind.”

 “I doubt. All his belongings were destroyed, all his chickens died.”

 “Do you want to die that way?” “Me! Me? Oh please dear God, give me a more peaceful death.” “Peaceful? How?” 

“From a mild illness perhaps.” 

“But people rarely die from a mild illness.” 

“A more or less fatal illness,” Jamal replied. 

He stared at the sea, then at the sparks of fire. In daily life he hesitates to commend bravery but he has always believed in diligence and hard work. He then looked up at the white clouds until his eyes hurt. 

“Dad was not ill when he died. He committed suicide by taking poison,” Yazid revealed. 

“Everyone dies differently.” 

“You are a weird person.” 

“Everyone has the right to choose on how he wants to die.” 

“Why do you want to talk about death?” 

“Because death is necessary,” Yazid replied, “to sever something.”

He avoided looking at Jamal’s face. His friend looked older than him. There were tender moments during their friendship when Yazid was comfortable regarding him as a father. The veins on Jamal’s forehead would protrude when he spoke loudly or whenever he opened his mouth wide. Yazid shifted his eyes to look at the sky, then to the top of the derrick and to its base. The derrick’s shadow zigzagged on the patches of dried, yellowish grass and stretched out before them. 

They had finished their lunch. Yazid looked at the horizon that split the sea and the sky. In his heart, he still could not understand why Jamal was so scared to face death.

 “Do you know Yazid?” Yazid was startled and turned his body towards Jamal. 

“Know what?” 

“How much longer do you think we will be working here, as derrick climbers?”

“As long as there is oil.”

“Do you know that there are already signs of it depleting?”

“I do,” Yazid answered. He had long known that. “Once this derrick is ready, we will have to erect another one,” said Jamal. 

“Who said so?” 

“William.”

 “Where?” 

“Offshore, at aluh tiga” Jamal replied. This particular labourer was always quick to know about the company’s plans and strategies. He had very acute senses. 

“It seems that we have more oil now.” 

“How do you know?” Yazid asked.

 “There, we are building a new derrick offshore.” 

“Done with onshore drilling, now they are exploring offshore,” Yazid commented. 

“It is amazing that oil can also be extracted from the sea.”

 “Oil originated from the sea millions of years ago.” 

“We are so blessed.” 

“The oil in Seria is almost depleted. Just be prepared.”

The oilfield labourers began climbing the derrick. The higher they went the slower they got. Gradually the labourers appeared smaller and blacker. From above, all Yazid could see were black and grey roofs among the white tanks. His eyes hurt from the piercing glare of the sun. The black river flowed to the sea. Oil pipelines crawled overlapping each other everywhere. 

Noise could be heard from the derrick base. William stood with arms akimbo. Through a pair of dark glasses he watched the noisy labourers. Amidst the noise, something crashed into the balusters. A body lay sprawled across the metal rods. The labourers were frantic. They almost could not recognise their friend’s face. His brain was shattered into pieces. Minutes later his eyes shut and he turned stiff.

TheEnd...