A young woman named Bet fell ill sometime in the early 1960s with what was believed to be an incurable disease. It seemed incurable, but who knew?
There was no real way to know. No tests, no diagnoses, nothing. Yet she spent most of her time in bed. During that period, a time etched vividly in my memory, the governmentfunded medical and healthcare services in Sarawak were quite basic. For people like us living in remote rural areas, the situation was even more challenging around that time.
Our village in the Serian District lacked a direct link to the old KuchingSerian Road, now known as the Pan Borneo Highway. Even if we had a drivable road, the difficulty persisted because many individuals split their time between the village and farms, often located deep within the jungle.
When the need arose to seek medical attention at a government clinic in Serian Town, our community had to traverse miles through the jungle to reach the road and catch a bus. Depending on their location when illness struck and the severity of their condition, they had three possible points to embark from — Mile 27, Mile 29, or Mile 32.
The farthest point, Mile 27, was approximately 11 miles away from Serian Town, situated between Mile 38 and 40. It’s essential to note that distances were measured from Mile 0, located between the old Kuching Court House and the Sarawak River. Anyway, Bet was seriously ill, and despite receiving ample care and encouragement from family and friends and trying various herbs and healing foods, she could not shake the belief that death lingered nearby.
Amazingly, she did not succumb to grumpiness or sadness. Instead, she embraced the harsh reality of life and death, always telling people who were concerned about her that “everything is in the hands of God”.
From her bed, Bet could see her family’s young durian tree in the middle of their fruit grove several meters away from their farmhouse.
The tree stood amidst other fruit-bearing companions such as rambutans, mangosteens, coconuts, and a fledgling breadfruit tree. She often paid attention to the durian tree because although it was smaller than the mature ones surrounding it, it was a prolific fruiter.
It delighted Bet when early in the fruiting season between July and September the whole tree bore a profusion of yellowish-white petals.
To savour this beautiful sight, Bet ingeniously stacked her pillows or propped them up, allowing her to sit higher or lean back comfortably while enjoying the floral spectacle from her bedside. Durians and various fruit trees typically blossom during the dry season, creating a captivating sight.
This spectacle is even more enchanting when the trees cluster close together in a grove. The absence of constant rain, which often dampens people’s moods, makes this a season of positivity and cheer.
However, a shadow fell over the family when, sometime during the rainy season in December when the fruits were more mature but not yet ripe, Bet unexpectedly declared that her life would end after the last durian fruit on her favourite tree had fallen. Initially, her family dismissed it, thinking it was a passing notion.
Yet, as time passed, they noticed subtle signs that all was not well with her. The grim possibility of losing Bet deeply impacted her family.
This impact was particularly profound on Miyi, her orphaned cousin, who was not just family but also her closest companion and adopted sister. Meanwhile, in the same neighbourhood, there was another family whose farm lay just about a mile downriver from Bet’s family farm.
Of their three sons, the youngest, Dean (named after the famous Hollywood actor, Dean Martin) stood out as a strong and kind young man.
Every other day, he would pass by Bet’s house on his route to inspect his fishing traps. On his way back, he consistently made a point to drop by and inquire if Bet’s parents, particularly her father, required any assistance with the farm. This routine also allowed him to check on Bet herself. He had known Bet since her childhood, and she had always been a bright presence in his life.
Without her, his world would have been dominated by little else but relentless hard work. Dean was shocked when the family shared Bet’s prophecy about her death. Driven by curiosity, he spent an afternoon in Bet’s bedroom, gazing from her window at the durian fruits.
Every fruit was distinctly visible as the tree was taller than its neighbours. During their brief conversation, he quickly detected Bet’s fading will to live. She appeared convinced that her death was imminent, coinciding with the fall of the last fruit from the tree.
Privately dismissing this as folly, his protective nature prevented him from sharing his genuine thoughts, unwilling to inflict further anguish upon her.
That night, an intense storm swept in, unleashing ferocious winds that made the trees groan and the rain drum loudly on the roof. Miyi hastily shut the window and instructed Bet to retire for the night. Despite Bet’s objections to the closed window, Miyi stood firm due to the wind carrying rain into the room. “Anyway, what’s the point of opening the window when you can’t see anything outside? It’s too dark,” said Miyi.
She meant she did not want Bet to see the last fruit fall. With the sunrise, she pushed the window ajar at Bet’s request to look at the fruit.
Despite her belief that the night wind had shaken it off, they were astonished to find it still firmly attached to the tree. Initially perplexed, Bet insisted that it would fall that day. Yet, to her amazement, the fruit clung steadfastly, defying her expectations.
In the following days, Bet developed a profound realisation. She believed the fruit was a witness against her perceived wickedness and desire for death.
This revelation stirred a deep change within her. Recognising the value of life, she reclaimed her will to live. Miraculously, as the last durian fruit clung persistently to the tree, her health took a positive turn.
The ominous prophecy was shattered, and she fully recovered, emerging from the brink of despair into the embrace of newfound hope. In the usual course of events, this is where the story ends, yet life has a knack for unfolding in unexpected and fascinating ways.
Fast forward to 1972, I found myself in the role of a substitute teacher at SMK Penrissen, situated at Mile 12 along Jalan Kuching-Serian. One beautiful weekend, fate led me to a chance encounter with Dean in the bustling Mile 10 bazaar (now known as Kota Padawan). The reunion brought joy to both of us, marking the first time we had laid eyes on each other since that memorable day in Bet’s farmhouse compound. I recall vividly that Dean was gearing up to climb one of Bet’s durian trees, while I, accompanied by my younger brother and a cousin, was engaged in a fishing escapade, making the most of the leisure time granted by the yearend school break. Over cups of coffee and steaming bowls of ‘kolo mee,’ we delved into a myriad of topics, spanning the years that had passed between us.
“I always assumed that one day you’d tie the knot with Bet,” I ventured. He chuckled in response, “That was the assumption of many.
But fate had a different plan. To me, she’s the little sister I never had.” “Indeed, she was a striking girl,” I remarked. “True. Happily married for several years now to a good friend and schoolmate of mine,” he shared. “Good for her. And you?” “I’m holding up, still rooted to the land. My brothers didn’t fancy it; they found it too distant from the village, so I bought their shares. You should drop by sometime.”
After a half-hour of catching up, I couldn’t hold back the burning question that had lingered in my mind since our reunion that morning. “I recall you were about to climb a durian tree in the fruit grove that day,” I recalled. “Ah, yes. Wanted some unripe durians.
They make a delightful dish if you know how to prepare them,” he explained. “Not that. I’ve heard some intriguing tales about Bet.”
“You mean, about her and the durian?” “Yes. Are they true? You were close to the family.” A contemplative pause filled the air as he finished his noodles. After a few sips of coffee, he finally spoke, “I’ve never shared the story with anyone … no particular reason.” “You don’t have to if you’re uncomfortable. I’m just curious after all these years.” “It’s fine. A long time ago.
What exactly do you want to know?” “Why didn’t that last durian fruit fall?” “Because I tied it to the branch!” “What!?” “You were there when I geared up to climb the tree. Recall?” “How!?” “I used an incredibly fine wire to bear its weight, ensuring it stayed up, even in a storm.” With that revelation, I erupted into laughter, tears streaming down my face.
“You’re quite the maverick,” I exclaimed, “but I admire you! Who would have thought of such a stunt? That’s the most outrageous thing I’ve ever heard in my life.” As we bid farewell minutes later, I couldn’t help but mull over life’s unexpected turns, leading to fascinating outcomes. Grinning, I shook his hand, thinking, ‘What an intriguing man!’ Walking away, I pondered that in times of dire straits, having such a
