Kevin

Sabah Shopping Spree

It was a simple design - that’s probably why he liked it. In fact looking at some of the overly-ornate items surrounding it he could see that that’s why it caught his eye. The least gaudy – the most elegant. He didn’t even know what it was but made up his mind that he had to have it.

Five minutes later he had made his purchase and had stuck to the 4 rules :
1) Under the price of 5 quarter pounders
2) Purchased in an exotic location
3) A totally non practical item
4) Bought after December 1st

This year had been a tough one – too many demands on his time as the company struggled with growth but in 23 years he had never broken the rules. Rules that were drawn up on a beach in Sabah – early one tropical morning after far too many drinks and as it later transpired, not quite enough talking.

He walked to the station and his mind was already excited about the prospect of the 20 minute ride where his mind could wander back to 1983. In all the years since he had never tired of reliving that night and weaving extrapolations, scenarios and what ifs.

He had been in Paris for 5 nights and was flying home in 4 hours. As he headed towards the entrance to The Metro he took a last glimpse around. Inevitably a view of The Eifel Tower, a couple of tourists had snared a passer by to take a picture of them, he’d good naturedly agreed and was joking with them in a mixture of English and sign language. There was a light dusting of snow but generally the weather had been fine during his stay. Azure blue skies, zero degree nights but most days got up to a high of 5. Heading home to the cold and drab grey skies wasn’t that appealing.

He had just enough time to get to the hotel, pick up his bags and head for Charles de Gaulle. Only one task to do at the Post Office in the airport.

-2-

The train came quickly and in no time he was settled back into his seat …

15th December 1983. He was 16 and had travelled from Sacramento to Borneo to stay and work at an orang-utan orphan sanctuary. It was a wish he’d had since he was about 7 and had been mesmerised by a National Geographic documentary. His parents had given the trip to him as a surprise birthday present, his first overseas since a family holiday to Puerto Rico when he was 11. He’d been a little nervous but was always pretty good with strangers and the airline staff looked after him – being a good looking boy-next-door type always helped. Two stewardesses and one steward had taken a particular liking to him.

There were about fifteen helpers at the sanctuary that month – a mixture of young Americans, Canadians, Brits & Europeans. There was also a retired New Zealand couple who he’d gotten on really well with – in fact they still Christmas carded eachother every year though the respective trips to Sacramento and Christchurch had never eventuated. The usual holiday promises made in a hurry and meant at the time but not quite holding up to the reality of life.

He’d meet Frederique the second night he was there. A quiet 19 year old French Canadian who was studying Environmental Studies at the University of Toronto. At first Ben thought he was a little too serious and standoffish but over the course of the next few weeks he began to understand and enjoy Frederique’s humour more and more and they would have eachother in stiches over the silliest things. Freddy did a mean impersonation of one of the contrary old female Orang-utans – Biowali Manhu - which literally meant “old red hag!’

In the final week they worked together every day building the new nursery and got to find out about each other’s histories, dreams, likes and dislikes. They were both fairly practical and whilst Fred was good with the woodwork side of things, Ben knew all about the electrics (a legacy of his father being an electrician.) They discovered years later that the nursery had been named after them “Bans Sumha Hasnahe Manhu King-Benoir” – it suffered a little in the translation – “The King-Benoir Nursery for sick babies with red hair and pain”.

-3-

On the final night the locals built a huge bonfire on the beach and were barbequing local delicacies and freshly caught fish. There was also a small deer roasting on a spit that smelt both exotic and reassuring at the same time – a reminder for Ben of the lamb roast that would no doubt greet him upon his return home. Everyone gathered for the farewell party, even some of the orphans were bought down to join in the fun. Everybody seemed a little distant, a little sad – it truly had been the magical month that the World Wide Fund for Nature had promised. Tonight was the last chance to laugh together, swap stories and make promises about keeping in touch.

After an impromptu late night volley ball match, which the North Americans and Kiwis had won by 2 games to the Europeans/Brits 1, the party began to fade and people started heading back to their huts at around 11pm - which was late considering they’d all been in bed by about 8pm for the past few weeks.

Frederique and Ben were two of the last and decided to stroll down the beach together. They had talked and laughed for hours and decided that they would keep in touch and not only send each other Christmas cards but they would also buy eachother a present every year. They even went so far as to swear an oath – Frederique on his honour and Ben, never to be outdone, on his families honour.

Towards the end of the night (well morning) conversation started to turn towards more earthly matters, arduous trips home with long stopovers in exotic sounding airports, wondering what family and friends had been up to, plans for Christmas. The weaving conversation and laughter of the past month seemed to be disappearing into a more mundane formality. Ben had wanted to say something but didn’t know what, there was a strange knot in his stomach and that nervous butterfly feeling. It would take him two years before he knew what he had wanted to say and a further 18 month before he finally said it.


- 4 –

The metro stopped at Porte d’Orleans and he hopped off and headed towards the hotel. The snow had picked up and now the streets were covered in a fluffy white layer.

The trip back to Toronto was uneventful and he followed his usual travel routine. Bloody Mary in the airline lounge and a light meal once on board, followed by a stillnox washed down with sparkling mineral water. Morpheus was his companion for the next eight hours.

True to form it was overcast with bulbous grey clouds and just starting to rain when the plane touched down and the drizzle continued until he was deposited by the cab at the foot of the drive way. No lights were on and there was no one to greet him as he fumbled for keys whilst rain drops beaded on his glasses.

He stepped through the front door to the illumination of the blinking Christmas tree lights in the lounge room – set to come on at 6 and turn off at 11. He dropped his bags inside the door, tossed the keys in the dusty glass bowl on the equally dusty hat stand and headed towards the lounge.

Either side of the fire place were large bookcase display stands. He looked to his side, closest to the Christmas tree and scanned the assorted items – his favourites were the brightly coloured marionette, the tin Japanese robot circa 1961 and the intricately carved Moroccan Cigarette Case.

His eyes flicked to the right hand side of the mantelpiece and the array of equally eclectic items that he’d purchased in far flung place. The worn clock-work monkey, the pyramid-in-a globe that had a sand storm when you shook it, the set of chipped lead toy soldiers, the miniature Mexican guitar, the Botswanian leopard tooth necklace – bought in Amsterdam of all places! He could remember in detail when he bought each item. When, where, the look of the shop or stall owner, the smell in the air, what the weather was like – one year at a market, the next year an antique come junk shop, the next a train station. He treasured every memory. He treasured joy of the effort he had put in to finding the perfect gift and the sheer delight with which it was always received – not too mention the laughter.


- 4 -

It had been over seven years since Freddy had died. He had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. A simple trip to the drug store to get Ben’s flu medication, a three hour wait whilst (no doubt bumping into a friend and enjoying a coffee and a gossip) and then a call from his sobbing mother. Ben wasn’t next of kin so wasn’t the first to be contacted by the authorities.

Ben had continued their ‘Sabah Shopping Spree’ as they’d called it. Every year a package would arrive addressed to Monsieur Frederique Benoir. Ben would open it on Christmas Eve evening, knowing the contents already, sometimes he’d smile, sometimes he’d cry, always he would place the item on the right hand side of the fireplace.

He also received a package every year. Sometimes he hated the fact that someone was doing this but lately he would hang out for it, a tangible link to Freddy. He never wanted to know who sent it. A friend? Maybe Freddy’s sister in Montreal?



Every year the same note was inside “To Ben love always, Freddy x”