“How long have you and Emily been married?”
“Six years.”
“You’re catching on. Another drink?”
“Sure.”
Years after Fred and I had left Singapore, I was working for another bank and passed Fred on the street in San Francisco. We stopped for a drink and reminisced. About to leave, Fred said, “When I tell people about Asia, they always ask about the servants. Some I miss; others not so much.”
“Raju?”
“Leaving Singapore, saying goodbye to the servants was emotional. All of us were choked up, but Raju fell to pieces, hugged Marion and said he’d admired her. Incredible, since Marion and Raju hadn’t spoken for years.”
I said, “When we were leaving, Raju ignored me and got weepy saying goodbye to Emily.”
“Raju respected Marion and Emily,” Fred said.
“He thought you and I were weenies.”
“No doubt. Have you told Emily about the windows?”
“Nope.”
“Does she know?”
“I’m sure she does,” I said.
“Satu untuk jalan?” (One for the road in Malay) Fred said.
“Sure.”
Fred raised his glass, “ To Raju, the little rascal.”
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