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She was no stranger to Death.
At the tender age of five, she lost her parents when they
were doing their umrah in a sickening
stampede. She was too young to understand back then, and too young to fully
grasp the concept of loss. All the same, at five years old, she had felt a
curious emptiness in her life, although she wasn't sad per se. When she lost
her parents, her grandparents - from both sides - had took care of him and her
younger sister, who was only two years old at the time. There were no uncles
and aunts, as both her mother and her father were the only children. Her
grandparents were kind, but time wasn't on their side.
When she was nine and her sister six, her grandfather on her
mother's side fell to will of God, and eight months later her grandmother
followed. Then two years later, in what she felt was the most profound pain and
loss she had ever felt, her younger sister was killed when a bus didn't stop at
a zebra crossing in front of her school. Her sister, only fifteen at the time,
was her best friend and closest confidant. She was barely out of school when it
happened, and she had been working as a dishwasher in a fancy restaurant in
Kuala Lumpur when her boss called him into the office and broke the news. She
remembered not crying - she just felt a strong, piercing pain in her chest. But
she had gone back, had taken care of the heart-breakingly mangled remains of
her sister, and had went home to her paternal grandparents, and only then did
she break down and cry.
A few years after that tragedy, grandmother suffered a fatal
stroke... and a couple of years after that, her grandfather succumbed to
cancer. Alone, with only a few close friends around her, she decided to just
soldier on. To get over her losses she had worked like a demon - she had
foregone tertiary education, despite above-average but not quite stellar
results in school - simply because her grandparents couldn't afford it at the
time, and she did not want to be any more of a burden to anyone, ever. So she
worked. She worked at the restaurant like a demon, gradually moving up the
ranks. First she had washed dishes... a few months after that she began doing
prep work. Soon, she was allowed to help with the cooking in the restaurant,
and over time she got better and better.
Now, twelve years after her sister died, she was a full-blown
chef carrying the rank of sous chef in this restaurant. She was gritty,
determined and had a fierce temper - all traits inherited from her boss, who
still ran the place as chef de cuisine and co-owner. In those twelve years of
working her ass off, she barely thought about death. Besides, she felt that
there was no one close enough anymore to her for her to feel that sudden,
almost audible pang of loss. Furthermore, she was too busy. So busy in fact,
her circle of friends had been whittled down to only a few, and most of them
were working at the same restaurant.
Tonight, the co-owner of the restaurant (and her boss'
partner) - a Dato' whose other job was the CEO of a company that serviced oil
and gas companies - announced that her boss, her mentor, Chef Adam Amirulkhair
of Restaurant Luna, was killed in a car accident on the way to work. He had
been 37 years old, a mere seven years older than her. The rest of the kitchen
crew had abruptly stopped their tasks; some hung their head in silence, others
murmured prayers. She looked around and let them have their two minutes of
silence. Even the Dato' - Khairul or Khairuddin, if she remembered correctly -
had his head bowed down and seemed to say prayers.
Once she felt they had done enough, all she said was,
"Alright. Chef Adam won't be here anymore. But it's a full house
outside.Kitchen: standby for service."
The rest of the kitchen seemed a bit stunned for a few
seconds but there was something in her eyes that made them immediately resume
their work. The Dato' came up to her.
"Farah," he said, his voice careful. "Are you
sure? We can close the restaurant, offer the patrons something..."
"I'm sure," she said as she wiped down the pass and
strung up her hair in a ponytail that seemed so tight, the veins in her
forehead looked like they were going to pop.
"You don't have to continue..." the Dato'
continued. But she held a hand up.
"With all due respect, Dato', we cannot disappoint our
guests tonight. Some of them had made reservations months earlier. There's a
wedding proposal happening tonight. So, yes. I do have to continue. With or
without Chef Adam, innalilliah."
The Dato' studied her, as if looking for a wee hint of
weakness.
"I'm sure if he was here," she said, "He would
want us to go ahead. We're the best restaurant in Kuala Lumpur. We have a duty
to our guests. And we have to honor Chef Adam's legacy."
"I know he meant a lot to you," the Dato' said and
reached for her shoulder. "And I appreciate this. If you need anything,
let me know."
He left the kitchen, and Farah continued prepping her
station.
Yes, she was no stranger to Death. But with the rest of the
kitchen crew starting to busy themselves again, Farah allowed one teardrop to
fall from her eyes.
***
Service ended late than usual that night. The last table
checked out close to midnight, and the maitre'd, Luqman, had grumbled to Farah
about it being a long night. Farah ignored him. She ordered her six cooks - all
of them immigrants (some with dubious legal status) - to start cleaning down
while she wanted to check inventory. Now that Chef Adam wasn't around, it'd be
even more important that she take stock of everything, and to prepare for the
next round of deliveries. She'd been doing it for the past year or so anyway,
and she didn't mind. Just that... Chef Adam was normally the one who'd sign off
on purchases, inventory and other documentation that a restaurant needed. She
wondered if she had the authority to okay all those invoices, purchase requests
and receipts. She had handled them, sure, but again, it was Chef Adam that gave
the final ok.
She stepped out into the back alleyway of the kitchen. It was
midnight, and the alleyway was alive with the sound of kitchen porters taking
out rubbish and cleaning the various restaurant kitchens that call Jalan Telawi
3 home. Farah took a deep breath, not minding the dank odors of the alley, and
stretched out her limbs and neck. It was smooth tonight, the service; busy as
fuck, but smooth and well organized. Her kitchen crew didn't commit any major
fuck-ups, service hadn't been backed up, and generally everyone seemed in tune
with another. Even the floor staff, whose names Farah didn't bother remembering
on the account that most of them were part-timers and hotel students who rarely
worked more than 6 months at the place, were pleasantly efficient. All of those
part-timers and students did well to not piss her off during service; when Chef
Adam was around, he was stern but very careful with his words. Farah bore no
such reservations. If a waiter needed to be told fuck off, she would say it,
loudly and proudly. It was one of the reasons she had become sous chef: she had
the guts and the balls to play game.
Farah lit a cigarette, and crushed a tiny capsule that
released a mint and blueberry flavor as she inhaled. Smoking was one of her
vices; drinking was the other. She took another long drag on the cigarette and
allowed the smoke to fill her lungs.
Just then the kitchen door opened, and the Dato' walked out.
He lit his own cigarette.
"I knew I'd find you here," he said. Farah was
sitting on top of a plastic stool. She pushed another towards the Dato', who
obliged. The Dato' was dressed in one of those god awful Hackett polo shirts,
slacks and shiny brown leather loafers. On one hand was a heavy stainless steel
bracelet.
Farah kept quiet. She was about to crush her cigarette when
the Dato' called to her.
"We're closing, tomorrow. No big deal, it's Sunday
anyway. Only one reservation," the Dato' said. Farah nodded, not saying
anything. She wasn't being rude, but the truth was she knew what the Dato' was
going to say and didn't relish hearing it.
"Are you alright? Are you okay?" Dato' asked.
Again, Farah nodded. The Dato' continued.
"Adam was my friend, too, you know. We weren't just
'partners'. And now that he's gone... well, I'm short of one executive chef.
And a partner. I wouldn't dream of replacing him with someone else... except
for you."
Farah looked at him in surprise. She had expected to be
offered the executive chef position; call her heartless, but the moment she
heard Chef Adam was gone, a thought flashed inside her head. A thought that
said only one person deserved to take over that position, and to continue what
Chef Adam had worked so hard on. But she never dreamed the Dato' would offer
her partnership, not least in such a casual manner.
Sensing her slight surprise, the Dato' said, "I sense
your hesitance, and you might even feel the circumstances are inappropriate.
But Adam believed in you and spoke very highly of you. Above all, he trusted
you. More than he trusts me, in fact," the Dato' scoffed, albeit in a sad
and reminiscing manner.
"But," Farah finally said. "I don't have the
money to buy over his share. I'd gladly take over his... as Executive Chef, I
mean. But to be partners, with you, Dato'? I don't think I can. It's not
something I can just say yes to here and now either, so I respectfully decline."
The Dato' mulled this over. Finally he said, "You're
right. Never mind the issue, for now. As for Executive Chef, it's yours. I'll
make the offer in writing and notify our HR lady. But, if it's okay with you, I
want to wait at least a couple of weeks before I make it official. Out of
respect to Adam."
The Dato' got off his stool and started back inside. He put a
hand on Farah's shoulders. "I was informed by his family that the funeral
would be tomorrow. Would you like to come?"
Farah took a deep breath. "I'll be there," she
said.
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