Morning breakfast with the school teacher with a dash of blood

This morning as I was packing to return home to my village. Max called and suggested that I stay in KL for another day. After all the helicopter service was fully booked due to the stream of planters who were frantically lining up to return to their plantations after the marathon round of meetings in KL – since I had already made up my mind to drive back before lunch. I saw no reason to stay for a while.

Within the hour Max was in my room in the Planter’s – Max being Max suggested a hearty dim sum breakfast in Bukit Bintang. The only reason why I went along with the idea was in part due to the cheery mood of the school teacher who seemed most jovial and almost a different person from the one who had sent me all those SMS’s. Looking at her – I even excused it to melancholia and I didn’t really hold it against her. Besides I am not the sort who makes a big deal out of texted messages – not at all.  

We dined in a private screened room – the food was excellent and the conversation was a potpourri of business and trivia pursuits. As for the school teacher she seemed her usual reserved and demured self as she listened intently while both of us spoke at length about everything from the falling price of palm oil to what they planned to do. I was especially taken aback, when I had heard that Max had already introduced the school teacher to his family and judging from the way things were proceeding – I was genuinely happy for both of them and even drew the conclusion: how silly it was of me to have hastily drawn the conclusion those SMS’s sent by the school teacher were sinister – somewhere in all this Max had to excuse himself for a business call, leaving me with the school teacher all alone in the enclosed room.

It didn’t take me very long to realize, her facade of conviviality was just an elaborate front that masked a darker intent – as now she glared at me with an almost unrestraint contempt bordering on rage. Though no words passed between us. I could feel her anger nonetheless – and as if it was the most natural thing in the world – she slowly put her hands around my forearm, raised them and sunk her teeth into my flesh. I did not resist her. Neither did it hurt. Not at all. As I have long sinced cultivated an unusually high threshold for pain that comes from years of martial arts training – pain may well be unavoidable, but suffering to me has always been optional. Something that I have trained my mind since youth to turn off like a switch. 

I did not stop the school teacher. Not even when she had begun to make sobbing guttural sounds while she fixed her eyes on mine as she sunk her teeth deeper into my flesh – I merely looked at her impassively which only seemed to strengthen her resolve to sink her teeth even deeper into my flesh as she began to draw blood.

One might perhaps ask, why didn’t I consider this so odd to even feel the need to shout out or draw my arm away uncontrollably – the only reason I remained unruffled may have something to do with the irrevocable fact – every single woman that I have ever gone out with since my averagely miserable campus days (without a single bloody exception) had alway taken to bitting me in one form or another at one time or another.

Fortunately, the extent of their manias extended only to body parts above the waistline. And since many of these women were in every sense well balanced and perfectly even keeled to suggest that they were normal and perfectly law abiding in every sense of the word – it never really occured to me this was something that was odd at all. While I concede it may be odd to other men. Odd even to the perceptive reader who is reading this now. Odd even to the vast majority of people on this planet. My point is it would be much odder for me had the school teacher not done what she did that morning after witnessing her rage and contempt for me.

One could even say, I have always considered this failing to be quite natural of ANY woman just like many of their other failings like not being able to reverse park, read maps to making sound business decisions – but the most compelling reason why I have always considered this quirk perfectly natural to all women is simply because none of them who suffered from this prediliction to inflict pain on me from time to time were even remotely connected to each other – and the fact that they should share such commonality of behavior can really only mean to me as a man: this form of vampirism is to all intents and purposes quite a natural primal condition to the female species.

From time to time, the school teacher would stop and look at me intently as if searching for something she yearned to see in my eyes – during those times I would respond by looking deeply into her eyes and asking her ever so calmly, “have you had enough?” – “are you satisfied?” – “can I please have my arm back?” Only for her to be seized by yet another uncontrollable fit of convulsions that made her bite me harder and deeper.

This went on for such a very long time.

By the time Max entered the room – the school teacher had more or less recovered her composure. While I promptly insisted that I should really be running along. When Max waved me good bye in the foyer. I looked at the school teacher – she looked satiated and smug like, “You will never forget me now!” That was when I felt the pain in my arm – it was painful.

I will never ever understand women. Never. 

Hell has no fury stronger than a woman’s scorn.

Darkness 2012