The Dark Side of the Moon

Yue Liang Hei An De Yi Mian
          Those words, written in red, surprisingly read clearly on the wooden surface despite the fact that the mouldy board was over a century old. A set of Chinese characters, I assumed to be similar in meaning to the red words, were painted neatly and clearly in the corner of the sign; whoever painted it certainly still possesses the art of ancient Chinese calligraphy. The board was suspended loosely by two rusty chains above the door of what seems to the undiscerning eye, to be a traditional Chinese apothecary. Dusky windows and poor lighting inside the shop clouds the peripheral vision of the urbanites, giving no clues of its interior. Overall, it was certainly a mysterious shop, an enigma siting at the fringes of modernization, deeply rooted in the past and standing tall against the future.
          It was located deep in the heart of Malacca, a shop that seemed always closed. The street it was on would be more accurately classified as an alley: the road provided no space for cars, paved with cobblestones. Overhanging rooftops constricted the air till a narrow band of the azure sky was the only thing that could be seen above. The place had been forgotten by the local populace; a place so old it was out of mind and memory. Nevertheless, it did not seem eerie or scary; an air of calmness hung around it. Refined oriental carvings of dragons and phoenixes on the beams and pillars added gentility to the shabby surroundings, helping to raise the pedigree of the architectural value.
          The door opened noiselessly under my careful administrations of silence and I took a few tentative steps inside. A quick glance around the interior proved my assumptions wrong as it was very unlike the façade of the shop. Although old, it was not run-down but instead well kept to the point of fanatical cleanliness. Mahogany countertops were polished and shined to an effect of a glazing mirror surface and the floors, meticulously spared from dust, were as clean as the eye can fathom. A massive cabinet consisting of small drawers was installed behind the counter creating an effect of austerity and seriousness quite alike to a physician’s waiting room. That particular piece of furniture occupied a whole portion of the room’s back wall and it was easily as tall as the ceiling. Each drawer was labeled with a Chinese character and by the number of drawers there were, it was obviously needed. I could not read the labeling but I guessed that these drawers held various herbs of medicinal values used by the herbalist.
          Apart from the massive cabinet, the rest of the furniture in the room was nondescript. There were a few tall stools in front of the counter for customer use, an altar table in the corner and a small desk by the window. I could easily tell that the desk near the window, at a location perceived as the brightest in the room, was acting as a conservatory as there were many potted plants arranged casually on it. Chrysanthemum, Jasmine, bamboo, and even lotuses in a bowl of water added colour to the room, softening its rigour. However, I was amazed at the hardiness of these plants. As I had mentioned, the windows were dusky and they admitted a minimum amount of sunlight as well as fresh air into the room. How did the plants survive these unfavourable conditions?
Averting my eyes from the eerily healthy flora, I found my gaze captured by the medium-sized altar table in the dark corner. Incense sticks was burning in front of a smiling idol that I fail to recognize and red candles stood on the either side of it. The candlelight illuminated the idol with a magical glow and the flickering flames played tricks on my vision. For a moment, I thought the benevolent and cheery looking idol was winking and mouthing words at me! Offerings of fruits were arranged in groups of fives and in shapes of pyramids. The altar was simple compared to the ones I have seen in temples but it held its own weight in terms of spiritual fulfillment. It was complete in every way and it could appease any ordinary devotee, but certainly not a votary of the religion.
          So absorbed was I in all of my scrutiny, I failed to notice the appearance of the proprietor of the shop, whom I feel was studying me in turn all that time. I got a mighty shock when I turned from the altar and came face to face with an elderly Chinese woman who stood demurely with her hands behind her back. Her graying hair and finely lined face portrayed wisdom instead of old age, her thinly slitted eyes were quick and roving, and her polite stance was one of a graceful mien. Sumptuously garbed in a pantsuit brocade of a Chinese design, she was every bit stylish as a woman could be. I could see that she was sizing me up as what I was doing to her, deciding her next move of greeting a potential customer or as opposed to throwing me out if she thought me to be a street thief. We stood for quite some time, facing one another without speaking, each reluctant to make the first gesture and break the silence.
          Finally, her facial expression softened and she gave a cautious smile. She introduced herself as Miss Cheong, owner of the apothecary. She obviously deemed me honest enough to be a customer instead of a pickpocket.
          “How may I help you, young sir?”.
          Her gentle, steady voice broke the awkwardness, startling me into a hurried explanation. I conveyed my true intention of visiting her apothecary, explaining what I wanted, introduced myself in return and stuttering apologies at the same time for snooping. My cool composure was shattered under her leveling, yet compassionate gaze and my carefully planned speech was thrown into disarray by her sudden materialization.
          Her smile deepened when she heard my clumsily cobbled together explanation and she nodded her head slowly to show that she understood what I wanted.
“I have what you seek but preparing it would take sometime. Would it please you to wait or would you seek enjoyment elsewhere?”
          I told her that I would wait, as I had nothing else to do that afternoon. Besides, her small, dark shop proved to be fascinating to me and her aloof, serious attitude enticed me. I was sure that she would be an interesting companion and that she would provide a most gratifying palaver.
          “Are you sure, sir? I very much hate to be rushed as I take great detail in what I’m doing and nothing would irk me more than someone who sits complaining about my apparent slowness”.
          I once again stated my intentions on waiting and to further emphasize my pertinacity, I promptly sat down on one of the stools. The shopkeeper yielded politely and immediately set to work. She slowly took out various herbs from her many-drawer cabinet and laid it out on the counter. These herbs seemed alien to me and I could hardly hazard a guess on what they were. A dainty pestle and mortar was produced from under the counter and each herb was ground into fine dust, methodically weighed, and carefully mixed. As good as her word, she tackled each task with scrupulous care; I guess it was because she could very well kill somebody if her measurements were off, even if by a little bit.
          While working, she talked freely and answered all of my questions without ill ease. I think she understands that like all teens, I was simply curious. I took the opportunity to ask her about her shop and its past history. Why was it named so and what did the name mean? Is it a family business that was passed down for generations? Is she here all alone? Where was her family?
          She chuckled softly at the torrent of questions I had aimed at her. She gently rebuked me for being so inquisitive and she added a maxim or something in a Chinese dialect. I assumed that it was similar in meaning to the English proverb, ‘Curiosity killed the cat’. Nevertheless, she answered my inquisitions and she told me the story of her life.
Her tale was forcefully poignant but regrettably tragic. Her true parentage was from the mainland of China and her parents, being skilled herbalists, had arrived in Malacca with hopes of finding fortune. They purchased an old shop, opened an apothecary, and established a new life here. Initially planning to return home when a sizeable amount of profit was obtained, they never thought that they could learn to love this foreign land. Years of living here soon changed their minds and they decided to stay. Miss Cheong was conceived thereafter, bringing luck with her, for her parents’ business further flourished.
However, that peaceful and happy life took a turn for the worse with the invasion of the Japanese and the start of World War 2. Her father was killed in a bomb explosion and her mother, weighed with grief over her husband’s death, had withdrawn from the world. She would do nothing each day but stare blankly at her husband’s photo, crying and moaning. Miss Cheong, seventeen at that time, had to run the family business and take care of her fragile mother. Her skills as a herbalist were good but not up to par as her parents’ and the shop soon lost many of its customers. Their wealth diminished and they fell into hard times.
          Many years later, her mother passed away and now she was all alone. She made a last attempt at salvaging her family business by giving the shop a revamp. The last portion of her parents’ wealth was spent by renovating the shop and giving it a new look. She renamed it too in accordance with the type of business she was running. She said that curing sickness by using herbs was seen by the public as something dark, concealed and mysterious. It was also feared as it was thought to be magical and otherworldly. Using these ideas, she came up with an apt name for the shop using symbolism.
          Nevertheless, all her hard work was of no avail for modern medicine was soon introduced into this part of the world. People began to doubt the effectiveness of her traditional cures and business once again declined. Her herbs were no match for the newfangled pills and capsules that seemed miraculous in curing the sick - even she had to admit it. Maybe she should have moved on into other businesses and try her hand in new fields but she could not just give up her parents’ apothecary that they had built from scratch. She felt attached to it and she wanted to continue running it even if she would be poor. She did make profit but just enough for her to live on and that, to her that was sufficient enough. She never got married and living here without relatives, she led a mediocre but sad and lonely life.
          I left the shop with the herbs my grandmother wanted safely in my pockets with my mind perturbed. War destroyed Miss Cheong’s life and war killed her parents. With the world peace once again in turmoil, will my life be destroyed too? I guess I must be strong like her and persevere even in times of hardship. I definitely learned something by coming here and to think I complained when my grandmother asked me to run this little errand for her.
          The little wooden signboard above the door caught my attention again. I smiled this time after reading the name of the shop. For I now understood what it was. Like the moon, it was certainly a magical and mysterious shop.
          ‘The Dark Side of the Moon’.