The silver crescent moon provided just enough light to illuminate the small fleet of fishing boats that lay waiting by the waterfront of Pulau Ketam. The surrounding sea was strangely peaceful for a world that was presently at war.
On the night of my first offering, there was a crescent moon too, old Mr. Lim thought as he gazed up into the black sky. He found it difficult to recall many things at his age, but that he remembered clearly.
“Everyone ready? Let’s go,” came President Chua’s voice.
Men climbed into the boats, two in each, leaving ample space for passengers. One by one they dipped their oars into the inky water and slipped off towards the mainland where the port of Klang lay. Most of the volunteers were local fishermen who had traversed the distance from their island to the port thousands of times—but never at night, never in secrecy, and never in wartime. The silent tension lay over them like a smothering blanket.
