of those goalposts made it impossible for us to be bored.
Lintang was very rational; Mahar was a daydreamer. Mahar was easily inspired by just about anything. Like Lintang, Mahar also was a true genius—just a different kind of genius. This kind of genius isn't easily understood by most people and is rarely considered "intelligent" by ordinary people's standards.
Lintang and Mahar were like a youthful Isaac Newton and Salvador Dali bantering back and forth, demonstrating their enticing brain power and eccentricity. Both were full of innovations and creative surprises. Because Lintang and Mahar sat across from each other, the rest of us often ended up looking left and right, back and forth, as if we were watching a ping-pong match. Sandwiched between them, we were like the dimwits challenged by Columbus to make an egg stand up straight. Without them, our class would have been nothing more than a bunch of deprived mining coolie kids trying to learn how to write in cursive on three-lined paper.
Once during free time between classes, Lintang got up in front of the class and drew a blueprint for how to make a boat from a sago tree leaf. The boat moved by a propeller connected to a motor, which had been taken from a tape recorder. It was powered by two batteries. He made mathematical calculations in order to manipulate the tape recorder motor to push the boat, and explained to us the fundamental laws of hydraulics. His calculation could estimate the speed of the boat based on its mass. I was spellbound by the little sago leaf boat spinning around in the bucket.
On another occasion he showed us a kite design and a glass-coated thread that would render us unbeatable in kite battles. The amazing thing was, he had many technical sketches and plans that remained raw. These seeds included his idea to lift heavy items from the bottom of the river, a plan for a strange building that defied the laws of architecture and civil engineering and, last but not least, a plan to make humans able to fly. Lintang himself did not yet possess enough knowledge to create the mathematical theorems and working papers to undergird and develop these crazy ideas.
After Lintang's recital, Mahar stole the stage. He bowed his head respectfully, as if he were a palace jester wanting to sing, should the king approve. Then he sweetly read some verses of poems about white birds in Tanjong Kelayang Beach, as well as parodies about Malays who suddenly became rich. He also played that remarkable ukulele. It could rock us to sleep.
Those two boys were both incredibly rich . We went to both of them with countless questions. Lintang obtained knowledge from Pak Harfan's book collection, and Mahar had artistic insight—plus he knew about music because he hung out with the local radio broadcasters from Suara Pengejawantahan ( The Voice of Manifestation ) AM .
Because he was so imaginative, day by day, Mahar became an even bigger fan of unreasonable legends and all things smelling of the paranormal. One could ask him about ancient stories and Belitong's mythology, and he knew everything from the fairytale of the South China Sea Dragon to the story of the monkey-tailed king believed to have once ruled our island.
Mahar also was crazy about Bruce Lee. The walls of his house were covered with the kung fu master in various poses. He begged Bu Mus over and over again for permission to hang up Bruce Lee's most famous poster: Bruce Lee posed in a raging dragon move, eyes glaring, with a double stick as his weapon and three parallel scratches on his cheek because he had been clawed by his enemy with a tiger move. Bu Mus always rejected the absurd request.
Mahar firmly believed not only that aliens existed, but that they would one day come down to Belitong Island disguised as male hospital orderlies in charge of giving vaccinations at the PN clinic, school guards, muezzins at the alHikmah Mosque or soccer referees. Sometimes, Mahar was positively ridiculous. For instance, he
Lintang was very rational; Mahar was a daydreamer. Mahar was easily inspired by just about anything. Like Lintang, Mahar also was a true genius—just a different kind of genius. This kind of genius isn't easily understood by most people and is rarely considered "intelligent" by ordinary people's standards.
Lintang and Mahar were like a youthful Isaac Newton and Salvador Dali bantering back and forth, demonstrating their enticing brain power and eccentricity. Both were full of innovations and creative surprises. Because Lintang and Mahar sat across from each other, the rest of us often ended up looking left and right, back and forth, as if we were watching a ping-pong match. Sandwiched between them, we were like the dimwits challenged by Columbus to make an egg stand up straight. Without them, our class would have been nothing more than a bunch of deprived mining coolie kids trying to learn how to write in cursive on three-lined paper.
Once during free time between classes, Lintang got up in front of the class and drew a blueprint for how to make a boat from a sago tree leaf. The boat moved by a propeller connected to a motor, which had been taken from a tape recorder. It was powered by two batteries. He made mathematical calculations in order to manipulate the tape recorder motor to push the boat, and explained to us the fundamental laws of hydraulics. His calculation could estimate the speed of the boat based on its mass. I was spellbound by the little sago leaf boat spinning around in the bucket.
On another occasion he showed us a kite design and a glass-coated thread that would render us unbeatable in kite battles. The amazing thing was, he had many technical sketches and plans that remained raw. These seeds included his idea to lift heavy items from the bottom of the river, a plan for a strange building that defied the laws of architecture and civil engineering and, last but not least, a plan to make humans able to fly. Lintang himself did not yet possess enough knowledge to create the mathematical theorems and working papers to undergird and develop these crazy ideas.
After Lintang's recital, Mahar stole the stage. He bowed his head respectfully, as if he were a palace jester wanting to sing, should the king approve. Then he sweetly read some verses of poems about white birds in Tanjong Kelayang Beach, as well as parodies about Malays who suddenly became rich. He also played that remarkable ukulele. It could rock us to sleep.
Those two boys were both incredibly rich . We went to both of them with countless questions. Lintang obtained knowledge from Pak Harfan's book collection, and Mahar had artistic insight—plus he knew about music because he hung out with the local radio broadcasters from Suara Pengejawantahan ( The Voice of Manifestation ) AM .
Because he was so imaginative, day by day, Mahar became an even bigger fan of unreasonable legends and all things smelling of the paranormal. One could ask him about ancient stories and Belitong's mythology, and he knew everything from the fairytale of the South China Sea Dragon to the story of the monkey-tailed king believed to have once ruled our island.
Mahar also was crazy about Bruce Lee. The walls of his house were covered with the kung fu master in various poses. He begged Bu Mus over and over again for permission to hang up Bruce Lee's most famous poster: Bruce Lee posed in a raging dragon move, eyes glaring, with a double stick as his weapon and three parallel scratches on his cheek because he had been clawed by his enemy with a tiger move. Bu Mus always rejected the absurd request.
Mahar firmly believed not only that aliens existed, but that they would one day come down to Belitong Island disguised as male hospital orderlies in charge of giving vaccinations at the PN clinic, school guards, muezzins at the alHikmah Mosque or soccer referees. Sometimes, Mahar was positively ridiculous. For instance, he
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