Hell-riders and other stories

It wasn't the rush of air through the tropical night that excited her, nor the flash of colour as the motorcycle sped along the illuminated East Coast Parkway, nor even the fearful thrill of being chased by the traffic police. It was all these things, plus the sensual pleasure of gripping the boy's body, holding on to it for dear life and wondering whether she would still be behind him when the next race came.

In the night, when a lull descends on Singapore's Changi Airport, you could see Nina with the others in the Terrace Buffeteria. There was a swagger as they entered, daring anyone to approach them, but an innocence, too, like children aping some adult game. The last to finish bought the coffee and passed the cigarettes round, while--at home--defeated parents despaired, and slept.

The crash helmets took up nearly as much room as the riders themselves. They were brashly designed, with transfers imprinted and home-made insignia created with care: names such as 'Spirit & Skull,' 'Dash & Dare,' 'Sting,' and the inexplicable 'Stew,' hung on the great myth of the century, that speed and efficiency are the only gods worthy of worship.

The Hell-Riders dominated the coffee bar. Most of the other people there were travellers caught between flights, or people who for one reason or another had arrived too early and were waiting until the dawn. Listless, or sipping coffee, or reading a magazine or a book, some of thee felt the flutter of a heart and, half-awake, thought they must be in some other city.

But the Hell-Riders kept to themselves. It was their time of night and while they sat and relaxed others would be on the roads, daring the traffic police to follow.

As 'Red Six' came into the Buffeteria, he waved in a way he had first seen in an American film. Nina had always admired Red Six. He had that air of confidence some of the others tried hard to imitate but never quite managed. She smiled and lowered her eyes shyly as he glanced across at her. But he didn't give her a second glance and had gone across to some of the others by the time she looked up again. A hollowness in the pit of her stomach. She wanted so much to be on the back of his bike and feel the rush of the wind in her face as she huddled close to him and gripped his waist tightly. Maybe later? Or tomorrow? You could always hope.

She was with Ali the next night. His bike wasn't too powerful and he had a hard time trying to keep up with the others once they opened the throttles. The vibration of the engine made her body tingle and she gripped Ali tightly even though they weren't travelling that fast. The winners picked their girls. Ali was never a winner. He didn't try too hard, either, so in a way he wasn't a loser. You could only lose if you got into the heart of the race, if you lost yourself in the heat of the competition.

Nina liked him. He knew a lot about bikes, bought all the expensive imported magazines, and didn't brag the way some of the others did. He was wearing a claret-and-blue sweatshirt tonight and the words 'Winston USA' were emblazoned on the front. He wore his leather jacket back-to-front, rather like those bikers you saw on low c.c. machines during the daytime. He lacked the stature of Red Six.

She had always wanted to know how Red Six came by his name, but she'd never liked to ask. She hinted to one or two of the other girls who hung around with the boys, only to discover that they didn't seem to know much about the name either.

When Red Six came in he was looking pleased with himself. The police had been after him and he'd beaten them, he said. They must have got worried as the needle reached the end of the speedometer, he grinned. Nina wondered if the police would come up to the coffee bar later. It didn't matter much. Someone would probably warn them if it looked likely. The police couldn't catch everybody. In fact, there wasn't much that could be done unless the police managed to pin something on someone.

Red Six opened his leather jacket--he always rode wearing it the right way round--and joked about the T-shirt he'd won off some Australian. They'd had a bet and the Australian had bet 'the shirt on his back,' whipping it off as soon as he'd lost and handing it over to Red Six. A couple of admiring girls smoothed it out and read aloud: 'I never get lost because everyone tells me where to go.'

Nina thought the slogan to be out of keeping with Red's tough image.

One night a storm broke early. It hit the island without warning, as storms often do. But Ali and Nina were already in the Buffeteria and the coffees had been handed out and the second or third cigarette had nearly burnt down. Spirit & Skull came in with his jacket slung over his shoulder. He shook it, spraying water around him, which made the girls squeal with laughter.

'Like a dog,' Nina said, within his hearing. He flicked the jacket towards her and raindrops flew in her face.

'You after,' he said.

Red Six, sitting at the next table, said, 'Me after.'

Nina was thrilled. She didn't know what to say. She'd wanted him to say, 'Nina for me,' or 'After, I take Nina'--to use her name. But she didn't know his real name either.

The anonymity added romance to the situation. There was adventure in their shared secret lives away from Government slogans and pompous political speeches. But the anonymity that thrilled was nothing compared with the thrill of the Hell-Riders as they sped along the illuminated main roads at night.

When the rains stopped, they left the Buffeteria and went out to the motorcycles. Nina got on the back of Ali's machine. Spirit & Skull and Red Six gave her a grin and started their engines. Ali had to kick his starter three times before the engine spluttered into life. He wouldn't win, Nina thought.

The route had been decided. Eight machines set off at once, roaring into the night, their headlights reflecting the glistening, fresh fall of rain on the road. It was cooler now--cooler still as the bikes picked up speed and the air rushed into their faces. Nina clutched Ali and turned her head sideways. The street lights and their distorted reflections created a kaleidoscope. Her lips parted in a childlike smile as the engine noises made music.

Ali did not win the race. Red Six had been well ahead of everyone. Dash & Dare and Spirit & Skull were in front of Ali, too.

Red Six gave Nina a grin and pointed towards her. 'You,' he said. Then he jabbed himself with his finger. 'Me.'

Ali looked askance at her and shrugged his shoulders. Win some, lose some, he seemed to say.

'Winner take all,' said Red as she went across to his bike.

Unable to hear, she shifted the helmet to one side. 'Say what?'

'Winner take all.'

'Any place. Any time.'

He grinned. They waited for the return race to begin. Ali would glance across at Nina, but she looked away. She was excited at the prospect of being behind Red in the next race, yet something inside her made her avoid Ali's eyes.

The rain had started again, slowly, promising more. Again, the glistening road reflected headlights and street lights as the motorcycles roared through the night. Red Six was the clear winner. He could ditch her now, if he wanted, and choose some other girl. But as they swaggered back to the Buffeteria he grinned in the same way that he'd grinned when they were waiting for the return race to begin.

'The winning team, yah.'

'The winning team,' she agreed.

As usual, the Hell-Riders made for the comfortable seats near the rail and pushed tables together. Ali slunk in last. He gave Nina another look that made her uneasy, then pulled a spare chair over to the end of the far table. It was his turn to buy the coffee.

Nina waited a whole week before asking the question that had been on her mind for so long. 'Why "Red Six"?' she said. 'If you're number one, maybe call yourself "Red One." But "Red Six"?'

Red Six gave a laugh and made his left hand into a fist. Very slowly, he brought his fist up to her cheek. 'Be seen, not heard,' he told her.

She felt stupid, and was glad when the others joined them. They'd won again. 'We are the champions,' Red Six sang out, like the football supporters he'd seen and heard on television.

'Every great one has his fall,' Ali remarked, but his voice was lost in the crackling laughter that kept the Terrace Buffeteria alive in the early hours. He started a conversation with Dash & Dare, talking loudly about the modifications he'd made to his bike.

In the Terrace Buffeteria, tucked securely inside the terminal building, the violence of that night's storm didn't pass unnoticed. But the rain that came so fiercely for an hour stopped as suddenly as it had started, and before long the bikers were mounting their machines and setting off in air as fresh as it can be only after a tropical storm.

The bikes steadily picked up speed. Red was leading the pack, but Ali wasn't far behind him. Nina, in ecstasy, clung to Red Six, loving him, willing to do anything for him. Even die.

Right, she thought. Even die. To die with Red on a night like this with the wind in your face and the lights kaleidoscoping on the road... To die like this, together, with no interference from the world around... That was the kind of feeling parents could never understand. Their lives were so different... Parents were always so different...

The noise of the other bikes was far away; there was only the roaring music of the mighty machine between their thighs: a machine that carried them further and further away from the world towards the ultimate consummation.

Red was well in front of the others when he saw the police car emerge from the roadside clearing. This race had been planned for the longer route and they were near Marine Parade before the traffic police saw them.

Nina looked round. The bike roared on. The police lights were flashing as--seemingly oblivious to the pack of bikers behind--they followed Red Six. She heard Red shout something over his shoulder and tried to get him to repeat it, but he couldn't hear her. She realised with a sadness that brought tears to her eyes that the waves of ecstasy which they were riding were not the same waves, that to him the chase was more important than the trophy he might retain. He was the champion, the victor; she was the trophy, and she longed to be touched and treasured. She shuffled and buried her face in the comfort of his back.

Somehow--she couldn't understand how it happened--the police car started gaining on them. Leaning forward, she peered round his tense body and caught a brief glimpse of the speedometer. The sounds of the engine changed, as if a musician were playing out of tune. There was a squeal. She thought she heard Red gasp.

The beauty of the night abruptly became one of terror.

She remembered the terror long afterwards. It haunted her in the hospital bed. For a long time there had been darkness, then, gradually, a blurred awakening and questions she couldn't answer because of the pain that controlled her body. Unable to move, she willed the pain to go away. A vague memory: of falling through the air, and...nothingness. The nothingness was the worst, worse than the pain that hold her she must have survived.

Her parents were there at the bedside, but she didn't speak. Couldn't speak. There was a craziness in her head, like mocking laughter that echoed her own. Without understanding, she listened to explanations of what had happened. She only remembered the roar and vibrations of the engine, the colours of the night, the thrill of holding onto Red and burying her face in his back. And then the terror would come again, the falling through the air and the nothingness, and she would break down, sobbing.

Ali came alone. Her half-open eyes picked him out. He looked taller, more dignified. He had his biker's jacket on the right way round and he carried his helmet. There was a confidence in his walk as he came over to her bedside and sat down on a chair.

His words registered in a head filled with the noise and colour of the hell-rides. Though her body was now very still and she felt the pain, the night-world thrilled her mind. An overtaking police car; water on the road; swerving to avoid the police car cutting in front of the bike...Words didn't register with her, they only echoed and made her cry out as she fell again towards the darkness.

The nurse was telling Ali he had better leave. They'd give Nina a sedative, she was saying. It would be a long time before the girl recovered from the accident. 'Traumatic experience,' said the nurse.

Hearing that, Nina opened her eyes, and she saw Ali wince. As he stood up to leave, she noticed the insignia on his left shoulder: 'Red Seven.'

Then she let out a piercing scream that ended only when the nurse took out the needle and plunged it into her arm.