women were at work on the evening meal. The men sat in the centre of the floor on a white mat made of the plaited leaves of the mêngkûang palm, with a plate piled with rice before each of them, and a brass tray, supporting numerous small china bowls of curry, placed where all could reach it. They sat cross-legged, with bowed backs, resting their weight upon their left arms, the hands of which lay flat on the floor, with the wrists so turned that the fingers pointed inward. They messed the rice with their right hands, mixing the curry well into it, and expressing the air between grain and grain, ere they carried each large ball of it swiftly to their mouths, and propelled it into them with their thumbs along the surfaces of their hollowed and closely joined fingers. If rice is your staple, it is almost a necessity that you should eat it in this fashion, for when a spoon is used it is aerated, windy stuff of which it is impossible to consume a sufficient quantity. As for the cleanliness of the thing, a Malay once remarked to me that he could be sure that his fingers had not been inside the mouths of other folk, but had no such feeling of certainty with regard to the spoons of Europeans.
The women sat demurely in a half-kneeling position, with their feet tucked away under them, ministering to the wants of the men. They uttered no word, save an occasional exclamation when they drove away a lean cat that crept too near to the food, and the men also held their peace. Malays regard meals as a serious business which is best transacted in
