by Gwee Li Sui
landing sites for the Apollo missions. “I’m making
more than twice as much selling popiah, and you can
get anything you want in Gu Chia Chwee.” Malcolm X
is assassinated. “Nobody here talks about rubber,
it doesn’t seem to be the future.” The first
American soldiers arrive in Vietnam. My wife
takes on decisions like a wrestler, determined to win.
Alexey Leonov becomes the first man to walk in space.
When her brother’s reply comes, she makes me pack
our few belongings. India and Pakistan go to war
again over Kashmir. The foreman snarls but pays us
our week’s wages. Nicolae Ceauşescu comes into power
as General Secretary of the Romanian Communist Party.
We dip into our savings to get on board the train.
West Germany extends the statute of limitations
on Nazi war crimes. The afternoon is all sticky heat
and we can smell the smoke from the train engine
through the open windows. American soldiers occupy
the Dominican Republic. Later in the day, we step off
onto new ground, gazing up in awe at the immensity
of the railway station. Houari Boumediene ousts
Ahmed Ben Bella in a bloodless coup in Algeria.
We have a sense of something now about to happen.
Greek Prime Minister Georgios Papandreou is dismissed
by King Constantine II. My brother-in-law welcomes us.
The Mont Blanc Tunnel is inaugurated by Presidents
Charles de Gaulle and Giuseppe Saragat. He says:
“You’re here now, that’s the important thing.”
The Maldives receives independence from Great Britain.
As usual, brother-in-law is right. In August,
Tunku Abdul Rahman, Prime Minister of Malaysia,
advises his Parliament that it should vote and
expel Singapore from the Federation of Malaysia.
Moonshine in Singapore
BY PHILIP JEYARETNAM
1. Underground
Hock grew up in Bukit Merah. The colour of the soil stained his white clothes red, and, just before Singapore won its freedom, he lost his.
He paced about the narrow confines of his cell. A narrow slit in the stone high up in the wall let in the occasional waft of fresh air. Beyond, the scent of a garden, occasionally voices.
Underground, he called out for freedom. The new nation needed him, and he it. Again and again he called out, his words urgent, loud, but again and again they thinned, all too soon, to vanishing point. Useless words.
Yet, one day there came an answer. Faint. Soft. Uncertain.
“Hello,” it said. “Who’s there?”
“Hock, once freedom fighter, now prisoner.”
“You the one who speaks of hopes and fears?”
“Yes. And you?”
“I’m Ying.”
“Ying. Who are you? Why are you here? Are you the Director’s daughter or wife? His mistress or servant? Tell me.”
“Gangster boy, too many questions.”
He called her name again. Nothing. She’d wandered off.
Underground, zest left him. He would never be heard. Just a madman’s agitation, calling on workers to cast aside their chains, take to the streets, rise up, and fight.
Then, one day, he heard her voice once more. She was singing, carefree, indifferent to his plight. He called to her.
The singing stopped. She spoke to him.
“Ah poor man, you’re still here. What have you been doing?” she inquired.
“Oh this and that.”
“No more questions, please. They have nothing to do with who I am or whether I would ever choose to help you.”
Her tone was cruel, but that word “help” stirred him in his helplessness. “Then tell me what to do.”
“Tell me a story…”
At first he resisted. Who likes to be made to perform? But, if he did not speak, then all that remained was silence.
And so he began. With a man, it always begins with his mother, and Hock was no exception.
2. Separation
“Mother raised us, me and my three sisters, for my father spent most of his time drunk, uninterested in her or us. Sadness gripped him like an addiction. Working long hours at the docks, he had slipped once while he was carrying rice upon his shoulders. That careless moment put his back out. He could not labour any more. And, as he could neither read nor write, there was nothing else he could do. Mother took in laundry, sewed clothes, and made just enough to raise us.
“Does she think of me? Does she think I am dead? Is she disappointed by my folly?
“But my story. It was the last year of the Japanese Occupation. I was four, or at most five. Food was scarce, and I was always hungry. Sometimes, I would wander the streets. I was still outside when darkness fell.
“I looked up to see the snarling face of a stray dog, and beside it two or three more. They looked lean and hungry. The war was bad for them too. It was my end, I was sure of it.
“Suddenly, mother ran past me toward the dogs. Her speed startled them, her courage unsettled them, and, with a defiant growl, they turned and sought their dinner elsewhere.
“That moment of instinct when she risked life or limb to save me, her cub, inspired me years later to fight for the weak. She opposed me. It would lead only to trouble. Had she known my inspiration, she might even have regretted her courage that night.
“Separated from her and from the life I had planned to live, sometimes I wish I had died that day when the police stormed the picket line, where I was speaking, and not let myself be captured. That would have been a noble death. Existing here, like this, is shameful.
“But since I am still alive, I must find freedom and discover what I must do. My purpose. I shall not be like my father, turning inward on myself. I will not live in sadness.”
With this, he fell silent.
3. Watching
Days passed. Was it night or day when next she called to him?
“Amuse me.”
When one’s window on the world is a narrow slit above eye level, the immediate vicinity takes over – the rough surface of the stone walls, the occasional ant, a dust ball.
So Hock’s second story was of what he missed, the sky above, the moon in its freedom.
“When I was young, I loved to watch the full moon in the daytime. Where others saw only pale sky, I discerned the white, fragile disk of the moon. I had a special bond with it, for only I paid it the attention it deserved.
“When night falls, the moon is radiant, higher in the sky, a glorious presence. At night, many people proclaim its beauty. I used to think how I preferred the moon in the daytime for it was mine alone, invisible to everyone else. Yet, how can one begrudge beauty its moment to shine even if one is left forgotten, lost in the shadows?”
“You are still looking for the moon?”
“No, if I ever get out of here, it will not be her I seek.”
Was there a little intake of breath, a tiny gulp of air? Or was it the wind, teasing leaves?
4. Power
The next day, two stout men came for him. They led him up several flights of stairs until he emerged into a walled garden.
He stood in the centre of the garden. Soil. Leaves. Birdsong. Sky.
Would Ying appear?
After an hour, he was returned to his cell. Its gloomy confines oppressed him worse than before.
Anger stirred – was Ying relishing her power over him?
So angry was he that, when her voice reached him, he turned on his side, sulking.
“Hock,” she called again. “Hock.”
“Hock, I’m sorry I couldn’t join you, but was it not a treat?”
“It reminded me of all that I have lost.”
“And of what you may regain?”
“At whose pl
easure? Yours? Am I mouse to your cat?”
“Oh, Hock, if it were in my power I’d free you at once, but you are still thought dangerous.”
So she had interceded on his behalf. Hock’s heart softened.
“Dangerous? I’m nobody, nothing. And our cause is defeated.”
“Your bravery did not go unnoticed, you may still be a threat.”
“Can you get me an interview at least, or a trial? I only did my duty and am ready to accept the new reality and make peace with the new regime.”
“And then? Go to China?”
“No, I will find work here. Whatever is needed. The new nation needs men like me.”
“That’s what they mean – you are dangerous.”
5. Dreams
The next day was difficult. Nothing sounded from above. How much he had come to depend on these snatched, sightless conversations, hoped-for communion with an unseen soul. He feared that, if she knew him better, she might scorn him. She had spoken of his courage, but truth to tell he’d never felt himself a champion of the workers. Anger had driven him, anger at how the world had crushed his father, but he knew he had not acted nobly.
Perhaps that was why he languished here, forgotten and unmourned. His mind drifted, and sleep overtook him.
“Hock!”
Her voice woke him from a dream. He had been dreaming of walking along the bund between fields of padi, the air abuzz with insects. The heat made him giddy, light-headed, and happy.
For a moment as he woke, he was bewildered by his surroundings. It was hot, but the air was heavy. Walls closed in around him. Then he heard her voice calling his name again, and he remembered.
“You haven’t visited for a while,” he tried to keep the accusation from his voice.
“I was busy.”
“I feel like the dog howling at the full moon, stirred by exactly the thing that pays no heed to him.”
“I was busy.”
“Is there no way out for me?”
“You would confess, betray your cause?”
“Perhaps I am not as noble as I have pretended.”
“Pretended? For whose sake? Mine?”
“I only seek escape… I no longer care if you consider me weak and a traitor.”
“Better to be abhorred than loved for what you are not.”
“Perhaps I hoped to be better than I had been, to remake myself. But that will never be.”
“Your fate is not in my hands… But I did not come to discuss philosophy. I came for a story. Do not disappoint me.”
“Would I dare? Separated and underground, I dream of these moments, me speaking, you listening.”
“Then begin.”
“Once I travelled to Segamat. I was to meet a party comrade. I took a room in a small guesthouse.
“The first night, I was woken by the sound of heavy breathing, the sort an older man makes. This was strange as I’d paid for the whole room. I resolved to tell the owner the next day and demand a discount for having had to share the room. Then I went back to sleep.
“But, the next day, the innkeeper denied allowing anyone else to sleep in my room and angrily suggested that I was just trying to get a reduction. He told me to leave if I didn’t trust him.
“I stayed, of course. When night fell, I retired to my room. I slept quickly and again woke in the small hours. Again, there was the sound of deep breathing. I switched on the torch I had brought with me and scanned the room.
“There was no sound and no sign of anyone.
“I was beginning to be a little nervous. But I told myself that the man must have slipped out when my back was turned.
“As I drifted into slumber, I heard the breathing start again. It was coming from right next to me. Steeling myself, I reached across. There was no one there. Now the breathing seemed to come from the other side of me. I spun round. Nothing except perhaps a lingering coldness in the air.
“‘Who’s there?’ I called.
“Then I heard a new sound, the sound of a man drinking, followed by a cough, a gasp, a death rattle. A cup was pressed against my lips, and I thought to myself, drink, drink, and you will be at peace, no more struggles, no more battles, just peace…
“Somehow, from deep within, I found the will to resist. I jumped up and ran out of the room. I staggered downstairs and spent the night there, shivering in fear. The owner called me a liar when I confronted him, but I knew what I had heard, what I had sensed and felt. I left the next day, but I have never forgotten. It was as if the next world were calling to me, and I needed only to surrender.”
“What gave you the will to resist?”
“The thought that I had not yet loved, and somewhere, in my future, love waited for me.”
“And have you found it since?”
“It is still in my future. I must outlive this prison.”
“Then you must keep telling stories.”
6. War
“That same trip, I came across an old man, who made a living gathering wild yams in the jungle above Segamat. He told me the story of the love of his life. When he was a young man, there was a woman with a terrible temper and a sharper tongue. Strong and wilful. She was older than him, unmarried. Who would dare propose? Struck by her beauty and her strength, he was determined to woo her. He laughed when she scolded him and feigned docility. He was so persistent, so good-natured and gentle, that she agreed to marry him. No doubt she imagined a life of easy dependence on him. But, once they were married, he used her dependence on him to change her character. He would prepare a meal and then, at the last moment, say it was not fit for her and throw it out. He would buy her clothes and then, after showing them to her, would tear them across, claiming they were not fit to grace her beauty. This deprivation gradually brought her to obedience, to freely entered submission. As her domination faded, she came to love him, and he in turn cherished her. They had lived together happily until the day she died.”
“Your story turns love into war!”
“Of course, what else can love be? First, the man finds himself enslaved by a woman’s charms. To win her love, he must turn the tables. And, when they are both slaves to each other, that is when true love blossoms.”
“And us, at what stage of the battle are we?”
“I am at your mercy as you know. But you come back for my stories, you are compelled too. Perhaps your own captivity is not too far off?”
“You are confident then? So confident that you declare your intentions and expect me to keep walking toward your trap?”
“If it is a trap, it is one of cream and honey. The fly stuck on honeyed paper is happy enough, surely?”
“You think to bind yourself to joy? I should go and never come back!”
7. Shame
“It is my turn, dear Hock, to tell you a story. Some folk bring an elephant into a large, darkened room. They invite people to enter, one by one, and discover the beast within. Each man who does so touches a different part of it. One feels the trunk and concludes it is a water spout. Another the ear and pronounces it a fan. A third feels a leg and decides it to be a pillar. How limited is our perception and our comprehension. Even though we have conversed for hours, I do not know ‘the whole of the beast’ that is you, dear Hock. We are like boats, dashed together in a storm, seeing only fragments of each other.”
“Dear Ying, and since you have spoken less than I, how much less of you do I know?”
“Let me tell you then of my childhood. My father was a merchant. He explained to me how to haggle, how to sell, and how to keep a record. Those were the happiest days of my life, imagining a future in which I too would bargain and barter and strike the sharpest and hardest of deals. But my father died, and I had to find work here. Cooking, cleaning, washing clothes.”
“We are prisoners both then.”
“But at least you, Hock, can dream of freedom.”
“A dream from which I will never awake.”
Silence overtook them. After a while, almost reluct
antly, as if the matter had weighed on her mind for some time, she spoke.
“You know, you never really know another person unless and until you know their deepest shame.”
“Ying, you ask too much of me. Or of any man. If I tell you my worst moment, that will fix me forever in your eyes – as a coward, murderer, or thief.”
“Have faith. Love erases shame. What makes us human? The cobra after it has struck feels no remorse. Only we have a conscience.”
“As you wish, Ying. But do not forsake me after I have spoken. You must remember it was a grand struggle. Our supposed comrades betrayed us. They had to pretend that we were rioters, that we would stop at nothing. They spread lies. Sent agents to provoke the crowds into violence – for which we would be blamed and detained. One night, when our leader spoke, I caught one of those agents, a boy of my own age, and dragged him into an alley. I only meant to teach him a lesson, but anger overcame me. I struck one blow too many, and he fell, striking his head against a stone step.”
“Did the boy die?”
“No. He lived, but the fall addled his brain. I saw him a few months later, and he could hardly speak. He was just a boy, trying to make some money for his family. I pretended to serve humanity but I destroyed his life.”
Hock fell silent. His confession had drained him, and he dreaded Ying’s judgment. After a few minutes, he whispered her name softly. There was no response, so he spoke it louder. Still nothing. Had she forsaken him? He should not have confessed.
Then he heard her. “Hock, I’m sorry, I could not speak. I was overwhelmed by your honesty. Your secret is safe with me.”
8. Love
“Will I ever have my freedom?”
“Hush, Hock, I seek it every day. I promise you…”
“I need the sun, the grass beneath my feet, above all I need you, Ying, I need you to be beside me, not somewhere above me. I need your breath warm upon me, not just your voice.”
“The day is coming. What brought you here, what kept you here, is long past. The land has changed.”
