by Balli Kaur
It was a short walk past a row of coffee shops, minimarts, private doctors’ offices and a sportswear shop. But by the time Amrit reached Block 55, she was already tired. Construction barriers cordoned off the straightest path to her workplace. Fluorescent orange nets and steel poles turned her simple routine into a construction maze, where dust-covered workers pointed out the new route.
Amrit checked her watch and quickened her pace as she approached the All Saints gift shop, which was on the third floor of a low commercial building. On the bottom floor, an Indian sweets and magazine shop occupied two lots, and adjacent to it was a hairdresser. The second floor was filled with two competing tuition centres and a single dry-cleaning business, which sat squarely between them, a neutral divider. Children in their school uniforms held books in one hand and swung their water bottles from the other.
‘You’re late,’ Ms Rosario said, as Amrit slunk in.
‘Only by one minute,’ Amrit said. ‘The construction workers blocked off the road.’
Ms Rosario waved away her excuse and motioned for her to approach the cash register. ‘Look at this,’ she said. Amrit saw nothing, but she nodded anyway.
‘You see it, or you’re just nodding?’ Ms Rosario asked.
‘I don’t know what you want me to look at.’
Ms Rosario sighed and walked away. ‘I’m going to the toilet. When I come back, I want you to explain what happened to my cash register.’ She headed out the door and then turned back. ‘Do you have tissues?’ she asked.
Amrit pulled out a packet of tissues from her back pocket and Ms Rosario took it. ‘I want an explanation,’ she said, warningly, as she left.
Amrit had been in the job eight months, nearly nine. After she decided she was well enough to begin working again, she began a job search that repeatedly brought her home in tears, much to the dismay of Narain, who thought another breakdown was on the horizon. She finally found Ms Rosario, who was willing to take her on, even after she revealed her record at Woodbridge. The only catch was having to put up with Ms Rosario’s belief that Amrit, like her other two employees, was suffering from a lack of Godliness. Ms Rosario had taken it upon herself to change their fates with an eventual conversion to Christianity. She placed leaflets strategically across counters, and offered an employee discount on figurines and wall hangings inscribed with Bible quotes. She became more persistent during the off-peak season, when her stream of customers dwindled. Outside of the major Christian holidays, the shop didn’t offer anything new, and the few who knew of it had already bought everything they wanted. What would I possibly buy from here, Amrit wondered in her first week, staring at the shelves full of ceramic saints and plaques inscribed with Scripture. Once she spotted a bunch of gaudy plastic flowers in a teal vase. She could almost see it brightening the flat in a space next to the television, but when she picked it up, she discovered a crucifix clumsily affixed to one side, globs of dried white glue hanging like frozen tears.
Ms Rosario returned with a smile. ‘Well then. You want to tell me what happened?’
‘I still don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Amrit said. ‘I didn’t take any money from the cash register, if that’s what you’re saying.’
‘Look at this,’ Ms Rosario said. She took hold of Amrit’s elbow and steered her closer to the cash register. Amrit squinted, seeing some lettering lightly scratched into the surface. Fuck you, it said.
‘I didn’t do this,’ Amrit said. ‘I wouldn’t.’
‘Maybe you did,’ Ms Rosario said, with narrowed eyes.
‘Maybe you did and you don’t remember.’
Amrit stiffened. ‘I would remember,’ she said.
Ms Rosario shook her head. ‘I once saw a movie about an American boy with multiple personalities. It’s based on a real story. He gets up in the middle of the night and tears apart the whole kitchen and then goes back to sleep calmly, like nothing happened. When his parents wake up, he tells them some story about aliens coming in and doing it. He blacks out and doesn’t remember at all that he did it himself. He’s the aliens.’
Some employers left a space on their forms under the question about illness to allow the job applicant to specify. The space was minimal – just enough for Amrit to squeeze in a few words. She had never tried to explain bipolar disorder to Ms Rosario, knowing that it would only be used against her.
‘It must have been somebody else. I’m not the only one who works here,’ Amrit reminded Ms Rosario. She cast a glance at her bag in the corner and remembered her list. She could not anger the woman today; she had to reason with her.
‘This is what I get for giving you a chance,’ Ms Rosario muttered, shooting her a look from the corner of her eye. She tossed Amrit’s tissue packet across the counter and went to the farthest corner of the store. Ms Rosario only hired people who she could blame for her own state of disarray. The vandal was probably another worker. There were two more employees: Jeremy, a vibrant 20-something-year-old with spiky hair; and Yee Ling, a frighteningly fragile girl whose long floral skirts had to be pinned to the hem of her blouses or they would fall off her bony frame. Ms Rosario only spoke about Yee Ling: ‘The girl never eats. Every time I offer her a little bit of lunch she looks like she’s about to cry.’ Her lips curled with disgust each time she had to mention Jeremy. She had nothing to say about him, only that they were remotely related.
Amrit and Ms Rosario did not speak for the rest of the morning, which passed laboriously, with only two customers appearing to glance at the shelves and leave, realising they’d mistaken the shop for something else. She busied herself with wiping down the ceramic angels. Dust collected in the crevices of their elbows and eyelids, and Ms Rosario insisted they simply couldn’t be sold in that condition. Amrit pulled out her cloth and folded it to a sharp point that would fit into the tiny nooks. After the angels, she had inventories to sort out and phone calls to make for a fundraiser Ms Rosario was planning for her church.
During her lunch break, Amrit hurried to the town centre coffee shop, clutching her bag. She ordered a rice plate from a Malay stall and chose beef rendang and stir-fried long beans to go with it. As she ate, she pulled out the notebook from her bag and read the first item on her list. ‘Propose suggestions to Ms Rosario about improving business.’ On the other side of the page was the list of suggestions that she had brainstormed with Narain’s help many months ago, when she first started working for Ms Rosario.
Soon her lunch break was over but her plate remained full. Amrit was concerned about the list. What if Ms Rosario got annoyed with her? What if her ideas seemed silly? She didn’t know the first thing about business but if she had a chance to learn with experience, maybe she’d be able to put those skills towards building a career. She began to walk back to the shop. Ms Rosario was probably still annoyed with her, so maybe today was not the day. She passed the library, where she used to spend her lunchtimes before the doctor advised her to take a break from researching her illness. Then she looked at the list again and stuffed the notebook back into her bag. She had written it months ago, knowing that there would be a day when Ms Rosario’s judgement became unbearable enough for her to take this risk. It had to be today, and then she could go home tonight and confront Father. She was ready for his rage; she had prepared for it, and time was running out. This was what she could not explain to Narain this morning. She was planning on moving out as well – renting a one-bedroom flat of her own. The first step was gaining this promotion – the next, confronting Father. Narain did not believe that she was ready for either task. She sensed that when he looked at her, he saw the teenage girl he had left behind in that Naval Base bungalow when he set off for America. He did not see her as she was now. Faint creases appeared in the corners of her eyes when she smiled. There was a thickness to her waist and limbs that many associated with the pitfalls of age, but Amrit didn’t mind it. She looked and felt like an adult, and she should be trusted to live like one.
Ms Rosario glanced at her bag whe
n she returned. ‘No books?’ she asked.
‘No,’ Amrit said. ‘I didn’t go to the library.’ Whenever she borrowed books, they bulged through the bag. Ms Rosario had asked her about the books before and Amrit always lied, saying they were novels, not manuals on how to cope with bipolar disorder.
‘Well, while you’re not reading anything, I think you’re ready for this,’ Ms Rosario said, handing her a leather-bound Bible. Amrit was surprised by its weight. She opened the front cover and delicately turned the first few pages, aware of Ms Rosario’s scrutinising gaze. Each time she casually handed Amrit a new pamphlet or recited scripture, Amrit saw her fierce and urgent hope that her purpose would not be lost here.
‘Thanks,’ Amrit said, closing the book and stroking the embossed lettering. ‘This is lovely,’ she added, at the hint of Ms Rosario’s smile. Amrit cleared her throat. ‘I was wondering if I could talk to you about something.’
Ms Rosario nodded.
‘Umm… on my way over here, you know what I was thinking? You can hand out leaflets at the train station. So many people going in and out – I’m sure you’ll get better business. I’ve collected a few leaflets myself, for tuition centres and restaurants mostly. I think I have a pretty good idea of how to organise the information and make it look presentable,’ she said. She looked down and cleared her throat again, wishing she had memorised a speech.
Ms Rosario let out a long sigh. ‘You can’t just go around handing out advertisements. You have to get permission,’ she said, impatiently.
‘Yes, I know. But I can research how to do that and I can obtain permission from the town council or whoever it is.’ Now Amrit was beginning to speak too quickly, but Ms Rosario looked more interested. ‘Also, I was thinking maybe you’d want to advertise in churches, and maybe look at expanding the merchandise. Greeting cards, balloons, inspirational books, things like that. I could help to research those opportunities too.’
Ms Rosario remained silent. Amrit looked at the Bible and ran a hand over its cover. ‘Anyway, those are just my suggestions. You probably have plans for the shop and you’ve probably thought about all of these things.’ She bit her lower lip. Ms Rosario was watching her carefully, slightly amused. Amrit could feel her face flush. ‘It wasn’t me,’ she blurted out. ‘I didn’t do that to your counter. I would never do something like that. I’ve never even called in sick, I often stay behind to help after my shift even without pay and I follow every instruction you give me. I always wanted to work in advertising. I can sell things and convince people. I’m good with words.’ She looked around the shop helplessly. A row of angel statues with their heads cocked at the same angle stared back at her, but she was finished now. She wanted to sit down.
Ms Rosario finally spoke. ‘The punishment for vandalism nowadays is very severe. You saw that in the papers? Those hoodlums who used spray paint on those parked cars? Six strokes of the cane. Our government wants to send a message loud and clear.’ Then she looked away. ‘I know it wasn’t you. Just now while you were on your break, that useless Jeremy called. He told me, “I left you a message in your shop. Did you get it?”’
Amrit almost smiled.
‘That one is nothing but trouble. He’s lucky he got spared a caning. You know he was arrested once? For repeatedly urinating in lifts.’ Ms Rosario’s face scrunched up in disgust. ‘First time they caught him, they fined him, but he wouldn’t stop! He thought it was funny or something. He was caught on camera and the police came to arrest him in front of all his neighbours. I know his parents – we’re distant relatives. Very distant. But in the Eurasian community, everybody is sort of related, huh? Even if you’re not cousins or uncles you just say you are because it’s better to pretend to be family than be like strangers. Except when something goes wrong. Then you realise how small the community is. That’s what happened to Jeremy. People found out, his parents’ church friends began talking about them, he was ostracised. I took him in! I let him work here, and you see what he’s done to my counter? All because I told him to read the Bible.’ Ms Rosario nodded at the copy she’d placed in Amrit’s hands. ‘Better to give it to somebody who actually reads books. That boy is useless. He’s not coming back here.’ Ms Rosario suddenly looked distraught. ‘This means he’s not going to change,’ she said, sitting heavily on the stool next to the cash register. ‘I can’t save him.’
‘You did what you could,’ Amrit said encouragingly. ‘It’s not easy. Not everyone understands how to help.’
‘He is such an idiot. Why urinate in a lift? There are two functioning toilets in his flat.’ She shook her head. ‘When he was young he was always picking fights in school. His poor mother. I’ve told him so many times to think about her when he’s about to do something stupid. How did she feel, seeing the police show up like that?’ She squinted at Amrit. ‘How did your mother feel?’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Wasn’t she sad? Wasn’t she humiliated? I know you said you couldn’t help having this, this disorder, but didn’t you think about how your mother felt when she found out?’
‘I did,’ Amrit said, sparing Ms Rosario the truth.
The entrance bell clanged as a customer entered. Thin, tall, with a crew cut. He glanced curiously at Amrit. ‘Do you sell stickers?’
Ms Rosario beamed. ‘Yes, we do,’ she said, ushering him to the crafts section. Amrit’s karra banged noisily against the counter top. She took it off while dusting because it had caught on a figurine’s arm once and nearly toppled the entire ceramic collection. Ms Rosario always eyed it, once telling her that a rosary ring was much less trouble than this cumbersome Sikh bangle. ‘Even your men wear it?’ Ms Rosario had asked, her incredulous tone telling Amrit just what she thought of that.
The customer paid and left. Ms Rosario asked Amrit if she had seen him before. ‘He was looking at you,’ she said. She reached out unexpectedly and pushed the curls out of Amrit’s face. ‘You have lovely skin, Amrit. Makes you look younger than you are.’
‘Thank you,’ she said, and in the same breath, she handed the Bible back to Ms Rosario. ‘Thank you for this as well,’ she said, her voice gentle but firm. ‘But it’s not for me.’ Might as well resign now, she thought grimly, seeing the pinched look of insult on Ms Rosario’s face as she took the Bible back.
The rest of their day passed with only fragmented conversation. Amrit dusted the shelves, showed customers to the things they needed and, at the end of the day, counted the cash, under the watchful eye of Ms Rosario. ‘So, tomorrow you can start a double shift because Jeremy won’t be here,’ Ms Rosario said, casually. ‘If you want to stay back after your shift today, we can talk about your ideas. I’ll pay you for the time.’
Amrit nodded. ‘I’m happy to learn,’ she said, perhaps too eagerly, because Ms Rosario looked up sharply and scanned her face for traces of sarcasm. Her gaze eventually softened and she looked away.
By the time Amrit left the shop, the neighbourhood was bustling with the return of commuters from the city. She dropped in at the local bakery to pick up some steamed red bean buns for Narain, a peace offering for being so curt with him in the morning. Now that Ms Rosario had agreed to give her the promotion, she was less anxious. On the train, she began to think about what she would say to Father. She would sit down with him in his prayer corner and ask him when he last saw Mother.
‘What if he tells you the truth?’ Dr Chow had asked when she told him of her plan. ‘Are you ready to hear it?’
Conversations with Father were not so simple. He would become irate quickly, and ask her what she was talking about. He would tell her she was trying to cause trouble. These were the reactions she had been preparing for. ‘Where is Mother, Father?’ she pictured herself asking, sitting tall and proud. Trying to understand. He would point wildly in every direction. Mother was in the shower, using up all the hot water. She was in the kitchen, dropping another plate by accident and failing to sweep away the tiniest specks. This was the part that Amrit always struggled wit
h in her enactments. She could not pretend that Mother was alive.
It had been Father’s job to tell her what happened to Mother all those years ago but all he had said was, ‘She is gone, Amrit. She went away right after you were born.’ That euphemism had been so common throughout her life. As a child, before learning the specifics from Narain, Amrit was plagued by images of a fleeing woman, not a dying one. It was time for Father to address this. If he admitted nothing else, then at least explain that Mother’s departure was unintended.
Father
His feet were still sore, even though he had returned from his walk hours ago. Limping slightly, he moved from room to room in the flat, searching for that Chinese balm that Dalveer had once urged him to buy. It came in a small green pot and gave off the smell of eucalyptus, which reminded him of their first days in Singapore, when everything was novel.
When Amrit returned, he was sitting in the prayer corner with his eyes shut, rubbing the balm into his feet. He heard the rustling of plastic bags being set down on the kitchen counter and the patter of Amrit’s feet across the tiles. It was the same sound her feet had made when she was a child.
