Miss Seetoh in the World
Page 43
Dearest Brother Phil, I need you more than ever now to straighten me out, because, more than anything, I feel a deep sense of guilt with regard to our prime minister. I had detested him for his heartlessness, his utter ruthlessness, and you know what I have just found out? It may be a rumour, but I believe it. It seems that while he had successfully sued V.K. Pandy for large sums of money (which, it was well known, he immediately donated to charity), he had been secretly paying for the expensive medical treatment of V.K. Pandy’s wife! Today, if she is alive and well in India, it is not due to any holy man, but to TPK’s generosity. V.K. Pandy did not have the decency to tell me the truth and even complained that his wife’s cancer could have been caused by the stress of the bankruptcy suit and the loss of their printing business. The death in India, the restoration to life, the ashram, the commitment to a mission of love and compassion, the holy fluid, the miracles – all, all, a shameless fabric of lies! It will take me a long time to understand the scale and magnitude of this scam and the power of hatred once it is lodged deep in the human heart. In my most charitable moment, I had wished, for V.K. Pandy’s sake, that the revenge he executed with so much skill and panache, would have expelled from his system whatever venom it carried from Singapore, and freed him, once and for all. Yes, even The Holy One needs healing, maybe more than anyone.
I had told you, dear Brother, about my new life, my new world, where I would do nothing but exactly what I liked, away from troublesome people, but now I am not so sure. I feel an urge to get out into that large, messy, ugly world out there because there is a huge falsehood that I had contributed to. (Who knows how much of my frank conversations about the great TPK, even my little satirical poem, had added to the man’s anger and need for revenge?) I would like to see TPK to tell him the truth as I know it, go to his office and request an interview – I’m not even sure about the proper procedure. If that fails, I would like to write to the newspapers to give my account of the truth, and expose The Holy One (even in my present confusion, there’s a little place for humour – I now think of him as The Wholly Unholy Holy One). In doing so, I’ll be implicating myself and probably have to answer a whole lot of discomfiting questions. But that is more bearable than the present torment of guilt about TPK and rage against V.K. Pandy (also to a certain extent, his wife).
Wish you were here, dear Brother Phil, to help me clarify the thoughts in my head, the tumult in my heart. Wish you were here. How many times have I ended a letter to you, whether bearing good or bad news, with that longing.
Love
Maria.’
Forty-Three
‘My dearest Phil,
As I had half expected, my request for an interview with the prime minister was turned down. I do not know whether it was because I had not stated my reason clearly or appropriately enough, or whether he simply wanted to forget what must have been the most horrible experience in his life. But I believe that my request has already created a secret dossier of Maria Seetoh Wei Cheng that is now part of their efficient surveillance machinery; my phone is probably being tapped this very minute! The latest I heard about Mrs TPK was that she is preparing to go the United States, to be a subject for the clinical testing of some new drug – that’s the extent of the poor woman’s desperation to stay alive because she is completely devoted to her husband and their two daughters and watches over their welfare even in her illness.
I had also written a letter to The Straits Tribune, and have not received any answer, which probably means that the paper doesn’t want to be involved in anything that would displease or distress TPK. Poor TPK. I saw him on TV yesterday, doing his usual round of his constituency, shaking hands with hawkers and ordinary folk, but not looking his usual ebullient self. It is difficult for me, after that experience, not to superimpose upon the familiar image of strength and power that of the ridiculous pantomime figure, the slapstick buffoon, the clown in a schoolboy skit! The feeling is a most uncomfortable one, as if something exceptionally bad has happened to the whole society and things will never be the same again. I suspect it is the same with many Singaporeans. They do not seem keen to talk about The Holy One; perhaps the grapevine is already buzzing with rumours based on the report and pictures in The International Courier, but nobody is prepared to talk openly. It is probably an episode that Singaporeans would be happy to forget. It seems that many of those purportedly healed by him are complaining about fraudulence. A foreign journalist had written something about subjecting the holy fluid to a lab test. I don’t care to know the results – I’m just so sick of it all!
I will try again to seek an interview, to interest the newspapers; perhaps the tabloids might be tempted to run my story, though I doubt it, everyone’s so fearful. I don’t know whether wanting to tell the truth, regardless of the consequences, is a good or bad thing, but right now, this turmoil in me, a mix of guilt and remorse and anger, is like a wound in the flesh that has to be cauterised away, an embolism in the blood that has to be cleared out! It bothers me even in my sleep.
Last night I had a dream in which TPK (the very first time he’s appeared in my dreams!) was standing, in that awful loincloth, before a roaring fire and reading the satirical poem about Tua Peh Kong. His words did not come out clearly; at times, he seemed to be quoting from Shakespeare, Kahlil Gibran, Gandhi. Then he crushed the sheet of paper, threw it into the flames, and turned to face V.K. Pandy and myself who were among the large crowd watching him. He said in a loud voice, ‘You know what? There is more real love in me than in all of you combined, you idiots, you hypocrites!’
His words are throbbing in my head as I am writing this letter. Dear, wise one, I usually ignore dreams, but what should I make of this one?
I will have to wait to see how things develop in the next few days. Weeks? Months? But I know what I should do meanwhile. I will continue to be happy. The deep peace in me since I moved into my new life has not really vanished, thank God (see how we disgusting atheists can’t leave off the old pious invocations!); it is only temporarily perturbed, like the surface of a lake ruffled by a storm, that will appear calm again once the storm has passed. This storm will, must, pass, since it is not the first, nor will it be the last I will endure. Oh dear, who would have thought that a simple soul like me wanting only to be good and do good, to be happy in life, could be involved in so much mess?
Talking about mess, that dreadful girl Maggie called again. Or rather it was her sister Angel, who then passed the phone to her. She was in hospital, recovering from some injuries which she said had been caused by the abusive boyfriend Sonny. Of course I had no choice but to visit that wretched girl in hospital; I had a sneaking suspicion that some of the injuries were self-inflicted to provide convincing proof to the police of the boyfriend’s violent behaviour, for she had her sister take photographs of every single one of them. But then again, they could be real injuries. Angel told me when we left the hospital that Sonny, when drunk, was capably of any brutality. Talk about misplaced scepticism! I simply had to ask this girl, who is certainly far more savvy than she looks, whether she appreciated at all her sister’s love for her, the sacrifices she was making for her future. Her reply was a scornful, ‘Love? She loves only herself, that’s all. She’s just making use of me.’ Then she let me in on a scheme of Maggie’s where I would play a part: help her get the police to restrain Sonny, and then the wily girl would be free to go with someone who is courting her, a rich businessman from Indonesia. She is the consummate survivor. I’ll never understand her unruly world. I wouldn’t be surprised, one of these days, to be dragged into it again, to testify in court in connection with some horrendous crime, like her attempting to kill the boyfriend, or his attempting to kill her, or that strange sister who makes me think of Lolita attempting to kill them both. It is said, You can be in the world, but you need not be of it. Oh no, one doesn’t have that luxury. The truth is that as long as you are in the world, you have no choice but to be of it – taking on its savvy, cunning, wiles. I’ve come t
o the conclusion that Machiavelli is a far more honest – and effective – teacher than my Plato or Socrates. I’ll have to learn something of Maggie’s skills, whether to outwit her or to help her. It’s a great burden when you are the only one in the world a young person can turn to.
I will wait for the appropriate moment to act, but meanwhile I can continue to go about the little things that make me happy. I am, will be, can be, must be, should be, happy – here’s the old teacher of English grammar mobilising all its resources for her purpose! Two days ago I visited the Botanic Gardens again, for the sheer pleasure of watching little children feed the fish and ducks; yesterday Asma, the friendly security guard I told you about, promised to take me shopping, on her next day off, in her Malay market where I can get the best spices to try out the recipes in a new cookery book I bought, and this morning, after breakfast, I looked through some notes and found I had ideas for a collection of stories for children. Writing – that will be both passion and survival for me.
At the back of my mind is a little plan that you may laugh at, my dear Phil: I want eventually to write the biography of the great TPK! So far the books about him are all about his admirable achievements for Singapore, his fantastic leadership that has made Singapore the most successful economy in Asia. I have seen the human side, which makes him a much more likeable person. But I’m not sure how to tell his story fully and honestly because it is intertwined with the bizarre story of V.K. Pandy.
How I wish you were here, dearest, dearest Phil. I don’t know how I can do without you! I am happy writing these letters to you and then receiving your replies. And dearest, do find time from your busy, busy schedule to write longer, more frequent letters to your old friend in Singapore! You know how happy you make me.
Much love
Maria.’
Epilogue
In 1998, Maria published a book for children called Garden of Tales and two years later, a collection of short stories called The Godling and Other Stories of Singapore.
She kept alive her desire to write a biography of Mr Tang Poon Kim, Prime Minister of Singapore, but her request for an interview was continually turned down. When Mr Tang retired from politics in 2002, after the death of his wife, and decided to write his autobiography, he at last agreed to see her. She brought along the notes she had made to give the truest account possible of all her dealings with V.K. Pandy, from the first time she spoke to him in Middleton Square, through his lunch with her and the final witnessing of that terrible act of vengeance. But the interview lasted a mere hour, with some polite questions from Mr Tang. It was the first and last time she had come face to face with the prime minister whom she never stopped thinking of as the ‘great TPK’. When Mr Tang’s autobiography finally appeared in 2005, a huge tome with several chapters devoted to his beloved wife, there was not a single reference to V.K. Pandy.
Brother Philip was posted to the Philippines where he continued to write to Maria. They never saw each other again. He was killed in a motor accident in 2004. Maria learnt of his death only a week later, as she had been busy travelling to promote her books.
About the Author
A prolific writer, Catherine Lim has written more than 19 books across various genres – short stories, novels, reflective prose, poems and satirical pieces. Born in 1942 Malaya, Lim was a teacher, then project director with the Ministry of Education and a specialist lecturer with the Regional Language Centre (RELC) before dedicating herself fully to writing in 1992.
Lim has won several national and regional book prizes for her literary contributions, including the National Book Development Council (NBDCS) awards in 1982, 1988 and 1990; the Montblanc-NUS Centre For The Arts Literary Award in 1998; and the 1999 regional Southeast Asian Write Award. She was conferred an Honorary Doctorate of Literature by Murdoch University, Australia, in 2000, and a Knight of the Order of Arts and Letters by the French Ministry of Culture and Information in 2003. Lim was also Ambassador for the Hans Christian Andersen Foundation, Copenhagen, in 2005.
Many of Lim’s works are studied in local and foreign schools and universities, and have been published in various languages in several countries. She was the first Singaporean author to pen an electronic-novella over the Internet, which has since been adapted into a movie.
Besides writing, Lim guest lectures at local and international seminars, conferences, arts/writing festivals and cruise ships worldwide. She has also appeared on radio and television programmes in Singapore, Europe and Australia.