The horror – oh, the horror –
She saw herself rushing forward in her rage. “You beasts,” she screamed and then stood back. The grand-uncle turned quizzically towards her, naked from the waist downwards; and barely visible, under his enormous bulk, the face of a very young girl, but not the 14-year-old virgin. One small white arm reached out to cling tightly to one of the four posts with the carved serpent, to be the better able to endure the pain in her flesh.
“What – ” exclaimed Grand-Uncle in annoyance at the interruption. She stood rooted to the spot, gasping in terror, and then the serpent on the post unwound itself and slid towards her, bare-fanged. There was a guffaw of malicious delight from Grand-Uncle. She fled from the room, sobbing.
It was not an isolated dream. It repeated itself three times, with slight changes of detail, but always there was the horror, the blood, the pain of her husband naked with a young girl.
Those weird stories, thought Angela with exasperation. I’ll never listen to them again. And I won’t allow the poor children to listen to them and have nightmares.
She sold the bed shortly after.
Chapter 19
“Life has its compensations,” Angela told Mee Kin on the phone. She had told her friend, in an hour-long chat, of the recent traumatic experiences – Michael, the old one, the idiot foster-son, how they had caused her to suffer intensely. The knife had plunged in and twisted. The beautiful antique bed – the old one’s pernicious influence had touched even there. She told Mee Kin of the frightful dreams. She sometimes heard Michael cry out in his sleep: the old one’s tales harmed the poor boy too. And the idiot one. He had tried once again to see Michael, his capacity for causing embarrassment and distress was endless, and Mooi Lan had had a difficult time getting rid of him with the neighbours looking on. But life has its compensations, and here Angela brightened up, and began to speak with affectionate enthusiasm of Mark.
Mark had won the coveted National Speech trophy, receiving it from the Minister of Education himself, amidst thunderous applause. The television cameras caught the boy at his best, first reciting a poem in Mandarin on the theme of filial piety, and then following it up by the speech from Shakespeare, which he had practised to perfection. There was no doubt, from the very start, that the trophy would go to him; the other contestants were almost pathetic beside him.
The cameras swept, fleetingly, over Boon and Angela, glowingly proud parents, sitting in the front row. Angela had had the television programme video-taped, and she showed it to every visitor. Mark was posed beside the trophy, a handsome gold-plated statuette, for a picture that would join the row of framed photographs on a special shelf in the sitting room, of the boy in the various stages of his school life, receiving trophies, certificates, making speeches. The trophy itself joined the other trophies on another shelf, but it had pride of place; it stood tall and handsome in the centre, proclaiming the boy’s supreme achievement. Angela herself dusted the various trophies every few days. There was going to be a special shelf for Michelle too; her trophies for swimming were increasing. Angela had also bought a special album for the cuttings of newspaper reports about Mark and Michelle. There was a big write-up in The Straits Times on the competition, accompanied by a picture of Mark, tall and handsome and dignified-looking, receiving the trophy from the Minister of Education who beamed at the boy in congratulatory warmth. There was another write-up on Mark in the New Nation: Mark was interviewed by a reporter who went to his school. He answered all her questions competently, impressively. She called Mark ‘a self-assured young man with definite ideas about what he wants to be and what he wants to do’. Michelle had had her share of fame; there was a write-up on her after she did brilliantly in an inter-school swimming competition and the sports editor called her ‘very promising’ and ‘a swimmer with vast potential whom it would be very interesting to watch.’ Then there was the article in the ‘Trends’ section of The Straits Times, in which the reporter wrote generally about the trend to have children’s parties in hotels but highlighted Mark’s 15th birthday celebration. There were two pictures, one showing the boy blowing out the candles on his cake, and the other showing the guests watching the magic show.
It was an album that Angela invariably brought out to show visitors. It was too early to talk about it, and Mark wouldn’t want her to talk about it, but it was clear that he was one of those being marked out for the elite college that the government was thinking of starting for exceptionally bright students in secondary school, to groom them for future leadership. If a second echelon leadership were already visible, a third echelon was obviously being thought about and discussed. There was talk of a big beautiful college being built, with surroundings conducive to the full development of these bright young eager minds.
Life need not be so dreadful after all, thought Angela with a sigh. There was something else that was a compensation, that lightened the burden somewhat on her chest, but this Angela kept from Mee Kin, being happy to talk chiefly of Mark and Michelle.
She had gone to see an astrologer about Boon. Boon had been depressed lately, and Angela had heard from a colleague that there was a very good astrologer in Leigh Road, a really qualified man, quite unlike the half-baked fortune tellers and self-proclaimed astrologers that were so numerous in Singapore. This astrologer, it was well known, was consulted by some of the top brass in the government. A Minister of the Indonesian government, it was said, flew in periodically to consult him. Even the expatriate community in Singapore, top professionals and men in business, were guided by him in their decisions.
His fees were enormous, but that was no problem. Indeed, Angela told the colleague, that was an indication of his worth and she was most skeptical of those fortune tellers who were content to charge a miserable $10 or $20 per session.
Angela went with the colleague to see the astrologer; he was Sri Lankan, and he spoke flawless English. Besides, his office was air-conditioned and handsomely carpeted, the walls covered by impressive-looking astrological charts.
Angela gave him Boon’s date and time of birth. She was astonished at his ability to tell her about her husband’s past. He sounded a warning; he said her husband was too kind and credulous for his own good, and Angela nodded her head in vigorous agreement. Boon, said the astrologer, was going through a bad period. Indeed, his fortunes were at an ebb, would continue to be low till his star gained ascendancy, some time towards the end of the year, after which they would improve, would improve remarkably in every area – in business, in his political ambitions, in his emotional and spiritual state. Angela was elated. She did not tell Boon, but she became less worried for him.
The same colleague had a friend who had a big share in a hotel. The hotel was doing badly, and the friend brought in a geomancer from Hong Kong, who took a good look at the building and decided that the entrance to the hotel lobby was wrongly aligned, with the result that it kept luck away.
Upon the geomancer’s advice, the hotel re-aligned the entrance. Architecturally, it was quaint and wrong, but business boomed almost immediately.
“Next time you pass the hotel, look carefully at the doorway,’ said the friend. ‘It’s wonderful what a little adjustment can do.”
The geomancer was being flown into Singapore again, this time by the owners of a hotel about to be built.
“Looking at him,” said the colleague, “you wouldn’t know he was a geomancer. We tend to think of these people as old and weird-looking. He is always impeccably dressed in suit and tie, though he speaks no English. He insists on being put up in the best hotel, and his fees are astronomical.”
Angela spoke to Boon about the possible services of this geomancer for the Restaurant Haryati. It was practically on the verge of being closed down; why not try to save it? Since the geomancer would be in Singapore, they might as well avail themselves of the opportunity. Boon had no objection.
Angela went to see the man, and was impressed by the professional, precise way in which he went a
bout his work. (“My mother-in-law’s temple mediums go into trances and foist all sorts of weird charms on you. This man is totally different. You don’t get any uneasy feelings about him. His methods are almost scientific.”) The geomancer suggested some minor structural changes to the restaurant. One pillar had to go; a part of the doorway had to be re-aligned. “I’ll see about the changes, dear; don’t you worry,” she told her husband.
Chapter 20
Angela was called home from work by an urgent call from Mooi Lan. “Please come home; it’s urgent,” said the girl tearfully and hung up.
“It must be the old one,” said Angela to her colleagues, as she hurried off.
I hope it’s not Michael, she thought, her heart beating fast. Has the idiot one broken into the house and done something to the boy? Oh God, what thorns in my side. They give nothing but trouble.
At home she found Mooi Lan sitting in the kitchen weeping and Old Mother standing near her, shouting at her.
“Oh no, for God’s sake,” cried Angela, stopping her ears against the obscene words thrown by the old woman at the crying girl.
When she saw Angela, she immediately launched into a tirade against Mooi Lan. But she was incoherent. She went on and on in an unconnected way, calling Mooi Lan a poisonous snake, a disrespectful and immoral woman; her accusations were laced with references to the grocer’s assistant who came in with the weekly deliveries, to the next-door neighbours, to Boon. “What on earth – ” exclaimed Angela, irritated by the old woman’s shrill and agitated babblings which no amount of questioning could shape into sense and coherence. She gave up in the end.
She smelt a pungent smell, and saw an earthen pot on the cooker, with the horrible herbal medicine overflowing, as usual, down its sides and on to the cooker. She saw a plate of something that had been flung to the floor and broken into many pieces; she stooped down, lifted one of the pieces and saw cooked beef underneath. Oh no, her nonsense all over again, thought Angela in vexed distress. And she dares scold the poor girl and hurl obscenities at her!
She went to Mooi Lan’s room. The girl was there, her eyes red with crying. She had changed into one of her good dresses for going out, and was putting her things into a large suitcase.
“Mooi Lan, what are you doing?” Angela asked anxiously. “I’m going home to Johore Bahru,” said the girl with some petulance, her lips quivering. “This is your home, Mooi Lan,” said Angela placatingly and she made the girl sit down and tell her what had happened.
Old Mother, as Angela had suspected, had started brewing her medicine again and forgotten about it. She lost her temper when Mooi Lan reminded her of it, accusing the girl of continuous harassment. In her anger, she flung the plate of beef on to the floor; Mooi Lan had just finished frying the beef and put it on a plate on the table, but Old Mother had insisted that the oil from the sizzling beef had gone into her medicine and contaminated it.
“What was she saying about the grocer’s assistant, the neighbours and Doctor? What was she talking about?” inquired Angela. Mooi Lan began to weep noisily.
“She saw me talking to the grocer’s man,” explained Mooi Lan. “He said something, and I laughed, and then she came out and scolded me and said that I was behaving improperly.”
“What about Doctor?” asked Angela, frowning.
“I served Doctor his lunch; Doctor asked me for more chillies or something like that, I’ve forgotten, and she called me aside, after lunch, and told me it wasn’t proper for me to speak to Doctor or be around when he was eating.”
“But that’s absurd!” exclaimed Angela angrily. “You’ve been doing that for years! Why has she suddenly become so irritating?”
“I’m leaving,” said the girl, now dry-eyed. She zipped up the suitcase.
“Wait,” said Angela with mounting panic, for she trusted this girl. Mooi Lan was also the only one who could handle Michael, keep away the idiot one. “Wait, Mooi Lan. Please don’t act in a hurry. You know that I like you very much. You’ve’ been with us for more than four years now, and are like one of us. Doctor and I like you very much, and the children adore their chae-chae.”
There was a softening; the girl began to weep again. She was obviously torn.
“Mooi Lan, listen,” said Angela, going closer to the girl and holding her arm. “The new house will be ready soon. It will have a separate wing for the old one as I’ve told you. You will then no longer have to tolerate her. I shall be getting a servant just to take care of her. She will be quite separate from the rest of us. Are you prepared to put up with all this for a few more months for our sakes?” The girl looked down. Angela helped her to unpack.
She was extremely annoyed with her mother-in-law, and her annoyance mounted to anger when the old one came to her and once again began abusing Mooi Lan.
“Beware, beware of the snake!” cried the old one maliciously. Angela quivered with indignation but she managed to say, with great restraint, “Mooi Lan has been with us for four years and has given excellent service. If you don’t like her, I shall tell her to keep out of your way. In this way, you needn’t be bothered by her at all. You are already old, Mother,” she added, “and should not be troubled by the young. If they do wrong, it’s their own undoing; the old should not be bothered.”
Go and play mahjong, go out shopping, go travelling like Mee Kin’s mother, go anywhere but for God’s sake don’t make yourself a nuisance at home. Angela shrieked silently.
“The lunacy of old age,” she confided to Dorothy who had rung up that evening to congratulate her about Mark. Angela was in no mood to speak of Mark. “She gives endless trouble. She’s become quite paranoid, thinking everyone’s out to criticise her. Michael is the only one she’s able to get along with – she finds fault with everyone, even my little Michelle!”
It was impossible to send her back to the old house, to live with Ah Kum Soh and the idiot foster-son, Angela explained when Dorothy made the suggestion. Old Mother’s health was not too good; her ankle had not healed completely and her eyes were beginning to give her trouble. She could fall dead in that wretched wooden house and nobody would know, with the irresponsible Ah Kum Soh always away at mahjong and the idiot one more a burden than a help. Her health had been good until she was sent to stay with Wee Tiong and Gek Choo. The one month in that cramped flat, taking care of the sick baby, had taken an unfair toll on the old one’s health and spirits. Now it looked as if her mind was getting unhinged, for she had begun to have this persecution complex.
Dorothy asked when Wee Siong was returning from Australia; she knew about the favourite youngest son.
“Oh, don’t talk to me about that brother-in-law,” cried Angela. “Did I tell you that he’s in some strange Christian sect now – he and the Australian divorcee separated sometime back – and goes around preaching? Recently he sent to every one of us some religious pamphlets. Full of fiery messages of salvation and that kind of thing. The old one had better give up all hope of him; he’s going to prove her biggest disappointment.”
“An old folks’ home?” Dorothy tentatively suggested, then promptly dismissed the suggestion, the old folks’ homes in Singapore being well known for their squalor.
“Oh, no, not an old folks’ home,” exclaimed Angela, not thinking of the squalor but of the embarrassment it would create. Boon had been more cheerful of late; the hope of being called by Minister to stand in the coming elections for a seat vacated by a Member of Parliament, was being revived by certain signals being sent out by Minister, known for frequently changing his mind about people and situations. The astrologer’s predictions might prove correct after all.
“So far, so good,” said Angela to Mee Kin who telephoned to ask how things were going, having learnt of Angela’s problems.
“Mooi Lan is going about her work as usual, though she’s not her usual happy lively self. The old one remains sullen and keeps to her room all the time. As long as she doesn’t provoke a quarrel, she’s tolerable.”
But the nex
t day Angela rang to report distressing developments.
“Mooi Lan’s gone back home to Johore Bahru,” cried Angela, vexed beyond words. “She must have been so upset that she left without even phoning me. I came back to find her gone. Do you know, I simply refused to listen to the old one who, as usual, was incoherent in her abusive accusations of the poor girl. What can I do? It’s difficult to get another girl like Mooi Lan. I dread the thought of a new servant!”
The next-door neighbour told her that there had been a quarrel. The idiot one was there too. There was a great deal of shouting, and Mooi Lan finally ran out of the house, crying, with only a few things thrown into a paper bag. Later Ah Kum Soh came to take the idiot one back. “Oh, I can’t bear this! They are such thorns in my side!” cried Angela with vehemence. “It’s not fair that I should be the only one carrying this dreadful burden. That Wee Tiong and his wife have cleverly extricated themselves from the situation; that useless Wee Nam and his wife can always plead financial and all sorts of problems to escape any share of the responsibility; that fanatic in Australia is too busy with his religion and preaching to be bothered. Why is it that poor Boon and I and the children have to bear all the pain?”
She drove all the way to Johore Bahru to Mooi Lan’s house, a humble thatched house in the heart of a coconut plantation. Angela reached the place, hot and panting. Mooi Lan’s mother, a thin nervous-looking woman, was with the girl. Her younger sisters crowded round, looking in awe at Angela whose presence in that small thatched house with its floor of broken cement drew a few curious neighbours to hang around and watch.
Mooi Lan refused to return. She said, with a sob, that she could not take it any more from Old Mother. She had tried to prevent the idiot one from going into Michael’s room, and Old Mother had struck her across the face for being disrespectful. No, she would not return.
The Catherine Lim Collection Page 11
