The Catherine Lim Collection

by Catherine Lim

  At first, the shoppers look upon the beard and giggle. They are amused by the multiplicity of colours – white, black, brown, grey, russet, rust, blonde, even a greenish hue that some of the shoppers speculate to be the effect of a lifelong vegetarian diet.

  “Do you think the multi-colours reflect our multi-racial society?” whispers a woman shopper, giggling a little. Her companion who has been gazing at the luxuriant growth with increasing interest, suddenly gives a little shriek.

  “An insect!” she gasps, “I saw an insect jump in the beard just now. I think it’s a flea, maybe a louse.”

  The crowds who come to look at Goonalaan’s beard are not only shoppers but include those who have heard strange stories about the growth of that feature and want to see it with their own eyes.

  The beard grows and grows.

  The vermin in the beard increase in number, till they are very visible, and can be distinctly seen crawling, hopping, jumping from one segment of beard to another, in search of more congenial spots for mating and breeding.

  The shopping centres blare with national songs about happy, caring Singaporeans who will put the interests of others above their own. The sight of Goonalaan’s beard – unruly and overrun by competitive vermin – has the effect of muting the fervour of these songs, so that after a while, they are not sung anymore. Singaporeans, suddenly confronted by their own rampant selfishness in the proliferating lushness of Goonalaan’s beard, slink past him, yet throw a furtive backward glance at that compelling beard.

  There is a seminar organised by the National Cultural Association in which the topic is “Towards a Caring Society in the Nineties.” But the seminar on the caring society never gets off ground because the image of Goonalaan’s beard indicating the contrary invariably looms large in each speaker’s mind. Precisely at the point when the speaker is extolling the virtues of Singaporeans or expressing a hope for the emergence of those virtues in the nineties, the picture of the beard makes its mental appearance. The speaker then sits down, having lost his trend of thinking and looks sheepish and confused.

  In a debate organised by the National University on the question of whether there is a national identity, the chairperson, in a preliminary laying down of rules for the debaters, states emphatically that any reference to Goonalaan’s beard will not be accepted as a valid debating point. One of the debaters for the motion, to illustrate his point about there being already in existence a national identity, holds up high over his head for all to see a poster of a group of Singaporeans from all walks of life in smiling camaraderie with one another. His opponent leaps up from his seat, cries, “Not true!” and then in defiance of the chairperson’s earlier warning, whips out an enlarged picture of Goonalaan’s beard, bristling with contentious vermin, and cries, ‘And this is the incontrovertible proof!’

  Groups of people continue to cluster around Goonalaan, sitting cross-legged on the ground, and study his beard with a mixture of fascination and timidity. Not all of them are Singaporeans. One is a foreign journalist who now peers at Goonalaan’s beard with intense interest and joy and says he will write an article on it immediately. He takes careful note of the rate of growth of the beard (by now it has grown beyond the navel), the diversity of colours, the texture, the shape. He records the population density of vermin (number of visible vermin per square inch of beard). Most of all, he is interested in the socio-cultural milieu of this vermin population. He records, with increasing enthusiasm, the dynamics of competition among the vermin in the restricted space of the albeit lush beard. He notices in particular a group of young rapidly climbing vermin; from the deepest recesses of Goonalaan’s beard, they scramble out for the bits of food and scab resting on the surface of the beard, often climbing over the heads of older vermin.

  The choicest bits are in that part of the beard closest to Goonalaan’s mouth, and the vermin compete with great ferocity for the space there, the competition often breaking out in open hostility among the different colonies. Some colonies have grown inordinately fat; their round little bodies are replete with food, but that does not prevent them from making nests in the beard for the hoarding of extra food.

  The journalist excitedly records every detail, and quickly despatches his article to his editors.

  And through all this, Goonalaan sits tranquilly on his piece of newspaper, his eyes closed, his features composed. The Chief for Promotion of Tourism is very upset not because Goonalaan’s beard (by now reaching to his knees and so filled with vermin that a continuous low humming sound is heard from it) keeps tourists away but because, on the contrary, it attracts very large crowds of these tourists.

  “I spent hundreds of thousands of dollars doing up the Haw Par Villa,’ wails the Chief, ‘and hundreds of thousands of dollars to restore the Imperial Jade House and my staff and I spent months cracking our heads about how to bring back the delights of Bugis Street for the tourists, down to the last detail of the potholes and the outdoor lavatory with the cement roof, and what do we have? Tourists who ask only to see Goonalaan’s beard!”

  It is true that large numbers of tourists in their sunhats and sunglasses come to gape at Goonalaan’s beard, and are mesmerised by its eloquent power.

  “Real Rolex watches, madam, we Singaporeans very honest, we never cheat,” says the young tout, opening his jacket to reveal a row of gleaming gold watches to the lady tourist who tries to get past him.

  “Never cheat? Go look at Goonalaan’s beard,” snaps the lady and walks away in a huff.

  “65 per cent more Singaporeans think less of money now than they did three years ago,” says a survey commissioned by The Straits Times.

  “Yeah?” says a letter to the newspaper the next day. “Your survey may say so, but Goonalaan’s beard does not. Statistics can be manipulated, but not beards.”

  The Society of Concerned Singaporeans thinks that something should be done about the situation; if allowed to go on, the image that the world will have of Singaporeans will be damaged beyond repair. Furthermore, the national self image has never been poorer, the national self-confidence never lower. Already, the more sensitive Singaporeans are suffering from severe guilt and becoming very defensive and aggressive whenever the subject of beards or hair or vermin or dirt, comes up.

  There is a great deal of discussion about the problem, but so far no solution has been found. Each ministry wants to push the problem to the other. The Ministry for Moral Development which everyone thinks ought to be dealing with the matter is arguing that the problem properly belongs to the Ministry for Tourism which in turn thinks that, in view of Goonalaan’s beard being a likely source for the spread of vermin-caused diseases, the problem should be handled by the Ministry of Health. All agree with some degree of resentment that it is an intractable problem and one that requires very careful handling.

  The only suggestion which has met with any degree of concurrence is that a special seat be created in Parliament for Goonalaan, the condition being that he must shave off his beard or at least give it a thorough cleaning up. It is also suggested that as a Member of Parliament, Goonalaan’s special responsibility be restricted solely to the nurturing of clean beards in the Republic, since he has so conclusively proved a positive relationship between dirty beards and immoral behaviour. In this way, the activities of this very troublesome individual can be curtailed; indeed, the activities may in effect be no more than routine checks on hairdressers and barbers to ensure proper shaving and cleaning of beards and moustaches; and no more than occasional campaigns against hirsutism. With Goonalaan as ‘Minister for Tonsorial Affairs’, a title which he will no doubt be very happy to append to his name, the very vexatious problem of Goonalaan’s beard will be satisfactorily solved at last.

  A Singapore Fairy Tale

  Once upon a time, there was a beautiful princess in Singapore, so beautiful that all came to court her, from far and wide. Actually, she was not a real princess, but the title of ‘Singapore Princess’ conferred upon her in the annual Beaut
y Contest among young maidens, was almost as good as the real thing. Indeed, it was the opinion of all that no real princess in the world could match Singapore Princess in her beauty. Her skin was pure porcelain, her eyes were the perfect shape of almonds, her lips the essence of rosebuds, her tresses a cascade of silken ebony, her breasts, a pair of perfectly shaped and hued apricots ripening on branch, her tiny feet two pink lotus buds in bloom. O the ineffable beauty of Singapore Princess!

  Now there was a Wise Man of Singapore who astonished everybody by the extent and depth of his knowledge and wisdom. This Wise Man was very pleased by the crowning of Singapore Princess because he had actually predicted that one day such a maiden would appear in Singapore and dazzle all with her beauty. The Wise Man had even predicted the exact day when the star would make its appearance in the Singapore firmament. He was able to do this because he had detailed knowledge of the family from which this paragon was sprung.

  It was the Wong family, and they had come, many years ago, from their hometown, Ipoh, in Malaysia, to settle in Singapore. Now Ipoh was well known for the beautiful women it was continually producing; some speculated that it was the special Ipoh soil and water that have also successfully produced the best pomelos and groundnuts in the country. Whatever the cause, the women from Ipoh were renowned for their very fine complexions and delicate features. The Wise Man of Singapore looked closely at the first Wong lady to settle in Singapore: she was extremely lovely even though in those days, feminine charms were hidden behind very loose blouses and trousers. The Wise Man, looking at her, proclaimed that even though she was the most beautiful woman he had seen, there would come one, some time in the future, who would surpass her in loveliness, as the swan surpasses the goose. The Wise Man did not mean to disparage the lady; he only meant to convey the impression of a beauty so great that it was hardly within the power of speech to describe it. In his knowledge and wisdom, he said that it would take three generations for the beauty in the Wong lineage to reach full flowering, and when the final triumph came, it would leave the country spellbound.

  And the Wise Man had predicted correctly – right down to the last detail of design and colour of the swimsuit worn by Singapore Princess as she paraded on the dais, and the men were stunned into a state of speechless wonder, so that a full minute elapsed before they broke into delirious cheers.

  Every eligible bachelor in Singapore wanted to woo Singapore Princess; they came from far and wide, as far away as Pulau Tekong and Kusu Island. But the Princess remained aloof and unattainable, and the wooers went away with sadness in their hearts.

  Now there was somebody who was also very sad, but for a different reason. This was Lady Matchmaker who had been given the awesome responsibility of finding husbands for the plainest and least endowed of Singapore’s maidens. Her job was a very difficult one indeed, and just now, she had more than 150 unwed maidens on her hands, with very little likelihood of their being sought. The crowning of Singapore Princess, and the excitement that it had created among the men, caused this good lady to remark sadly, “Oh, the unfairness of Fate! Why must so much beauty be concentrated in one person? If the Princess’s beauty had been equally distributed among my poor unwed maidens, I’m sure there would be enough for each to be unwed no longer! Oh, the unfairness of it all!”

  The Wise Man of Singapore heard about Lady Matchmaker’s predicament and decided that he would do something to help her. He thought up a plan. And it was this: invitations would be sent out to all the eligible men in Singapore to try to win the hand of Singapore Princess in marriage. To do so, they would have to take part in a contest, and the one who won it would have the Princess as the prize. The trick, of course (and here the Wise Man leaned over to Lady Matchmaker with a conspiratorial wink of his heavily hooded eyes), was to make the contest so very difficult that nobody would succeed. All the hopeful young men would fail miserably, as a result of which they would have to pay a penalty. And the penalty was that (here the Wise Man leaned even closer to Lady Matchmaker and slowly stroked the three venerable long hair on his venerable chin), every one of those who failed would have to take a bride from Lady Matchmaker’s pool of hopefuls.

  When Lady Matchmaker heard this, she clapped her hands in joy, but still she could not help being anxious.

  ‘How are we going to ensure that all the young men will fail the test?’ she asked. ‘I have at present 158 unwed maidens in my care, and I need precisely that number of young men.’

  ‘Leave it to me,’ said the Wise Man of Singapore. ‘I am not called Wise Man for nothing.’

  Soon the news of the contest spread to the furthest corners of the country. Everybody was talking about the contest. In it, each young man aspiring for the hand of Singapore Princess would have to devise seven questions to ask the Wise Man of Singapore, one question for each day of the week. If the Wise Man was unable to answer all the questions, the young man would be the winner and could claim Singapore Princess for his bride. If the Wise Man on the other hand was able to answer the questions, the young man would be led away by Lady Matchmaker.

  Everyone thought that the test was a very difficult one, for the Wise Man of Singapore had such extensive knowledge and wisdom that it would be difficult, nay impossible, to ask him a question for which he would be unable to provide the correct answer. His knowledge was as boundless as the sky, as deep as the ocean. Still, the young men of Singapore were so smitten by the charms of Singapore Princess, that they were prepared to undergo any test. They were of course fully aware of the penalty attached to failure, but being totally enamoured of Singapore Princess, the likes of whom they had never seen and knew they would never see again, they were prepared to face the most direful consequences of failure.

  So the contest began. Oh, the knowledge, the erudition of the Wise Man of Singapore! There was nothing that he did not know. The young men, armed with the most difficult questions that they had racked their brains to devise, were no match for him. He answered every single question correctly. He knew everything.

  “What was the colour of the tie of the first President of Singapore at his inauguration?’ All waited with bated breath. The Wise Man replied calmly and confidently, ‘Blue’ and added, ‘with thin yellow diagonal stripes.”

  “Give the name of the Chinese gentleman who had the most wives, give the number of his wives, the number of his offspring, and the year of his death.”

  The Wise Man, smilingly fingering the venerable hairs on his chin, said, ‘Mr Tan Mong Pee, number of legal wives 11, number of offspring (including those by illegal wives) 74, year of death 1952, at the ripe old age of 88.’

  Everyone gasped.

  “Which part of a woman’s anatomy would it be necessary for her to have a mole if she wished continuous good luck for her husband during the first seven years of their marriage?”

  Here the Wise Man looked down and contemplated his long tapering fingers; the watching crowds thought, “Maybe this one’s got him stumped,” but it was a momentary distraction only, for he looked up and said serenely, “Two centimetres above the right corner of her upper lip.”

  “How much did the Minister of Finance have in his Post Office savings account when he was 11 years old?”

  “Three dollars and seventy-five cents. All in stamps.”

  “What percentage decrease has there been in the choice of the name of “Ah Kow” for male babies over the last 15 years, and what percentage increase has there been in the choice of western names over the same period?”

  “Now that’s a difficult one,” thought the crowd, and looked anxiously at the Wise Man. The Wise Man, by now enjoying the aura of genuine admiration that had gathered around him, said with a benign smile, “65.7 per cent decrease in relation to ‘Ah Kow’; 68.4 per cent increase in relation to western names.”

  The crowd roared their admiration. The poor nonplussed young man whose questions had failed to topple the Wise Man from his seat of knowledge and learning, was led away, looking very dispirited, by Lady Mat
chmaker to claim his bride, an over-eager maiden of 38 who, upon sight of the good-looking young man, broke into a cry of delight and claimed immediate possession.

  And so the questioning went on, and the questions became harder and harder, but the Wise Man could answer them all. And so the saddened young suitors were led away, one by one, to the brides waiting eagerly for them. One of the suitors, on seeing his bride who was twice his size and had enormous projecting front teeth, fell into a swoon, but was soon revived, and very sadly he went away to a far-off part of Singapore and was never heard of or seen again.

  Now there came a young man from the furthermost part of the country, who said that he too wanted to try to win the hand of Singapore Princess. Nobody had seen him before, and all looked at him with pity, for they were certain that, like the rest, he would fail the test, and would have to marry the last remaining unwed maid, an astonishingly plain maid with an enormous mole in the middle of her forehead and very large, coarse-looking hands and feet.

  This young man was the handsomest of the suitors, and as soon as Singapore Princess set eyes on him, she thought, “Oh, I would be so happy to be his wife! Look at his noble mien, his princely bearing!” And she was crestfallen at the thought that like all the others before him, he would be outwitted by the Wise Man of Singapore.

  The young man, exuding confidence, was ready with his questions, one for each day of the week. The crowds came to watch, numbering in the thousands, for the news of the bold young man had spread far and wide and created a stir. Some had come in the expectation of seeing him led off to marry Maiden Big Mole (for that was the somewhat unkind nickname given to the remaining unwed maid); some had come in the hope that this unusual young man would live up to his promise, outwit the Wise Man (who was becoming a little too arrogant in his success) and win the hand of the beauteous Princess.