Copyright © 2016 by Sebastian Sim
Cover Illustration by Yong Wen Yeu
All rights reserved
Published in Singapore by Epigram Books
www.epigrambooks.sg
NATIONAL LIBRARY BOARD, SINGAPORE CATALOGUING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA NAMES: Sim, Sebastian, 1966-
TITLE: Let’s give it up for Gimme Lao! / written by Sebastian Sim.
DESCRIPTION: Singapore : Epigram Books, 2016.
IDENTIFIERS: OCN 936527164
ISBN: 978-981-4757-32-4 (paperback)
ISBN: 978-981-4757-33-1 (ebook)
SUBJECTS: LCSH: Families—Fiction. | Singapore—Fiction.
CLASSIFICATION: LCC PR9570.S53 DDC S823—dc23
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
FIRST EDITION: March 2016
To My Mother
ONE
THERE WERE THREE things Gimme Lao did not know about himself.
The first occurred at his point of birth. The second happened way before he was born. And the third repeated itself many times over his life.
Strictly speaking, the third was not about him. It was about the pivotal impact he had on other people, which he never found out about.
Take for example Yik Fan. Gimme Lao and Yik Fan went to the same primary school. Being two years apart, they were not in the same class, nor did they end up in the same extracurricular sports team. As far as he was concerned, Gimme Lao never knew Yik Fan existed.
Yik Fan, on the other hand, would never forget Gimme Lao.
Specifically, Yik Fan would never forget the spectacle of Gimme Lao’s public humiliation on stage during school assembly. Not the fierce sobbing of the subject of ridicule, nor the malicious smirk of the disciplinary master as he made the boy put on a frock and applied cherry red lipstick on his lips. The entire assembly was collapsing in riotous laughter, and no one noticed that Yik Fan was trembling with fear.
When Yik Fan reached home that afternoon, he quickly retrieved the lipstick he hid in his socks drawer and threw it down the rubbish chute. For the following two Sundays after his mother left for the market, he refrained from slipping into her high heels and prancing around the house like he usually did. By the time the third Sunday rolled around, the suppressed urge had become an unbearable itch. The boy succumbed. But the thrill of slipping his feet into the familiar comfort of his mother’s high heels was sullied by a new apprehension. He saw his eventual downfall with clarity and certainty. It was only a matter of time before he would be paraded on stage, a subject of ridicule for the entire world’s entertainment.
Yik Fan countered the fear with pain. He brought out his mother’s nail clipper and clipped deep into his toe, tearing off a tender chunk of skin and flesh along with a sliver of toenail. His mother chided him for being careless.
The boy continued to be careless. As a teenager, he was always scraping his heels against the spikes on his bicycle chainring. When he was riding his first motorcycle, the exhaust pipe must have seared his thighs a dozen times. After he got married, his wife was shocked at how easily Yik Fan could hurt himself. There were always razor blade cuts on his lips and bruised nails where he had stubbed his toes. She sighed and accepted the fact that her husband was hopelessly clumsy.
Yik Fan accepted the penalty of pain for the right to continue with his secret fetish. After his firstborn arrived, his wife was so preoccupied with the baby she left him very much to himself. That was when Yik Fan became emboldened. He bought a new kimono cardigan, a crepe gown and a split dance dress in sultry red to expand his repertoire. On Sunday afternoons when his wife brought the baby to the in-laws, Yik Fan decked himself out in elaborate outfits and enacted scenes of fantasy. He was supposedly a damsel in distress chained up in a dungeon on that fateful afternoon when his mother-in-law came in unannounced to retrieve the tin of baby formula. He panicked at the sound of the key at the front door and dropped his key to the handcuff. The look of horror on his mother-in-law’s face searing into his psyche was many times more painful than the multiple burns from the motorcycle exhaust pipe. After she left, he extricated himself from the bondage and sat in a daze for a full hour before realising that it was all over. The last image he saw before he applied the blade to his wrist was that of Gimme Lao on stage at the school assembly 20 years ago, sobbing fiercely as the crowd roared with laughter.
Gimme Lao did not know that. Neither did the disciplinary master who humiliated him on stage. Both of them went on living their lives, oblivious to the fact that their actions planted shame and fear so deep in a little boy’s psyche, it led him to end his own life 20 years later.
The second thing that Gimme Lao did not know about himself happened way before he was born. Both his parents decided it was better that Gimme Lao not know. Grandma Toh, the only other person who knew, was sworn to secrecy.
Grandma Toh was a widow who lived next door to Gimme Lao’s parents in their single bedroom flat unit. She was entrusted with babysitting duties while Gimme Lao’s parents worked. She understood the gravity of the secret she was supposed to keep and agreed wholeheartedly that Gimme Lao should never be told. But the secret grew like a throbbing tumour in her throat. It was a relief to her when Aunty Seah, who lived two doors away, accidentally scraped her foot against the lid of the secret and proceeded to pry it open with curiosity.
“Don’t you find it strange that the boy’s grandparents never visit?” Aunty Seah mentioned casually when she came visiting one afternoon.
Grandma Toh bit her lip as she rocked the baby suckling the milk bottle in her arms. She prayed that Aunty Seah would veer off the topic and not tempt her.
“When the young couple moved in a year ago, I thought it was nice to have newlyweds join us in the block. The husband was especially amiable. Mild-tempered fellow. Can’t say the same for the wife though. I am pretty sure she’s the one who wears the pants in the house.” Aunty Seah continued with the gossip. “But what irks me is that the couple is so secretive. No one in the block knows about their past or their background. Seriously, what is the big secret that they cannot share?”
Grandma Toh felt an actual, physical constriction in her throat. It was such a torture to know and be forbidden to tell.
“And then when the young wife got pregnant, all the neighbours were happy for them. We kept a lookout for the inexperienced couple and gave them all the help they needed. You even volunteered to be her confinement nurse after the baby was born. But don’t you find it weird that the couple receives no visits whatsoever from their parents or their relatives? I mean, how would the couple cope if you had not stepped forward to take over babysitting duties when they went back to work?”
“Well, I did promise my cousin I would look after the young couple,” Grandma Toh muttered.
“How did your cousin come into the picture?” Aunty Seah asked, confused.
Grandma Toh sighed. It was simply too difficult to hold her tongue. “My cousin works as a maid for the Lao family, the one that owns the Three Rifles fashion brand. They have a massive mansion in Grange Road.”
Aunty Seah’s eyes widened. “Wait a minute. Are you telling me that Lao Sheng Yang, the father of this baby, who works as an administrative clerk in an insurance company, comes from one of the richest families in town?”
Grandma Toh nodded. It was so satisfying to be in a position to dispense secrets by the spoonful into a willing ear and watch the amazement grow.
“Was he kicked out of the house and disowned by the family because they were against his
marriage?” Aunty Seah ventured a guess.
Grandma Toh frowned. It was a letdown when the listener was too quick to guess the ending. “It is a long and complicated story.”
“You have to tell me.”
“You have to keep it a secret.”
Aunty Seah nodded eagerly.
“My cousin has worked for the Lao family for decades. She practically watched Lao Sheng Yang and his two brothers grow up. She was there too when the boys’ mother succumbed to tuberculosis and became bedridden for many years. That was when Huang Rhoo was brought into the family as a goddaughter to look after the ailing mother.”
Aunty Seah’s eyes widened again. “You mean to say Huang Rhoo, the baby’s mother, was Lao Sheng Yang’s godsister? That is kind of scandalous.”
“There is more to it,” Grandma Toh continued. “Huang Rhoo’s father, who worked for Sheng Yang’s father, was a compulsive gambler. He had to beg Sheng Yang’s father constantly to cover his debts. In a way, he was selling his daughter to the family. Tuberculosis is contagious, and Sheng Yang’s father would rather have someone from outside his family look after his wife.”
“So that was how the couple met and fell in love,” Aunty Seah nodded.
“Both were in their mid-teens then. Huang Rhoo was doing very well in school before she had to quit and take on the nursing role. She begged Sheng Yang to continue tutoring her in the evenings. In fact, my cousin told me that between the two, Huang Rhoo was the smarter one. She could tell because whenever the two played Chinese chess, Huang Rhoo often lost her temper and chided Sheng Yang for making badly calculated moves. It’s a pity she never went back to school. Otherwise she could easily get a better job now, instead of the pharmacy assistant job she currently holds.”
“Don’t we all know about her temper,” Aunty Seah raised an eyebrow. “Remember the time she kicked up a big fuss with the family living upstairs who hung their wet laundry out over hers and dirtied her drying bedsheets? This is one woman with a fierce temper.”
“Well, not unexpectedly, the young couple developed feelings for one another over time.” Grandma Toh ignored the rude digression from the story she was telling. “When the mother eventually passed away two years ago, they decided to inform the family of their intention to get married. That was when all hell broke loose. My cousin told me that Sheng Yang’s father chased the girl out of the house and gave his son an ultimatum. Either he break off the relationship, or he would be disowned and cut off from the family inheritance. That was how the couple ended up fending for themselves in our neighbourhood. Now you should understand why the two are so secretive about their past. And remember that you gave your promise. Keep this secret to yourself!”
“Of course I will,” Aunty Seah said. “But what I do not understand is, what is the big deal about the marriage? Granted the girl is poor and her father is a compulsive gambler. But is that reason enough to disown the son?”
Grandma Toh bit her lip hard. She was hoping to get away with sharing only half the secret.
“Is there more to the story?” Aunty Seah was as sharp as a brand new pair of scissors.
“I have told you that Huang Rhoo’s father is a compulsive gambler. Why do you think Sheng Yang’s father keeps him on the payroll and covers his debts?”
“Why indeed?”
“Because they are half brothers. The patriarch of the Lao family has more than one mistress hidden outside. So Sheng Yang’s father has no choice but to keep him and two other half brothers on the family business payroll.”
Aunty Seah’s eyes widened for the third time. “Which makes Lao Sheng Yang and his wife cousins? That is incestuous!”
“Which is why you must keep this secret to yourself,” Grandma Toh reminded her in a hushed tone. “The baby must not know. Ever.”
Aunty Seah looked at the suckling baby with sympathy. “Poor little bastard. He could have inherited such a huge family fortune but for the sins of his parents.”
Grandma Toh slapped Aunty Seah on the thigh and warned, “Enough! Don’t make me regret telling you this.”
Aunty Seah did deliver on her promise. Gimme Lao grew up not knowing that he was born rich, yet robbed of his inheritance by true, defiant love.
The first thing that Gimme Lao did not know about himself occurred on the day he was born. That was the day half the population on the island was glued to the television. Not their personal set at home, for most of them could not afford one back in 1965. They were hanging around various community centres, where communal television sets were mounted on wooden pedestals, from which arced stone benches fanned out. Rumour was abuzz that the prime minister was going to announce a momentous piece of news at any moment.
The other half of the population was engaged in their quotidian affairs: clipping their nails, picking their teeth or scratching that persistent itch in their ass cracks. Positioned at the outer circle of the rippling shock wave, they received the terrible news an hour or two late. Some of them had the audacity to question the news bearers. Did they hear it right? Did the prime minister really mean something else? But the news bearers were indignant in their own defence. The prime minister choked and shed a tear on national television. There was no doubt about it.
The entire population on the island had been unceremoniously kicked out of their own country. They were no more a part of Malaysia. The Mother had disowned them.
For some strange reason, Gimme Lao the unborn baby must have experienced prenatal cognisance. He refused to be purged from his mother’s womb. For nine whole hours, his mother shrieked and howled, scratched his father till she left claw marks on his arm and at one point even punched the nurse who was screaming at her for making too much noise. Eventually, Gimme Lao had to exit. He emerged looking bewildered, unsure whether the world that awaited him was hostile or benign. But the nurse was mad at the mother and took revenge by giving the baby a merciless pinch on the thigh. That was the moment Gimme Lao recognised hostility and bawled.
Gimme Lao’s father was a soft man who shed tears easily. He whimpered with pain when his wife’s nails dug deep and drew blood on his arm. He snivelled with joy at the sight of his firstborn bawling his tiny lungs out. He would later choke up with emotion when he found out that the island would no longer be flying the Malaysian flag.
In the midst of all the excitement, Gimme Lao’s father did not realise that his was the first baby to be born in independent Singapore.
At that point in time, this significant little detail caught no one’s attention. Gimme Lao’s mother was too exhausted, his father too excited and the doctor who delivered him too caught up with the next three babies arriving on his shift.
Three days had passed before a journalist finally called up the hospital and wanted to know which baby was the first born past midnight on 9 August. The hospital administrator flipped through the nurses’ schedule and summoned the nurse who was on midnight shift. “Go check the records on your shift and let me have the name.”
The nurse was annoyed to discover that according to the records, a Chinese baby named Lao Chee Hong was born one minute past midnight on 9 August to a mother named Lao Huang Rhoo. She was pretty certain that this was the woman who had punched her in the face.
Flipping to the next record sheet, the nurse saw that a baby girl was born six minutes past midnight. That was the moment the idea struck her. She extracted a Zebra-brand ballpoint pen from her pocket, tested to make sure the ink matched and carefully added a horizontal stroke to the numerical one. Gimme Lao became the second baby to be born, seven minutes past midnight.
It was by this insidious horizontal stroke that Gimme Lao was robbed of his rightful title of the first baby to be born in independent Singapore.
No one ever found out the truth.
TWO
GIMME LAO DID not like Grandma Toh at all. He did not like the fact that she made him eat when he wasn’t hungry, bathe when he wasn’t ready and sleep when he still wanted to play. He hated it when Grandma Toh sh
ovelled piping hot minced pork porridge into his mouth with an aluminium spoon so large it stretched his lips till the corners hurt. He disliked the brute strength Grandma Toh employed when she wrapped a hand towel round her palm, ran a damp bar of soap over it and scrubbed his skin with a total absence of mercy till it turned raw and red. And when it came around to the early afternoon soap opera on the radio, he would be made to drop his toys, lie on the sofa and rest his head on her lap. What he detested most was the suffocation he had to fight when Grandma Toh rocked and pressed her ample bosom onto his face. If he fussed, Grandma Toh would shush him fiercely. Nothing must disrupt the storyteller on the radio spinning yet another hypnotic, mesmerising yarn.
Gimme Lao was also keenly aware that it was Grandma Toh who tore him wailing and clawing from his mother’s arms every morning before his parents disappeared down the corridor. The tearful ritual used to drag on for five minutes or more in the beginning, when Grandma Toh and the young parents restricted their methods to gentle coaxing and persuasion. They soon realised that not only was this ineffective, it often left the mother’s blouse stained with snot and tears. Grandma Toh then decided to employ drastic measures. She wrapped one arm around Gimme’s waist and pinned his kicking legs to her stomach with the other. As Gimme continued to claw at his mother and wail hysterically, Grandma Toh leaned close to his ears and whispered firmly that he ought to let go at the count of three. She then counted aloud. At the third count she secretly secured one of his toes and pinched it hard with the sharp ends of her nails. Gimme would scream, let go of his mother and swing around to pound his tormentor with his tiny fists. At this point, the young parents were free to scuttle down the corridor and make a run for the bus. Eventually, Gimme learnt to let go before the count of three to spare himself the physical agony. His parents never discovered Grandma Toh’s clandestine tactic and would in later years crow over her magical touch in taming the petulant toddler.
Let's Give It Up for Gimme Lao! Page 1
