For the rest of the morning, Gimme Lao would be strapped to a squat bamboo contraption which served as an innocent box stool upright, but when flipped on its side, instantly morphed into its evil twin, a devious seat designed with holding bars that pinned down the toddler’s legs and made it impossible to disentangle from without aid from an adult.
It was not that Grandma Toh derived pleasure from sadistic modes of infant care. She had to secure Gimme Lao safely in one corner of the kitchen while she worked. Grandma Toh cooked and sold sambal chilli for a living. Her specialties were sambal belachan and sambal jeruk. The morning routine began noisily as she threw handfuls of red chilli into the mortar and, using a pestle, pounded them furiously till the skin broke and the seeds were crushed. Once the chilli had been ground into a flaming red paste, she added in a handful of garlic, half a large onion and her own secret recipe of belachan. This last ingredient Grandma Toh concocted once a month by steaming sun dried krill, mashing it into a paste and allowing it to ferment over several weeks. Her secret was to add in copious amounts of shallot paste and sugar right before she toasted the belachan to unleash the flavour. The spicy mix was then introduced into a preheated pan with a thin layer of vegetable oil. For the rest of the morning, Grandma Toh would patiently stir the belachan batch by batch until the mix absorbed the oil and morphed into a heavy paste that was both menacingly dark and alluringly red. For sambal jeruk, she added in kaffir lime to give it that tongue-teasing sting.
It took Gimme Lao many weeks to get accustomed to the oppressive aroma of the sambal that permeated the kitchen every morning. Eventually, he stopped crying and choking from the overpowering smell and continued playing with his toys nonchalantly even when the toasting was at its peak. Grandma Toh scheduled his toilet breaks in accordance with her own. She would disengage Gimme from the bamboo contraption, carry him to the toilet, remove both his diaper and her pants and position herself and him over the squat toilet. Strangely enough, Grandma Toh’s pee cascading into the ceramic receptacle never failed to trigger a corresponding release from the toddler. Once, when Grandma Toh was in a cheeky mood, she experimented by regulating her pee in tiny little squirts and giggled herself silly when Gimme Lao copied her rhythm. It was a pity there was no one else around to share the comedy.
It would be past noon when Barber Bay came in for lunch. The barbershop occupied a corner unit on the ground floor of their apartment building. The shop used to belong to Grandma Toh’s husband before he passed away. Barber Bay, who had graduated from apprenticeship to a business partnership with the husband, promised him he would help take care of Grandma Toh and their daughter Elizabeth. In exchange, he became co-owner of the shop space with the widow. Every day at noon, Barber Bay would pull down the shutters to the shop, climb the seven flights of stairs up the building and join Grandma Toh for lunch. There was a lift that served landings four, eight and twelve, but Barber Bay claimed he needed the exercise.
There was no doubt that Barber Bay was a hardworking man by nature. After Grandma Toh’s husband died, Barber Bay terminated the services of the cleaning lady and took over the tasks himself. He arrived an hour early every morning to give the place a meticulous sweep and mop before the first customer sauntered in. After the last customer for the night left, he boiled water to soak and wash the face towels and left them to dry overnight under the ceiling fan. He made use of the lull in between customers to go through the barbering tools with a toothbrush, removing hair and beard follicles from between the sharp metallic teeth. Once a week he also climbed onto a stool to dust the ceiling fan and spray-wiped the mirrors with window cleaning detergent. In fact, the barbershop became cleaner and brighter after the cleaning lady stopped cleaning the place.
Grandma Toh prepared a simple lunch for the two of them that repeated itself every seven days. On Monday, it was steamed rice with crispy fried ikan bilis, roasted peanuts and a thin egg omelette. On Tuesday, it was Teochew porridge boiled to the consistency of glue, with a salted egg and pickled vegetables. Wednesday was the day Grandma Toh splurged a little and cooked minced pork porridge. Thursday saw a return to steamed rice, accompanied by stir-fried bean sprouts with salted fish. On Fridays and Saturdays, Grandma Toh permitted their palates a little variety by switching to bee hoon, served with fish ball soup one day and fried with sambal chilli the next. She made it a practice to cook excess on Saturday, so that she had leftovers for Sunday, when she ate alone. On Sundays, Barber Bay attended church together with her daughter Elizabeth.
Barber Bay was an easy man to cook for. Though he did not like porridge in any form and detested the taste of bean sprouts and salted fish, he was too much of a gentleman to risk upsetting Grandma Toh. So for three days a week, he humbly endured a lunch that did not please his palate. He quietly chewed his food and watched as Grandma Toh clamped Gimme Lao between her thighs and shovelled food into his mouth. Though he secretly winced when he saw the toddler struggle with the humongous portion per shovel, he was too polite to criticise Grandma Toh’s judgement. What would a bachelor of 40 years and counting know of infant care?
After lunch, Barber Bay would pick up the twin sets of multitiered woven cane containers, within which Grandma Toh had packed labelled jars of sambal belachan and sambal jeruk. Balancing them using a bamboo pole resting on his shoulder, Barber Bay followed a circular delivery route within a 20-block radius. There were a dozen hawkers selling laksa, fried rice and soup noodles who depended on Grandma Toh as their sole sambal chilli supplier. The consistency of her product and the reliability of Barber Bay’s delivery schedule had secured their trust and loyalty for over a decade.
Unfortunately, Barber Bay’s humble nature also encouraged devious hawkers to take advantage of him. The original agreement was to have them return the empty jars from the preceding day washed, dried and ready for refill. The laksa hawker tested the ground one day by presenting Barber Bay with unwashed jars, claiming that his wife sprained her wrist and could barely cope with the washing of the bowls and chopsticks. Being the benign and compassionate soul that he was, Barber Bay wished her a speedy recovery and accepted the jars in their dirty condition. But when the wrist in question failed to recover after a week, Grandma Toh balked. She gave specific instructions for Barber Bay not to accept any more unwashed jars from the laksa stall. A fresh batch of sambal chilli would only be delivered in exchange for washed and dried jars.
Barber Bay found himself caught in a dilemma. He was a foot soldier sent to the battlefield unarmed and unready for confrontation. When the laksa hawker waved away his fumbling threat and demanded a fresh batch of sambal chilli, he gave in very quickly. The mission having turned out a total fiasco, Barber Bay dreaded the imminent tongue lashing from Grandma Toh. In fact, he dreaded it so much he decided to stop by the barbershop and quickly wash and dry the incriminating jars himself. Grandma Toh was thus led to believe that the laksa hawker succumbed to her threat and the situation was back to normal.
But the situation got worse. When the chicken rice hawker and the fishball noodle hawker saw what was happening, they decided to ride on the recalcitrant’s coattails. Horrified at the spreading mutiny, Barber Bay had to implement damage control. He quickly altered his circular delivery route and adopted a twisted butterfly pattern, such that the mutinying trio would be served last, and no one else could copy their insurrection.
Grandma Toh began to suspect something was amiss when Barber Bay returned from his delivery duty close to an hour late every day. She did not quite believe him when he told her that he volunteered to deliver lunch to the fishball noodle hawker’s frail old mother in her home. So one fine day, she forewent her favourite radio soap opera and went downstairs to tail Barber Bay on his round. She was furious when she discovered the truth. Although Barber Bay was made miserable by the chiding, he was secretly glad Grandma Toh finally took control.
The following Saturday, Grandma Toh carried Gimme Lao in her arms and made her way to the market. Stopping at the laksa stall, she ordered
six packets of laksa to go. She stared down the laksa hawker when he laid out his palm for payment. “I am the one collecting payment here,” she growled. “These six packets are in lieu of the washing fees for your sambal jars. I will be back next Saturday for more.”
As Grandma Toh predicted, the laksa hawker decided it was not worth the weekly harassment, and his wife’s wrist instantly enjoyed full recovery. Grandma Toh celebrated her inspired suppression of the lead mutineer by inviting Aunty Seah and Gimme Lao’s parents to join herself and Barber Bay for a laksa treat. The last packet she kept for her daughter Elizabeth when she returned home that night. The next Saturday, they all had chicken rice. The last mutineer, however, surrendered before time and deprived them of their anticipated treat of fishball noodles.
Grandma Toh trusted Barber Bay to handle the barbershop accounts by himself. At the end of every month, she would wave him off when he tried to show her the account books after handing her an envelope containing her share of the earnings.
“Do you see me popping in to the shop every day to check on the customer flow? I don’t, because I trust you. So did my late husband. If we didn’t, we would offer you our daughter’s hand in marriage, so that we could make you part of our family and remove any reason for you to cheat. You understand?”
Barber Bay blushed and lowered his head to focus on his bowl of rice. He wondered if Grandma Toh was aware he had a crush on her daughter Elizabeth. She was only 13 when he first apprenticed for her father. Over the years, she had blossomed into a fine young lady. He looked forward to the evenings, when Grandma Toh made Elizabeth deliver his dinner to the barbershop on her way out. He would freeze in the midst of his occupation and let the unfolded razor knife rest on the stubble, or the blending shears hover over the frizz, or the scoop end of the digger lean in against the ear canal—and watch silently as Elizabeth glided over to the far end, placed the dinner container next to the sink and glided out again just as gracefully.
Barber Bay sighed. He wished he knew what Elizabeth thought of him.
Back when Barber Bay was an apprentice under her father, Elizabeth was tasked to fetch their dinner. Her father made it a routine to grill the girl about her academic progress and the friends she mixed with. Listening in, Barber Bay became enmeshed in her school life. He knew she excelled in music and art and frequently topped her class in English language. He also knew she struggled hopelessly with mathematics and found physics and chemistry lessons a torture. He knew the names of the two girls who were part of her clique in school and was secretly glad she was too shy for boys.
Once, when Elizabeth mentioned that her music teacher had encouraged her to take up piano lessons, her father snorted. Where would they get the money to buy a piano? There were 168 families who occupied the single bedroom units in the apartment building they lived in. As far as he knew, none of the families owned a piano. An electric rice cooker was the luxury item every family was striving for. A television set might follow. But a piano was miles off the wish list.
Barber Bay lost sleep over the look of disappointment on Elizabeth’s face. But lying in bed one night and cooling himself with a straw fan, he was struck by a brilliant idea. Every Sunday morning he had to visit his brother, who was then serving a five-year sentence in Queenstown Remand Prison. There was a church near the prison, and he often heard the piano accompaniment as the congregation sang the hymns. Might not the church pastor be agreeable to let Elizabeth use their piano for practice on some afternoons?
The following Sunday, Barber Bay loitered near the church after his prison visit and waited till service was over. Though normally timid and reticent, Barber Bay stepped into the vestibule with uncharacteristic boldness and asked to speak to the pastor. He was stumped, however, when the man in the cassock brought to him turned out to be Caucasian. Barber Bay spoke no English.
“Do you speak Hokkien?” There was a sparkle of mischief in his eyes. The pastor never failed to enjoy that look of astonishment when a local first heard him speak their dialect.
Relieved, Barber Bay made known his request. The pastor pondered for a minute, then looked up and smiled, “We might have agreed to the arrangement if the request came from our church member. Why don’t you bring the young lady to church next Sunday? Our service starts at eight thirty in the morning. I will see you both then.”
The next morning, Barber Bay intercepted Elizabeth on her way to school. As he unfurled his plan, her initial apprehension and confusion cartwheeled first into astonishment at his enthusiasm, then excitement at the resurrection of a lost hope and finally a deeply felt gratitude. She had no idea this apprentice working for her father was such a kind-hearted soul.
It went without saying that this ought to be kept a secret from her parents. Elizabeth told them that she had been roped in to the school choir and had to attend weekend practice. On the following Sunday, she sneaked downstairs at sunrise to meet Barber Bay. He was waiting for her outside the barbershop, dressed in a freshly ironed Crocodile International branded shirt, his hair neatly parted at the left and glossed over with Brylcreem and his hands holding on to a brand new bicycle he had bought two days ago.
“I thought we were going by bus?” Elizabeth blushed slightly as she balanced herself riding pillion.
“If we are going to take the bus every Sunday, it is going to add up. This bicycle will cost us less in the long run.”
It was a 45-minute cycle to the church. Elizabeth found it wobbly and frowned. Barber Bay cherished the intimacy of her hands on his waist and smiled. He imagined the warmth of her proximity next to him on the pew and looked forward to the church service. In fact, he was already looking forward to the series of Sundays ahead with sweet anticipation.
Upon arrival at the church, they were led to the reception table at the vestibule. After registration, the woman behind the table asked for their preferred language. Barber Bay was slow to realise that the innocent question was pivotal in derailing his plan of church-based courtship.
“Not to worry, sir.” The woman looked at Barber Bay benevolently. “Although Pastor Clarence delivers his sermons in English, we have translators upstairs who do concurrent interpretations in Hokkien, Teochew and Cantonese. If you will just follow Brother Miak here, he will lead you upstairs to the Hokkien sector.”
Stunned, Barber Bay watched sorrowfully as another usher led Elizabeth down the main aisle. From where he was positioned upstairs, he was unable to see the larger congregation downstairs. Neither was he able to focus on the translator, who was earnestly interpreting the ongoing sermon. A sense of despair overcame Barber Bay. It was apparent that the God of this church had a very different plan for him.
Barber Bay was glad when the session finally ended after three tortuous hours. He rushed down the stairs and waited for Elizabeth. His heart sank when he saw her emerge in the company of two other girls. They were Elizabeth’s schoolmates, and she was going to take the bus home together with them.
Pastor Clarence was stationed at the door to greet the congregation on their way out. He was slightly alarmed when he saw the look of dejection Barber Bay wore. Barber Bay declined his invitation to stay back for a chat and mentioned that he had to visit his brother in prison. A warm glow engulfed Pastor Clarence’s chest. It was pure miracle. A love for music was planted in a girl’s heart. A love for the girl brought this man to step into the church, in the hope that the girl could practise on the church piano. And the man had a brother in prison who awaited salvation. God always did have a plan.
Barber Bay, on the other hand, did not like the way God tampered with his plan. He wanted to spend time with Elizabeth every Sunday, but God had planted a hundred worshippers between them. He bought a bicycle so they could enjoy the morning breeze together riding to church, but God provided Elizabeth with companions for a bus ride. It was not till years later, when his heart was softened by God’s grace and his mind enlightened by God’s wisdom, that he was able to look back and realise that God was answering the bicycle
seller’s prayers.
Three Sundays later, Elizabeth became Elizabeth. She made Barber Bay continue to call her Toh Yee Wen at home, as she was not ready to reveal to her parents that she had accepted Christ. Pastor Clarence agreed to let her practise on the church piano two afternoons a week, so she was able to take up piano lessons in school. As far as her parents were concerned, she was engaged in choir practice.
In later years, Elizabeth would recall the Monday morning that Barber Bay intercepted her on her way to school and proposed the idea of playing on the church piano as the first instance of God’s grace at work in her life. Why else would the taciturn apprentice at her father’s barbershop behave in such an uncharacteristic manner? The young man had never caught her attention before and after introducing her to church, again faded silently into the background. He was there to anchor the barbershop business when her father succumbed to cancer of the liver several years later. He took over the barbershop operations after her father passed on and lent her mother a hand when she started cooking and selling sambal chilli for income. He was again there to smooth out the sour discord when her mother finally discovered that she had secretly accepted Christ. Deep in her heart, Elizabeth saw Barber Bay as the silent angel God had sent to look after her. That God’s grace knew no bounds moved her deeply.
Elizabeth never did recover from the clash with her mother over her secret faith. Grandma Toh had a Goddess Kuan Yin altar in the kitchen, to which she offered joss sticks every morning to pray for health, wealth and safety. According to the Bible, any other form of idol worship was an abomination. Elizabeth felt guilty that she had to hide the shine of her faith that was true and beautiful. The gold chain with the cross pendant had to suffer the darkness in the purse till she left the house. She felt awful whenever Grandma Toh was busy and instructed her to offer the joss sticks at the altar, which she could not rightfully refuse. In a way, she was glad when Grandma Toh finally discovered her secret. The torrent of verbal abuse Grandma Toh bestowed upon her only served to justify her rebellion. She now had permission to stand up and fight for her faith.
Let's Give It Up for Gimme Lao! Page 2
