“Perhaps I should talk to your client too,” the psychiatrist suggested.
“What? Why?” The lawyer became alarmed. When the spotlight flickered on and Brian Brown materialised on the adjacent seat, he was quick to add, “I want my client to know that he has the right not to answer any question of yours that he or I deem irrelevant to the court case at hand.”
“I am sure he understands that,” the psychiatrist remarked coldly. Turning to the deceased, he began his questioning.
“Brian, were you lovers with Karl for two years?”
“Yes, I was.”
“Do you love him deeply?”
“Yes, I do.”
“My client only thinks he does,” the lawyer cut in. “It is the accused who confused my client with his confusion. The accused is confused between emotional intimacy and homosexual attraction. My client does not love him. He has a loving wife at home.”
The psychiatrist continued. “Brian, you have a wife at home, yes?”
“Yes.”
“Do you love her?”
There was a moment of hesitancy. “I-I think so. I don’t know.”
“My client knows. He does love his wife. Why else would he marry her? They have a kid, for crying out loud!” It was the lawyer.
“Yes…I do love her,” Brian conceded.
“Between Karl and Sue, which appears more the person you would honestly like to love?” the psychiatrist pursued.
“That is a ridiculous question!” the lawyer exclaimed. “The accused is nothing but a peripheral sexual adventure. I’ll even take misadventure!”
“I feel sorry for Sue,” Brian sighed. “But it is Karl I dread to lose.”
“You did not have to answer that question, Mr Brown!” the lawyer fumed.
“I think… I know I do love Karl.”
“You don’t have to commit yourself here,” the lawyer hissed. “You are dead, remember?”
“I wish I had committed myself before he killed me,” Brian lamented in a sad voice.
“He killed you! Yes, but spell out his name. Quick!” the lawyer urged.
“Why did he do it?” the psychiatrist probed.
“He did it because I was confused and in pain, and he wanted me out of this pain.”
“We need names here, Mr Brown!” the lawyer clenched his fists.
“Names? Yes. I was going to name my second baby after him, if it were a boy.”
“Your second baby?” Both the psychiatrist and the lawyer exclaimed simultaneously.
“Sue is pregnant again. It was an accident.”
“How did Karl take the news?” There was compassion in the psychiatrist’s voice.
Brian shook his head and started to whimper. “It was my fault. I couldn’t leave Sue. I felt so sorry for her. I slept with Karl and loved him. I ceased to love Sue but slept with her nonetheless because I had no excuses. But I lied and told Karl he was the only one I slept with and loved.”
“No, no, no… You are getting it all mixed up,” the lawyer insisted. “It is Sue, your wife, whom you love. It may be true that you slept with Karl, the accused, but definitely untrue that you love him. You may think you love him, but that is the accused projecting his confusion onto you.”
“You are confusing me!” Brian held his head in his hands and whined.
“Stop confusing my client!” The lawyer turned to shout at the psychiatrist.
“I am not the one confusing him!” the psychiatrist retorted.
“You are confusing yourself!” An angry voice emitted from the darkness. Karl moved up behind Brian and cradled his head. “I thought you understood what we had.”
“I do, Karl, I do!” Brian looked up and importuned.
“Then why is Sue pregnant?”
“Because…because I felt sorry for her.”
Karl sat down heavily on the adjacent chair, laden with a deep sadness. There was a long pause before he finally sighed and muttered, “I love you too much to see you languish in this pain, Brian.”
“But what can I do?” Brian started to cry.
“You can leave Sue and the kid and come to me.”
“I can’t do that.” Brian shuddered.
“Or you can leave me and go back to Sue.”
“I don’t want to leave you, Karl,” Brian pleaded.
“So what do you want to do?” Three voices asked in frustration.
“I don’t know,” Brian sobbed aloud.
There was a long silence. The auditorium echoed with Brian’s sobs, his shoulders shaking. The spotlight dimmed on the lawyer, then the psychiatrist, next the sobbing figure and then, just before Karl was to be engulfed by the enveloping darkness, he asked, in a low, sad voice, “Shall I make you a cup of coffee?”
Darkness descended.
A jarring crash as porcelain hit the ground.
In the darkness, a newspaper report was read aloud.
“A 36 year old man was found dead in the manager’s office at the downtown Cold Storage. The police identified the deceased as the operational manager, a Mr Brian Brown.
“The informant, also an employee of Cold Storage, was there to greet the police upon their arrival. The same man claimed to have administered the poison in a cup of coffee that was the direct cause of death.
“The case has been classified as murder, first degree.”
“The suspect, a 24 year old Chinese male, has pleaded guilty.”
Two spotlights came on. One illuminated the Chinese suspect’s uncle, looking righteously grieved and in pain. The second shone onto a bright-eyed young man, leaning forward in his chair with a tape recorder stretched towards the uncle.
“Good afternoon, Mr Li. I am a reporter from The Essential Truth news magazine. We are grateful to you for granting this interview. I understand there is more to the case that what was disclosed by the police. Can you perhaps enlighten us on the relationship between your nephew Mr Karl Li and the victim Mr Brian Brown?”
“I need to clarify something,” the uncle announced. “Mr Brian Brown is the deceased, not the victim. The victim is my nephew, Karl Li.”
“How is that so?” the reporter pursued.
“Karl is a sweet child. Has always been, until he started work at Cold Storage. It was there that he fell into bad company and went wayward. And the bad company is none other than who you thought was the victim, that Brown guy.”
“Can you be more specific?”
“Mr Brian Brown, in his position as the trusted manager… I shudder to use the word, sexually seduced my nephew.”
“Do you have any evidence to back up your claim, Mr Li?”
“Evidence? You need look no further than my nephew himself. An innocent, filial, obedient young man, uninitiated to the sins of the flesh, who was unable to resist the sexual temptation that deviant gay man laid on him, completely destroying his life! What more evidence do you need?”
“But I was told that Mr Karl Li has identified himself as a gay man.”
“Nonsense!” the uncle bellowed. “Homosexuality does not run in my family. It is western decadence and gay influence that corrupted my nephew. He is the victim, I am telling you!”
“Thank you, Mr Li,” the reporter acknowledged, as the spotlight over the uncle dimmed. The reporter turned to the lawyer, who materialised under another descending spotlight. “Mr Lawyer, I believe you have a statement to make.”
“That is correct.” The lawyer nodded haughtily. “I represent my client Mr Brian Brown and his family, who are grieved at his untimely departure, in wishing to clear his name of some scandalous libel.”
“Scandalous libel, Mr Lawyer?”
“Yes. The newspaper has been careless in reporting the case and has wrongly labelled my client as a gay man.”
“Isn’t it true that your client Mr Brian Brown has had an ongoing homosexual relationship with the accused Mr Karl Li?”
“There is only one gay man in this relationship, and that is Mr Karl Li. My client was, simply, a victim.”
“And how is that so?” the reporter pursued.
“Brian Brown was a good man. Had always been, until the accused, a self-confessed gay youth, started work at Cold Storage. It was then that my client fell into bad company and went wayward. And the bad company is none other than who was to be his murderer two years later, that Chinese kid.”
“Can you be more specific?”
“The Chinese kid, taking advantage of my client’s trust as his mentee… I shudder to use the word, he sexually seduced him.”
“Do you have any evidence to back up your claim, Mr Lawyer?”
“Evidence? You need look no further than my client himself. A loving, responsible, doting husband and father, uninitiated to the lure of deviant sexuality, who, unable to resist the temptation that deviant gay youth lay on him, completely destroying his life! What more evidence do you need?”
“Are you suggesting that in this case, there is an innocent victim who has fallen prey to the seduction of a gay man? And the victim himself is not gay?”
“That is correct!” Two voices concurred. The spotlight had again descended onto the uncle.
“And that the gay man is the cause of the tragedy, the one who brought the other party to his downfall?”
“That is again correct.” Two voices answered simultaneously.
“And the one is…”
“The accused. Karl Li,” said the lawyer.
“The deceased. Brian Brown,” said the uncle.
The two turned to glare at one another.
“You are confused!” They insisted simultaneously.
“I am confused,” the reporter confessed.
“You are all confused!” the psychiatrist announced, materialising under the descending spotlight. There were now four men on stage.
“And who may you be?” asked the reporter.
“I am the psychiatrist.”
“What do you have to say about the accused, Karl Li?”
“He is a victim.”
“See? That was what I said,” the uncle interjected, triumphant. “The man is a professional. He knows what he is talking about.”
“What about the deceased, Brian Brown?” The reporter once again directed the question at the psychiatrist.
“He is no less the victim.”
“Now the man is talking!” the lawyer interjected, triumphant. “I have to give the man credit. He does know what he is talking about.”
“Wait a minute, this can’t be!” The reporter waved off the interruption. “We can’t have two victims here.”
“It’s the truth.”
“It cannot be!” Three voices protested.
“You represent The Essential Truth news magazine. It is the essential truth you want, isn’t it?” The psychiatrist turned to the reporter.
“But this is unacceptable! The reader will never buy the story. We need a guilty party.”
“You want a guilty party? I will give you one.” The psychiatrist arched his brows. “In fact, I can let you choose. Guilty party number one, Karl’s family, represented by his uncle over here.”
“What?” The uncle was caught off guard. “A family that does not recognise Karl as who he is, a gay man.
A family that withholds understanding and support. A family frantic to protect itself from scandal and only too willing to blame the deceased as the cause of all evils.”
“He is the cause of all evils!” the uncle disputed.
The psychiatrist ignored the remark, but pointed a finger at the lawyer instead. “Guilty party number two, the legal system, represented by Mr Lawyer here.”
“What?” the lawyer bellowed.
“A legal system that denies the gay man his sexual identity. A legal system that enforces a heterosexual behavioural code on a man like Brian Brown and hinders him from living life the way he wants to. A legal system that labels the homosexual alternative lifestyle as a deviant and immoral one.”
“It is a deviant and immoral one!” the lawyer argued.
“Now we are getting somewhere!” the reporter said gleefully. “There is controversy and sensationalism galore, enough to make this our star article for the upcoming issue of The Essential Truth.”
The psychiatrist swivelled around and glared at the reporter. “I almost forgot. There is yet one more on the list.”
“There is more!” The reporter was over the moon. “Pray tell.”
“Guilty party number three, the media, represented by Mr Reporter, you yourself.”
“Me?”
“A media that is selective and biased. A media that is too eager to offer the public what it wishes to see. A media that thrives on sensationalism, selectively focusing on the seedier aspects of gay culture and failing to report that there are gay men out there who lead well-adjusted, fulfilling lives.”
“This man is talking nonsense!” the uncle protested.
“I regret overestimating his intelligence and professionalism,” the lawyer professed.
“I guess I will have to trust my journalistic acumen, sift through the recordings and retain what is publishable,” the reporter snorted.
The central spotlight came back on. The wretched Chinese suspect sat with his legs folded and eyes shut. The four men began to bombard him with questions and accusations, but the Chinese suspect ignored them. He seemed to have gone into a trance. The lights on the surrounding men began to dim, and the commotion faded as they slowly disappeared into the oblivion of total darkness. A silent figure in a brown suit strolled into the sphere of light. He stood behind the Chinese suspect, not moving, not speaking. The Chinese suspect slowly opened his eyes, aware of the new presence.
“Brian, is that you?”
“Yes, Karl. It’s me.”
The Chinese suspect rolled his head back, his shoulders slumped. “Oh, Brian, I feel so tired…so tired.”
“Come, you ought to relax.” The man in the brown suit behind the chair began to massage the Chinese suspect’s neck. There was a sigh of deep contentment.
“Does that feel good?”
“So much better. Where did you learn to do that?”
“What you need is a good, strong cup of coffee.”
Lights extinguished.
A final crash as porcelain hit the ground.
The mini-theatre thundered with applause as the lights came back on and the six actors stood in a row to bow. Gimme Lao was feeling dazed when he felt a nudge from Omala seated next to him. “You got to go. Wait for me at the library. I will meet you in an hour.”
Gimme Lao found a quiet corner at the reading room and pretended to read the Chinese papers. He remained mired in disconcertion; Omala had not prepared him for the shock.
“The audience loved it!” Omala gushed when she finally hopped in. “The standing ovation lasted more than five minutes, can you imagine?”
“I hate to tell you this but the media authority will never let them perform,” Gimme Lao remarked. “Not with homosexuality as the main theme. All these rehearsals will be for nothing.”
“Of course they will never let us perform. The director and his team aren’t stupid!” Omala laughed. “And that is the beauty of running rehearsals at The Substation. Word of mouth got us a steady stream of audience members by the week. When the opening date comes, they will simply postpone licence application and keep running rehearsals. Why do you think so many people turn up every Saturday? This is the unlicensed performance!”
Gimme Lao frowned. He knew Omala well enough to understand the attraction a deviant experimental play troupe such as this held for her. “Omala, listen to me. Mr Hasim Hassan and his friends are pushing the boundaries and they will eventually get into trouble. You have to stay away from them.”
“Stay away from them? Are you out of your mind?” Omala was incredulous. “These are the most exciting people I have come across! Those few actors on stage just now? Two of them run an organic farm in the Philippines, one of them volunteers at an animal shelter and the other two are collab
orating with Mr Hasim Hassan to start an underground newsletter for the gay community. These are passionate people who are championing causes the rest of the sleeping population remain oblivious or blasé about. They are doing exciting things with their lives!”
“Mr Hasim Hassan is gay?” Gimme Lao almost forgot to breathe.
“Not only that, his boyfriend was part of the cast on stage too.” Omala’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “Guess which one?”
Gimme Lao fidgeted uncomfortably. “There was an article in the papers just two days ago about an engineer who was caught in the public toilet soliciting a young man for sex. The engineer was thrown in jail. Did you miss that article?”
Omala paused for a moment as she suddenly realised Gimme Lao did not share her enthusiasm. “The engineer did not solicit or pay for sex. It was entrapment. The young man was an undercover police officer laying a trap for men who cruise in public toilets.”
“That’s not what was reported in the papers,” Gimme Lao retorted.
“Of course not. You will never get the truth from the state-controlled media,” Omala sighed. “I know because the engineer is a friend of Mr Hasim Hassan. They were discussing the incident last week. That is why they need to have an underground newsletter to serve the gay community. People need to know what is really going on.”
Gimme Lao bit his lip as he gazed at his best friend. Already he could feel the crack between them. He knew deep down that Mr Hasim Hassan was a bad influence on Omala. He also knew she would not take kindly to any advice in her current state of infatuation. Biting his tongue and quietly observing would be the best strategy for the moment.
Over the next few weeks, Gimme Lao did not offer his opinion when Omala updated him on her wild frolics and stimulating discourse with her fabulous new friends. They went down to Bugis Street and had midnight supper with androgynous cross-dressers and transsexuals. They rented bicycles and visited charming old buildings slated to be torn down for urban redevelopment to hang handmade mini-wreaths on the doorknobs. They were at Kallang National Stadium cheering as rising football star Fandi Ahmad scored the definitive goal to win the Malaysian Cup. They debated on whichever topic struck their fancy; euthanasia, incest, conscription, marriage of convenience, nothing was taboo among the gang. Omala was so invigorated she failed to notice his silence.
Let's Give It Up for Gimme Lao! Page 12
