A Yellow House

by Karien van Ditzhuijzen

  On my swing I kicked my legs higher, kicking myself for not seeing they would have betrayed me anyway. Instead I had scuttled around on my knees to find a cockroach, presenting it proudly on the flat of my hand. What had I been thinking? That Jenny would just laugh, flip it back on the floor and hug me tight? I should have thrown that cockroach in her face shouting, ‘You eat it, bitch!’

  Instead I ate the cockroach. At first, it didn’t taste that bad; the worst bit was the wriggling legs on my tongue. But then I bit through something and a sharp bitterness flooded my mouth. I wanted to retch but didn’t. I thought about PoPo’s brother and a Japanese officer hovering over me, and I swallowed. The taste lingered in my mouth a very long time.

  I don’t know what I’d expected, but it wasn’t what happened. Jenny and Meena just stared.

  ‘That’s sick,’ Meena said, pulling Jenny’s arm. ‘Let’s go.’

  They said I was too disgusting to play with. And my hunger was still real, only not the kind any food would fix.

  Afterwards I’d run back inside to PoPo, but when I started to tell her what had happened she just coughed and coughed. That evening Dad took PoPo to the hospital and she never came back.

  Mama puked through the whole thing. In those days she did nothing but puke. She was pregnant with Chloe but it wasn’t normal puking. It was a disease: Hyperpuking gravid-something, they called it. Mama puked and PoPo never said a word about her own pain. She just slowly withered away in the background, while I was too distracted with Meena moving in and upsetting my life with Jenny to even notice.

  PoPo was gone and Mama could barely stop puking long enough to cry. Even during the funeral she puked. Dad told me to be nice to her and not to burden her. But even if I’d wanted to tell her what had happened, PoPo’s contorted face when I told her about the cockroach was etched in my mind forever. I knew I could never, ever tell anyone. I had to keep it inside.

  In the playground, I kept swinging up and down, trying to fly away from it all – but the cockroach in my belly weighed me down. Every time I reached the highest point of my swing bile rose too, and only swinging towards the ground again could push it back to my stomach.

  I swung until the cockroach was deep down where I couldn’t taste it anymore.

  After that, I’d had enough of the playground for one day. ‘I want to go home,’ I grumbled.

  She shook her head. ‘Already? We just got here.’ But something in the way I looked at her made her get up and fasten Chloe in the stroller. ‘Okay, but let’s not go home yet. Let’s go explore the condo. Come on.’

  Who was she to boss me around? I followed grudgingly.

  We took the elevator back up, but when we got to our floor it kept going. What was she up to?

  We got out several floors up and I had a strong sense that we were wrong to be there. Was it trespassing if you lived in the same building? We walked away from the elevator, past doors and more doors. It was pretty much like our corridor: some houses had tidy lobbies with shoes and slippers stacked neatly in layered shoe racks; another had a row of colourful scooters.

  ‘I know these people,’ I said.

  She ignored me and stared up at the numbers above the doors, as if she had some kind of plan. Suddenly she stopped.

  The door before us was open but barred by a metal grille that ran from the floor to the top of the doorway. We had grilles like this too – they let in the air whilst keeping out unwanted visitors. Ours were shaped like flowers in the middle and were always left open with the door shut, because Mama preferred air-conditioning to a breeze. These were just straight vertical bars.

  We peered through the doorway into an empty living room. From the back of the apartment came the sounds of someone shuffling around. I reached out and pulled at her shorts. Come on, let’s go before they see us. But she stayed put.

  A figure was approaching the grille and I tugged again. Still she didn’t move. Who was this person heading towards us? I darted sideways and hid behind her back as the figure stepped into the light.

  3

  The woman who appeared behind the bars was dressed in shorts and a t-shirt. I allowed myself to relax – another aunty. Did we know her?

  The two of them started talking in a language I didn’t understand. There was a lot of headshaking. The aunty inside the apartment reached out and rattled the bars with both hands. Then she shouted in English, ‘This prison! I want out!’

  She gaped at us aghast, then shot a glance to the closed door behind her. ‘Shush! Ah Mah sleep.’ She continued in a whisper, staring straight at her. ‘Merpati, tolong aku.’

  I looked at her too – at Merpati, whose name the strange aunty had pronounced in a way that made it difficult for me to forget or ignore it again. It wasn’t just the way she rolled the r; suddenly the name seemed connected to a real person.

  I tugged at her shorts again, scared now. She gave me a half smile. ‘Wait just one minute.’

  The other aunty started talking in a hushed voice. My feet were getting itchy so I pushed the stroller with Chloe in it towards the elevator. As we approached, the doors opened and a teenage boy stepped out. He was looking at his phone, and only just managed to sway past without bumping into us. We were inside before the doors pinged shut.

  We went straight home, and I retreated to my room and my book until Dad called me downstairs for dinner. Dad and Mama were already sitting at the table, while Chloe hung back in her highchair, jamming at her plate with her spoon. Through the open door I could see Merpati in the kitchen, rinsing pots at the sink. Dad and Mama chatted as if everything was normal, more normal than normal. They talked about the on-going downpour as if the rain was something miraculous, as if the Singapore skies did not always dump a flood on our heads every day at this time of the year.

  I said nothing.

  Finally, my parents fell silent too. Mama shifted in her chair and started fiddling with her fork. Dad leaned towards her and nodded in Merpati’s direction. ‘Do we need to ask her to join us at the table?’

  Mama sighed. ‘Must we? I suppose her room is so small, she’d have to eat on her bed with her food on her lap. We need a larger kitchen. We can’t even fit a table in there. These modern condos are so squashed.’

  Dad just shrugged. Our dining table was small too. If I’d been talking I could have stated the obvious: there was no space for her.

  Dad’s phone beeped and he glanced at it. ‘Hold on,’ he mumbled, ‘This one’s important.’ He pushed back his chair. Apparently, now Merpati was there, Dad could go back to putting his job first. He pointed at me as he left the room. ‘Fetch another chair, Maya.’

  I put the chair between Chloe and me and shuffled my own as far away as I could. I figured Chloe would swiftly get rid of whoever sat there with a well-aimed flick of her spoon or a handful of rice to the face.

  I refused to acknowledge Merpati as she sat down. She, in turn, said nothing, just smiled and made cooing sounds at Chloe. Chloe returned to hitting her plate with rhythmic beats, making the food dance. If only we’d had peas instead of broccoli today, I thought, grinning on the inside. Peas would have hip-hopped off the plate and Merpati would have had to bend down to retrieve them. Maybe she’d even have banged her head on the way back up. Instead, the broccoli just jiggled up and down.

  Chloe, realising nobody was impressed with the banging, picked up a spear of broccoli and stuck it in her mouth, fluffy side out. She started sucking it with squished cheeks. Mama leaned over the table and pulled it out.

  ‘Don’t play with your food.’

  It was sort of funny, the broccoli dummy – but Mama’s tone had been icy and nobody laughed. Only Chloe didn’t seem concerned. The rest of us sat there watching her in silent suspense, as if Chloe were the queen, deciding which of our heads would roll.

  She grabbed another piece of broccoli, and looked back at each of us in turn. Finally her gaze fell on the intruder, who sat with her wanting-to-please smile frozen on her face.

  Next
to Mama, Merpati looked frumpy. Her hair was drier and duller than the day she’d arrived, whilst Mama’s was the same almost-black colour and shone even when dry. Merpati’s diamante hair clip only made the contrast worse. As for their clothes – even without her career-mama outfit of pencil skirt and blouse, Mama’s casual shorts and shirt dazzled next to the ugly, faded ones Merpati wore.

  Chloe looked back and forth one more time. Then she drew back her arm, took aim, and hurled her piece of broccoli straight at the interloper. Yes, at Merpati! I had to glue my own arm to the table to stop myself pumping my fist in satisfaction.

  The broccoli bounced off Merpati’s nose and onto her lap.

  I looked over triumphantly, but to my shock the wanting-to-please smile was breaking into a laugh. More worrying still, across the table Mama snickered too. Still laughing, Merpati picked up the broccoli as if it were an honour bestowed on her, speared it with her fork, and held it in front of Chloe’s face. Chloe opened her mouth wide and took a big bite.

  I watched in horror as my baby sister leaned back in her highchair with bulging cheeks. Merpati looked equally satisfied, smiling as she picked up the spoon and started feeding Chloe rice porridge. Chloe, who would normally have protested the bland goo, took spoonful after spoonful, her hands for once still, whilst Mama looked on approvingly. Mama was always happiest when everybody got along; it was as if she didn’t realise that she was the one who was difficult.

  Chloe grinned around at everyone, yet I didn’t blame Chloe; I never had. Everything had started to go wrong when she’d made Mama’s stomach heave then swell, yet I’d loved her the instant she was born. So I didn’t blame her; but I couldn’t eat a bite after that.

  Chloe was chewing happily until Mama asked, ‘Aren’t you eating, Merpati?’

  Merpati put down the spoon and Chloe responded by splashing her hand in the rice porridge then rubbing it in her hair. Merpati looked at her, then at the napkin on the table, hesitating. ‘Yes Ma’am. I thought maybe I eat after.’

  I rarely saw Mama indecisive. ‘Maybe that’s better. But eat with us today. It will be good to get to know each other. I have to go to work early again tomorrow.’

  The porridge had made Chloe’s hair stick up in a quiff. Mama looked on in silence while Merpati got up and combed it with her fingers until it was tidy again. Then she wiped her hands on the napkin and turned to Mama. ‘Yes ma’am. Which are my plate and cup?’

  Mama blushed. ‘Sorry, I forgot to set a place for you. I mean, I forgot to, erm, tell you to do it… I mean…’ Mama stuttered, ‘They are in the first kitchen cabinet on the left.’

  Merpati walked to the kitchen, opened the cabinet and stared inside for a while. She came back empty handed. ‘Ma’am?’ she asked.

  Mama looked up from her plate. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Sorry, ma’am, I don’t know which are mine.’

  Mama looked nervous again. ‘What do you mean, which are yours? Just pick any. There are plenty there. Cutlery is in the top drawer.’

  When Merpati looked at her blankly, Mama got up and went through to the kitchen. She grabbed a plate, cup, spoon and fork and tried not to slam them on the table. ‘Are these ok for you?’ she asked, sitting back down.

  ‘Yes, ma’am, thank you,’ Merpati nodded. ‘Shall I keep them in my room?’

  Mama shook her head. ‘No. Why? Just put them back where they came from. Who keeps china in a bedroom?’

  Now it was Merpati who blushed. ‘Sorry ma’am. My ma’am before, she did not allow me to use the family things. I kept my own in my room. One time I used hers, she scolded me badly. She said if I break it she will take it out of my salary. She bought me cheap ones.’

  ‘That’s crazy!’ I cried out, forgetting I was being silent. ‘That’s crazy, right, Mama, to not be allowed to use the plates?’

  ‘Shush, Maya, don’t judge people you don’t know,’ Mama said, smoothing back her hair. ‘Well, Merpati, ours are hardly gold plated so just use whatever you like, wash them up carefully, and try not to break too many pieces.’

  Merpati looked down at the empty plate in front of her. ‘Yes, ma’am. Thank you.’

  When Dad came back, Mama pretended nothing had happened. After the weather, she moved on to talking about work. It seemed that her first day back since Chloe’s arrival had been a bigger deal to her than the birth itself. Mama started a rant about her boss; he held her long leave against her, she said.

  Mama didn’t say it, but I knew she’d taken much longer maternity leave than usual because of PoPo. If your mother dies when you’re seven months pregnant, you can’t cope with work or with your nine-year-old daughter. Mama had retreated into herself and that big belly, and later all she seemed to care about was the gurgling and wailing thing that kept her up all night. ‘I don’t want help with her. She keeps my mind off things,’ Mama would say from beneath the bags under her eyes.

  ‘We have to give Mama the space she needs,’ Dad had told me. He took time off work, taking me to theme parks and the zoo. Giraffes to replace Mama and my PoPo. And now Merpati was here to replace the giraffes.

  Mama was still talking about her boss. He was a male chauvinist pig, she said. I’d never met this boss, but I imagined him as a chubby little man with an upturned snout, prickly moustache, and a curly tail poking from pink buttocks. In his hand he had a pencil with a sharp point, which he kept poking at Mama. I managed to suppress a giggle, and went back to being stern and quiet.

  I made a pizza from my rice as Mama talked, flattening it with the round end of the spoon and arranging the broccoli and meat on top. Nobody told me not to play with my food. When Merpati took the rice pizza away without comment, I realised I would be hungry later.

  It made me sad that nobody noticed I didn’t say a word. Mama and Dad didn’t know how good I’d become at being quiet. That was a skill I’d learned on the school bus.

  4

  That week we visited the grilled apartment several times. The aunty behind the bars was called Sri and came from Central Java, just like Merpati. She didn’t speak much English but, like Merpati, she smiled at me a lot. One day she showed me her arms. They had a pattern of dark purple and brown stamped on them. I looked at Merpati for an explanation. ‘Ah Mah does not know her strength,’ she said. Another day Sri had a bruise on her cheek.

  Sri and Merpati chatted in Javanese, but occasionally she would say a few words to me in English. Some days Merpati would slip her phone through the bars, and Sri would bow gratefully and chat on the phone in even faster Javanese. Those conversations always ended in tears.

  I didn’t see the ominous signs; I was too focused on keeping Merpati out to let Sri in. Or maybe ignoring the questions our visits to Sri raised, the questions that resonated in my underbelly, was easier than ignoring the taste of the cockroach’s bitter bile in my mouth. I went along with Merpati, but I didn’t stop to think about what it all meant.

  One day, Merpati was squatting beside the grille chatting to Sri while Chloe and I were practising walking in the corridor. Chloe was the one person who always made me feel happy. Her little pudgy arms, the warmth oozing from her tight hugs; she was full of love in a way I knew I could never be.

  Her sticky hand held on lightly to my little finger as she toddled along. Every time she fell on the cool, smooth marble she cooed, stretching out her arms to me: again, again! We had gone up and down at least fifty times and were starting to get bored when the elevator bell rang and a lady laden with shopping bags stepped out.

  As soon as she saw Merpati she started shrieking. ‘Aiyoh, what you doing? Who you talking to lah? Finish chores already meh? Better be. I neh pay you to talk to your friends!’

  She waved at Merpati, shooing her out of the corridor towards the elevator. ‘Why you don’t do your job? Who is watching this kids, making noise in the corridor? Noise will wake up my mother-in-law and who will get the blame?’

  I wanted to point out how quiet we were, that all the noise was hers; but my mouth was too dry
to speak. Besides, we weren’t quiet, not anymore. Chloe had started wailing. I picked her up, hugging her tight, and ran to the elevator.

  The lady shouted after me. ‘See gin nah! Girl, you watch your maid better. Keep out of other people lives liao?’

  We walked to our apartment in a silence only broken by Chloe’s muffled hiccups, me cradling her while Merpati pushed the empty stroller. I said nothing, angry as I was at Merpati for dragging me into this and getting Chloe all upset. When we came back the next day, Sri’s front door was closed. It stayed like that for the rest of the week.

  Sri’s closed door kept popping up in my head, and that weekend I told Dad about her. He scratched his head for some time. He asked what floor she lived on, and what unit number. ‘So this woman, Sri, you think she has suspicious bruises? And she’s not allowed to use her phone? And they lock her inside?’

  I nodded.

  ‘What about Sundays? Maybe she can come here next Sunday? We can talk to her? See if we can help.’

  The whole world felt a little better when he said that. But then Dad’s phone rang. He answered briefly before covering the mouthpiece with his hand. ‘You know, I’m not sure I should interfere. I’m a foreigner here. They don’t like it when foreigners, well…’ Dad stopped talking for a few long seconds. ‘Ask your Mama,’ he said, and left the room, phone to ear.

  The Sunday after that conversation Dad had to go abroad for work, so Sri couldn’t have spoken to him anyway. But I didn’t want to ask Mama: we hadn’t really spoken since the pigtail incident, except about food or tooth brushing.

  I did ask Merpati about the Sundays, but she just laughed derisively. ‘Sri does not have off-day.’ She shrugged. ‘Sri is always inside.’

  That night in bed thinking about Sri, her bruised arms and never being allowed out, I felt sad and frustrated. I needed someone to talk to about it all. Merpati seemed to have it all figured out, but I needed to keep her at a safe distance. Mama was obsessed with work, and I instinctively felt she should still not be burdened. Now Dad had dismissed me too.