by S. L. Lim
At one point, Dr Stafford turned his gaze upon Yannie. Stabbing a finger in her direction, he said to Meng, ‘She looks familiar. Where have I seen her face before?’
‘I don’t think so, Dr Stafford.’ Meng paused. ‘You cannot possibly recognise her. She’s visiting Sydney for the first time, don’t you remember?’
‘First time in Australia? Welcome, darling.’ Dr Stafford’s face crinkled into a smile, and then screwed up once more with the effort of recall. ‘No, no. That can’t be right. I never forget a face once I’ve seen it. Young lady, I know I’ve seen you before. You look like that boy who used to work with us – Shan, his name was. Very smart boy.’
Meng stiffened. ‘Er, yes, she does.’ He did not mention that Shan was Yannie’s brother.
‘Shan, yes, I remember. Ambitious fellow. Knew how to talk. He could really give a presentation. An important skill in the modern age.’
From the way Meng shifted in his seat, Yannie guessed that his own public-speaking skills were less than stellar. ‘Yes, Shan knew how talk,’ he said, in a tone that implied this was correlated with severe deficiencies in character. ‘A smooth-talking guy. That I remember.’
‘What’s he doing now?’
Meng glanced sideways at Yannie. ‘Don’t you know? He’s the chief executive of our company.’
‘Our company?’ Dr Stafford for the first time looked bewildered. ‘How did that come about?’
‘You appointed him, Dr Stafford.’
‘No, no, no. I would never do that. We don’t have chief executives and all of that nonsense. Corporate mumbo jumbo. We’re not that kind of firm.’
Meng sounded exhausted. ‘I’m sorry, but we are. We had to change – that was your decision. Don’t you remember? I explained.’ Yannie wondered how many times he had been over this point before. ‘There was a new board. We were running out … we had to restructure the whole firm. Surely, Dr Stafford, surely you can remember that part.’
But the old man’s mind had swerved away again. ‘Ah, Shan. He had a lot of charisma – an unusual young man. But I didn’t suspect him of anything else. The thing is, he had charm, lots of cleverness, but no substance. That’s what I thought of him at the time. You have to have substance, don’t you? Have to be making something in your business. Can’t be all about the bottom line. One hundred per cent money, money, money.’
Yannie said, ‘True, but I don’t think you can be zero per cent about money either. Not that I’ve done it, but that’s not how running a business works.’
Both of them ignored her. Dr Stafford continued: ‘No, it can’t just be the commercial side – that’s not balanced, that’s only one part of life. You have to have some solid foundation for your work. Otherwise it’s just smoke and mirrors. That was the problem with Shan – I thought he didn’t have the guts. The intestinal fortitude.’ Yannie took a moment to be pleased with this saying. These Australians, they do have a turn of phrase. ‘Yes, I thought that Shan was a clever guy. Weak, though. I didn’t know much about it, did I?’
‘No, you didn’t,’ Meng said, rather darkly. Yannie looked at him in surprise – she’d expected diplomatic avoidance of the question. Almost immediately, Meng seemed to regret letting his obvious bitterness show. He reverted to an anxious, unconvincingly harmonious tone which was familiar to Yannie. It used to be her father’s mainstay. Conflict-avoidant men, she thought. As eternal as the tide.
‘Well, best not to worry about it now. It’s in the past. Maybe there was something you could have done back then, but now it’s over. So, no point to dwell on it …’
‘I’m dying. I don’t have anything to do apart from dwelling on it.’ This, too, sounded reasonable. ‘Why didn’t you stop him, eh? I couldn’t tell, but you could. He was one of your lot – why didn’t you stop it from the beginning? Don’t tell me you did your best – that’s not good enough. I’m not leaving behind what I built from scratch!’ Dr Stafford glared at them both, as if challenging them to disagree. ‘I’ll never leave my own business, never. They’ll have to carry me out feet first.’
‘That won’t be too difficult,’ Yannie said.
Meng looked at her in surprise, as if considering for the first time she might be capable of irony. Reassured by her blank look, he turned back to Dr Stafford, who was still repeating the words ‘Feet first!’ He looked so furious Yannie worried he was going to have a stroke. Then his neck lost its tension, like the stalk of a cut flower at a less-than-premium grocery store. His chin sank to his chest. ‘You work all your life to make something for after you’re gone – a legacy, you know. My shares – you can’t let them just sell it off. The controlling interest – flog it away on the ASX – someone has to be responsible – not just investors, people who never lay eyes on one other. You mustn’t let him do that.’
‘Don’t worry, ah. Don’t worry. Let’s not talk about these things.’ Meng looked utterly weary, as if all of the fluid had been drained from his body. ‘It’s not good for you to worry – think of your blood pressure, Dr Stafford. Eat your peaches, eat your jelly.’ He waved the spoon without conviction in Dr Stafford’s face.
‘I don’t want my jelly!’ Dr Stafford raised his voice. It was surprising, the volume he was still capable of. ‘All the time these days, it’s Go over here, do this, do that. Eat this, drink this, don’t do this, sign that. Look at me in this chair – I’m being literally pushed around!’ He banged a hand down on the table. ‘Take me back home – I’m going to bring my bags and things. I don’t care what they say, all of these people! One of you two can drive.’
‘We can’t do that, Dr Stafford! We’re not your legal guardians. You must listen to your children – they want you to live here, where it’s safe. If you lived at home you could hurt yourself. You could fall over.’
‘I won’t fall over,’ said Dr Stafford reasonably. ‘I can’t stand up.’
‘You might fall out of your wheelchair! Anyway, it’s impossible. I’m sorry, but I cannot legally remove you from this facility.’
Dr Stafford looked defeated. He balled one hand into a fist and squinted at the light, as if trying to work out where it was coming from. Then his grip relaxed, and he pointed his finger in an indeterminate way at the two of them. ‘Well, enough about me. I’m an old man – my time is over. It’s your time now. It’s good to see you, Meng – good to see that you got married at last! One of my old colleagues, he remarried recently. Traded in the old version – the new wife, she used to be one of his students.’ He looked meaningfully at Yannie. ‘She had an Asian name.’
Meng looked mortified. Yannie wanted to laugh. She refrained out of pity, knowing that it would embarrass him even more.
*
Afterwards Meng gave her a lift back home to Evelyn’s house. It was hot inside the car and Yannie felt sluggish, but still impelled to make small talk. She said, ‘Dr Stafford wasn’t totally confused. Yes, towards the end he didn’t really know what was going on. But most of the time he seemed, well, fairly lucid.’
‘Yes. Well … it fluctuates. He has good days and bad days.’ Meng sighed. ‘Mind you, this was OK compared to what I was expecting. You should have seen him the last few times I’ve come to visit. There was one time he didn’t even recognise my face – thought that I was his father.’
Yannie looked at Meng carefully, trying to gauge how upset he was. ‘It’s kind of you to visit him so regularly. Especially since you’re not even related by blood. I’m sure you’ve done a lot to brighten his last days.’
‘Mmmm.’ Meng kept his eyes fixed on the road. ‘Well, as I’ve told you, he was always very kind to me at work. Outside of it, as well. I was very fortunate – I believe, you know, we only have so many chances in this life. That I had these opportunities I would not otherwise have dreamt … I don’t know how much longer, you know, how much more time Dr Stafford has.’
‘Well, you never know. Old people are unpredictable. They look like they’re on the verge of carking it, and then they stick around w
ith you for another ten years. Or they look like they’re going to go on forever, and you let your guard down, and then they just crash. My parents were like that.’
‘That is true. He has been very sick before, and then got better.’ Meng looked more cheerful. Yannie regretted what she’d said. Could he not read the writing on the wall? Was it always like that? she wondered – every family, or simulacrum thereof, the decay of the elderly so relentless, yet unpredictable in its trajectory. All those close calls and near misses, enabling the ones left behind to keep hoping, right up to the point where there is no hope …
‘Thank you for not telling Dr Stafford I’m Shan’s sister,’ she said to Meng. ‘I don’t think that would have gone down very well.’
Meng laughed. ‘No, it wouldn’t. If you don’t mind my observing, you and your brother seem like very different people. If I had not known, I would not have guessed that you were related.’
‘Well, we don’t see each other often. Living apart in different countries for so long.’
‘Of course.’ Meng looked quizzical. ‘Still, these days there is Skype for free, and cheap plane tickets … Please, forgive me, ah,’ he added, seeing her expression. ‘It is not my place to interfere. It is unusual, that is all. But it is none of my business. Sorry, ah, so sorry … It has pushed me off balance, seeing Dr Stafford looking so frail.’ Meng’s eyes took on a censorious look. ‘His golden years, spent like this in a nursing home! He has four kids, you know. Not one of them can be bothered to look after him. I tell you, these Aussies are different. But these days everything is changing. Soon the whole world will be like that.’ He sighed again, in a what-can-you-do sort of way.
Strange that this would be the thing that set her off. She felt the anger gathering, made an effort to control her voice. ‘Well, Meng. That’s interesting. Tell me, are your parents still living?’
‘No.’ Meng looked at her cautiously – apologetically, even. It was as if he sensed he’d said something wrong but wasn’t quite sure what. ‘My parents have both passed away. My father ten years ago, my mother, five.’
‘And did you look after them through their “golden years”? Throughout their long decline?’
‘Of course I did.’ Meng shifted less than comfortably. ‘Well, I visited often. As often as I could take leave – I was working full-time in Sydney at that point. But, I still tried –’
‘I see. So on a day-to-day basis, who cared for your parents?’
‘It was my younger sister.’ ‘Well, what a coincidence. It’s always the sister, isn’t it?’ Even Yannie was surprised by the raw acid in her tone.
Meng looked confused. ‘I don’t understand. My sister chose – it wasn’t planned, it just happened that way. Also, I paid for a servant. One of those Pinoy girls.’ He lowered his voice even though there was nobody else in the car ‘You know, when those girls are good, they really do a good job. Not like the Burmese. Those ones, ah, they are incapable of learning. At least Filipinos can be trained. The worst are from the PRC. Those China people, for them it is all about cash! You must not think they still have our traditions! Nowadays they are a completely different breed.’
Yannie took a moment to wonder why Meng saw this as a bad thing, being motivated by cash. If not for the money, why would these ‘girls’ leave their own homes in the first place to work for his family? Did he think that foreign women should just be obliged to sleep on other people’s floors, care for other people’s parents, just for the sake of it? Because it brought them joy? But of course he did – what else would they be doing with their time? It would no more occur to Meng that these girls might, say, have the desire to write novels than that they would sprout horns or wings, and one day take off for the stars.
With some forbearance she chose not to press the point. ‘I’m sorry, Meng. Changing the subject, do you know what Dr Stafford was trying to say when he was talking about being carried from the office? I heard him say something about a “controlling interest” in the company.’
Meng, to her surprise, looked guarded. She had thought he would enjoy the chance to share some dastardly business gossip. ‘No, I don’t know. It’s hard to say.’
‘I suppose it was nothing. Just dementia talking.’
‘Maybe so …’ Meng went quiet for a moment. Suddenly he burst out: ‘I should not say this, but it makes me so angry to see him like that. So much accomplishment, intellect, experience – such a terrible waste. I wish you could have seen him in his prime. You could tell, even across the room, that he was a leader.’
‘At least he leaves behind his business.’
‘His business!’ Meng practically spat on the dashboard. ‘No, I should not speak ill of your brother. It makes business sense, to try and take the company public – sell it off to the shareholders. Well, I’m sure if he succeeds, if Dr Stafford consents, there will be a big packet of cash. Morally, though …’ Subcutaneous red blotches had begun to appear on his cheeks. ‘Well, I have my belief about what is right.’
‘Wow,’ said Yannie. She tried to keep her face entirely neutral. ‘Can you explain a bit more, Meng – what is my brother actually trying to do?’
But Meng seemed to have recovered his composure. He glanced at her sideways, embarrassed to have let his feelings show in an unseemly fashion. Probably he regretted having openly criticised her family. For all he’d remarked that they were different, probably he couldn’t fathom the idea she and her brother might take opposing sides.
‘Maybe I will tell you later, ah,’ he said. ‘For now I should keep quiet. Best to let sleeping dogs just lie.’
4
Nothing Like Old Friendship
Afterwards Yannie lay on the couch in Kat’s room, balancing Kat’s laptop on the armrest with the fan carefully positioned so it wouldn’t overheat. Bubbling electronic noises came through the speakers. Jun was calling her on Skype. She let it beep away for a while without answering, hoping he would think she had left her status set to online by accident. You had to be in a certain mood to talk to Jun, especially where webcams were involved.
Eventually the noise stopped. But he called again within a minute. This time she picked up.
‘Hello, Jun,’ she said. The line was very crackly. ‘I can only just hear you. How are things back home?’
‘Hello, Yannie!’ Jun’s voice came through very loudly, with a burst of static that made her wince. ‘I’m very pleased to see you, very pleased. And the picture is so clear! This new tablet is excellent.’ He did look pleased. ‘It’s been a long time since we have talked, ah. I must tell you, life is very boring over here. I cannot entertain myself, now I do not have you to talk to.’
‘Ai-ya, Jun, stop feeling sorry for yourself!’ But she was touched. ‘It has only been one or two months. And you have many people to talk to. If you feel lonely, you should watch television. Netflix – my niece has signed me up, the shows are very good. Much better than the ones we used to watch when we were small.’
‘But it’s not the same as talking face to face with someone who is your friend.’ Jun smiled self-deprecatingly. ‘It shows how dependent on you I have become. Also, your students have been asking about you.’
‘My students or their parents?’
‘The parents, mostly. I bumped into Madam Chee the other day. She talked to me about her son, she got quite worked up. You know how she is emotional, always going to extremes. She asked when you were coming back. I said I didn’t know. She said, what a lucky person, to be so free, just take off like that. Most people cannot. They must look after their families, their children.’ Jun hesitated. ‘Their jobs, as well.’
‘Ah, Madam Chee. Was that her way of sending me a warning?’ Madame Chee Jia Hui had not been pleased when Yannie informed her, via email, that she would be extending her stay in Sydney. For the past two years she had been tutoring Madame Chee’s eldest son, Chee Sze Jie, who was thirteen and not particularly bright. His mother’s plan was for him to study medicine and eventually become a cardiolog
ist, a plan which Yannie found dubious in the extreme. She couldn’t imagine someone she’d want operating on her less. ‘She’s probably dropped me as a tutor already, anyway. There are plenty of other teachers available.’
‘Other teachers, yes. But not as good as you.’
‘Well, thank you.’ His sincerity embarrassed her. ‘How are things? What have you been up to?’ Immediately she realised that this was a stupid remark, since she had just finished his latest email which answered these questions at some length. Jun, in his eternal politeness, did not point this out. Instead, he launched into an exhaustive account of what she already knew but with added and additionally tedious details. He had gone to see his mother’s urn at the temple. The journey to the temple had been very uncomfortable, because the bus was late and when it came only bad seats were available. The temple itself was very hot, et cetera, et cetera. Yannie said ‘Mm’ and ‘Oh’ at intervals, trying to adhere to the minimum of civility without encouraging him to keep on talking.
At last Jun said: ‘I don’t mean to keep you, but there is something I have been meaning to tell you. It’s about an old friend of yours, Shuying. I remember the two of you used to be close, during schooldays.’
‘Yes.’ Involuntarily, Yannie’s hand closed over the mouse. ‘Not extremely close. We were friends during secondary school, that was all. We still catch up from time to time.’
‘Of course, of course. There’s nothing like old friendship! As a matter of fact, I saw her this morning at the optometrist. Such a coincidence – that building is so enormous now. I feel dizzy, ah, when I look down from the railing on the top floor. Well, Shuying asked about you.’
‘Did she?’ It’s nothing, she told herself, even though she felt as though her pulse had stopped. Heart, you must beat! ‘How nice of her to think about me. She hasn’t answered my email, though. What did she say to you?’