Teaching Cats to Jump Hoops

by You Jin

  “I won’t let you down, Madam Tham,” she finally said. “Don’t worry.”

  I had been right. Once she put on the green and white tie that represented her new status, Lan Hua carried herself altogether differently than before. As others’ views of her began to change, she redoubled her efforts and was determined to turn over a new leaf. The more outstandingly she performed her duties, the more applause she won. A positive cycle had been formed.

  Watching her transformation, I was reminded of a true story that had taken place in Morocco. Every September, young girls of marriageable age gather at a bridal market for single men to choose from. After a man has picked out a girl, he discusses the purchase with her family, in front of her. The least expensive girls cost one camel, while others are purchased with the number of camels commensurate with their attributes. One young man made a fortune doing business away from home before returning to marry his childhood sweetheart with the most valuable gifts and goods. The girl was so homely that one camel would have sufficed to earn her parents’ consent. Hence the young man became the town’s laughingstock. No one, however, could have anticipated that she would undergo a dramatic transformation. The love and respect of her husband instilled in her face a glow that dazzled anyone who looked at her, and she became well-known in her town for her exquisite and ingenious handicraft. Now people marvelled at the good fortune of the wealthy merchant. What had he done to deserve such an outstanding woman for a wife?

  Lan Hua was just like that Moroccan girl. No one had discovered, let alone affirmed, her inner worth, which had caused her to have such low self-esteem and self-pity that she had given up on herself. Now that someone had given her respect and the chance to show what she was capable of, she transformed from an annoying, cawing crow into a magnificent and graceful peacock. She could proudly display her splendid fan, each bright feather a testament to her impressive accomplishments.

  She graduated from secondary school with flying colours and was accepted into a polytechnic where she majored in Information Technology.

  During her first three years in polytechnic, she came to see me every Teacher’s Day with a large bouquet of orchids. It was impossible to tell which was prettier: the bright flowers or her beautiful face. She found a job in a bank after finishing her three-year course, and was so busy with work that she was no longer able to visit me.

  One day, I was in the Central Business District taking care of some errands when I happened to pass by the bank where Lan Hua worked. I decided to go in and see her. She was helping a client enter data into the computer. Her long hair was combed nicely and neatly, and when she pursed her lips, confidence and fortitude shone on her face. After the data was entered, she gave a clear, detailed explanation to the client, who then thanked her profusely. She watched with a smile as the client left, and when she turned, her gaze landed on me.

  “Madam Tham!” she exclaimed, pleasantly surprised.

  “Lan Hua,” I whispered with a smile. “Are you still breaking rules?”

  “Madam Tham!” She laughed, a pair of red clouds colouring her cheeks.

  She truly looked like an orchid, dazzling in full bloom.

  The Wounded Grotto

  1

  IT WAS AWARDS day and the school was abuzz with merriment, like a blown-up balloon that might pop at any moment.

  At seven thirty in the morning, the students filed into the auditorium and sat down in their assigned seats. As the velvet curtain was rising, a tardy student dashed into the auditorium. One look told me it was Che Jia Mei, a girl in my class, but a second look brought on a migraine. Around her neck, she had tied a fashionable scarf which was loud and completely out of place, even from a distance. I then saw Mr. Chew Jian Li, the discipline master, stride over to Jia Mei. Judging by their unhappy expressions, I could tell that they were arguing. It was not long before Mr. Chew reached out to snatch the scarf from Jia Mei’s neck, as she quickly jerked her head away from him. She was no match for Mr. Chew, however, who swooped down and removed the scarf with hands like a hawk’s talons. Fast as lightning, Jia Mei raised her right hand, and with the whole school looking on, gave Mr. Chew a savage slap across the face. The auditorium burst into an uproar, and chaos ensued.

  The school administration formed an ad hoc disciplinary committee to deal with the incident, which shook the school. As Jia Mei’s form teacher, naturally I was a member of the committee. Being tardy and wearing a scarf were both violations of school rules, but slapping a teacher topped it all. She wouldn’t be able to talk her way out of this with a million excuses, especially since she had worn the scarf to cover love bites on her neck. The fiercely intelligent Jia Mei, however, managed to complicate what should have been a black-and-white affair.

  At the hearing, she argued eloquently in a measured voice. “Of course it was wrong to slap him, but he’s a male teacher, and when he reached out to tug at my clothes in public, how was I supposed to know what he was thinking? I slapped him out of self-defence.”

  Self-defence, she said! Mr. Chew’s face turned purple. Assaulting a teacher was an inexcusable offence, but on the other hand, the Ministry of Education had clearly stipulated that a teacher was under no circumstances to touch a student. This obviously put Mr. Chew at the losing end of the dispute.

  After a series of administrative meetings, a decision was made to speak to Jia Mei’s parents and to give Jia Mei a major demerit point. In addition, Jia Mei was required to make a public apology to Mr. Chew. But that wasn’t the end of it. The bruises on her neck indicated she was in a romantic relationship, which was strongly discouraged by the school. I was asked to look into the matter and give the girl some guidance.

  It was turning into an impossibly thorny case.

  2

  Jia Mei was a loner on campus. She wore her hair short around an oval face, and she had the dark, changeable eyes of a cat—sometimes limpid and sparkling, at other times misty and glassy. Most of the time, however, daggers seemed to be hidden in her eyes. They gave off a gloomy glint as if she was about to attack. Just looking into her eyes made one shudder. Frankly speaking, it was rare for a fifteen-year-old girl to be so cynical and misanthropic. She had no friends, and the other girls wrote her off as being narcissistic, while the boys just thought she was too proud. No one wanted to be her friend. She enjoyed being alone, coming and going as she pleased and ignoring everyone else. Usually she was like a silent goat with sharp horns, but she posed no danger so long as people gave her a wide berth. Yet, if provoked or if she sensed a violation of her personal privacy or interest, she would turn into a fierce lion—quick to pounce, viciously and relentlessly attacking until her opponent was left torn and bleeding.

  I recall an incident where two girls had been gossiping about Jia Mei outside the toilet stall she was using, and she had heard every word. Without any preamble, she stormed out of the toilet stall and nearly beat them unconscious.

  The discipline master was called in to resolve the incident, and that was when I gained first-hand knowledge of her incredible ability to argue a case. She spoke calmly and her words were convincing.

  “I know it was wrong to hit them, but they were spreading rumours with the power to hurt me. Isn’t that worse than hitting someone? Ask them what they said. I don’t believe anyone can stand that kind of talk. Giving them a couple of slaps was merely helping the school to teach them a lesson.”

  So the discipline master asked the girls exactly what unsavoury things they had said. But they hemmed and hawed, unwilling to repeat their own words, which only added wind to Jia Mei’s sails.

  “Hearing such filthy words would make you sick,” she remarked coolly. “Who knows how many more students would have fallen victim to their vicious slander if I hadn’t taught them a lesson today?”

  In the end, the discipline master put the three girls in a small room to reflect on what they had done and apologise to one another. After a day, the two girls wrote heartfelt apologies, but Jia Mei would not accept them, an
d she refused to apologise for assaulting the girls. Instead she acted as if she had carried out a sacred deed. “When you hit someone, you’re always in the wrong, no matter how many good reasons you think you have for doing it,” I said, trying to talk some sense into her. “So why not admit you were wrong and put an end to the matter?” But she maintained that she was right, and stubbornly refused to apologise. Ultimately she received a minor demerit point on her record. Her obstinate nature left an indelible impression on me.

  Later I spoke to the two girls in private and learned what they had said:

  A: Hey, I’ll let you in on a huge secret. Yesterday I saw Che Jia Mei at a shopping centre. She was going into the cinema with her boyfriend, arm in arm, looking very intimate.

  B: Really? The way she acts at school, eyes staring straight ahead, you’d think she was Joan of Arc reincarnate.

  A: Humph. The loftier some people look on the outside, the more lewd their behaviour. Sometimes they pretend to be aloof and haughty to cover up their shameful activities.

  B: You’re right. I hear that some girls have clients off campus, like part-time work, you know. Maybe Jia Mei is one of—

  That was when Jia Mei stormed out to slap them. They were awful things to say about another girl at school, and now that I had learned the truth, I sympathised with Jia Mei. On the other hand, I still thought she needed to reflect upon her view that she was always right and others were wrong. So I talked to her often, advising her to treat the school as one big family and to mingle with others. But she would simply shrug and coolly respond, “To each her own.” Later when I thought about her comment, I had to agree that over one’s long journey through life, everyone has the right to live how one prefers. Besides, as the Chinese philosopher Zhuangzi once said, “You’re not a fish, so how do you know that a fish is not happy?” Why should I meddle in other people’s affairs? So I let her be, never imagining that this loner would stir up so much trouble as to make herself the most notorious person on campus.

  3

  It turned out that Jia Mei had a fairly simple family background. Her father had died of a heart attack when she was in primary school and she lived with her mother in a semi-detached house in Katong. I had met her mother, Ms. Sng, several times.

  I was surprised by her mother’s good looks the first time we met. She had fair skin with the gentle, soft lustre of jade and a smooth, wrinkle-free forehead. Her short, curly hair was dyed a fashionable brunette. Her light green, leaf-shaped earrings swayed when she spoke, emitting waves of sparkling emerald green light, which gave her an unspoken charm.

  She was visibly apprehensive when Jia Mei’s name came up. Unconsciously, she reached for the purse on her knees with one hand and fiddled with it the whole time. When she spoke, she sounded insincere, phony even.

  “She’s a good girl,” Ms. Sng said. “I have no problems with her at home.”

  “She’s not very sociable. In fact, she’s a loner. It’s unusual for a girl her age to prefer being alone,” I said. “Also, she’s somewhat prone to violent behaviour. What do you think could be the cause?”

  “Ah, I really don’t know what it could be, she’s a good girl at home.”

  She kept saying that Jia Mei was a good girl. Obviously she was being deliberately protective of her daughter, insisting that everything was fine. Frankly, she was the kind of mother a teacher dreads most. I noticed, however, that Jia Mei treated her with impatience and indifference. She was often annoyed with her mother, and rude most of all. When her mother spoke to her, Jia Mei either responded gruffly or completely ignored her. I couldn’t help but sigh over the fact that mothers like her usually ended up with unruly children. As a single parent, she was probably doubling her love to make up to her fatherless daughter for her sorrow and emptiness. Often it is precisely this tendency to overcompensate that inadvertently results in another form of regret.

  After our initial encounter, I saw Jia Mei’s mother again at several parent-teacher meetings. Each time she gave the impression that everything was fine, that nothing was out of the ordinary and that there was no bad news. Finally I couldn’t hold back any longer and asked pointedly, “Ms. Sng, don’t you think that Jia Mei has a somewhat distant relationship with you?”

  That caught her by surprise and she froze. It took her a while to reply, “Uh, um, in the past, it wasn’t like this in the past.”

  “She always seems rude to you. Why is that?”

  She lowered her head and began to play with her purse again. After a long silence, she said haltingly, “I remarried the year she was in secondary one. It’s been hard for her to accept.”

  “Ah, so you’ve remarried.” Now I was the one caught by surprise.

  I recalled how Jia Mei had always written “Deceased” in the column for “Father”. When a new form was filled out each year, she continued with the same information: “Deceased”.

  “My late husband died when she was only seven and I was barely twenty-eight. I was so lonely that when I met someone suitable seven years later, I married him. After all that time with only each other for company, Jia Mei couldn’t accept the change in our life and she still hasn’t forgiven me. I’d thought she’d get used to it after a while, but it’s been three years and she has yet to utter a single word to her stepfather. It’s difficult being caught in the middle. Can you help me, Madam Tham?”

  As the saying goes, one cold day does not lead to three feet of ice. Jia Mei’s mother hadn’t tried to break the ice when it was forming and now that the floe had turned into an iceberg, she was asking for help. It truly felt as if she was hoping the rice would still be raw even after it was cooked and ready to serve.

  I mulled over the matter and said, “I’ll see if I can talk her around.”

  In order not to ruin my chances of success, I decided not to say anything just yet. Instead I waited quietly for the right moment.

  4

  Father’s Day was soon upon us. In class, I guided the students in a discussion of the meaning of Father’s Day, and to tie the discussion to their study of the Chinese language, I asked them each to come up with a creative metaphor to describe their fathers.

  After careful consideration, the students let their imagination take wing.

  “My father is like an encyclopedia. He knows everything.”

  “My father is like an ocean. He has the capacity for anything.”

  “My father is like a bottle of white-out. He helps us correct all our mistakes.”

  “My father is like bread. He fills our stomachs with food so we don’t go hungry.”

  “My father is like the roof. He shelters the family from wind and rain.”

  “My father’s words are like a popular song with a pretty melody. You never tire of listening to it.”

  “My father is like an ATM. He’ll give you whatever you want.”

  “My father is like a web page. He’ll give you all the information you need.”

  “My father is like an alarm clock, lending his help at the right moment.”

  “My father is like glue, binding the whole family tightly together.”

  “My father is like Mickey Mouse. Everyone loves him.”

  These metaphors were rich in imagination, conveying fresh, new images that greatly amused the students. They could not stop laughing as they described their fathers and listened to others do so as well.

  When it was Jia Mei’s turn, she kept her mouth tightly shut. After repeated urging from me, she finally replied icily, “I don’t have a father. He’s long dead.”

  Another student raised his hand, and with a maturity beyond his years, said quietly, “My father is dead too, but to my mother and me, he’s still alive. He’ll never die.” He continued in a highly emotional tone, “If I were to use a metaphor, I’d say my father is like air. You can’t see him but he’s everywhere.”

  That earned loud applause from the class. I stole a glance at Jia Mei, but she looked utterly unmoved. She remained indifferent and nonchalant
.

  After class, I said to her, “Come with me, Jia Mei. I’d like to speak with you.”

  I took her to an open, grassy area in the rear of the campus. The field was trimmed so nicely that it resembled a perfectly woven carpet. Trees blanketed the area beyond the fence, and the sky behind the trees was so clear it seemed as if the clouds had been brushed off it.

  We sat side by side. The early morning air was as refreshing as sparkling clear spring water cascading down the hills. Birds were singing, their chirps a continuous song in our ears.

  I got straight to the point. “Jia Mei, you seem very unhappy.”

  She turned to face me. “You’re right,” she said frankly. Then she looked up at the sky before blurting out, “I want to be a bird in my next life.”

  A bird. I chuckled softly. The sky may be vast, but even it cannot contain all the worries of birds. The birds know how treacherous the sky can be and every bird, like every human, has its own troubles.

  But I decided to follow her train of thought.

  “A while ago, I had two birds. They were so happy they were always singing. But then one of them died, and the other became so aggrieved that it stopped eating and drinking. It got to the point where it was probably going to die, until someone advised me to get another bird. So I bought another one to keep it company. Now they have each other and they are both happy.” I paused and fixed my gaze on her. “You see, Jia Mei, even a bird needs company, let alone a human being.”

  She cleverly saw through my thinly veiled intent. Anger mounted in her eyes as she said rudely, “Did my mother ask you to speak on her behalf?”

  I tried to reason with her calmly. “Jia Mei, peace in a family makes everyone happy. If you accepted your stepfather, you’d spare your mother the pain of being stuck between…”