by You Jin
That was when she lost it and began to scream, “What stepfather? Who says he’s my stepfather? He’s just my mother’s despicable lover. All he cares about is her money. After he got involved with her, he moved into our house and got a share of everything we have. He’s a leech. My mother and I were doing fine when we had each other, but now that man has ruined everything. Everything!”
She was screaming. Her tears fell like raindrops.
I was shocked to see how badly she had been hurt. We adults were being too tough on her, accusing her of magnifying her sorrows and worries. No one even noticed that she had become badly twisted in the mould of unhappiness.
I could only heave a sigh. The sounds of the chirping birds suddenly began to get on my nerves.
The next day, Ms. Sng came to the school at my request and I told her what Jia Mei had said to me. Her eyes were as big as cowbells, brimming with shock and incomprehension. She kept shaking her head.
“It’s not like that,” she mumbled. “To be honest with you, Madam Tham, I’ve known Jia Mei’s stepfather for many years. After my husband’s death, my life was plunged into a void that was difficult to adjust to. For several years, I played the stock market and won quite a bit of money at first. Then I began to take risks. I put in more and more money, and I was up to my neck in the market. Then the economy bottomed out, and I was seriously burned. Not only did I lose all our savings, I was about to lose the house. Zhi Qun, Jia Mei’s stepfather, suggested that he buy the house at market value and then lend us the place so we could continue to live in comfort. That arrangement went on for over two years until Jia Mei entered secondary school and I accepted Zhi Qun’s proposal, as I thought she was old enough to understand things. She knows all this. So why would she tell you such a different story? In fact, Zhi Qun has always treated her like his own daughter, but she won’t have any of it.”
Now I was the one who didn’t know what to do. If Jia Mei knew the truth, yet chose to tell a lie, then perhaps what she needed was therapy. We had a school therapist, Liew Wen Jia, who provided troubled students with counselling, and I suggested to Ms. Sng that Jia Mei speak with her. As if she had been introduced to a saviour, Ms. Sng nodded repeatedly to show her consent.
After a two-hour talk with Jia Mei, Wen Jia told me that she was the personification of a stubborn mule. She had formed many erroneous preconceptions that seemed so right to her, even a chisel could not chip them away. For instance, she continued to compare, albeit subconsciously, her birth father with her stepfather, and had reached the unshakeable conclusion that her stepfather was inferior in every respect. Her contempt for him was fueled by her jealousy over her belief that he was taking her mother away from her. Gradually, her complex feelings had turned into a hatred that was beyond her control. It would be impossible to eliminate the hatred within a short period of time because it was like ice which had formed over a thousand years, thick and hard. On the other hand, it was better late than never for her to start therapy, because although Jia Mei was suffering from a stubborn, chronic illness, it wasn’t terminal and there was hope for a cure.
No one could have predicted that while Wen Jia and I were working on a way to chase away the demon in Jia Mei’s heart, another incident would shake the campus yet again. Before one fire could be put out, another flared up, one stunning incident on the heels of the first, like a string of exclamation marks. Everyone at school was speechless and wide-eyed.
Jia Mei had gone to the police station to accuse her stepfather of molesting her, using the bruises on her neck as proof. Her accusation had led to his arrest. Now I understood the Chinese saying that even the best judge is unable to deal with family affairs. I had thought she was merely too immature to accept her mother’s second marriage, but it was finally clear that she hated her stepfather for a reason. It seemed possible that he had molested her many times before and that this time he had to own up to it because of the bruises on her neck. I lost sleep over the painful fact that a sixteen-year-old girl had to endure so much suffering. She was too young to go through so much. I blamed myself. Why hadn’t I discovered the root of the problem earlier and lent her a hand in time?
5
The incident developed in ways beyond anyone’s wildest imagination. It was like watching a movie with a series of dramatic climaxes, so shocking that the viewers sat breathlessly on the edge of their seats.
After a thorough investigation and interrogation, the police concluded without a doubt that Jia Mei had made up the charges. It was another dramatic turn of events. From the accuser, Jia Mei became the accused. Since she was still underage, she was sentenced to a year in a reformative training centre for teenage girls.
By attempting to send her stepfather to jail with false evidence, Jia Mei naïvely believed that she could easily remove the thorn in her side and return to the old days with her mother. But her seemingly clever scheme had backfired, and she had to suffer the consequences.
I went to see her at the reformative training centre. Sitting in the visitor’s lounge, she had lost her calm, indifferent façade. Her lips quivered like dead leaves in the wind and tears streamed down her face. She did not say a word, and all I could do was clasp her hands and encourage her to look to the future.
As I was leaving, I ran into her mother and stepfather at the entrance. That was the first time I had seen him. He was not tall to begin with, and looked even shorter because he was overweight, with a round belly like a pea in a pod. He had dark, rough-looking skin which resembled a newly ploughed field. A trusting smile adorned his wide mouth, which gave him the appearance of a well-fed farmer. Only his full head of naturally wavy hair added a hint of tenderness to his untamed look.
His stepdaughter’s unfounded accusation had gotten him into trouble, but he didn’t let it bother him. Instead he accompanied his wife to visit Jia Mei, armed with bags of food and books. When they saw me, the couple rushed up with grateful smiles. I hurriedly waved away any socially required politeness.
“Let’s all do our best to help her stand up again,” I said.
The next time I went to visit Jia Mei, I brought her a colourful poster from New Zealand.
“What’s this, Jia Mei?”
She glanced at me and said with a hint of impatience, “Isn’t that a grotto?”
“Do you know how a grotto is formed?”
She shook her head icily.
“A grotto is made of limestone, which is a soluble rock. After years of erosion caused by water, or more precisely, the carbon dioxide in the water, and with the effects of sedimentation, these strange shapes appear on the limestone surface. Take a look. Isn’t this a pretty grotto?” She nodded.
Erosion from acidic water and the passing of time had turned the seemingly indestructible limestone surface into a celestial palace filled with beautiful views, with thousands of charming stalactites hanging down and transforming into wondrous sights. They looked magnificent, so gorgeous and alluring.
“Listen, Jia Mei. A grotto starts out in a primitive and rough state. If a grotto was sentient, it would have screamed and cursed when the acidic water began to erode it. After a long, long time, however, the eroded grotto transforms itself into a stunning beauty.” I stopped and said emphatically but slowly, “We’re the same. We’re like grottos. When an unforeseen disaster falls on us like acidic water, we’re hurt. Maybe we become resentful, maybe we complain, and maybe we even feel we’d rather die. But the disaster is there to toughen us up and help us mature so we can display a different yet beautiful appearance.”
She looked at me pensively.
I left her the poster, which she carefully pasted over the head of her bed.
6
I made an agreement with the director of the reformative training centre to allow four of our students to take turns visiting the centre to serve as Jia Mei’s tutors.
Jia Mei, who thought she had been abandoned by the world, reacted with gratitude when she found herself bathed in so much friendship. The iron
y was that her boyfriend, who had been so close to her, vanished without a trace after she had entered the centre. Undoubtedly his disappearance was a major blow, but her parents redoubled their care and concern for her. Her stepfather, in particular, treated the disastrous incident as a turning point in her life and showered her with all his love during his frequent visits. His open-mindedness and concern slowly melted the barrier in her heart.
One day I brought along a dictionary for Jia Mei. She gave it back after one glance and said with a smile, “My father brought me a dictionary last week. It’s the same as this one.”
Ah, she had said “my father” with a gentle and serene look on her face.
I found myself tearing up.
Bruising from Love and Hate
WHEN THE DISCIPLINE master, Mr. Woo Zheng Lu, brought the suspect he had nabbed after a day’s investigation to me, I felt a chill rise from the soles of my feet and bore into my heart, which was searing with anger. Speechless, I stared in disbelief at the boy before me.
“Madam Tham,” Mr. Woo fumed. “This is the punk who scratched your car. Shall I call the police?”
The sun was a glowing red ball at the edge of the sky when I had left the staff room the day before. As I reached the school’s carpark, the ponderous sunset erupted, painting the sky with dazzling colours, and the whole scene resembled exploding fireworks. I watched the sky as I walked, filled with appreciation for the wonders of nature. When I neared my car, however, a pain shot through my heart as if I’d been stung by a venomous insect. The pain spread through my heart like overgrown weeds. Someone had turned my car, which I had bought only the month before, into a canvas for graffiti. The person had left a jumble of scratch marks, which resembled the spreading tentacles of a domineering octopus.
The word “shock” could hardly describe my feelings at that moment.
This was a first in my many years as a teacher. I had never reprimanded or punished my students without sufficient reason. Whenever any of my students committed an offence, I would talk myself hoarse trying to help that student see the light, while giving him or her a chance to repent and turn over a new leaf. Only the stubborn ones who refused to change would receive a measured degree of punishment from me. If it came to that, I would give them a detailed explanation before the punishment so that they would understand why they deserved it. I have always been a firm believer in winning people over with kindness, so I have never had an unpleasant confrontation with a student. And yet, there was obviously one student who loathed me so much that he had unleashed his hatred on my car, which had suffered serious damage.
Now the culprit was standing right in front of me. Hands in his pockets, he stared ahead indifferently as if the incident had nothing to do with him. When our eyes met, the daggers in his gloomy eyes were hurled viciously at me.
I was reminded of our first meeting nine months earlier.
Secondary 4A was a model class on campus, with diligent, hard working students who never violated the school rules. Khoo Fan Feng was the sole exception. His hair was cut very short to expose his pale ears. He was always squinting in class and his eyes seemed to wander absent-mindedly out of this world. His gaze, like his face, was hollow and anaemic. Whenever I called his name, however, his expressionless eyes would undergo an instant transformation. They would become watchful like those of a police dog on high alert, filled with animosity. He had built an impregnable fortress around himself and would not, or could not, allow anyone to get close. In class he was like a square peg in a round hole, or a layer of oil floating on the surface of water. As his form teacher, I tried chatting with him several times, but each time he would answer my questions simply with a nod or shake of his head, as if his every word were a valuable gold nugget.
My biggest headache was his tardiness.
When I asked him why he was often late, he clammed up, closing his thin lips so tightly that they formed a short, straight line. According to the school rules, after a student has been late three times, he must stay behind after school to do cleaning chores. What puzzled me was his willingness to stay behind every time I told him to—and he did a good job as well. We never had to check his work. The desks and chairs would be wiped sparkling clean, and the trash on the grass would be removed, returning the school field to its lovely emerald green. When he finished his chores, he would slowly and methodically wash his hands before dragging his tall, thin frame towards the MRT station under the fading light of the golden sunset. But how heavy his footsteps seemed, as if he had been shackled.
His mother was a housewife. I had called a number of times, asking her to see me at school, but incredibly she had missed the appointment three times in a row. Even though I had wasted valuable time waiting for her, she would give no explanation each time, let alone an apology. So I switched tactics, and began trying to get hold of his father instead. However, each time I called Mr. Khoo’s office, his secretary would inform me that he was out of the country. Hence school had been in session for several months, but I had yet to meet either of his parents. What exactly was Fan Feng’s family like?
I was curious, but no matter how hard I tried, he was a hard nut to crack. In my years of teaching, I have always believed that with enough effort even a steel cudgel can be worn down to the size of a needle. Rome wasn’t built in a day. In addition to love, transforming a problem student requires patience and perseverance, and it won’t work if even one of those elements is missing. Therefore, ignoring his reactions, I made sure to find time to greet him every day with a few words and a smile. Sometimes I would say “Fan Feng, you did a great job on the last test, so keep it up” or “Fan Feng, you used several of my favourite idioms in your essay this time.” When there was nothing special to say, I’d try “Fan Feng, you look great today” or “Fan Feng, you’ve got dark circles under your eyes. Don’t stay up too late.” I wanted him to know that he was not an island, ignored and neglected by everyone. I also wanted him to know that I would be his driftwood any time he needed help.
At first I got no reaction, just a wooden expression. As the days went by, however, I saw his taut face soften a little, and as more time passed, he began to nod at me whenever I walked by. More importantly, the animosity in his eyes gradually disappeared. But he was still late for class—that hadn’t changed.
One day I was grading the students’ exam papers in the staff room when the class monitor ran in, ashen-faced and panting hard.
“Madam Tham, Madam Tham, Fan Feng has been hurt!”
Startled, I leaped to my feet and asked urgently, “How? How did he get hurt?”
“He fell while playing basketball and sprained his ankle. He’s lying on the court and his PE teacher told me to tell you.”
Fan Feng was still lying on the ground when I got there, his face twisted from the pain. The physical education teacher, Foo Zhi Yu, who was squatting by him with an anxious look, stood up the moment he saw me.
“Madam Tham, I want to take him to the hospital but he won’t let me. He says he’d rather die than go to the hospital. Could you notify his parents so we know what they’d like us to do?”
Fan Feng, who was grimacing from the pain, said, “Madam Tham, I don’t want to go to the government hospital, but I don’t mind a private clinic.”
I looked down and was surprised to see his eyes pleading with me. They seemed to be struggling painfully in desperation. I felt a searing pain in my heart.
Then I made a snap decision.
“Mr. Foo, I’ll take him to a nearby clinic and I’ll transfer him to a hospital if the doctor there thinks it’s necessary.”
“No, I don’t want to go to a hospital,” Fan Feng protested.
He was so insistent—something else had to be going on.
I drove rapidly down the street towards the neighbourhood clinic. He rested his head against the back of the seat. His pale face was now a chalky grey.
“Fan Feng, does it hurt really badly?” I asked. He was silent, so I added, “I hope it is
n’t serious.” Still there was no sound from him. After a while, he spoke up in a surprisingly child-like way. “Do I have to take my clothes off during the examination?”
I turned to glance at him when we stopped at a traffic light. He sat up and rolled up his shirt to expose his belly. “Look, Madam Tham.” I nearly cried out in shock. His fair belly was covered in bruises—inky black, dark brown, bright red and dark blue—as if he’d been branded by the devil. “My mum did it,” he said in a pained voice, as if he’d been seared by a hot iron. “I don’t want the doctor to see them. He might report it to the police and my mum might end up in jail.” He became quiet again after struggling to tuck his shirt inside his pants. A raging, savage pain rose up from a spot deep in my heart. It was too much to bear and my vision turned blurry.
He held onto his clothes tightly the whole time we were at the clinic. After performing a careful examination, the doctor determined that the injury wasn’t serious and bandaged Fan Feng’s foot. He prepared some medicine and wrote out a medical certificate granting Fan Feng two days’ absence from school, before sending us off.
Since Fan Feng’s fears hadn’t materialised and his injury wasn’t serious, he felt well enough to walk on his own without my help as we left the clinic.
I spotted a fast food restaurant shortly after we got out.
“Hungry?” I asked.
He nodded, so we went in. I ordered a set meal with many items for Fan Feng, which he wolfed down. Clearly he was starving. He gnawed clean several large pieces of fried chicken in no time.
“What do you normally have for dinner at home?” I asked casually.
He glanced up at me. “Instant noodles.”
“Every day?” I asked, surprised and uncertain that I’d heard him correctly.
He nodded and shrugged, before adding indifferently, “There are many different flavours. I don’t eat the same one every day so I don’t get tired of them.”