‘I owe others a lot already so I don’t want to owe any more.’
Her voice was soft like the whisper of a breeze, so I wasn’t sure whether she had said it or I had imagined it that afternoon as we stood under the clear blue sky with just the wire fence between us. I thought she was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen, and that was why I blurted out, ‘Run away. You don’t have to be a pipa girl.’ You should have seen Ah Nah’s face. She looked at me as though I was mad.
‘It’s not Mummy who forced me into my line of work. My Mummy loves me very much.’
With that she vanished into the house and we never met or spoke again.
‘There must be a God somewhere, you say right or not? But sometimes, when I look around at the world today, I ask God, where are you? I also know I’m a rare old bird. You smile. How many former prostitutes attend seminars? Ha! See! You laugh. But it’s sad. Your academic seminars will be enriched if more of my kind attend. Even Jesus Christ seeks our company. He knows that we know what filth and dirt are in our hearts. Do you know how many children my organisation saves each year? In Vietnam alone? How many we lose or fail to save? Now, that I don’t know. Many are trafficked into prostitution and sold into slavery by their own dead bitches of mothers. I was lucky. I was not sold. I was pleaded and begged into slavery. I was enslaved by gratitude and filial piety, fed on a diet of stories like the young judge and his bitch mother. My own bitch mother threw me away. My adoptive mother picked me up and fell on her knees, begging me to save her children. “Save your brother and sisters. Help me,” she begged. “Their own father is dead. Help me put food on the table. That’s all I ask of you, Ah Nah.” I was fourteen at the time. What choice did I have? It never occurred to me to say no to the woman who had saved me from the rats. Mummy was kneeling before me with her hair down and her face streaked with tears. And all I could think of was that the Lightning God would strike me dead if I said no to her. Not one cent was I worth. That was how I saw myself. So I gave Mummy all that I earned. I swear before the gods that I did not keep a single dollar for myself. My stupidity lasted an incredible twenty-four years. You say can die or not? That we can be stupid for twenty over years and not know it. I was already thirty-eight when my brother sold my house to pay off his gambling debts. That was when I woke up. That three-storey house was my retirement money and he squandered it in casinos in the Genting Highlands. And he could do it. The house was in his name and Mummy’s name. Not mine. How was it that I hadn’t known earlier? How could I have known? I couldn’t read then. I couldn’t read! My sisters, they all went to universities overseas with the money I earned but I, I remained illiterate. I couldn’t read.’
Tears roll down her cheeks. She’s crying soundlessly. I hold her hand in mine. Down in the bay the water sparkles and dances in the light from the boats. I sit closer to her and close up the space between us. A cool breeze comes in through the window and ruffles her hair. Oh God! God! God! How you work in mysterious ways. Here she is, white-haired and still so beautiful. At sixty-five surely I am free to answer the whisperings of my heart? Or am I just a dirty old man? Ah Nah is right. Interpretation governs meaning. But how did an ex-prostitute learn that?
‘Heaven never blocks all our paths. When I came to Hong Kong, KS came into my life quite by chance. I met him at the airport. He was a big and important professor at the university here. He engaged my services. I pleasured him well. In return he got teachers to teach me. I thought it was a fair exchange. I sought learning and he sought a secret pleasure, away from his wife and family. I had to be very discreet, but at least I was using my talent to work for myself. It was much much later that I formed this Save the Children organisation after KS passed away.’
That’s all I need to know. My heart is racing. I don’t trust myself to speak.
3
The Morning After
There had been a seismic shift the night before. No one noticed it. Singapore the morning after was still the same. The sun rose as usual. Everything looked the same. Except Mother.
‘When Cheng Lock brought her home for dinner last night, ha, I thought she was his office friend. So chatty she was. Auntie this! Auntie that! Sweet as sugar she was. She had a motive.’
‘Ma,’ I protested. ‘How can you say that? You’ve just met Jennifer.’
‘If no motive, why didn’t she and Cheng Lock come straight out and tell me? Why wait till this morning? Your brother phoned me. From his office. Didn’t even dare tell me face to face. Asked me what I thought of his woman. “I’ve just met her,” I told him. That was when he dropped his bomb. They want to marry. Asked how I felt about it. “What’s there to feel?” I said. My feelings, not important. So old already. One foot in the grave.’
It was a lie, of course. If her feelings weren’t important, my mother wouldn’t have taken a taxi immediately after Cheng Lock’s phone call and come here.
My feelings were in a state, too, that morning. I didn’t know what I was supposed to feel. I was still dizzy from David’s news. I wondered if I should tell her about her grandson. Could the old lady cope with two shocks? I was all right. In fact, I was beginning to wonder if I was a normal mum. I ought to feel guilty or sad. Somewhere inside my head, a judge was sitting expectantly. He expected me to feel guilty. Instead I was listening to my mother complain about my brother’s heterosexual love affair.
‘There’s more. He asked if I wanted grandchildren. “But I’ve two grandsons already! Your sister’s two sons! Are you so in love that you forgot?” I asked him. He laughed. He said he’d meant, what if he didn’t want children of his own? That’s when he revealed that the woman has two sons from her previous marriage. Asked if I would mind. “What’s there to mind? I’m not the one getting married,” I said. He asked if I would like the two boys to call me Nai-nai, like Daniel and David. “Chieh!” I said. “They can call me whatever. Nai-nai. Por-por. Grandma. All the same! But think carefully,” I said. “Make sure you don’t regret it. Adopting other people’s sons is not like keeping a dog. You say right or not?” That’s what I said to him.’
I could hear the anger in my mother’s voice, and said so.
‘Why do you always accuse me of anger, eh? I’m not angry. Get angry for what? I always tell my prayer group in the temple, let your children be free. My children are free to do what they like. That’s my weak point. I’m too soft.’
It was on the tip of my tongue to point out to her that if she hadn’t been so stern and possessive a mother, Cheng Lock wouldn’t have had to resort to the phone to tell her about his marriage plans. My brother is forty-one. He has lived with our mother all his life. Has never married. Never brought any girl home for dinner. And until last year when he turned forty, our mother was still buying him his underwear. Yes, his underwear. Cheng Lock is the filial son. I’m the recalcitrant daughter. I fought our mother. Kept her at arm’s length. Married early and left home. When I got divorced, I rejected her offer to take care of my sons.
She predicted that my boys would do badly in school because of my neglect. Now a part of me was afraid that she would blame me for David’s condition. Condition? What am I thinking? My son is not sick. Why do I have to feel guilty? David has won a state scholarship to study at MIT in the US. Any mother would be proud. But would I be just as proud if he had not done well academically?
My mother did not stop talking even as my attention wandered off. I was waiting to tell her about David. But she was worked up over my brother wanting to marry a woman with two sons. My son is never going to marry a woman. Shouldn’t I be the one getting worked up?
‘Ma.’ I tried to stop her.
But she wanted to parade her virtues. So I had to listen.
‘Your brother has a good life and doesn’t know it. Which mother is like me? Cook, boil and simmer all day. Then last minute he’d phone to say he couldn’t come home for dinner. I would have to eat leftovers for a week. Do I complain? I cook for him, I wash for him, I clean the flat for him. Have I so much as
asked for a thank you all these years? Part of my life savings went into that apartment. Now he’s getting married. He will expect me to move out of the master bedroom so he can bring home that woman and her two sons. Did you know that they’ve been living together for a year? He didn’t tell me! Only now I know why he’s never home. Any other mother would’ve wailed and complained. But not I. Not a pip out of me.’
‘Ma, what are you doing now?’ I was getting impatient.
She turned on me.
‘Who do I tell if I don’t tell you? Who? Your father left me to bring up the two of you. All these years, who knows my tears?’
She started to sob. I made no attempt to comfort her. It was a familiar pattern. My dead father was trotted out each time she wanted some sympathy. I was not surprised that my brother did what he did. It’s difficult to handle a mother who cries a widow’s tears.
A part of me was proud that I hadn’t cried. Last night is engraved forever in my memory. David had stood in the middle of the living room. Still sporting the crew cut from his stint in the army, he was lanky like a robust young tree.
‘Mum, I’ve something to tell you and Dan.’
He did not flinch when he said the word ‘gay’. It was the first time that the word had been said among us. Was it Niyi, the African poet, who wrote, ‘In the beginning is the Word. In the Word is our beginning’? Was last night the beginning of my son’s new life?
‘Mum, I don’t want to live a lie. I want to live in the open. In the light. Not hiding in the dark,’ he said softly.
Brave words from a nineteen year old. But I was afraid for him. From the outside we’re a tolerant, multi-religious, multi-cultural, multi-lingual, multi-everything society. But inside there’s a hard kernel. Like an apricot’s. We can be most unforgiving. What if the army finds out? He hasn’t completed his national service yet. What if the Singapore Public Service Commission finds out and takes away his scholarship? It will break his heart. What if …? What if …? I started to pray.
Have I been so blind all these years? No, not blind. Once or twice it did occur to me, what if …? Fleeting thoughts, never pursued. The mind shies away from such thoughts about one’s son. No parent wants to think that it can happen to her son. We’re close as a family, the three of us. Dan, David and I. When the boys were growing up, we talked during meals, mostly about what they had done or what was wrong with Singapore. Never, never about sex and sexuality. My fault. My fault. No, no, not my fault. Things aren’t so simple. No one knows why such things happen.
When I woke up this morning, I was surprised at my own calm and collected state. My world hadn’t fallen apart. David had declared that he was still the same David.
‘Nothing has changed, Mum. Only your knowledge. That has changed. Not me. I want you to know about me before I go to the States, so you won’t blame the US or the West for corrupting me.’
I was impressed that he had thought about this.
‘How can you be so sure?’ I asked him, keeping the edge out of my voice.
‘I’m sure.’
His answer had the ring of authority that comes from first-hand knowledge.
‘When? When did you know? What if you change your mind later?’
I was clutching at straws. Years ago, a student who was a bit of a tomboy had told me that she wanted to undergo a sex change to become a man. But five years later, the girl changed her mind. Last night I’d hoped, no, prayed in my heart that David would make the same happy mistake some day.
‘When did you first know?’ I asked him again.
David was silent. Then in a voice that quavered with emotion, he said, ‘About nine or ten.’
His answer shocked me. Was that why my son was such a neatness freak? Such a good and tidy child? Unlike his elder brother, Dan, I never had to nag David about homework. Was he trying to compensate for his difference at age nine or ten? At that tender age he was already carrying a heavy burden.
‘You just knew?’ I asked him again.
He looked into the distant past. I saw the tears gathering.
‘I prayed, Mum.’ He paused, searching for the words. ‘I asked God, “Why? Why me?” I asked Him to take it away.’ He fell silent again, trying to bring his feelings under control. When he looked up, his eyes were sad. ‘I knew God wouldn’t take it away when I went to secondary school.’
‘But you kept it to yourself.’
I was incredulous. Images of David as a ten-year-old schoolboy in blue shorts and a white shirt, and as a thirteen year old in a white shirt and white trousers, floated past my inner eye. Meanwhile, David stood silent before me as though I had accused him of deceit.
In a quiet voice he said, ‘I couldn’t tell you earlier. I had to be sure first.’
I hugged him. I wanted to hug away all his years of lonely struggle. I wished I could. ‘You’re my son. Whatever happens to you, you are still my son.’
I was reeling. Hanging on the wall of our sitting room is a photograph of David at seven. He’s leaning against the window. His child’s face, serious, his mouth, vulnerable, and the eyes that are looking straight into the camera seem to ask, ‘Who am I?’ Maybe I’m reading too much into it. My mind trawled the past for signs that I had missed. Could it have been his parents’ divorce? No. It couldn’t have been. I know of one happily married couple with two gay sons. I turned to Dan. My elder son had been quiet all this while.
‘How do you feel, Dan, about David being gay?’
‘It’s okay, what! What’s wrong?’
Dan’s answer was gruff. But there was no mistaking his love for his younger brother.
These were some of the things I wanted to tell my mother on the morning after, but she was too upset with my brother’s heterosexual love for a woman with two sons.
‘Are you listening to me or not?’ My mother nudged me back into her presence. ‘I said Cheng Lock wants to bring the woman and her two sons home for dinner on Christmas Eve.’
‘So?’ I looked at her. ‘Are you going to say there’s no room at the inn?’
My mother was indignant. ‘Why do you always think so badly of me, ha? I’ve already said they can come. He loves her. What can I do? Must accept her, what!’
I laughed. ‘Ma,’ I sat beside her. ‘I’ve something to tell you about your grandson.’
4
The Man Who Wore His Wife’s Sarong
Our family went to his wake and funeral.
‘I don’t care what others mutter under their breath about him. Kim Hock was a kind man. An honourable man and a loving father. He was the only relative who offered us a room when we first came to Singapore. All the others avoided us. Now that we’re well off, it’s a different story, lah!’
My mother knew what she was talking about. Like Uncle Kim Hock, my parents were from Penang where we still have many relatives, but my parents have never gone back, not even for a short visit. And I will tell you why.
My mother caused a huge scandal when she got involved with my father. Her family disowned her for living with a married man. It’s no longer a scandal these days, but it was a huge scandal during my mother’s time, especially among the conservative Nonyas. My parents are Straits-born Chinese, the Baba and Nonya who speak a patois of Malay, Hokkien and English. My sisters and I were in our twenties when my mother coughed out this story on the eve of her silver wedding anniversary. Imagine our shock! I looked at my parents’ grey hair and wrinkles, and for the life of me I couldn’t imagine that once upon a time they had been passionate young lovers. Anyway, my two sisters and I lapped up their story and teased them about it occasionally. All families should have a few skeletons in their cupboard. They make us more interesting, don’t you think so? We Singaporeans are such a staid people.
My mother was Pa’s second wife—what Penang people in those days called a minor wife, someone you refer to as suay-ee (literally ‘small aunt’ if you speak the Hokkien dialect). I guess it was to emphasise her lack of importance and status in her husband’s family
. Such terms are no longer used, and I know young people these days don’t care to know about such words. But these dialect words reveal our social and family history. They’re part of our cultural lexicon. And there were lots of ‘small aunts’, minor wives, concubines and mistresses in those days. Of course, we still have them today, known by different names: partner, companion, girlfriend, even goddaughter if the guy is decades older. Human nature has not changed. Today the children and grandchildren of such women could be our doctors and politicians, with reputations to uphold and skeletons to hide.
That your mother or grandmother was a concubine or ‘small aunt’ was not something you crowed about to your friends in school. When Pa came to work in Singapore, he brought Mother and me with him. Pa’s first wife never forgave Mother for ‘snatching away her husband’. This was why we’d never gone back to Penang. Then, after Singapore broke off from Malaysia, Pa and Mother also broke off contact with their Penang relatives, including Pa’s first wife and her three children. Now, I don’t want to judge my pa, but this was what he did. Heartless betrayal at one end, and constant love for my mother at the other. His first marriage was what they called a customary marriage. Just serve tea to your parents-in-law and all the dead ancestors, and you’re married. His domineering mother chose his first wife. Pa was her eldest son. He had to do his duty by his mother. And I must say that he did it very well. He had three children with his first wife. Then, in his thirties, he met Mother who was eighteen then. And they had me. His mother, that is my grandmother, refused to accept me as her granddaughter. I remember as a child we had to move house very often. Later I found out that it was to avoid Pa’s mother and his first wife who wanted to break up their union. That was why they fled to Singapore.
‘Your pa’s mother and his first wife cursed me till kingdom come. How I suffered in those days!’
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