She packs the last box of suon kueh into her bag and pulls back the curtain that separates the sleeping area from the kitchen. Kow Kia is still asleep, his head hidden under the heap of bedclothes. She crouches beside his bed and pulls out the handbag she has hidden behind the boxes under the bed, careful not to make a sound. She feels bad about hiding her handbag. Still, she has to be careful. His presence cramps her. She feels pressed against the wall at times. She stands up and draws the curtain that she had hung up to give her and Kow Kia’s father some privacy when the children were growing up. It was very difficult when the four of them were teenagers. The flat was so small. How could she blame them for roaming the streets till late at night?
When Kow Kia and his sisters left home, the flat became very quiet and empty; the space felt large even though all the things were still around. She lived in a daze, staring at the tv not knowing what the talking heads were saying. The hours crept past. There was nothing to do. She felt wasted like rubbish washed up on the beach. No one wanted this old body of a mother. Then Mee Sua Soh, her neighbour in the next block, found her a cleaning job.
Ah Gek, don’t sit at home all day. You’ll think about this and that till you go mad. Now that you can work, go and work. Having money is better than having children. These days we can’t depend on children any more. When you ask them for money, they think you’re asking for their blood. Right or not?
She had never been inside an office before. Everything looked so officious and orderly. And all the young men and women looked so smart and important. She could not look them in the eye. Mee Sua Soh laughed at her.
Let me tell you, Ah Gek. They look good on the outside only. I clean the loos, I know. They’re filthy inside. Such dirt the women leave behind in the toilets. Tampons, lah! Blood lah! Foul smelling pads stuck behind the water pipe. I used to spit when they leave my toilets! Ji-la-gak! I cursed them. Their mothers never taught them how to use toilets properly. Even cats cover their poo. Right or not? But not these educated young people! Still, washing the loos in an office is much better than washing the loos in the malls. Don’t worry. This office, the people are very nice.
She was happy to work. Even managed to save a little. Until Kow Kia turned up on her doorstep one night. The green pallor on his face shocked her. But Kow Kia being Kow Kia insisted there was nothing wrong. Just the flu, Ma. Just tired. I come back to rest a few days. Can or not?
How could a mother say no? She was happy he had come home. She cooked and boiled and steamed for him but his health grew worse. These last two months, he hadn’t left the flat at all. She had offered to pay the doctor’s fee if only he would go and see the doctor. But no, he was stubborn. And proud.
Cannot get ill, is it? Ill only you must fuss and nag. Nag me all day. I know you want me to leave your house. Don’t worry. I will leave.
It’s true; she wants him to leave. She has gotten used to living alone these past few years. Yet in every mother’s heart, her son is always her son. Dear Mother Mary Blessed Ever Virgin, have mercy on me. She looks up at the plastic statue on top of the cupboard, makes the sign of the cross and promises to say several rounds of the rosary in the evening if she sells off all the suon kueh today. Then she opens the front door and lets herself out.
The lighting in the common corridor is dimmer than usual. One of the overhead lights has blown. Dim even in the daytime, the corridor runs down the centre of this block of rental flats. The corridor is no man’s land; its walls are smeared with dried spit, bicycle tire marks and shoe marks. Cardboard boxes, cartons, shoe cases, an old pram, a ladder, two stools, two rusty bicycles chained to the pipes, and piles of old newspapers line the walls. If this block were in the Prime Minister’s constituency, such clutter would have been cleared away. A faulty light? No problem. It would be replaced the next day. As Mee Sua Soh said the bigger your Minister, the faster things get fixed.
A child wails.
‘Shut her up! Buat suay! Early, early in the morning she howls like Limpek is dying! Ah Ba is not dead yet! Stop crying! My luck is bad enough already!’ The man yells. His wife yells back. Something is flung against the door. The child cries louder. Ah Gek hastens past her neighbour’s door with her plastic bags of suon kueh and presses for the lift.
3
Kow Kia turns slowly onto his back, careful not to make any sudden move that could press against his sores and aggravate the pain. The skin on his back feels raw and damp; he wonders if they had bled while he was asleep. He tries to sit up but it demands too much energy and effort. He lies still, willing himself to stay calm as the clatter and chatter of the neighbours grow louder as the light outside the window grows brighter. He closes his eyes, and tries not to think of Honeybear. Just breathe. Just keep breathing. Don’t think. Don’t feel. Breathe. Just breathe. In. Out. In. Out. He can hear the band playing, and Honeybear is singing: Enjoy, enjoy yourselves tonight! Oh celebration! What jubilation! The spotlight is on the two of them gyrating their hips on that beautiful stage in Manila. Bright pink ostrich feathers waving and dancing on their heads, their four-inch stilettos glittering silver and gold as they kick their heels and thrust their hips sashaying down the aisle through the cheering throng of men, blowing kisses as drunks and loved crazed fans and American tourists stuffed wads of US dollars down their bras and sequinned panties. Bangkok, Pattaya Beach, Phuket, Manila and even Jarkarta, those were the days when the two of them went everywhere together, seldom a day apart.
Honeybear. Honey Darling, please get well. You have to get well, Honey.
Shh! Don’t cry. Don’t cry, da. Honeybear’s voice hardly rose above a whisper the night the ambulance came for him. We will be together always. Always, I cross my heart. Why think so much ahead? Don’t think of the future, lah. Don’t despair. Don’t worry about me. Allah memberi rahmat kapada ku. God All Merciful will have mercy on me.
4
‘Hello, people! Breakfast is here! Come and get your suon kueh! And pay up! Pay up!’ Peter Chia called out to his colleagues.
‘Hey, Peter, are you getting a cut from Auntie?’
Ah Gek suppressed a snort. That Ting woman is flirting with Mr Chia again. See, see her wagging her finger and tapping her little red painted finger on his shoulder. Shameless! Baiting young Mr Chia like this. But it’s none of her business. These young things who speak English fah-li-fah-lah like the ang mohs. But Peter Chia is different. He’s always polite to her. And so helpful too. Helping her to hand out the boxes of suon kueh to the young women crowding around his desk. Such a sweet young man, and the only one, who stands up whenever she enters his cubicle to empty the wastebasket and clean his table, and he always has a few words for her.
Have you had your coffee yet, Auntie? He would ask her.
Not yet, Mr Chia, she would reply. She never calls him Peter, not even after the two of them found out by chance that she, Ah Gek, was his family’s maid years ago when he and his twin brother were born.
Just call me Peter, Auntie Ah Gek.
Cannot. This is the office. How can I do that? You’re so high up now. Aiyoh, I better clean your office quick. Then go and drink my kopi.
Her English is rotten; she knows that. But kind Mr Chia, he never embarrasses her. Never corrects her. Never complains about the way she speaks. Not like this Ting woman. Ah no, that busybody told the boss to send cleaners like her for English language classes during the Speak Good English campaign. Complained that workers like Ah Gek give their publishing house a poor image.
How can we allow Singlish here? We’re this country’s foremost publishing house. This is our headquarters for crying out loud! We’re the flag bearer. We publish English books for schools. Singlish should be banned from this office. It’s ungrammatical. It grates on the ear. I can’t stand all this lah and lor, and leh and meh! They drive me nuts!
That Ting woman was referring to me, she told Mee Sua Soh one day. That snooty talked like her skin is white. Ya, lor! Mee Sua Soh agreed, and there and then the two of them dubbed
Miss Ting as ang-moh-sai, a piece of English turd. Ang-moh-sai, she says it in her head. It makes her feel better. Calling them names is the only way that people like her can get back at people like Miss Ting.
‘Mr Chia, this box is for you. Special. Eight suon kueh inside.’
‘That’s not fair! How come Peter gets more than us? How much is each box?’ Miss Ting holds up a box.
‘Two dollah, forty cents, lor.’
‘Actually your suon kueh are more expensive than those in the market!’
May be it’s Miss Ting’s high-pitched whine or the accusative tone, or her own impatience, but whatever it was, she retorts in a mix of Hokkien and English, ‘My suon kueh all made by hand, hor! The skin, you see or not? Very thin. Got more filling inside, hor! More meat. More veg-gee-table. The rice dough. I ownself make. The chilli sauce I make. Not from bottle, leh! I no buy bottle chilli sauce. My dried prawn and turnip, all good quality! My pork got no fat. Very lean, one. Prices go up. I no increase my price. You don’t believe me? You go home. Ask your mother. Ask her. How much the pork, the dried prawn, how much the turnip sell in maar-ket!’
‘Oh dear me, there’s no need to shout and tell a long story, Auntie.’
Silenced, she counts out the change and hands it to Miss Ting.
‘No, keep the change.’
‘No thank you, Miss Ting. Take your change, leh. I don’t want ten dollah. I poor but not greedy.’
Without a word Miss Ting takes back her change and walks off followed by Peter Chia who whispers ‘thank you.’ Later, during their coffee break sitting on the backstairs of the office, Mee Sua Soh tells her she was stupid.
‘You made Miss Ting lose face in front of so many people. She’s the deputy director. It’ll bring you trouble. You watch it. She’s not the sort to forget. The whole office is talking about you now.’
‘Let them talk, lor! What to do? It’s done already. She was waving her ten dollars in my face. Like her ten dollars is so big.’
‘Shh! Not so loud. Miss Ting doesn’t understand Teochew. But other people understand. They will report to her. Why are you so worked up? Miss Ting can make life very difficult for you, you know! She’s this close to the boss.’
Mee Sua Soh presses two fingers together.
‘You think I don’t know? But she could’ve ruined my business just now. The gods in heaven know I need the money. Kow Kia must eat well to get well. So who has to cough out this extra money for medicine and food? Your old cow here. If people in the office like my suon kueh, I can sell. But I cannot sell cheap. The price of pork has gone up. Even pork bones cost more these days.’
She tears the red bean bun into two and gives one half to Mee Sua Soh. They wash down the bread with sweet black coffee. She’s glad that she has a friend like Mee Sua Soh.
‘My ang moh talk always gets me into trouble.’
‘You know that your English is half past six, why you bother?’
‘Not me. It’s that sow!’
‘Who are you calling sow?’
‘Don’t be thick! That Ting woman said she couldn’t understand Teochew. Asked me to talk English in her office! And I do know a bit. I’ve worked for years in an English-speaking family when I was a maid!’
‘Eat up! Eat up. Here. Try this.’
Mee Sua Soh hands her another bun, warm and glistening with sesame oil. Hungrily, she bites into it, savouring the taste of sweet minced pork and fried lard.
‘Aaah, this is so good.’
‘Costs me ninety cents. Everything’s gone up. Water and electricity. All gone up. Bus fares went up last month. But the gar’ment still says we’re doing well.’
‘Of course, the government is doing well! It’s people like us who are not doing well. Look at Kow Kia. Is he doing well? All that money I spent on herbs and soup! It’s like pouring money down the drain.’
‘Talking of money, Ah Long Chek,’ Mee Sua Soh lowers her voice. She glances up the stairs to make sure that no one is coming down. ‘Sick or not, he expects you to pay him back this week. You missed again last month.’
‘But I paid him last month. I gave two hundred and fifty to Si Tua Pui.’
‘That deadbeat fatty said your payment last month was for the month before. You missed the month before? Tua Pui said you missed twelve weeks, that is, three months. Ah Loong Chek, he’s not pleased. He is very strict about prompt payment.’
Mee Sua Soh’s words dampen her mood. She tries to recall all the payments she’d made to Ah Long Chek alias Tua Buck Long alias Big Eye Dragon. The names alone are enough to make her heart pound faster. But she had had to go to the Dragon and his assistant, Si Tua Pui. Who else in this world will lend you money without any collateral? And no questions asked. She has no collateral But Big Eye Dragon is known to keep an open hand, and will lend you whatever sum you ask. Only thing is his kaki – his men can break your bones or your livelihood if you can’t pay up. They can smash your food stall, splash paint and faeces on your front door, break your leg and make it look like an accident. And no one dares call the police.
‘I’ve lost count how much I owe.’
‘Si Tua Pui said you owe two thousand and…’
‘What? Two thousand? But I only borrowed five hundred!’
‘Keep your voice down. Si Tua Pui warned you not to fall behind, didn’t he?’
‘But how can five hundred become two thousand?’
‘Interest, lor. It piles up. You owe them two thousand and six or seven hundred. I can’t remember the exact figure.’
Ah Gek groans.
‘And don’t forget your twenty-five percent interest. At the end of six weeks, you have to pay back the loan plus twenty-five percent. That’s why I advised you last time. Pay back quickly. But you didn’t pay back the whole sum. So you owe more and more. Interest upon interest. It all adds up very fast. Compounded.’
Ah Gek stands up, brushes off the breadcrumbs on the front of her blouse, collects her plastic cup and climbs the stairs back to the office, too angry and despondent to say another word.
5
The corner coffeeshop was in Bedok Northwest. And just as Mee Sua Soh had told her, there were several men seated at the tables, drinking beer and iced tea, looking like your regular neighbourhood uncles in shorts and loafers. One or two of the men sported a thick gold chain round their necks. She waved to the woman taking orders for drinks. When the woman came to her table, she placed her order as instructed: One kopi with three spoons of sugar, and two spoons of condensed milk.
One of the men at the next table glanced up. The woman took her order and returned moments later with the cup of coffee. She placed it on the table and muttered: Wait a while. Si Tua Pui. He’s in the toilet.
She remembered smiling at the name. Si Tua Pui. Dead Big Fatty. A common nickname for loafers in Housing Board neighbourhoods. But for a moneylender to be called Dead Big Fatty that was unusual. She didn’t think she would have anything to fear from Fatty. She took a sip of her coffee and made a face.
The kopi is too sweet, is it?
The man who sat down heavily in front of her was not fat and flabby as his name suggested. He was a stout thickset man. He did not smile. His eyes were small for his large face. Two deep lines ran down either side of his nostrils. His large nose looked like he had broken it in a fight. He took out a pack, extracted a cigarette and offered it to her. Smoke?
No, thank you, she heard herself squeak.
Judging by his sun-browned face, he could have been a fisherman or a construction worker in his younger days. She put his age at about fifty to fifty-five.
This kopi is twenty-five per cent sweeter than the normal cup. Just add twenty-five percent more sugar. Every six weeks. You understand?
His voice was gruff, his Hokkien unpolished. He spoke like he was telling her how to make a good cup of coffee. He flicked his lighter, lit up and inhaled deeply. He held the cigarette smoke in his mouth for a few seconds before letting it seep out through his lips and nostrils. Like a d
ragon breathing smoke, she thought. Then she noticed the large jade ring on his finger. The kind of grey-green jade known as ‘dead man’s jade’. Encased in a thick gold band, the jade stone had gleamed like a threat. A warning. How much kopi do you want to order? He asked her.
Five hundred, please.
Mee Sua Soh had warned her not to mention money. Instead, she was to state the amount of coffee, milk or sugar she wanted.
Tell me where you live. I will send someone to deliver the coffee powder to your home.
He took out a cheap ballpoint pen and scribbled her address into a dirty notebook stuffed with pink and yellow slips of paper.
Tomorrow night. Ten o’clock. You be at home.
Mee Sua Soh had warned her she’d better pay up in full. She had pleaded for time. She couldn’t rustle up so much. Later, Si Tua Pui sent word through Mee Sua Soh again. Big Eye Dragon was not pleased. And that was the first time, she was aware of the chain of command. Like a ladder. The top man sent word down to the lowest rung. And it crossed her mind then that Mee Sua Soh was on the lowest rung of this ladder.
6
Her big mouth was to blame. She was fired. And there is still no word from Mee Sua Soh about another job. It has been more than a month now. Her savings will vanish if she doesn’t get work soon. She goes into the bathroom. She comes out of the bathroom. She paces up and down, mops the stove for the umpteenth time and re-arranges her shelves. Then she stands at the kitchen window squinting at the splinters of sunlight from the glass panes and the sun-scorched walls wondering if she should go downstairs to the coffee shop to collect discarded empty drink cans. She can sell them to the karung guni man when he comes around to collect old newspapers. Might earn her a dollar or two. But has she sunk so low that she has to rummage in the rubbish bins of coffee shops? Her neighbours will have something to say. And if her three vixens find out, they too will have something to say about their mother’s lack of shame these days. Not that they will find out. They haven’t visited her for some time now. Not since their brother came home.
The Man Who Wore His Wife's Sarong Page 8