The Man Who Wore His Wife's Sarong

by Suchen Christine Lim

  I went inside and closed the door, trembling in the dark. The sun had set by now. It was dark inside the bath hut, and I dared not open my eyes. What if they met the red eyes of the goblins which lived inside the water jar?

  ‘Ping!’

  I jumped. The light came on. I opened my eyes. A naked bulb was hanging from the ceiling. I could see the tiny strands of cobwebs clinging to it, but where were the spiders? I couldn’t see any spiders.

  ‘What are you gaping at?’

  She threw a bucket of cold water over me. I gasped. I took off my panties.

  ‘Soap.’

  I scrubbed that spot again, and it started to bleed again.

  ‘Did you fall at school? How many times do I have to tell you not to climb those rails at school, eh? Did you climb? Did you? Answer me.’

  When I chose silence, she turned on the tap full blast and flung jugs of water at me. The water was cold. My teeth started to chatter. She rubbed me down with a large towel. Her hands with red painted fingernails went up and down my stiff little body. Angry hands. Hands waiting for a chance to slap me if I were to answer back.

  ‘Run to our room and stay there till I call you for dinner.’

  Wrapped in a white towel, I raced down the corridor, past the hooting hooligans, stumbled against the stools they kicked into my path, then ran past the other rooms with their gaping lodgers till I plunged into the safety of our bedroom and shut the door. I was lying in bed in my pyjamas with my face to the wall when Mother came in.

  ‘Get up and have your dinner. Now!’

  Our dining table was outside our rented room, next to the cupboard which Mother used for storing her groceries. In Kim Poh’s lodging house, all lodgers had to eat either in their rooms or in the common passageway. Mother’s room was on the ground floor of the two-storey bungalow. Mrs Lee’s room was opposite ours, and our dining tables were in the corridor.

  ‘Ping! Don’t just sit there! Eat! Must I feed you too? Look at her, Mrs Lee, just look at her. Food is on the table right in front of her and she just sits there waiting for me. Six years old coming to seven and she doesn’t know how to feed herself! I look around at other people’s children her age. Like your children. They’re minding their baby brothers and sisters already. Look at Ah Peck. Same age as this one here but your daughter knows how to cook rice over a charcoal fire already. Not this one. Not that I expect her to cook. Oh no! I’m lucky if she can eat on her own. Every evening she sits and waits to be served. Like a helpless little princess! If this is how her grandma has brought her up, she hasn’t done me any favours. That old witch can say what she likes but this wasn’t how she brought me up.’

  Mrs Lee shook a finger at me.

  ‘Ping, you’d better be good, eh!’

  Mother pushed a bowl of soup and a plate of rice under my nose. Then she chose the choicest part of the steamed fish and put it on my rice, together with some vegetables and a large piece of pork.

  ‘Eat,’ she ordered.

  I cringed. My stomach had shrunk as though it had been tied and knotted up. There was no room for food. To appease Mother I spooned out some rice and put it in my mouth, hoping that she wouldn’t notice that I had lost my appetite. The spot I had rubbed clean of spit still hurt. Mother had forgotten to give me any ointment for it. My left hand moved stealthily under the table, feeling for the spot on my thigh. That part of my pyjama bottoms felt damp, so I knew it was still bleeding.

  ‘Look at her. Just look at her, Mrs Lee! A few grains of rice at a time, chewing like a toothless old woman! Eat the fish, ingrate!’

  I crammed some fish into my mouth at once, trying to swallow as fast as I could. My throat was as dry as sand. I was afraid that I’d throw up again. If that happened, I would be caned. My stomach felt bloated and full, but Mother would never believe me if I told her. She always wanted me to eat more and more and more because she was fed up with Grandma always telling her that I was too skinny. ‘What? Does she think she’s the only one who can feed you? Am I so useless that I don’t even know how to feed my daughter?’ I dreaded meal times more than any other time with Mother. Every mouthful I ate was an acceptance of her and every grain of rice left on my plate was a rejection of her. I couldn’t bear it. I just couldn’t eat.

  This evening, however, I had to try. Mother had been attacked and, even though I hated her with all my heart for yanking me away from Grandma, I still had to protect her against that spindly spider who had spat on me. I gazed at the scoop of white rice before me. Mother was watching to see what I would do. The hump was growing bigger and bigger, and higher and higher. First it was a mound, then a dune and still it grew. Even as I spooned bit by difficult bit and crammed it into my mouth, the hill of white grains still grew till I couldn’t stuff any more rice into my mouth.

  ‘Eat!’

  I shoved another spoonful into my mouth. Grandma. I wanted my grandma.

  ‘What are you crying for? I’m not dead yet. Stop it!’

  Mother’s eyes were like burning red-hot coals.

  ‘Drink up!’

  I forced myself to drink a spoonful of soup.

  ‘Eat your fish! Now!’

  Across the aisle Mrs Lee placed a big pot of rice and a big pot of soup on the table. Her five children pulled up their stools and held up their bowls. She ladled two large scoops of rice into each child’s bowl, followed by a ladle of soup.

  ‘More, Ma! More soup!’

  ‘Finish what you have first.’

  Mrs Lee waved away her pesky urchins, three boys and two girls. The baby was sleeping inside their room, otherwise one of the girls would be cradling him in one arm and eating with the other. The children wolfed down their rice, working their chopsticks at a furious pace, pushing the white grains into wide open mouths, slurping up their noodle soup noisily. I envied their hunger. They looked so happy.

  I tried to smile at Mother but she barked, ‘Swallow what’s in your mouth. Eat your fish even if you can’t finish your rice.’

  I swallowed hard. I was afraid the lump in my mouth might choke me as it had done the night before.

  ‘Is there a bone stuck in your throat?’

  I shook my head vigorously.

  ‘Mrs Lee! How I wish I’d no eyes to see her! I just can’t stand the way she scoops up her fish. Little bit, little bit at a time! You think the fish will bite you, is it?’ she screamed at me. ‘If you think you’re doing me a great favour by eating, don’t eat! Starve!’ Mother turned to Mrs Lee again. ‘I know she’s doing this deliberately to anger me!’

  ‘Aiyah, Ah Lien! Children are like this. You don’t care, they’ll eat. You scold, they don’t eat. Look at my brood. They know if they don’t eat now, tonight, there’ll be no more food.’

  ‘I know, Mrs Lee, I’m impatient. She’s the death of me. Am I going to let this six-year-old lump control me? I could’ve just left her with her wretched grandmother. Let her be brought up a prostitute like my sister. But my heart wouldn’t let me do it.’

  ‘Then blame your heart,’ Mrs Lee laughed.

  ‘Aye, I blame my heart.’

  ‘Aiyah, Ah Lien, a few nights of going to bed hungry will cure her.’

  Mother got up. She reached for the plates of fish and vegetables.

  ‘Then I hope you don’t mind leftovers. Your children can have these since this one here doesn’t want them.’

  ‘Thank you so much, thank you!’

  ‘Ma, give me some fish, I want some!’

  Her three boys plunged their chopsticks into my fish.

  ‘Hey, no manners, ah! Say thank you to Auntie Ah Lien first!’

  ‘Thank you, Auntie Ah Lien!’

  I kept my eyes on my plate, pretending to be oblivious to the noise and laughter at the next table. I was hoping that Mother would leave me alone now. She cleared the table except for the hillock of rice still in front of me.

  ‘Eat up!’

  I was about to put some rice into my mouth when she grabbed my hand and took away my spoon
.

  ‘Open your mouth,’ she hissed and shoved a spoonful of fish and rice into it. ‘Now chew quickly. And don’t you dare cry.’

  She was staring at my lips which were threatening to tremble. I bit hard and tasted blood.

  ‘Open your mouth! Now!’

  She shoved another mouthful of fish and rice into me.

  ‘Chew and swallow quickly!’

  I thought I was going to faint. She grabbed my shoulders and shook me.

  ‘Don’t shut your eyes. Swallow your food.’

  I swallowed but the lump was as hard and dry as stone.

  ‘Drink some soup.’

  She pushed the bowl towards me.

  ‘Drink up!’

  She held the bowl to my mouth.

  ‘Open up! Wider! No! Wider! Now drink.’

  I coughed and gasped for air. Warm soup splashed on my arm. Mother pushed me away from her.

  ‘Don’t you dare puke on me! Go to the bathroom, you little devil! I feel like smacking her hard, Mrs Lee! Just to wake her up!’

  In the bathroom I splashed cold water on my face and tried to clean up my pyjamas as best as I could.

  ‘You’re not going to bed in those filthy pyjamas. Go and change!’

  I looked at the time. Half past seven.

  ‘Hurry! Get into bed.’

  The phone in the hallway rang.

  ‘Ah Lien! For you! It’s the millionaire!’

  ‘Coming!’

  Mother’s sweet dulcet voice floated up the stairs and down the passageway where Mrs Lee was helping me to mop up the spilt soup.

  ‘Hm, darling, don’t be like that! Just half an hour more, then I’ll be with you. Give me half an hour. I’ll be dressed and ready.’

  12

  Christmas Memories of a Chinese Stepfather

  For Seb & Ben

  Not easy running a small real estate company in the outback of Hougang. But I survive. I was minding my own business that Saturday afternoon, Christmas Eve, when Alice George walked right into me on the stairs.

  ‘Whoa!’

  ‘Sorry! Sorry! Are you Mr Bob Lim?’

  ‘Ya. You looking for a flat?’

  ‘No, no! My father! He’s in hospital. I’m Alice George, his daughter.’

  ‘Mr George. How’s he?’

  Tears gushing, this Alice woman wailed, ‘He’s dying! My father! He’s dying!’

  What to do? I couldn’t let her cry on the stairs.

  ‘Please, please, come inside my office and talk.’

  ‘Seb! Ben!’

  That was when I noticed her two boys at the foot of the stairs.

  ‘My sons. Sebastian! Benedict! Come up here! Say hello to Uncle Bob!’

  She thrust her father’s brown briefcase into my arms. ‘Here. Take them. All his clients’ files and documents. He can’t …’ She started to cry again.

  ‘Please sit down. Er … How old are your boys?’

  ‘Seb’s six. Ben’s four.’

  ‘Here, boys.’ I handed Seb the bottle of fish food on my desk. ‘Go feed the fish in the tank over there.’

  The poor little buggers looked stunned. Like kenna bonked on the head. Their mother was sniffling and her eyes were red. All that crying and sobbing didn’t make her look attractive, although I did notice her skin was a nice honey brown. Not dark like Mr George.

  ‘Sorry, Mr Lim. I didn’t mean to burden you with my problems.’

  ‘Please call me Bob.’

  She updated me on her father’s illness and the progress of various pending sales. Her father was one of my housing agents.

  ‘Very hardworking,’ I told Alice.

  ‘A workaholic. Work, work, work. He doesn’t know when to stop. Everything’s in his file. That Bedok North apartment. The owner is ready to bite—will sell for twenty grand less but wants some cash immediately. I can arrange that. I know the buyer. I recommended him to my dad before … before …’ She was crying again.

  I placed a box of tissues in front of her. How come women can cry so much?

  She sobbed her way through half the box. Luckily the other agents were not in. She said she was tearing her hair out running between home, hospital and the Housing Board office.

  ‘Got to close two sales. I need the commission, Mr Lim.’

  ‘Call me Bob, please.’

  ‘Thank you, Bob. My dad, he’s got no savings.’

  ‘Your mother?’

  ‘My mum passed away. No, don’t be sorry. I’m not sorry she went. Swear! I’m not sorry. She made his life hell. Wasted my dad’s money. Gambled left, right and centre! I don’t mind telling you. Gambling. She was addicted to gambling. Borrowed here, borrowed there. Our relatives avoided her like the plague. Treated her like a pariah. Can’t blame them. My dad got to pay off the loan sharks who hounded us day and night. When she died, he was finally free. It’s not fair. Not fair. God’s not fair! She died last year. Now he’s free. Free to do what he likes, and what did he get? Cancer! His liver and stomach. And he doesn’t drink, doesn’t even smoke! Three months! The doctor said three months! It’s not bloody fair! Why only three months? My dad’s a good man! O Mother of God!’

  Once she’d started, she couldn’t stop. All that afternoon she talked and cried over the injustice of life. She had moved back to live with her father. Had been helping him with the paperwork for the housing loans, transfer of ownership and such things.

  ‘I’ve got to work harder now. Earn more. Help him out. Look after my two boys. But … but how?’ she wailed.

  The two boys moved away from the fish tank. They stood beside their weeping mother. They looked at me. Yeah, like I could help. Seb, the older boy, was holding the hand of the younger one who started to suck his thumb.

  ‘Don’t!’ Seb struck his little brother’s hand.

  ‘Mummy!’

  ‘He was sucking his thumb, Mummy!’

  ‘Stop it! Stop fighting you two! You’re driving me crazy! I’ve got to clear Grandpa’s desk. You hear me? Stop crying!’

  She slapped the younger boy. He was just a chubby brown doughnut. So I scooped him into my arms.

  ‘I’ll take your boys downstairs for ice cream. Go ahead. Clear your father’s desk.’

  She didn’t exactly ask me for her father’s job, but in the end that was what I offered her. After all, as I tried to explain to Ma, ‘She did do all her father’s paperwork. She knows how to do the work. It’s not like she faked it.’

  Maybe I did it for her two boys. ‘Their father’s Chinese,’ Alice said.

  The poor mixed-up buggers. Lost their father. Now they were about to lose their grandpa. I didn’t tell Ma, but those two doughnuts reminded me of Kit and I when our father left us. Overnight Ma turned into a raving mad woman.

  ‘His heart is made of stone! Left us for his witch! If a car knocks him dead this very minute, not one tear will I shed! Merciful Kuan Yin, forgive me! You two! Grow up. Study hard. Work hard. You hear me? Don’t depend on others! Never depend on others! Like that cad, your father!’

  It was just before Christmas. My father didn’t come home that year, or since. I was eight and Kit was six. The first time that our father was not around on Christmas Day. We’re not Christians but we always celebrate Christmas Day. So Ma took us to visit her relatives. Some of them are Christians. We had to sit up straight. She made us wear white long-sleeved shirts, thick brown trousers, thick white socks and black leather shoes. Very painful. Very hot and stuffy. We couldn’t move, couldn’t run around, couldn’t talk. We sat like statues because Ma didn’t want us to mess up our clothes and shame her in front of our relatives.

  ‘Your father left us. So behave!’

  We had to behave better than our cousins.

  ‘Your cousins have fathers to teach them! Yours ran off to his witch!’

  That was what she said. Over and over again throughout our years growing up, I could never see the logic of it. She caned us harder and more often. As if we were the ones to blame. I ended up hating her ins
tead of Father. These days she no longer raves against the old man.

  ‘What for? Dead or alive he’s not my business any more. If he ends up begging in the streets, that’s his fate! Brought it on himself. To tell the truth if I bump into him today, I won’t recognise him. Who knows what he looks like now? But,’ she dropped her voice, ‘some people say he’s gone to work in Batam. Maybe Bintan. His witch threw him out. No money. So she threw him out. Don’t know if that’s true. I pray that my sons will not be like him. I pray you and Kit will marry good wives.’

  I kept my silence. I didn’t tell her about Alice. I’d been going to the hospital to see Mr George. When Mr George passed away, I was beside Alice. Hours later Alice ran around like a headless chicken, arranging for the funeral, the cremation and calling all her relatives. Dishevelled and red-eyed, she yelled at her boys.

  ‘You don’t have to do everything,’ I tried to tell her.

  ‘But I’ve got to! My brother and his wife are paying for everything. They have money. They give money. I’ve no money so I’ve to give my labour. It’s only fair!’

  She was big on fairness, Alice. Her boys were left in my care.

  ‘I must go and see the pastor. Phone the caterer. Order food for the mourners.’

  Her family were Christians with their own customs and rituals. I took the two boys to my office. My colleagues—you know these jokers in the office—they started to kid me about being the boys’ godfather.

  ‘Uncle Bob, can you be my father?’ Little Ben pulled my hand.

  The whole office roared! ‘Oi! You heard that or not? Call him Daddy! Or Papa!’

  When word got back to Alice, she cuffed Ben’s ears and apologised for putting me in a spot.

  ‘Nah! He misses his father.’

  At this, Alice started to cry. I held her tight, her breasts heaving against my chest. What else could I do? It was the same old story. Her guy had left her and the children for another woman. The divorce was followed by a bruising custody battle. Ben went to Alice and poor Seb had to live with his father and stepmother.

  ‘But the stepmother hit him black and blue,’ Alice sobbed. ‘My son’s body was covered with cane marks all over the place. Can you imagine how I felt when I saw him? That woman is a bloody racist. Called my son a dirty Indian. My son’s half Chinese! She bloody well knows that her husband is Seb’s father! So I didn’t care! If I’ve to fight, I fight! I went back to court with a social worker and wrested Seb back from his father. He can’t even protect his own son! His wife’s a racist!’