Literature, on the other hand, allowed for ambiguity and interpretations. Mr Hasim Hassan drove the class to dig deep and uncover their respective interpretations. The man claimed that there were no right or wrong answers. That alone was enough to unnerve Gimme Lao. He secretly suspected that Mr Hasim Hassan lacked due respect for the parameters of what constituted right and wrong. He found the man as incomprehensible as the subject he taught and instinctively distrusted him.
Secondly, he did not trust Omala to behave herself. She had a tendency to disregard rules and authority and often landed herself in trouble. When they studied biology in year one, they had to dissect a rabbit at the laboratory. Omala annoyed the biology teacher by insisting that the class be allowed to vote to sacrifice their learning in exchange for the release of the rabbit. In year two, Omala was upset when she read in a Life magazine article that child brides in Yemen, as young as five or six, betrothed to husbands who were 20–40 years older, tended to suffer from physical abuse and fatal miscarriages. Shortly after, she embarrassed the school authorities by going on stage during the annual ministerial visit and questioning the minister as to why was Singapore not listed in the International Human Rights Watch list of countries that had voiced their opposition to the practice of child brides in Yemen. The visiting minister fumbled clumsily for an answer until the principal came to his rescue. Following the incident, the school authorities made it compulsory for students to submit their questions for vetting before they were selected to participate in the annual ministerial dialogues.
Gimme Lao’s foreboding became entrenched when Omala’s Saturday visit to The Substation extended into weekly sessions. She had enrolled herself as a stagehand for the play in development.
“What is the play about?” Gimme Lao wanted to know.
“Can’t tell you. Theme and content are embargoed till opening night.” Omala grinned and added with a wink, “I can sneak you in for the rehearsal though. It will be an eye opener, I can promise you that!”
On Saturday afternoon, Gimme Lao caught a bus down to the National Library building at Stamford Road and strolled over to the adjoining Armenian Street. He located The Substation easily. It was a red-brick building that used to serve as a power substation up till two years ago. While it awaited redevelopment, it was rented out to the performing arts community as a rehearsal and performance space.
Omala galloped down the stairs at three sharp. “Full rehearsal starting in five minutes. I will sneak you in. You got to leave before they turn on the lights. Mr Hasim Hassan doesn’t need to know you’re here.”
The theatre was dark enough that their entrance went unnoticed. Omala ushered Gimme to a bench where he could get an angled view of the stage. Five chairs were lined up in a row on stage, illuminated by five sets of spotlights. He was surprised to see all the seats in the mini-theatre taken up. It was most unusual to have a turnout of over a hundred people attending a rehearsal.
Someone in the back stage tapped on a percussion triangle to invite silence from the audience. The stage lights went off. Several seconds later, two sets of spotlights came back on, descending onto two seated figures on stage. A Chinese in a white tee shirt sat bent over on the left, his face hidden in his hands. The second was a Caucasian wearing a brown suit, who sat staring at the audience with a startled expression, his left hand holding a cup suspended in the air.
“Karl…”the Caucasian whispered. The Chinese did not answer.
“Karl…the coffee…” Still, the Chinese did not move.
Then, the Caucasian let the cup drop. It crashed onto the floor, shattering the silence with the impact of breaking porcelain. The Caucasian stood up, tottered, then slumped down onto the floor. Dead.
The hands that covered the face crawled down to the neck, revealing eyes that were stunned, sad, in pain. The stage lights extinguished. In the ensuing darkness, an announcement was made in a monotone, devoid of sentiment.
“Deceased: male, 36, Caucasian, married, father of one, supermarket operations manager. Cause of death: poisoning. Case classified as murder. Name of Brian Brown.”
“Suspect: male, 24, Chinese, single, supermarket supervisor. Charged with first-degree murder. Name of Karl Li.”
“Relationship: manager and employee.”
“Suspected relationship: homosexual lovers.”
“Motive for murder: not established.”
The lights came on. The body on the floor was gone. The murder suspect sat in the centre, flanked on both sides by four angry, shouting men. No one could make out what was being said amidst the overlapping arguments and rants. The Chinese suspect cupped both ears, face grimaced in agony, body twisted. “Stop!” he pleaded. “One at a time, please…”
All but two spotlights extinguished. One focused onto the Chinese suspect, the other onto a bespectacled Malay man on the left. Gimme Lao gasped as he recognised Mr Hasim Hassan.
“I am your psychiatrist, Karl Li. You must believe that I am here to help.”
“What can you do for me?” the Chinese suspect asked, slowly putting down his trembling hands.
“The deceased’s lawyer has a strong case on his hands. You must cooperate with me if you want to clear yourself of the murder charge.”
“Clear?” the Chinese suspect snorted. “I told them. I poisoned Brian.”
“Now, now, now…we don’t know that yet. Your family doesn’t seem to think so. Your uncle is willing to go to great lengths to clear you of the charge.”
“My family? They don’t speak to me anymore. They cannot accept the fact that their son is…gay.”
“But your uncle loves you,” the psychiatrist insisted.
The Chinese suspect snickered. “He does? How can he, when I am such an inconvenience? Do you know that he is a prominent grassroots leader in his constituency? He cannot afford a scandal.”
“Karl! Look at me, Karl!”
The spotlight over the psychiatrist was extinguished. A second spotlight traced the angry voice and illuminated a balding, middle-aged Chinese man seated on the right. The Chinese suspect cringed.
“You are a disgrace, Karl!” the uncle fumed. “What happened to you? You were such a sweet child.”
“I was…a sweet child,” the Chinese suspect echoed.
“You broke your mother’s heart. You totally disappointed your father,” the uncle accused.
“I disappointed my father…” Another echo. “What did he expect of me?”
“Why…that you should grow up a fine young man just like everybody else.”
“Just like everybody else. But I can’t be. I am not just like everybody else.”
“Nonsense! You can and should be just like everybody else.”
“Everybody else finishes school, gets a job, gets hitched, gets married and starts a family. I finished school, got a job, got…fell in love and then… There is nothing after that. There is no marriage, no family for me. I don’t know what to do next.”
“You fell wayward. You got into bad company. You must tell the judge that. The man, that white man, destroyed your life.”
“That man’s got a name. He is Brian,” the Chinese suspect announced coldly. “He did not destroy my life. I did not have a life until I met him. And neither did he. We gave each other a new life when we came together. It was painful, very painful, but we were ourselves with one another.”
“You don’t know what you are talking about!” the uncle bellowed. “Why can’t you give your mother less pain? She loves you so.”
“She feels pain because she cannot accept me as a gay child. She would rather hang on to the stubborn belief that I am an innocent child gone wrong, corrupted by the decadence of the West, than suffer the agony of realising that she doesn’t really know me. In her pain she is dignified and righteousness is on her side. She asks to feel pain.”
“How could you say such a thing about your mother?” The uncle uttered, horrified, before dissolving into darkness, “You need help.”
The spotlig
ht once again descended on the psychiatrist.
“Karl, I want to help. Will you talk to me?”
“What would you like to know?”
“It’s best if we start from the beginning. Tell me how you came to meet Brian Brown.”
“He was the manager at Cold Storage Supermarket. He interviewed me when I applied for the job three years ago.”
“And how would you describe your working relationship with Brian Brown?”
“Good. I was hardworking and willing to learn. He was happy to guide me. Within a year he promoted me to supervisor.”
“And you liked him a lot?”
The Chinese suspect let a nostalgic smile creep up as he lost himself in recollection.
“He was always good to me. We used to go for lunch breaks by ourselves, just the two of us. And we talked. We talked a lot.”
“About?”
“About his family, his wife. About myself, my family. About our lives.”
“He talked about his wife. So you knew he was married.”
“Yes, he told me a lot about his wife. Her name was Sue.”
“Why do you think he talked to you about his wife?”
“Because I asked.”
“Why?”
There was a pause.
“I was curious.”
“Why were you curious?”
“I guess…” The Chinese suspect bit his lip. “I wanted to know if she was a good wife. If he was happy with her.”
“Did he tell you he was unhappy with his marriage?”
“No.” It took a moment of reflection. “But I know he was happy with me.”
“How can you be sure about that? Did he tell you?”
“I sensed it.”
“How?”
“I just know!” The Chinese suspect was getting irritable.
“All right…I believe you,” the psychiatrist coaxed. “Tell me, Karl, when was the first time he made a pass at you?”
There was another pause. The expression softened. The irritability disappeared, to be replaced by a dreamy haziness. “He didn’t. I made the first move.”
The psychiatrist persuaded very gently, “Tell me.”
“It was…in December. My first Christmas at Cold Storage. I had never been that swamped before. Festive promotions. Christmas jingles. The cash registers kept ringing. And the stock taking drove me crazy! The never ending stock take…”
A tall figure in a brown suit moved silently into the sphere of spotlight. It was Brian Brown. The dead man. The murdered.
“I will never finish this!” Karl exclaimed in exasperation.
“You don’t have to finish it today,” Brian consoled. “There is plenty of time tomorrow.”
“Brian, you are the manager. You should be the last to tell me that!” Karl chuckled, slapping Brian on his thigh. “Besides, I noticed that someone worked on my stock taking last night after I left. It was you, wasn’t it?”
Brian grinned shyly. “I don’t want you to overwork yourself.”
“You should have told me.” Karl smiled warmly. “I would have stayed on and we could have worked together.”
Brian shrugged. “I am working overtime tonight.”
Karl stood up, his eyes lit with irrepressible joy. “I will go and get us some dinner.” He said, retreating out of the spotlight.
“Is there anybody else working overtime?”
“What?” Brian swivelled around, jolted, only to realise it was the psychiatrist who spoke.
“Is there anybody else working overtime?” The question was repeated.
“No. No one else.”
“So you will be alone with the boy?”
“Yes…with Karl.” Brian fidgeted with discomfort.
“What were you thinking of, Brian? What were you thinking?” The psychiatrist clicked his tongue in disapproval.
“What are you trying to say?” Brian snapped, confused, embarrassed, annoyed.
“Did you say something?” Karl asked, stepping into the sphere of spotlight.
“No…I am just tired.” Brian stumbled, craning his neck.
“You need to relax.” Karl stood behind the chair and began to massage Brian’s neck. Brian shut his eyes and sighed in contentment.
“Feel better?”
“Heavenly.”
“What you need is a fresh cup of strong coffee,” Karl remarked, giving his ear a loving pinch before retreating out of the spotlight. Brian was left alone, softly caressing the spot that was pinched, lost in thought.
“You liked that, didn’t you?” the psychiatrist interjected.
“What?”
“When he pinched you on the ear, you enjoyed the touch, yes?”
“I-I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do,” the psychiatrist insisted. “You were very much aware of what was going on. What happened next, happened because you wanted it to happen.”
“What happens next?” Brian asked, trembling a little.
“What happens next is you take time off the bloody stock taking to enjoy your coffee,” Karl announced as he appeared and handed Brian a cup. He looked on lovingly as Brian sipped the coffee. “Does Sue know you will not be home for dinner tonight?”
Brian almost choked, spilling coffee onto his pants. Karl knelt down quickly to wipe off the stain with his handkerchief. Brian gazed at him, confused. “Why do you always mention Sue, Karl? You do it every time we are together.”
Karl slowed down on the wiping. “I am just curious… I have never met her, but I believe she must be a remarkable woman to have a man like you love her so much. You do love her, don’t you?”
The hand that held the cup was shaking slightly. “Of course I do. I am her husband.”
“That is good.” Karl’s remark was almost inaudible.
“There is no need to be jealous, Karl. You are a good boy. You will someday find someone who will love you more than I love Sue.”
“More than you love Sue?” Karl looked up, with hope in his eyes. “Do you love someone more than you love Sue?”
“I…I didn’t say that,” Brian stuttered. “I am sure I didn’t say that.”
Disappointment registering on his face, Karl slowly withdrew to his own chair and sat down.
“What is it, Karl? Is it something I said?”
“No, it is something you did not say.”
There was a long pause. Brian fidgeted. Karl remained silent. The psychiatrist watched.
Eventually, Karl broke the silence. “If there is someone who loves me more than you love Sue, let him speak. For I know, that I will love him as much as he loves me. I do know that I love him already.”
Brian trembled when Karl looked up and gazed into his eyes. But he could not tear his eyes away.
“Kiss me, Brian,” Karl finally said.
“I heard that!”
It was a shout, emitting from the dark space next to Brian. A spotlight came on and illuminated an Indian with a moustache. The lights on Brian and Karl went off.
Fuming at the interruption, the psychiatrist jumped on the newcomer, “Who the hell are you?”
The Indian with the moustache hurled the psychiatrist an arrogant glance and announced haughtily, “I am the lawyer for the deceased, Mr Brian Brown. And I saw and heard it!”
“Saw and heard what?”
“Saw and heard and witnessed the accused seducing and entrapping the deceased in the emotional entanglement that would directly lead to his murder two years later.”
“Bullshit!”
“Watch your words. I could sue you.”
“I am not going to waste my time with you,” the psychiatrist decided. “I want to speak with my client Mr Karl Li.”
“So do I,” said the lawyer.
“What is it?” The spotlight descended onto the Chinese suspect Karl Li. Brian the deceased was nowhere in sight.
“Mr Karl Li, I have some questions for you,” the lawyer promptly said.
“What is it?” Karl repeated. He appear
ed dazed and disheartened.
“Was the deceased, a Mr Brian Brown, your lover of two years, with whom you had an ongoing sexual relationship?”
“Sex? Yes. That we love one another? Yes too.”
“Did you have any sexual partners before him?”
“No.”
“Never even experimented?” The lawyer sounded incredulous. “Why?”
Karl gazed blankly into space. “I was…confused.”
“Confused!” The lawyer perked up.
“Scared…” Karl muttered.
“Scared? Because you know it is wrong?” the lawyer suggested almost gleefully.
Karl shook his head.
“Speak up, Mr Karl Li. We cannot record gesticulation,” the lawyer urged.
“What I felt was not wrong. It would be wrong to pretend to love a woman and marry her when you know in your heart your love lies with a man.”
“In your heart your love lies with a man? And who might this man be?”
Karl was silent.
“A certain Brian Brown? Your manager, mentor, who gave you ample guidance and showed you concern when you were first starting out? Someone you look up to? Respect and admire, perhaps?”
“I know what you are driving at,” Karl remarked coldly. “It is more than that. It is…love.”
“And how would you know love, Mr Karl Li, when you have never been in a relationship before this? Could you not simply be, as you so proclaimed earlier, confused?”
Karl shook his head with determination. “It is love between Brian and me. I know it.”
“How would you know? By the stirring in your groin?” the lawyer challenged.
“It is more than a stirring in the groin! It is the care you feel for each other. It is the warmth and understanding you convey when you look each other in the eye. It is putting the other person ahead of yourself. It is the pain you feel when you are unsure if this will last at all. The willingness to give all, your time, your energy, your heart, your everything. God, don’t you think I know love at all?”
Karl began to whimper.
“He is upset,” the psychiatrist said. “Leave him alone for a while.”
The spotlight over Karl dimmed, then flickered out.
Let's Give It Up for Gimme Lao! Page 11