When a Flower Dies

by Josephine Chia

  “You know, I love the way you laugh! It’s so full of joy.”

  Pansy didn’t know how to react to this compliment, so she remained silent. She observed George curiously. He tucked his well-tailored shirt back into his shorts, held up by an expensive looking leather belt. He was obviously someone who lived in a brick house, yet his voice did not sound like the irritating whine of her schoolmates or their pretentious accent.

  “You’re not from the kampongs, are you?” Pansy said.

  “No… why? Does it make any difference to you?”

  “Why should it?” she said with a jutting out of her chin.

  “And you’re a kampong girl, right, with that perfect English!”

  “Are you laughing at me?”

  “I’m just complimenting you on your English. Such articulation…”

  “I am a kampong girl actually. From Kampong Tepi Laut.,” she said. “I’m just lucky that the Missionaries chose to educate me...”

  “What? One of the hidden villages? Your village is famous, you know. All the boys I know think of it as some adventure place.”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Does what matter?”

  “That I’m a kampong girl. Not one of your kind.”

  “What do you mean one of my kind? What kind do you think I am?”

  “The kind who lives in a house with a flush toilet…”

  This time, it was his turn to laugh. A hearty laugh which seemed to echo round the open spaces, making Pansy smile inwardly.

  “This is absolutely refreshing,” George said. “I’ve never been defined by a flush toilet before!”

  Pansy could feel the heat rising from her neck into her face.

  “Well!” she said in a huff. “If you’re going to be sarcastic…”

  She bent down to retrieve her book, which she had let fall in her urgency. She cleaned it on her sarong.

  “Don’t be mad,” George said in a soothing manner. “I’m not being sarcastic. Just surprised at your command of the English language. I didn’t expect to bump into someone like you here. And what is this? A real old-fashioned book. William Wordsworth, no less. We read him at St Patrick’s. Before I left for university. You must be a convent girl. From St Teresa of Avila?”

  “Yes...”

  “I bet I know your favourite poem…

  I wandered lonely as a cloud

  That floats on high o’er vales and hills,

  When all at once I saw a crowd

  A host of golden daffodils

  Beside the lake, beneath the trees,

  Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.”

  The fact that he knew the poem astonished her. The fact that his voice was rich with resonance in its recitation sent shivers down her spine.

  “Now you’re making fun…”

  “No,” he said, a lovely smile cracking his face. “I’ll tell you a secret. And I will admit this only to you. It’s one of my favourites too. People assume incorrectly that only women and girls enjoy Wordsworth’s poem about daffodils. But his poems are not just about flowers. They’re about nature in the wild, about the need for people to go into nature to re-energise themselves, away from the mundane routines and stresses of life. His poems express the necessity of freedom of the human spirit…”

  Never in all the time that she had been enamoured with Wordsworth’s poem did Pansy think she would meet a boy or man who would even remotely like the poem, let alone love it. And here he was. She was overwhelmed. This love for the same poem suddenly seemed like a meaningful connection. Was it something they had brought across from their past lives together? Was this their code to recognise each other’s soul? They looked at each other afresh.

  When she recovered from the impact of the serendipitous moment, she said in a softer voice, “For calling you an idiot, I will share my tea and epok-epok with you.”

  What on earth was she saying? Her father would have been livid if he was alive. Her mother would bring the rotan down on her to think that she was having a conversation with a boy she just met. And to invite him for tea whilst out here on her own would make both parents apoplectic! But Pansy knew it had to be done. A deep instinct told her she could not pass up the chance. If she were to be whipped for this, well, so be it.

  “It’s my lucky day,” George said. “In more ways than one.”

  “Let us sit here,” she suggested. “This is the best view of Lake Windermere…”

  The name slipped out and she regretted it immediately. But maybe she was being over-anxious. Just because George knew the poem did not mean he knew anything about William Wordsworth’s life or where he came from. She saw his eyes gleam and she wondered if he was going to come up with another remark.

  “Pansy Lim, I’ve never met a girl like you before. You have such a creative imagination. Most people tend to be so prosaic and boring…”

  She was heartened. George’s affirmation of her wild imagination gave her a warm feeling. But she didn’t think she should tell him about Rama and Sita—yet.

  “I’ll tell you another secret,” George continued. “I’ve always wanted to visit England, particularly the Lake District. I want to see the lakes—Buttermere, Grasmere, and of course, Windermere. Do you know that the bodies of water in the Lake District have names ending with the Old English word, mere, which means ‘water’, so we don’t really need to say Lake Windermere but just Windermere?”

  So he was knowledgeable. And he knew his Wordsworth. Pansy’s jaw almost dropped. She was so delighted to find a kindred spirit that she did not get cross about his correcting her word usage. In fact, she found that she was—quite happy, really.

  Chapter 5

  “Bibik, can I take Pansy to see the parade at the Padang to celebrate Queen Elizabeth’s coronation?” George asked in Teochew with complete humility.

  “Ya, Pansy told me you met. It’s not good lah, you two meeting without other adults around to supervise. Fortunately, she confessed as soon as she got home, how it was an accidental meeting, that the buffalo had driven you to the spot where she was. You know it’s not done for a young maiden to go out unchaperoned?” Kim Guek said, her voice stern. “Her reputation can be compromised and her marriage prospects ruined you know.”

  “Yes, Bibik. I understand.” George said. “That’s why I came to introduce myself soon after my serendipitous meeting with Pansy. I want to show you I’m serious and wouldn’t want her to be compromised in any way.”

  George knew he wanted to see Pansy again, knew he wanted much more actually, but he dared not voice his thoughts or feelings yet. Everything had seemed so sudden. But his certainty had amazed even himself.

  “We’ve only just passed beyond the age of arranged marriages. We’ve not reached an era when our daughters can go out unaccompanied with a young man,” Kim Guek said firmly. “If you want to learn more about each other, you can come here. But you can’t take her out on her own. What do your parents think about this huh?”

  “I haven’t spoken to them about Pansy yet. I wanted to know what Pansy thought first.”

  “About what?” Pansy asked.

  “Us lah,” said George.

  They looked at each other. The something that had sparked between them needed no facile coyness. Pansy smiled, and George’s heart turned over. He could read her mind already! It was amazing how they had connected. He could not stop thinking of her since their encounter—the sense of her nearness, her voice, her face, had mesmerised him. At first light, he had cycled into their hidden village by the sea to look for her. It was less than a mile from where he lived, but it was a world apart. He crossed the wooden bridge on his bicycle and its wheels went geduh, geduh, geduh over each wooden hump. His nether regions were pummelled.

  George was perplexed to see people standing on the exposed river bed of Sungei Bedok, where the tide was at its extreme low point. Some were squatting, others bent over as if they were digging and searching for things. Curlews and white egrets too were dipping and diving, o
ccasionally soaring upwards with something between their beaks. But George rode on, cycling past corn fields, vegetable and poultry farms. He was momentarily hindered by a herd of cows languidly chewing the cud as they sauntered casually along the mud path, their tails flicking out at black flies. Every now and then, a cow would eject a warm pat onto the path and it would steam for a few seconds before the flies converged on it. The cows were accompanied by an Indian man, clad in an off-white singlet, a not-so-clean dhoti wrapped under and over his groin, wielding his rattan cane lightly to move the cows along. Later, George would learn that the man was Maniam who supplied the seaside villages with cow’s milk.

  “Selamat pagi. Good morning,” George had smiled and said in Malay, the predominant language spoken in the rural kampongs. Knowing that the majority of his future patients would speak either Hokkien or Malay, George had learnt to speak both.

  “Selamat pagi,” the Indian had responded, baring gaps in his front teeth, discoloured from chewing sireh.

  As mud gave way to fine sand, George knew he could not be far from the hidden kampong. Pansy had described it to him with such visual clarity that when he caught his first sight of the village, it felt as if he had been there before. He hesitated momentarily, as he recalled his parents’ reminder and fear—that kampong folk could wield agricultural implements like changkols and parangs against strangers.

  George rested his legs for a while, sat balanced on his bike as he took in the view of the cluster of attap-roofed houses perched on stilts, surrounded by an expanse of white sand beach, fringed by palm, sea fig and casuarina trees. Someone had fixed a swing to the upswept low branch of the banyan tree, and a child was swinging gently on it, with another pushing it. The houses, made from wood, fitted harmoniously into the natural landscape and had an aura of purity and innocence that the concrete houses on the hill where he lived did not have. There was a sense of tranquillity to see and hear the tide gently washing underneath the houses, in a steady rhythm of ebb and flow. The smell of salt and fish was in the air, not repugnant but engaging. The sea breeze brushed his hair off his perspiring forehead in an almost caressing gesture.

  Birds flew about in cheerful gaiety. One was a stunning collared kingfisher with its curved beak, flapping its wings in a flurry of electric blue. Seeing it made George feel like he was being presented with a gift, as if the bird was welcoming and escorting him into the village. Suddenly, George knew what Pansy had meant when she said that she would find it hard to live anywhere else but beside the sea.

  The villagers were going about their tasks, tilling their small gardens, mending nets, and putting fish out to dry on the wooden racks. One man was stacking up his goods and replenishing the rice, lentils and curry powder in gunny sacks in the provision shop which supplied the village with sundries and dried goods. A cornucopia of fragrances rose from the various sacks. At the open well, several women were washing their clothes: one woman, a sarong wrapped around her bosom, was bathing, another was brushing her teeth with the splayed end of a neem twig which was reputed to have anti-bacterial properties. They seemed unabashed to be washing themselves in public. They nodded and greeted George as he pushed his bicycle into the village. He greeted them back. His parents’ preposterous fear was unfounded. It was foolish to allow their prejudice to influence his perception. George described Pansy to the villagers and asked for directions to her house. He was warmed by their gentleness of speech and friendliness, though he was conscious that they kept an eye on him till he reached Pansy’s house, and they saw Kim Guek welcoming him in.

  “Where do you live?” Kim Guek asked.

  “On the hill, on Jalan Haji Salam, nor far from Haji Kahar’s house…”

  “That’s a smart area. Are you sure your parents approve of your mixing with us?”

  For a moment, George looked nonplussed. He had not considered the social divide before. He had been amused when Pansy had said he was the kind who lives in a house with a flush toilet. But now he felt mortified—was his family’s wealth smeared all over him?

  “Bibik. I’m training to be a doctor. As far as I’m concerned, a human being is a human being. What kind of doctor would I be if I were to differentiate between different types of people, or where they live?”

  “He’s studying at the University of Malaya, at King Edward VII College of Medicine in Singapore General Hospital, Mak,” Pansy offered the information. “We’ll probably be working in the same hospital if I get the nursing job.”

  “Still, you must let your parents know.”

  “I will. I will. But please let me take Pansy to the celebrations at the Padang. We can go near the new Esplanade and we will be able to see the march-past and the flypast. It’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Why don’t you also come with us, and then she will be properly chaperoned? I’ll treat you to a nice cream cake at Polar cafe.”

  “Yes, Mak, why don’t you? It’ll be good for you to get out of the house. You haven’t gone anywhere since…”

  “You’re right,” Kim Guek interjected quickly. “It will be an auspicious occasion for the young queen, and we should celebrate to send her our good vibes. A fresh cream cake sounds very tempting…”

  “Thank you aunty! Bibik, I mean,” George said. “Bibik, do you know one or two kids in the kampong who might want to go but cannot afford to do so? I can belanja, pay their bus fares. Many of the communities are giving out free food to the needy in honour of the Queen. The Indian community is giving out free lunch at the Chettiars’ Temple on Tank Road this coming Saturday. Maybe some of your friends might like to go too?”

  Kim Guek smiled approvingly at him.

  “Yes, I think Khatijah, Ismail’s wife, might like to have a reason to get out. Though we might have to find a baby-sitter for her brood. And I just might find one or two others who might be interested,” she said. “Since you are here and it’s low tide, you might as well help Pansy harvest the agar-agar seaweeds. We boil the seaweeds to extract the gelatinous part to make jelly or sun dry it into agar-agar sheaves to sell on market day. Our Hindu friends, many of whom are pure vegetarians use agar-agar for setting their desserts, as gelatine is from the cow’s stomach. Let me emphasise that your behaviour mustn’t disgrace us in the village. Make sure you keep within sight of me so I know you two are not up to any hanky panky. And don’t go hiding inside the pillboxes!”

  “Would I get up to anything under your hawk-eyes, Bibik?”

  “Oh, get off!” Kim Guek flicked a thin Good Morning kitchen towel at him playfully.

  Thank goodness his meeting with Pansy’s mother went better than expected. He gave Pansy a quick look and smiled with his eyes. She looked as if she was beaming. George took off his rubber slippers. He carried the rattan basket that Kim Guek had handed him. Pansy rolled up her sarong to just above her knees and tucked it tight between her legs, so that she could step into the water without getting it wet. George’s eyes homed in on Pansy’s shapely calves and ankles. Malay and Peranakan women generally do not bare their legs. That was why the young lady’s sarong with the slit in front was so tantalising when it offered an occasional glimpse as she walked. To men, this was more provocative than baring all in public.

  Although the sea water was an almost opaque blue-grey colour in the shallows, it allowed surreptitious glimpses of the red-brown seaweed, rooted but swaying hither and thither with the ebb and flow of the tide, like a mermaid tossing her hair about. George was gloriously happy to have Pansy by his side. But they were not the only two harvesting the seaweeds. There were others from the village—men, women and children bending over to pluck the seaweeds from their watery bed. Every now and then, George would purposefully make for the same clump of seaweeds that Pansy was about to pick, so that their hands touched and clasped each other’s underwater, sending shock waves through their beings.

  “Pansy…”

  “Careful, George,” Pansy whispered. “Others are looking.”

  “Ha! Ha! Look at the young lovers,” the kamp
ong folk teased. “Asmara. Romance is in the air.”

  “Oi!” Kim Guek shouted, to show that she too had noticed.

  George and Pansy sprang apart, and Pansy demurred. George was frustrated. He was smouldering with unreleased passion. For the sake of propriety, they did endeavour to search in separate areas when they were being watched, but gradually gravitated towards each other, as if swept into unison by the waves. The force between them was like a magnet. George tried to keep his brimming desires in check. They talked and they laughed—so much to discover, so many years to bridge! Besides the harvesting of the seaweeds, Pansy taught him how to unearth and pick the edible sea molluscs, the gong-gong, cockles, mussels and clams, from the moist rippled mudflats.

  “So that’s what those people were doing…”

  “What people?”

  “This morning, when I was riding over. I saw people in the middle of the river, searching for things.”

  “Oh, yes. Village folk know how to source for food everywhere. The molluscs are easier to dig out at low tide. They are cleaned, then cooked very lightly or blanched in hot water, and eaten with sambal belachan,” Pansy explained. “By the way, Mak said you’re welcome to stay for lunch.”

  “Oh, that’s very kind of her. Hmmm, my mouth is watering already,” George said. “I’m just so happy to be here with you, Pansy. You’ve showed me another way of living. I never thought I’d enjoy my bare feet squishing and squelching on the mudflats. My parents have always forbidden me to approach the kampongs.”

  “Yes, people in brick houses think our villages harbour disease, immorality and gangsters,” said Pansy. “We’re used to such disparaging remarks. Still, they are useful as they keep nosy people away from our villages so we have peace. Indeed, there’s a sense of being at one with the universe when your senses are engaged in nature. I love being barefooted most of the time. So much so that my feet probably won’t fit into conventional shoes. They are so large and ugly…”