“I don’t want to open up the subject again if it grieves you, grandma,” Goldie says, when they are having their coffee. “But I just wanted you to know that when I get back from China, I’m going to approach the National Heritage Board to propose a memorial plaque at the site of the seaside kampongs in honour of the villagers and their way of life. Like the one we saw at Tanjong Katong.”
For some moments, her grandmother does not respond and Goldie wonders if she disapproves of the idea. Then she sees her grandmother struggling with her emotions and knows that she has made the right suggestion.
“You’re such a treasure, Goldie,” Pansy says in a choked voice.
“I love you, grandma,” Goldie says and she is startled at her own admission, as she has never said the words to anyone else before. She is twenty-six years old and this is the first time she had uttered those words. Is she pathetic or what? “I love you too,” her grandmother responds, hugging her.
This too is a new experience. Her mother is not a touchy-feely type.
“Now that you’ve brought up the past, you might as well know that your grandpa was censured for his behaviour in rallying support for the villagers.”
“Censured? By whom?”
“Ah, that awful period. I had no heart to unpack after my mother’s funeral. She had requested, long before her demise, to be cremated and her ashes to be disposed out at sea where my father may have drowned. We took a boat about a mile out from the shore and released her ashes, together with the bunga rampay which she so loved. I missed her deeply, and couldn’t rouse myself to create a new home, though I knew I had to, for George’s and Anthony’s sakes. The rental property was nice but it didn’t feel like home. Bricks and mortar do not make a home, however luxurious it might be. Besides, we were not familiar with the area around Sembawang then.
“Soon after, whilst we were still in the throes of our bereavement, your grandfather was summoned into the Medical Registrar’s Office.
“The registrar, Dr Menon, spoke to him gravely. The rawness of our loss must have fuelled your grandfather’s reaction.”
“I’m afraid your audacious behaviour over the incident regarding the villagers at Kampong Tepi Laut has reached the hospital’s medical board. I’m sorry to say that you are to face a tribunal for your misconduct,” Dr Menon said.
“My misconduct?”
“Yes,” the registrar cleared his throat. “You are charged with abusing your position as a medical doctor in this hospital by using the hospital telephone to carry out your seditious activities. And you also tried to amass support for your cause through coercing other members of the staff. You did this whilst you were supposed to be attending to your duties.”
“This is absolutely ridiculous!” George said in a heated voice. “People were being treated unfairly and I was trying to get some justice for them. Besides, I only used the telephone during my breaks.”
“The telephone in the hospital is not for your personal use.”
Dr Menon continued in his monotone voice, citing more of George’s transgressions, and the disciplinary procedures. George stood up abruptly,
“You can tell the tribunal members to shove their supercilious attitude up their ***. I’m handing in my resignation!”
“Dr Chan!” Dr Menon exclaimed, reddening at the expletive, and cautioned him. “You’re a good doctor. Don’t throw away your career because of your impetuousness. You would have to face graver consequences if it were not for the influence of your eminent father.”
“My father? My father?” George said, now really angry that the father who had disowned him had continued to remain embroiled in his affairs, yet had not had the grace to contact him or help him out when he was needed. “I don’t have a father.”
He came home directly to rant about it.
“There’s nothing here for us,” he said to Pansy. “Let us get out of this country. You’re a qualified registered nurse and I’m a medical doctor. It won’t be difficult for us to be accepted by other nations. Let’s go where people have the freedom to say what they think. You’ve always loved the idea of England. I can get a posting there easily. Why don’t we go there?”
Chapter 11
Pansy misses Goldie. Her granddaughter is facing cold winds in Beijing, as summer gives way to autumn. But she can’t remember what Goldie is doing there. Is she on holiday or working there? Or has she gone there to live? This muddled brain is becoming a nuisance! The worse thing is that she’s vaguely aware of having known something before, yet now the fact refuses to surface, hanging on the fringe of her mind in tattered wisps. Pansy is cross with herself.
She considers calling Anthony to ask about Goldie, but doesn’t want to hear him say with exasperation, “But I told you already what. Aiyah, how many times do I have to tell you?”
She is sure Dr Kwa has said something to him and Emily about her condition. They had taken Pansy to see her but Dr Kwa had told her nothing, though she had sent her for all sorts of tests, including an MRI. Pansy is not bothered about being told everything if she was found to be terminally ill. She has lived life to the fullest with George, and to be frank, life without him is lacklustre. So she has prepared herself mentally and spiritually, taking every opportunity to chant and meditate so that she is restful and calm. In the Buddhist and yogic scriptures, it is said that the best way to leave this world is to be in spiritual readiness: that the quality of one’s life at the point of death determines, to a large extent, the quality of one’s next incarnation.
Pansy hopes that Goldie has the right clothes for the cold. Someone once told her that the secret of enjoying the outdoors is to dress appropriately for the weather. Now who would have told her something like that? She goes through the alphabet in her mind, to see if any letter will trigger a name or image. But nothing comes. Bother! Pansy wonders if Dr Kwa had mentioned the reason for her forgetfulness to Anthony and Emily. Is she afflicted with dementia? Has she got Alzheimer’s? Will she know? Or will she simply slip into a fugue of amnesia?
Pansy opens her window to see if there are any traces of autumn here in Singapore. There was something that George showed her whilst they were still in Singapore that gave her a potted experience of autumn. But she can’t remember what. The greatest fear that Pansy has is of losing George by forgetting about him.
Yet she remembers how she had looked forward to autumn in England, when the warm colours of the rainbow in the leaves and berries were a feast for the eyes. The natural world is so vibrant and changes on an almost daily basis to present a new facet each time, so that you have something to admire as soon as you step out your door—like changes in the intensity and quality of light, in the colour of wood and tree trunks, the variety of flowers and plants which seem to know their own timings to appear. With seasons, you can look forward to the different birds, be they indigenous or visitors—nightingales in spring, cuckoos in summer, geese in autumn, and robins in winter.
It was one of Pansy’s greatest pleasures to see a flock of geese in flight and in formation. If George was not with her when she saw it, she would rush home to tell him about it. Every year, geese would fly out from the Arctic, Canada, Scandinavia, and Iceland, to avoid the harsh winters there and stop by in England, some on their way to South Africa. They came for food and warmth. The salt marshes and mudflats at West Wittering, near Bracklesham Bay provided them with an easy catch for their dietary needs. The surrounding acres and acres of open fields were dotted with campers and motorhomes in summer, but in autumn, would lie bare to welcome the birds back. It was quite special to see them arrive in their huge fluttering flocks of hundreds, their large wings flapping, shouting greetings to each other in their distinctive sounds. All this exists regardless of man’s awareness or lack of it.
“Oh dear. I’m not going to see the geese this autumn,” Pansy sighs. “But maybe I can find out what migratory birds do come to Singapore at this time of year. Maybe I will go to Sungei Buloh or Chek Jawa to see them. Perhaps I will pay an
other visit to the Gardens by the Bay. Its extensive gardens will naturally be a good place of rest for the birds that have flown thousands of miles.”
Ah, autumn, Keats’s season of mists and mellow fruitfulness. It’s a time of reflection and of gathering: squirrels gathering their nuts for the winter, bears filling their bellies before going into hibernation, farmers bringing in the harvest. It is her time to reflect as well. Has she been a good mother? A good wife? What kind of grandmother? What do we each have, when on the threshold of our demise? What can we say about ourselves?
But when you’re not in a land of four seasons, you don’t have their rhythm to follow, tending to be stuck in a groove of sameness. Pansy’s thoughts return to the leaves turning from green into brown, red and gold. Then several pages of visual scenes flash through her mind. Colours. Red, brown and gold. Suddenly, Pansy manages to snag the wisp of memory she has been trying so hard to remember. It was an autumn scene that George had shown her—right here in Singapore.
“I have a surprise for you,” he had said with a secretive smile. “I’m going to give you a special treat. You have to trust me because when we get close, I need to blindfold you.”
“That’s sounds really intriguing,” Pansy said.
They were newly married, faced with so many challenges—George’s parents disowning them, her mother and herself struggling to put George through medical school. Yet, they had never been happier, their love for each other exciting yet steadfast. To wake up in the morning with him by her side was the greatest joy she had known. She had feared that his transition from his parents’ wealthy home, with servants to wait on him, to their simple kampong house would be difficult. But George took it in his stride, saying how free he felt. It was magic on days when both of them didn’t have to get up at the crack of dawn to make their way to the hospital on Outram Road.
Kim Guek had given up the one bedroom and created a sleeping space for herself near the verandah, where Hock Chye’s fishing boxes, nets and tackle still stood. She said she was contented. George and Pansy would sit up in bed, their arms around each other, to watch the sky brightening up with pink and orange as the sun rose in the sky with its usual rapid ascent.
“We have to cycle there,” said George. “It’s a bit of a distance. Not many people go there, so it should be quiet. Bring your Wordsworth. We’ll picnic there and I’ll read you the poems. I’ve been practising my English accent with Prof Enright.”
“You’re so romantic.”
“I’ve made some nasi lemak for your picnic,” Kim Guek said, handing them the green pyramids of nasi lemak, with all the condiments wrapped in banana leaf.
“Thank you, Mak,” said George. “You can come with us, you know.”
“I know, but you don’t need chaperoning now that you’re married,” Kim Guek said. “Anyway, I’ve got Cik Aminah coming to see me about her knee problems. Now off you go and enjoy yourselves.”
They packed a thermos of tea and other snacks.
“Let your hair down,” George said to Pansy. “I love to see the wind blowing your hair about as you ride.”
“Don’t ride too fast,” said Pansy. “I can’t ride as fast as you in my sarong. I will one day, when I start wearing trousers.”
“I’ll rue the day. You look ever so sexy in a sarong kebaya.”
They rode out of the village, turned right after the Canossian retreat and made their way up the dirt path towards Kampong Somapah. They crossed the wooden bridge over Sungei Ketapang and turned down Tanah Merah towards the eponymous red cliffs. The hilly, mud-packed road with thick forests on both sides, undulated towards the sea—sometimes you could see the sea, sometimes you couldn’t. They were young and fit, so they rode fast. After a few hundred yards, George directed them to a track through the forest which she had never noticed before.
“Don’t worry!” he shouted above the wind. “We’ll make our way back before sunset. But I brought the torches, just in case.”
They passed tall mahogany and tembusu trees, lallang fields and creepers with beautiful flowers, with numerous birds and butterflies flitting here and there in peaceful abundance. Finally, George stopped and disembarked.
“We’ll leave the bicycles here and come back for them and our picnic in a while,” he said. “It’s just round the corner from here. We’ll walk from here so that I can blindfold you.”
Curiouser and curiouser… Lewis Carroll’s words flashed through Pansy’s mind.
He tied the blindfold over Pansy’s eyes, then took her hand.
She loved the mystery and the sense of adventure. As her eyesight was isolated, her other senses became sharper. She was conscious that her feet crushed dry leaves and twigs underfoot. She could hear the monkeys thrashing through the trees, chattering playfully. Not long afterwards, she became aware of the sea, because of the way the sea breeze brushed her skin and the tangy smell of salt reached her nostrils. Then a little later, she could sense bright light even with her blindfold on. So they must be out of the forest and in a clearing. She could hear the sea now.
“Okay, stop just here,” said George. “I’ll take off the blindfold now. But keep your eyes closed until I tell you to open them, so you won’t spoil the surprise.”
After he had taken off the blindfold, he put his arm around Pansy.
“Now, you can open your eyes, my darling.”
At first the bright sunlight was blinding, and Pansy waited for her eyes to adjust. They were in a small grove of wood right by the sea. The trees were special because their crowns were shaped like a pagoda, the trunk sending out a single stem to a great height before branching into several limbs. But it was the colour of the leaves, each group shaped into a rosette, which surprised Pansy. They were in red, copper and gold just as she dreamt about trees in autumn in England. And here they were, right here in Singapore! A small copse of them, looking as if the leaves were on fire! She was surrounded by them. At the feet of the trees was a carpet of brown, red and gold leaves which had fallen. It was magical. Truly she could believe she was in England!
“Oh, George!” Pansy covered her mouth in disbelief, amazement and delight.
“They are wild sea almond trees,” George explained. “They are our local deciduous trees which shed their leaves twice a year, unlike the majority of our evergreens. They grow on sandy shores and have green leaves which change colour just before they fall. Their green almond-shaped fruit turns red to purple when ripe and is edible, tasting like almonds. Some of them do grow by the wayside, but on its own, each isolated tree does not impress locals with its metamorphosis. What is spectacular about this place is that the trees are clustered together, so the visual impact is much greater.”
“They are so beautiful! What a gift! How did you find this?”
“You remember when you were talking about finding places to read your Wordsworth instead of just at your Windermere? I know you sometimes like to pretend you’re in England. That was when I went cycling round to look for a suitable alternative, and came across this.”
“You’ve made me so very, very happy,” Pansy said, hugging him.
Just at that moment, a gust of wind blew in from the sea, shaking the crowns of the trees and they let fall a confetti of autumn-hued leaves. The leaves spiral down over George and Pansy and their upturned faces. Delighted, George took Pansy’s hands and swung her round and round in their joy, their feet scattering the red, brown and gold leaves in all directions. Then he pulled her close to him.
They kissed deeply, his hands cupping her face, then sweeping her body. The place was deserted, not the kind of area chanced upon by any casual passer-by. He unpinned the kerosang on her kebaya and put his hands underneath the blouse so that if anyone should turn up, it would be easy to do up again. He leant Pansy against one of the trees and took her nipple in his mouth. Pansy gasped. Being outdoors and being so daring heightened her arousal. At home, they were always conscious of Kim Guek nearby in the living room, the bed and floorboards creaking, so they
always tempered their movements and muffled their moans into each other’s nape or into the pillow. But out here they could let loose the force and energy of their lovemaking. He removed his belt so that its buckle would not hurt her, slipped off her knickers, and probed her wetness. Her moans brought him to hardness rapidly. She arched her back to meet his body. George was unstoppable. It was probably the day that Anthony was conceived.
Pansy realises now that there is no dearth of nature here in Singapore, despite it being a city of concrete and glass mountains. Thanks to Mr Lee Kuan Yew and his “greening project”. This means a great deal to her. If people could tear their eyes away from their iPhones and iPads on their journey in a bus or car, they too might see that a huge variety of beautiful trees, plants, and flowers proliferate across the island, and that there is a constant flurry of activity as they are being visited by all kinds of birds, bees, dragonflies, butterflies and moths. And if people were to unplug their ears from their earphones, they would hear the wind rustling through the trees, the birds calling out to each other, or singing their cheerful songs.
It has taken a while but Pansy finally feels that she’s settled back in her birth country. Now she knows where to go if she feels she needs to be with nature, to catch sight of a purple heron or white-throated kingfisher, to hear the sunbirds sing. She has a choice of several reservoirs with mature forests surrounding them, or she can take a bumboat ride to Pulau Ubin, or nearer still, a train to Pasir Ris Park, Sungei Buloh, the Botanic Gardens and of course, Gardens by the Bay. She has come here to check out what kind of migratory birds stop by here annually. She sees a young man wearing his green T-shirt with the Gardens’ emblem of a dragonfly stitched on it, so she stops him to ask questions.
“Shh, quiet,” the man cautions Pansy. “Look there. The red-legged crake is feeding her chicks. She’s a water-bird.”
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