by Ken Kwek
Mrs Pong hung up the telephone and marched into Timothy’s room. Rudy was there. Timothy was helping him unstick his fingers with turpentine. Rudy’s index finger and middle finger were glued together, as were his ring finger and pinkie, so his hands looked like a Ninja Turtle’s hands.
“Who is this?” asked Mrs Pong.
Mrs Pong was surprised to see Rudy. She always acted as though it was the first time they’d met, even though Rudy’s visits had become as frequent as once a week by now. But Mrs Pong was always so preoccupied by other people (mainly ones who appeared on screen), that she had never properly registered Rudy’s existence.
“This is Rudy,” said Timothy, rolling his eyes.
Mrs Pong was already looking back at her phone.
“Hi, Auntie,” said Rudy.
“Hi, Rudy,” said Mrs Pong, without looking up. “I’m Timothy’s mother.”
“I know, Auntie. This is the twentieth time we’ve been introduced.”
“I’m sorry but I have to break up your little party now. Get changed, Timmy.”
“Where are we going?”
“Not ‘we’. You. I’ve got fifty episodes to catch up on. You’re going to Dad’s cousin’s shop to get my vase evaluated.”
“The creepy old guy?”
“His name is Russ Tee. And for goodness sake, do not tell him that you broke it. Just say it’s a mosaic sculpture and get him to give us a good price for it. You have to make up for some of the damage you’ve caused.”
Fifteen minutes later, Timothy and Rudy were in an Uber with Mrs Pong’s vase. Timothy was highly sceptical that a grumpy old antiques dealer would be interested in buying a wonky flower pot.
11
Uncle Russ Tee
The Uber passed through Chinatown and arrived at the shophouse where Mr Pong had tried to sell his Casio. This time the shutters were wide open and Timothy could read the sign above the entrance. It read, “Russ Tee Curios”.
The boys thanked the driver and walked inside the shop. The room was dimly lit from the orange glow of lightbulbs hanging from the ceiling. They flickered on and off like fireflies. Timothy and Rudy looked along the shelves around them.
Each shelf was stuffed with dusty globes, old clocks, oil lamps, ancient maps, bird cages, sewing machines. There were so many things that the boys didn’t recognise – objects that looked like they’d been salvaged from a time machine.
“Yo,” said a gravelly voice. Timothy jumped and nearly dropped the box he was carrying. He turned around to face a tall man slouching forwards so that Timothy could look right into his piercing grey eyes: Dad’s creepy old cousin. Timothy gulped.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I thought that was how kids greeted each other these days. I’m Russ Tee, pronounced ‘Rusty’.”
“As in a rusty nail?” asked Timothy.
“Exactly. And you must be Tian and Mary’s son, Timothy. Yo.”
“Er, yo, Uncle Russ Tee. This is my best friend, Rudy.”
“Yo, Rudy.”
“Yo, Uncle,” said Rudy.
Uncle Russ Tee shook the boys’ hands. His wavy salt-and-pepper hair was tied back in a ponytail, and the sides of his head were shaven like a samurai. He sported a scruffy goatee that came to a perfect point, like a dagger, under his chin.
Timothy noticed that he wasn’t wearing the black silk robe this time. Instead, he was wearing a collarless shirt, grubby jeans that were a little too short for him, and sandals. A pair of round spectacles hung around his neck on a string. He was less sinister looking than Timothy remembered him.
“I’m not sure if your dad explained our connection,” said Uncle Russ Tee. “Our fathers are half-brothers. Our grandfather had three wives and two of the wives were sisters, who had seven and eight children, respectively, and our fathers were among the sons of these sisters.”
Timothy and Rudy looked at Uncle Russ Tee and blinked.
“That’s okay, all you need to know is that we’re relatives,” said Uncle Russ Tee. “Now, I assume that contains your mother’s Korean vase?”
Timothy was under strict instructions to get a good price for the vase so he knew he had to make up something interesting to say about it, but he was too embarrassed to take it out of the box.
Meanwhile, Rudy found a cobweb stretched across two lampshades. He wound it up around his finger and was eating it like cotton candy.
Sensing Timothy’s discomfort, Uncle Russ Tee gently prised the box from his nephew’s grasp. He motioned for the boys to sit down at a table in the middle of the shop. It was an old, coffee-stained carrom board, balanced on a beer crate. Four more beer crates served as chairs.
Uncle Russ Tee put on his glasses, took one look at the vase and had to stifle a laugh.
“It’s…er…it’s a kind of mosaic,” Timothy mumbled, but Uncle Russ Tee silenced him with an impatient wave of his hand. The game’s up, thought Timothy. He’d be sent packing, the way Dad had been sent packing with his “vintage” Casio.
Uncle Russ Tee pulled up a beer crate next to Timothy and sat down. Then, in the manner of a wise master like Yoda, but with proper syntax, he said: “There are two kinds of antiques, Timothy. The first are the more obviously valuable items, like things made from expensive materials, like gold or silver, or paintings by famous artists, like Salvador Dali. The second kind are the sort with some intrinsic value – valuable because of the people they are connected to or the story behind them. Like this little ivory comb, which a Sri Lankan prince used to comb his favourite pony with in the 1800s. Or that imperial chamber pot, which a succession of Qing emperors peed in for over five centuries.”
Timothy looked at the chamber pot and wondered when it had last been washed.
Uncle Russ Tee tapped a finger on the cracked vase. “This just might fall into the second category, if there’s an interesting story behind it.”
Timothy said nothing. He looked at the patchwork vase. It made him feel sad. It reminded him of all the horrible events that had happened since his first day at Bangsvale Secondary.
Then, before he could stop himself, a flood of words spilled from Timothy’s mouth. “The bullies in school have made suckers of us, Uncle Russ Tee. They’ve been on our case since day one. It’s bad enough to be bruised and bloodied and have our money and sandwiches stolen but now they’ve gone and killed one of our hamsters which we need for the Triple S Fair. And worst of all, no one at home listens, not Mum, not Dad, not Tara, because they’re all phubbers. They only listen if I WhatsApp and I can’t WhatsApp ’cos they took my phone away so I tried to grab Dad’s iPhone but I ended up breaking Mum’s vase and she made me glue it back together but then I glued my fingers together. Anyway Mum’s stupid vase is not Korean art, it’s not any kind of art. It’s a cheap flowerpot she bought from TMall and life totally SUCKS!”
“Woah! Slow down, boy,” said Uncle Russ Tee as he opened a can of expired chrysanthemum tea and offered it to his nephew. Even beverages were antiques in Uncle Russ Tee’s shop.
Rudy licked the last of his snack of spiders and web off his fingers. “Did you understand any of that, Uncle Russ Tee?”
“Er, I think so,” replied Uncle Russ Tee.
They both looked at Timothy, who was now fanning himself with a faded brochure for Tiger Balm Gardens that he’d found on the floor.
“I think the bullies are a problem, but bullies can be defeated eventually. Those horrible modern phones, though—” Uncle Russ Tee stopped mid-sentence and emitted a loud phuuuuuuut from his rear end. The boys wrinkled their noses and waved at the air around them.
“Sorry, boys,” said Uncle Russ Tee, “but any talk of digital technology tends to give me gas. Anyway, as I was saying, about those phones. If you ask me, those phones do more harm than good. They’ve already taken over Timothy’s family and soon they’ll take over the entire world! Why are they called smartphones anyway, when they make people act so dumb?”
Timothy sipped his rust-flavoured tea, then looked at th
e vase in Uncle Russ Tee’s hands.
“So…do you think it’s worth anything?” he said.
Uncle Russ Tee stood up and placed the vase on the chamber pot. He turned back to Timothy, stroked his goatee as if deep in thought, then said: “Well, it’s not vintage. It’s not even retro. It certainly has no intrinsic value. But as a gift from a newfound nephew, I suppose it has some sentimental value. So.”
Uncle Russ Tee reached into his pocket and pulled out a small wad of cash. He peeled off a $2 note and a $10 note and handed them both to Timothy.
“The $2 is for your mother, that is the value of the vase,” said Uncle Russ Tee. “The $10 is for you, Timothy. Thanks for sharing your story.”
12
Dollar For ’Em
Mrs Pong was not pleased that her vase had only fetched a measly $2. But Mr Pong WhatsApped to say that getting even a cent out of his stingy cousin was like “hitting the jackpot”. Mrs Pong misread Mr Pong’s comment as a personal attack on her. She broke down in tears, deploring her husband’s “nasty sarcasm”.
Timothy was glad to escape his parents’ constant bickering and return to school after the March holidays. He had barely stepped through the school gates when Miss Chin summoned him, Rudy and Gilbert to the teachers’ office.
The office looked exactly how you would imagine one to look in a school called Bangsvale – it was about as welcoming as the visiting room of a maximum security prison.
“I had to make a real case for you, so you could use your phones and tablets in school for your science project. AND THIS IS HOW YOU BEHAVE?” The sudden spike in volume of Miss Chin’s wrath jolted the teacher who was sitting behind her, Mr Pasqual, who spilt coffee on himself.
“But Miss Chin, it’s all a misunderstanding!” said Timothy, trying to explain.
“I DON’T WANT TO HEAR ANY EXCUSES! YOU HAVE TO BE RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR ACTIONS!” Miss Chin bellowed.
Mr Ong, a math teacher who’d just entered the office, dived to the ground and crawled back out on his belly, like a soldier retreating from an artillery attack.
“WERE YOU OR WERE YOU NOT USING A PHONE IN THE LOCKER ROOM?”
“Yes, Ma’am, we were,” said Timothy with his head bowed.
“AND DID YOU OR DID YOU NOT SCARE THE LIVING DAYLIGHTS OUT OF MR SINGH WITH A DEAD HAMSTER?”
“Yes, Ma’am, we did,” said Gilbert, his bottom lip quivering.
“DO YOU KNOW THE POOR MAN HAD TO TAKE THREE DAYS OF SICK LEAVE AFTER THAT INCIDENT? A CASE OF HAMSTERITIS?”
“We’re sorry, Ma’am,” said Rudy, as he chewed on his nails.
“YOU’VE DISAPPOINTED ME AND ALL YOUR CLASSMATES! YOU BOYS HAD BETTER SHOW A LITTLE DISCIPLINE AND PULL YOUR SOCKS UP!”
All three boys bent down and pulled their socks up. Even Mr Pasqual bent down and pulled his socks up. They gave Miss Chin one last apologetic bow and retreated from the office.
Gilbert went off to meet Wacky who was working on their robot. Eat-Z could now feed the pets the right type of food, but it was dishing out the wrong quantities.
The terrapins were being fed fish-sized meals (too little), the fish were being fed hamster-sized meals (too much), and terrapin-sized meals were being dropped into an empty hamster cage (pointless).
“Grab a snack?” Rudy asked hopefully, as he steered Timothy towards the canteen.
Timothy dragged his feet alongside Rudy, then plonked himself down on a bench outside the school’s auditorium.
“Dollar for your thoughts?” said Rudy.
“It’s penny. Penny for your thoughts,” replied Timothy.
“I know, but this is Singapore. Give me a dollar and I’ll listen to your thoughts.”
Timothy couldn’t help but smile at his friend.
“Is it about the bullies?” said Rudy.
“Sort of. Remember what Uncle Russ Tee said? The bullies are a problem, but phones are an even bigger problem. Phones are driving my parents crazy. Phones are driving everyone crazy.”
“Uh huh,” Rudy shrugged.
“So, I’m thinking…we could kill two birds with one stone.”
“We’ve already been accused of killing hamsters. If we start killing birds—”
“Not literally, Rude!”
“Oh.”
“We need to get back at the bullies and we need to show my parents how their phone addiction is totally messing things up for us.”
“So, what’s the plan?”
Timothy pointed at a poster for the upcoming production of Romeo & Juliet pinned up outside the auditorium. Darren and Bella’s faces glared out at them.
“They can’t wait to kiss on stage for the whole world to see,” said Rudy. “Eurgh.”
“Wouldn’t it be sweet to ruin their kiss?” said Timothy.
“Sure, but how?”
Timothy leaned in closer to Rudy. “What if we could get my parents to ‘accidentally’ wander on stage right before the kiss?”
“To look for Pokémon?” Rudy asked, already beginning to see Timothy’s plan.
“Exactly. To look for Pokémon. My family, they’ve walked into stranger places playing that game.”
“That would be totally dope!” cried Rudy.
“You sure you’re okay with it?” asked Timothy.
“I mean, it’s your play too.” “I’m only an usher.”
“I thought you were Juliet’s nurse?”
“They said I was too tall to be Nurse,” said Rudy, looking down at his shoes. Then, “Okay, how do we do this?”
“Well,” said Timothy, “if I tell my parents the backstage area is swarming with Pokémon, they’ll be there in a flash. You’ll be in the wings so you can disorientate them back there and then usher them onto the stage without them knowing.”
“Imagine them storming onto the stage and shouting ‘Likitung!’ or ‘Kabuto!’ right when Romeo goes into kiss Juliet! It’ll be so funny!”
The boys looked at each other, picturing the moment. It was perfect.
13
Loitering in Toilets
“What’s the line again?” asked Timothy.
“If I profane with my unworthiest hand this something something, the gentle sin…er something my lips, two brushing pilgrims…something something…touch with a tender kiss,” replied Rudy.
“What does that even mean?” asked Timothy. “If I profane with my unworthiest hand?”
“I don’t know either, but who cares? Just remember it’s what Romeo says a minute before he kisses Juliet. Once you hear ‘if I profane with my unworthiest hand,’ that’s when you get your parents backstage. I’ll do the rest so that they’ll walk right onto the stage, into Bella and Darren, and everyone will laugh at them. Got it?”
“Got it,” said Timothy
“What’s the line?” Rudy quizzed.
“When Romeo, er, provokes with his weirdest hand.”
“Profanes with his unworthiest hand!”
“Profanes with his unworthiest hand,” Timothy corrected himself.
“Good. It’s Act 1, Scene 5, only twenty minutes into the play.”
The cast and crew of the Drama Society had spent the last two months rehearsing the play, and tonight four hundred proud parents, bored relatives and anyone else who’d been forced to come along, were gathered to watch their kids in the show.
No one in the Pong family had any objections when Timothy suggested they arrive early. They had come armed with their phones ready to catch all the Pokémons Timothy had told them about.
Timothy decided to do a test run.
“Bulbasaur!” he said.
“Bulbasaur? Where?” Mrs and Mr Pong and Tara cried in unison. All three of them instinctively rose to their feet and held out their phones. Timothy pulled them by the arms and sat them back down.
“Sorry, sorry, I made a mistake,” he said.
“Don’t be a fool, you fool!” cried Tara, reaching across Mrs Pong to smack Timothy on the back of his head.
“I said ‘sorry’, di
dn’t I?” said Timothy, though he was secretly pleased.
A few minutes later there was a dkk dkk dkk of someone tapping on a microphone.
“Testing. Testing. Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, a warm welcome to Bangsvale Secondary School. As the show is about to begin, please turn off your mobile phones and other beeping devices. Thank you for your cooperation. And now without further ado the Drama Society presents Romeo & Juliet.”
The lights of the auditorium dimmed. Timothy noticed that his family and nearly half the audience did not turn off their phones. The darkened hall was filled with the spectral glimmer of phubbers’ LED screens everywhere.
Timothy fixed his eyes on the stage and waited for his moment. He watched as Sampson bit his thumb as a gesture of insult at Abram, his sworn enemy. Only Sampson bit down too hard and ended up sucking on his thumb while Abram dashed off stage to the school nurse to fetch a plaster.
He watched as the lovers’ fathers argued with each other, only Romeo’s father, Montague, kept spraying saliva during his speech so Juliet’s father, Capulet, spent most of the argument wiping spit off his face.
Then he watched as Romeo approached Juliet at a ball and said: “If I profane with my unworthiest hand this holy shrine, the gentle sin is this.”
The moment had arrived!
Timothy tapped his parents’ arms and was about to whisper there was a Heracross backstage, when Mr Pong suddenly stood up, exclaiming: “Spawn point! Spawn point nearby!”
There were grumbles of disapproval from the audience. Timothy shrank in his seat in embarrassment as his father dashed out of the auditorium.
Timothy was flummoxed. His eyes darted from his mother to his sister. Mrs Pong and Tara had actually paused their games to watch the romance unfolding between Romeo and Juliet on stage.
Timothy excused himself and made apologetic noises as he shuffled past several pairs of knees and went after Mr Pong. He hurried out of the auditorium just in time to catch a glimpse of his dad turning down a corridor.