The Catherine Lim Collection (8 page)

“I must congratulate you, Mrs Toh,” said
Mark’s class teacher who, together with the Principal, the Vice Principal and a
number of favourite teachers, had been invited for the occasion, “Mark has been
doing very well. I’m entering him for the National Speech contest, the biggest
event for schools this year. I will probably select an excerpt from
Shakespeare. Mark reads so well, he has so much confidence.”

“Thank you, thank you. Mark would never have
done so well without the help and guidance of his teachers,” said Angela
deferentially. She would have liked to talk to Mark’s teacher longer, but she
had to run off to see that everything was in order, that the birthday
celebrations went on as planned.

Three or four times, when a friend or
relative remarked on the magnificence of the affair, Angela had occasion to
say, with an apologetic laugh, “Really, Boon and I never intended anything like
this. It’s a once-and-for-all thing, not a regular annual affair. You see,
we’ve been promising Mark so many things to reward him for his good performance
in school, but you know Boon and me – always busy and running around. So to
make up for all the promises we never kept, we’re giving the boy this birthday
treat here. Our place is too small for all the teachers and friends he wants to
invite; you know the garden can’t take more than 30 comfortably. When the new
house is ready, we’ll have a much bigger garden, and there’ll be a special
barbecue pit. Right now, there’s just no space. But we’ve told Mark, ‘That’s
all! No more birthdays like this. Daddy and Mummy can’t afford more of this!’”
Angela tantalisingly withheld the information – much fished for – about the
total cost of this birthday bash.

“Oh, we’ll try to get a discount from the
hotel manager Mr Chow. Boon knows him well,” she laughed.

But the curious friends would not be
satisfied. They began their own computations – the rental of the Orchid Room,
the birthday cake, the magic show (the performer was a famous magician from
Hong Kong), the birthday food for the children, the separate tables for the
adults with the steaming curries and exotic delicacies, the balloons, the
flowers, presents for every child.

Angela was busy supervising, moving about
adroitly, checking on the hotel attendants recruited to help at this function,
discussing some minor last-minute changes of plan with the hotel manager,
greeting guests, acknowledging good wishes, patting the younger children on the
heads and cheeks, exhorting everybody to eat and have a good time.

Minister’s granddaughter was there, a little
girl attended by her amah. Angela pointed her out to her friends, remarking on
her precocity. She looked now and then in the direction of Michael; she had
instructed Mooi Lan to be near Michael and keep an eye on him. The boy appeared
to be enjoying himself, she was glad to see. She saw him smiling at the antics
of another boy and was relieved. Michelle she had no worries about. She saw her
daughter surrounded by Gek Choo’s four little girls, animatedly talking to them
and telling them stories.

Mark – Mark was her pride and joy. She saw
him talking with the ease of self-assurance to his teachers and friends. She
wished Minister could come; he had said he might be able to.

The children were hustled into another room
for the magic show. Mark had indicated, in the course of planning the
celebrations, that he did not want anything childish. He had been to children’s
parties where there were magic shows with half-baked magicians who did silly
tricks, spoke broken English and resorted to all sorts of cheap antics to make
the children laugh.

The magician for his birthday party was
different. He was professional and almost as good as the magicians Mark had
seen in some TV shows. He had an efficient female assistant and the true
magician’s paraphernalia of enormous trunks and chests, huge multi-coloured
boxes, shining steel cages, a multitude of colourful balls, steel rings, hoops
and kilometres of multi-coloured silks.

It was simply breath-taking.

I knew I wouldn’t regret it, thought Angela,
looking round at the rapt faces with utmost satisfaction.

The magician levitated the female assistant
amidst gasps, even from the adults. She rose three metres in the air, was then
coaxed down slowly until she again rested, completely still, on the
black-draped bed.

The applause was deafening.

“Time for tea now, everybody for tea!” cried
Angela, clapping her hands with exuberance. “Darling, help see that everybody
gets to eat,” she said to her husband. “Never mind Michael, dear. Mooi Lan is
keeping an eye on him.”

She herself couldn’t eat a morsel, but the
sight of the children surging towards the tables, eager to sample the piles of
cakes, ice creams, cookies, jellies and fried meats warmed her heart. She was
glad of the air-conditioning system of the hotel (“one of the reasons why I
chose the Hotel Grande”); it kept her make-up intact, for she perspired easily.
Her pink silk suit remained uncrumpled, immaculate. She moved to the tables
where the adults were gathered, making sure everybody was eating well. Gloria,
Gloria’s mother and Wee Nam were enjoying the curries; she exhorted them to
have more. She whispered to Gloria, “Would you like to take some back? There’s
sure to be a lot left over; pity to leave it behind.”

She said the same thing to Wee Tiong as she
passed him, and he nodded and forced a smile. She saw he was not his usual
abrasive self. She could pity him. Poor man. That son of his was causing him a
lot of heartache.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you all
afternoon, but haven’t had the time,” she cried in girlish delight when she came
upon Mee Kin, Dorothy and some of her colleagues. Their eyes travelled
simultaneously over one another’s clothes and jewellery, while greetings and
good-natured teasings were exchanged.

“Listen,” said Mee Kin. “You asked me about
those porcelain cups and jars in your mother-in-law’s house. I think they may
be very interesting specimens, worth looking at and restoring if necessary.”

“Don’t forget the antique auction at my
apartment next Friday,” said Dorothy. She was the wealthiest; her husband owned
two of Singapore’s hotels but she had grown fat, coarse and ugly and the
enormous pieces of jewellery on the ear-lobes, wrists and fingers only served
to accentuate the coarseness and vulgarity. Angela was glad she had more taste.

“That interesting heap of so-called
‘rubbish’ in your mother-in-law’s house,” pursued the indefatigable Mee Kin.
“Why don’t we have a closer look at them? Some of the things may be worth
saving. You never know!”

“You mentioned an old carved four-poster
bed,” said Dorothy. “Well, my sister-in-law found the same thing in her
grandmother’s house. It was practically rotting away, but she managed to save
it and now it has pride of place in her house!”

“That will have to be another time,” said
Angela laughing. “See how busy I am! Mark’s teacher is entering him for the
National Speech contest. That will mean more work for me, you know – helping
the boy, being his audience as he practises. You don’t know the troubles we
modern mothers have!” she laughed happily. She was never happier.

And then – she couldn’t believe in her good
fortune – she saw Boon come in with Minister himself. There was a ripple of
excitement as heads turned to look at Minister, appropriately dressed in batik
shirt and casual pants. Boon introduced some friends to him; they talked
affably, bursting into loud laughter now and then. She went up to greet him
smiling amiably and self-consciously, aware of the looks in her direction and
then she called the birthday celebrant and introduced him to Minister himself.

“I see you’re a great speaker,” said
Minister with great amiability. “I saw you on television in a debate and now I
hear you are going to be entered for the National Speech contest. Well, good
luck, son.”

Mark flushed with pride and said, “Thank
you, sir, thank you very much,” with the urbanity seldom found in a
fifteen-year-old schoolboy.

My son, my son, glowed Angela. She looked at
her husband and saw him looking very proudly at Mark. She was proud of Boon
too; she would be even prouder when he was Member of Parliament.

Minister stayed a short while but had the
kindness to accept a piece of birthday cake first.

“Oh, Joyce, I’m glad you’re able to come!”
said Angela, going up to the youthful reporter from The Straits Times, who had
recently been introduced to her. Joyce was doing an article for the section
‘Trends’ which explored new lifestyles in Singapore, and was interested in the
current trend of having children’s birthday parties in hotels, instead of at
home. The photographer with Joyce was busy taking pictures.

Mooi Lan moved up adroitly, discreetly, to
whisper that Michael was feeling unwell; he was threatening to throw up and was
likely to get into a tantrum.

“Oh bother – ” cried Angela with some anger
against the second son whose difficult nature threatened to spoil an otherwise
perfect day for the elder. She was perplexed for a moment, not wanting to draw
unnecessary attention by going up to him.

Mooi Lan whispered, “Shall I take him home?
I can easily get a cab outside the hotel – ” but Angela said hastily, “No,
wait. Not a cab. I’ll get Doctor to drive you back. (She and Mooi Lan always
referred to Boon as ‘Doctor’ when they spoke to each other about him.) I wonder
whether Aminah has cleaned Michael’s room yet? It’s the day for airing the
mattresses. Oh bother!”

The girl threaded her way back deftly
through the crowd. Angela whispered something in her husband’s ear, and he got
ready to leave immediately, signalling to Mooi Lan to follow him. The girl had
one arm solicitously around Michael’s shoulders. Michael looked pale and weak.
Mooi Lan’s face was flushed.

“Come back quickly, as soon as he’s
settled,” Angela whispered to her husband as he left the room.

He returned an hour later and continued to
move around among the guests in high spirits. When Angela asked him in an
urgent whisper, “How’s Michael? Is he all right?” he answered, “Oh, he’s all
right. Mooi Lan put him to sleep in our room. The mattress in his room was
being aired.”

“You were gone an hour. I was so worried.”

“Oh, he’s all right, he’s all right. You
worry too much about him.”

Angela thought, with relief, I’m glad
Minister went home before this. Otherwise Boon couldn’t have left and I would
have had to drive Mikey home myself or get Mee Kin to do it.

She looked at Mark who was animatedly
talking to his principal. She did not want to think of Michael any more.

“Okay,
Mikey.
Let’s go through the questions again. Let’s see
how many you can answer now. Okay?”

The cheerfulness was feigned. Angela was
tired and dispirited. “Ready. Question number one. What are the characteristics
of living things?” The boy sat beside her at the table, looking down at the
floor.

“Come now, Mikey. Answer the question. I’m
sure you can answer it, darling. We’ve gone through it three times already.
What are the characteristics of living things?”

She waited, patiently. Michael still said
nothing. His eyes remained lowered. “Mummy will help you with the first point.
Okay? Then it will be very easy for you to go through the other points.
Remember, there are five points altogether. All right. Living things breathe –
”

The boy remained resistant, unresponsive.
Angela screamed inwardly. The important PSLE examinations were fast
approaching. Mark had been among the top 8% in Singapore, one of the special,
super kids, the high-flyers. Was this second son going to do so badly, he would
be streamed with kids who would be given an extra grace period of two years to
prepare for the G.C.E. O’ level?

Oh, I shall die of shame, Angela agonised. I
shall die of shame if a son of mine ends up with slow-learners, kids from the
kampungs.

“Mikey,” said Angela, her efforts to remain
calm in the face of mounting exasperation giving a shrillness to her voice,
“Mikey, remember you’re going to sit for the PSLE soon. You want to do very
well in the exams for your Daddy and Mummy, don’t you? We shall be so proud of
you. Mark did so well in his PSLE. You’re proud of your big brother, aren’t
you? And he’ll be so proud of you if you do the same. And you can, Mikey
darling. You’re a very bright and good boy.”

The boy was not stupid – that was the
exasperating part. He wrote well and could get high marks if he wanted to. But
he chose to remain stubborn. The deep distress Angela suffered when his class
teacher called to inform her that Michael would have to be moved to the B
class, was unspeakable. The teacher made the supreme mistake of saying that
Michael was slow. Angela had flushed and retorted, “He’s not slow. He can write
well – as you yourself once told me.” Unimaginative, dull, stupid teachers often
contributed to a child’s problem. Look at Mark. His teacher was so encouraging,
so inspiring. All Michael’s teachers could do was load the boy with dull
homework and tests. Angela had been tempted to put the boy in another school.
But would it be of any use? There was no guarantee that the teachers in the
other school would not prove equally inept.