The Catherine Lim Collection (9 page)

“Hey, what about a birthday party like
Mark’s, in the Hotel Grande – or in any hotel you like?” cried Angela with
exaggerated enthusiasm. “If you do well in the PSLE, you’ll have a party like
that – or even better. Or a holiday in Disneyland? Remember Adrian and Sulin
went there with their Mummy and Daddy last year? Hey, what do you say to
Disneyland?” The wide smile and the frown on the forehead borne of enormous
strain were ill-matched; the muscles on the boy’s face tensed, and he sat
rigidly on his chair, still gazing on the floor.

And now Angela could bear it no longer.
“Now, listen to me, boy,” she cried with sudden energy. “You can’t go on
playing the fool like this. You’ve got the important PSLE exams coming soon,
and you’ve got to study, do you hear? There are so many things to revise, and
you act like a naughty, unco-operative boy. Your Maths tutor said you hadn’t
been paying attention, and your Chinese tutor told me your grades have gone
down. Now what do you say to this, Michael? Michael, LOOK AT ME!”

Her voice rising with each utterance, she
jerked the boy’s chin up to face her, eyes flashing. His eyes were now level
with hers. He looked straight into her eyes, unblinking, the large tears formed
and coursed down his cheeks, but he made no effort to wipe them. His hands
gripped the sides of his chair, knuckles jutting, white.

“Michael, you’re making your mummy very sad
by all this!” cried Angela, her voice quavering in angry pleading. “You could
make her so happy just by obeying her a little more and doing what your tutors
tell you. I’m sure you can do that, Mikey?”

Another confrontation – another struggle of
wills, which would leave her exhausted and make the boy retreat a few steps
back, so that when she started again – oh, weary process! – it would be almost
from starting point. Why was he so difficult?

He was not stupid, that was certain. He was
just being difficult. Angela had sworn never to say it, after reading the
article in Reader’s Digest on ‘How to Deal with a Difficult Child’ and the
feature in The Sunday Times on ‘Sibling Jealousy: What Parents Must Know’, but
now she cast resolution aside, so angry was she with this child who made no
effort to respond to all his mother’s efforts.

“You disappoint me, Michael. In fact, you
shame me, do you know that? Mark is such an obedient and studious boy and
always comes out first in class. He never plays the fool. He always listens to
Mummy. He’ll go to the University and be an engineer. Michelle is not as clever
as Mark, but she’s obedient, and she’s a good swimmer. She obeys her coach and
practises hard in her swimming. She will be a national champion one day, her
coach says. And you, Michael? You don’t try at all. You don’t try one
teeny-weeny bit. What are you going to be, for God’s sake? You prefer to be
stubborn and disobedient and sullen. Your teachers call Mummy to school and
they say, ‘Mark is such a good student. How come Michael is like that?’ How do
you think Mummy feels to hear something like that? That’s why I say you shame
me, Michael. You shame your Mummy.”

The big, long-lashed eyes were still fixed
on her, disconcertingly unblinking, the tears overflowing.

“Oh, God, I give up,” cried Angela, turning
away. “Go to sleep. Maybe you’ll be better tomorrow.”

The boy remained fixed to his chair. Mooi
Lan now came in, noiselessly, and gently eased him out of his chair. She took
him to his bathroom, laid out his pyjamas for him. She made him a glass of hot
Ovaltine and led him to his bed.

Angela went into her own bathroom for a fit
of crying. If only Boon had time to help her in her work, she thought. But her
anger was not directed against him. He was busy enough with his community work
and the work he was doing for Minister.

Boon’s political ambitions must never suffer
because of his son, thought Angela with determination. I shall have to manage.
I shall have to put things right.

She was glad to drive over to Dorothy’s
apartment the next day, for one of the endless antique auctions, to get her
mind off the problem of Michael. Mee Kin was there, and she drew Angela’s
attention to a large carved four-poster bed. “Look,” she said, “how beautiful
it is. Yet when I first saw it, after Dot had brought it in from an old junk
shop, it was an ugly thing, with some parts actually rotting. But look at it
now. Dot knows the right place to send these things to be restored. Listen,
Angela, the bed in your mother-in-law’s house is going to look better than this
one. If you don’t rescue it soon, I shall! It’s a sin to let a treasure like
that lie unwanted!”

Dorothy’s antique bed was taken up at
$5,000. “Five thousand dollars!” gasped Angela. “To think that old wormy creepy
thing in the cockroach-infested room is worth this much.”

“Possibly more,” said Mee Kin. “Why are you
such a fool, Angela? Why do you let that thing go to waste? And there may be
other items worth saving. I told you that long ago.”

“Chinaman and his wife are sure to talk,”
said Angela. ‘They’re sure to say I’m taking advantage of a poor old woman,
making money out of her. They forget that they make use of her name shamelessly
to buy shares and properties and whatnot. This is the trouble with in-laws like
these. Do you know, I give all the time! I’ve never taken a cent or anything
off the old people. She gave Mark an ang-pow of $20 for his birthday and I
bought her foodstuffs, a piece of black silk for her trousers and odds and
ends, which came to much more than $20.”

The antique bed was forgotten in a shopping
trip with Mee Kin. Angela specially looked for, and found a book on dinosaurs,
Michael’s favourite, full of colourful pictures. She had it gift-wrapped.

The boy was in his room when she returned,
the door as usual locked. She knocked softly. After a while, he opened the
door, and stood at the doorway, sullenly, awkwardly, his eyes on the floor.

“Mikey, darling, Mummy’s bought a little
present for you; see, open it and have a look,” she said brightly.

The boy took the book with limp hands. “Open
it, darling, open it and see,” she coaxed, feeling the old exasperation rising
dangerously. He put it on his bed and unwrapped it, dispiritedly. He stopped
unwrapping when the cover was revealed and remained still, staring at the
floor.

“Has chae-chae given you lunch?” she asked,
struggling. She left him, still sitting on his bed, his hands limp by his side.

One of Michael’s teachers had once said to
her, “Don’t worry about Michael. He’s not stupid. He may not do his homework or
pay attention in class, but if he wants to, he can pass the tests. I’ve
observed that many times. He will pass his PSLE.”

“Do you know if he’ll pass well?”

“It’s possible. He once surprised me by
getting almost full marks for his Science test.”

Angela clung to the hope.

They
wandered to the pond,
only the two of them, in the
bright sunshine, through the tall grass.

Funny, thought Michael. The pond is full of
clear water. And there are goldfish in the pond. I thought it was muddy and
dangerous with devils hiding at the edges to push people in.

“Come on, Michael,” said Uncle Bock. “Let’s
get into the pond, let’s catch the goldfish.”

“How are we to bring them home?” said
Michael. “We have no container, no plastic bag or tin.”

“Tin,” said Uncle Bock, pulling an empty
cigarette tin out of his pocket. “Plastic bag,” pulling a big blue plastic bag
from the other pocket. “Net,” picking up a net with a handle. “Here, Michael,
catch the goldfish with the net.”

They waded into the pond. The water was
cool. It rose to their waists, and gave them a sense of exhilaration with its
coolness and sparkle. The goldfish scattered in all directions in the bright
sunshine-warmed water, and Michael laughed. He lifted his net high in the air;
it was gold with fish.

“Oh, Uncle Bock! Look! Look at my fish!” he
cried with joy. There were nets and nets, tins and tins, full of fish. Michael
and Uncle Bock laughed in pure happiness.

And then they were on a tree, a big tree
with huge, strong branches that spread far and made beautiful seats in the
singing wind and leaves.

Uncle Bock said, “See, see that bird? It’s
the bird that cries, Tee-tee, tah-loh? Tee-tee, tah-loh.”

Michael said, “You can’t see the bird, Uncle
Bock. Grandma says you can only hear the bird, not see it. Only very special
people can see it. And that means good luck coming to them.”

“Has anyone seen the bird?” said Grandma who
was under the tree, looking up. “Listen, I can hear it now. Listen.”

The three of them listened. The plaintive
sounds floated in the air, as from afar. Tee-tee tah-loh? Tee-tee tah-loh?

“‘I can see the bird! I can see the bird!”
cried Uncle Bock excitedly clapping his hands. “See, see! It’s a big beautiful
green bird!”

“I thought it was a little black bird, but
yes, it’s green, it’s a beautiful green bird,” said Grandma as a big beautiful
bird with bright green feathers flew over their heads.

“We’re going to be lucky, Grandma and Uncle
Bock!” cried Michael. “We’re special people! We have seen the bird that calls
Tee-tee tah-loh! Tee-tee tah-loh!”

They laughed for pure joy. “See, Grandma and
Uncle Bock!” cried Michael. “I can fly. I can fly, like a bird!”

And he flew in the air, swift and light as a
bird. He thought Uncle Bock and Grandma had begun to fly too, like him, but
when he looked more closely, he saw them still under the tree, waiting for him.
He ran to them, and they each held his hand and lifted him off the ground. He
moved along with his feet tucked up under him, laughing: Who would think
Grandma could be so strong as to do this with him? His daddy and Uncle Wee Nam
had done that once with him when he was a very small boy; he remembered.

They reached a small wooden house at the
bottom of the garden.

“My house,” said Michael proudly. “Nobody’s
allowed to enter. Nobody’s allowed to knock but you may come in, Grandma and
Uncle Bock. Come into my house!”

“I ... want ... to ... go ... in ... see
Michael.” Uncle Bock’s voice was full of pleading. The words were uttered with
effort, painfully. “Oh come in, Uncle Bock,” said Michael. “Come in!”

“No, please. Go away, Michael’s not well.
Come again another time. Okay, Ah Bock?”

“Want ... to ... go ... in ... see Michael!
MICHAEL!” The comforting warmth that had enveloped him was being tugged away; a
sense of panic was mounting. His heart was beating faster. Something had gone
wrong.

“Please go away, Ah Bock. I tell you
Michael’s not well. Go away now.”

“Who’s there?” It was his mother’s voice,
shrill and sharp.

“The idiot one. He wants to see Michael. I
don’t know how he found his way here; I’ve told him to go away – ”

“Ah Bock, Michael’s not at home. He’s gone
out with Boon. Do you hear? He’s not in. Now go away, please – ” There was a
wail, and then a clamour of voices.

With a tremendous tug of will, Michael
opened his eyes and blinked uncertainly in the afternoon light streaming into
his bedroom. “GO!” The voice had risen to an exasperated shriek. Then there was
the banging of the door. “Thank God,” he heard his mother gasp. “The idiot, the
imbecile. Luckily you saw him, Mooi Lan. Otherwise the idiot would have run upstairs
and disturbed the boy’s sleep. Oh, God, why do things like that happen to me?
Mooi Lan, I want you to keep a very close eye on the door from now onwards. And
I’m going directly to that wretched Ah Kum Soh to give her a good ticking off.
The fool! The fool!”

Michael lay motionless on his bed.

You poor
thing,
you miserable woman, but you are all like that,
thought Angela and shook her head in commiseration. She looked at the swollen
belly, round and firm as a melon, rising incongruously from flatnesses and
hollows lifting the sarong in front with its roundness. “How many months now,
Aminah?” she asked, wondering how on earth she had not noticed before. She must
not forget to ask Mooi Lan, “How come you didn’t notice either?”

“Seven months, mem,” said Aminah, smiling
nervously, showing blackened, rotting teeth.

“Mooi Lan,” said Angela briskly, “those tins
of condensed milk in the store room – put six in a paper bag for Aminah to take
back today. She needs proper nourishment now. How come you didn’t notice, Mooi
Lan?”

“She’s like that every time – up it goes,
up, down, then up again!” the girl giggled. “I can’t keep count of her
pregnancies.”

“But Minah,” said Angela patiently, “I gave
you those pills. Remember the little green pills in the plastic pack. I
purposely asked my husband to bring them back for you. Why didn’t you take
them?”

The woman protested she did, then said
something about forgetting or losing the pills, then smiled again nervously.
“Minah, listen carefully,” said Angela, “you’ve got to listen to me. You can’t
be having a baby every year. You’ll die in no time. How many children do you
have now? 10? 12? Minah, you can’t expect men to co-operate. They’re animals.
Your husband wants his pleasure every night. He doesn’t think of you. So you
must help yourself. After the birth of this baby, Minah, will you let me take
you to hospital for an operation? A simple operation that will mean no more
babies? You can’t afford to have any more babies, Minah. Singapore today is
different from Singapore years ago, in your mother’s time, in your
grandmother’s time. Look at me, Minah. I’ve only three children. I can afford
many more but I’ve only three. So that I can take good care of them. Give them
a good education. Bring them up properly. Don’t you want that for your
children, Minah? Look at Mooi Lan here. When she gets married, she will have
only two children. Right, Mooi Lan?”