Moth Stories, page 22
Dragging her trolley bag slowly along Li Hwa did not hear the Hey until it became a tug at her sleeve. It was Boon Aik’s friend. “A lift?” he offered. Absently, she nodded, all interest lost.
As they slid onto the stiff seats of the taxi, Li Hwa was mortified at her own absentness. Where was he headed? What if she were out of the way? Her face turned clammy in the air of bad air-conditioning and the migraine-inducing heat of an impending storm. She had in fact put on extra makeup, all for a hope that was futile. That Mavis was the sort you sniffed out from a mile away. Boon Aik had clearly been seduced.
She heard Boon Aik’s friend clear his throat. “Sorry?” she said, disconcerted.
He said, “I said, you said you live along Marine Parade, right?”
Li Hwa flushed. He had retained more information about her than she had about him. She searched her memory frantically. Lip Teck? Fred? Something to do with the medical field. A drug salesman. A pharmacist. Lab researcher?
The taxi drew up at a public carpark by a hawker centre, then, at a negation from Boon Aik’s friend, passed it. It drew to a halt a short distance away in a quiet lane. Li Hwa was confused. A slightly battered Mitsubishi sat in a lay-off as yet unmarked by prohibitive yellow lines. “You left your car here? All these days?”
He beamed, genuinely happy she had noticed this. “Why pay when you don’t have to?”
Li Hwa was vaguely impressed.
The drive was punctuated with awkward conversation, mainly on his part. Whom did she live with? How many of such outings of these had she been on? When did she decide to sign up? And then, as though hemmed in by a certain awkwardness that slips in between people who have had expectations of which they are uncertain, they fell silent. In time he drew up at the foot of her block of flats.
“Nice place,” he murmured appreciatively; then, squinting at the lettering on hoardings for ongoing works, smiled, impressed. “Wah, potential for en bloc! You will make a fortune, eh!”
There was nothing to say to this, so she smiled and murmured her thanks. He did not get down, but canted his body over to the passenger window.
“Thanks for the lift,” she said awkwardly, as her trolley bag thumped on the ground. Boey Chong? Toby? Kiang Li? Then she saw his outstretched hand and awkwardly took it though the open window. “Thanks again. Bye.” Choon Tiong? Tiong Choon? Vincent? Fred?
He shook it and grinned. “Next time your turn!”
She turned and walked away without looking back, put off at this remark. The sound of his car pulling away filled her with relief.
But the irritation remained. What was his name? Ding, the lift announced itself, and just then she remembered.
It was Peng Chee.
I I I
The condominium unit was in one of an agglomeration of five monolithic towers that spanned ten hectares. Its name “Camelot Gables” was an homage to the developer’s vision of a European elegance of a different age (medieval actually in this case), but with its severity ameliorated by a pastoral rusticity. The development therefore comprised blocks in the form of crenellated towers and donjons and oubliettes, and had mock-shingle roof tiles and slate, as well as gothic follies in charming pockets scattered about its grounds. Its swimming pool, snaking between the blocks, meant to suggest a moat of some form, glinted a purple-blue. In the largest expanse of space between the buildings sat the children’s playground and the barbecue area back-to back. A sign above a bough-laden trellis proclaimed, “Guinevere’s Garden”. The playground itself was well-provided for with chutes and swings and slides and trampolines and see-saws. Accidents had been sustained on the odd occasion, which explained the sign, recently put up, which read, Children not to run. Children to play in an orderly manner.
* * *
Li Hwa went from room to room, her gaze darting from door handles to plasterwork and joinery, searching and critical. The place was spotless, for Jamilah had been over every day for the past week, mopping and polishing and wiping. Her efforts were now evident in the effulgence of surfaces of cabinets and basins, countertops and shelving. New furniture sat fatly and shinily encased still, in the rooms.
The foreman of the project followed a respectful distance behind her. He cherished a secret hope of payment today. This hope had dogged him like a secret, fragile despair these past months. He had learned that the nondescript appearance of Mrs. Chong belied her true nature. Expectancy, apprehension and wariness were mingled in his expression, the last becoming especially pronounced whenever she paused and drew nearer the focus of her attention. His eyes darted furtively to her face, scanning for the merest hint of concession. But she was expressionless.
Her finger went to the corner of a ceiling. “I think that part looks a little uneven, you see there?” He nodded, mentally shredding his bill. She looked at him. “So by 4pm, right?”
He nodded again, but this time to her back.
* * *
She sank into the driver’s seat, shaking her head, sighing. Contractors were such a disappointing lot. Mr. Png clearly thought her a stupid housewife. Well, he would see. Until she was perfectly satisfied she was not parting with a cent.
Li Hwa, a veteran of so many removals and renovations, had strong feelings on the likes of Mr. Png. It was a matter of principle. The world was divided into two: the buyers and the sellers. Heavens, it applied to anything: the marketplace of goods and services of course, but then everything else too— friendships, family ties even, when you analysed it. Buyers and sellers. Such a relationship could only achieve balance when the equation was in harmony. And insofar as Mr. Png was concerned, it clearly was not.
The day’s heat was blinding. The car’s air-conditioning barely stirred the hot, clotted air. The air itself mirrored her day, barely lunchtime as yet, and packed with the doing of a hundred things. She had dropped the boys, dropped the baby at her mother’s, been to the furniture fair, had a dizzy spell on realising the best pieces had been sold, had had this last progress report with Mr. Png. She now had precisely 40 minutes to collect the boys from school. Then it would be home for a quick lunch and—her heart sank. Yes, the two tuition centres today, both in opposite directions. A lock of hair came loose from a clip and fell across her face in an oily band. Impatiently she glanced at the rearview mirror catching the reflection of a scowling, flushed face. A surge of defiance rushed up. She pushed it back with an angry grunt. What did it matter? Did she not have the result of her labours, in the evidence of an immaculately run home, in the evidence of Camelot Gables, the fact that you could eat off its floors even at this moment?
The boys were shouting at each other in the bay when she drove up. Their red faces were obvious even from a distance. Their friends made a loose circle, their faces excited and laughing. They fell back as the car drew up, one of them said something with urgency to the others and caused them to disperse with furtive looks in her direction (they called her Auntie to her face, but also other less polite terms amongst themselves). Li Hwa drew down the front passenger window and shrieked, “See. What. I. Will. Do.” As she said those words the heat of the whole day flooded into her face. The few friends remaining whooped from a distance as Chong and Chuan picked up their backpacks.
The ripe smell of boys’ sweat filled the car. Presently when they stopped at a light, she said, “What marks?” to the rear-view mirror. “What. I can’t hear.”
“Fifty-two,” said Chong mutinously, refusing to return his mother’s gaze.
She grimaced. At the first red lights she whirled around and braced her arm against the front passenger seat. “And that’s enough for you.” He kept his face sulkily turned away. “I said, that’s enough for you.”
The lights changed, she moved on. “I will speak with Madam Auyong. For both of you.”
A howl went up. Their mother’s chats with tutors always resulted in an increase in hours. Li Hwa pulled up by the side of the road. The boys fell into silence. They had made it worse for themselves.
“Do you want to end up like your cousins?”
The boys felt their mother’s eyes bore into them. There was no answer to this, the menace that had hung over them since they started school. Since in fact they began learning their alphabets. Their cousins’ lack of academic success was a cautionary tale that had taken on the significance of sacred text. So far from the third best rung of English and Chinese at second language level, their cousins Beng and Tock had compounded this folly by a lackadaisicalness, landing themselves in the technical stream. Now one was training to be a carpenter, and the other was poised for hotel catering school.
This was however, as Li Hwa knew, just the surface. She did not want to taint their views with the deeper perspective. Which was that their mother, Chee’s sister, herself a supermarket store-room supervisor, had not known better, had not the means herself to discern the start of the slippery slope. Siew Eng was a good simple sort of woman, and Li Hwa had an affection for her. Siew Eng always brought sweets for the children when they got together, bought with her staff discount. She cut coupons and gave them out. She told all family members of super-savers to come. Li Hwa appreciated Siew Eng for all these qualities. But Li Hwa had been unable to suppress a growing contempt for Siew Eng as Beng and Tock began their slide down the educational chute. Not only that, what was the point of so much gratuitous generosity that never resulted in any payback in the ways that mattered? Siew Eng was like one of those who poured themselves into charitable good works while their house was on fire, too much a simpleton herself to see that too much kindness simply made people despise you. However, as such realities are better left unexamined, Li Hwa found her contempt for Siew Eng coexisted easily with her affection for her.
But she, Sim Li Hwa, was an accountant! A Graduate Mother! How could she allow her own boys to slip? The thought was outrageous. Of course she could enjoy herself like any other wife whose husband could afford to keep the household going. In fact had she chosen not to work she could have had her own income! But she had chosen this hard and difficult road. Because the pain of the boys not making it would be greater than the immediate gratification of an income of her own.
Well, she would see it through. She pressed “play” on the car stereo. The boys let out a groan as the car was filled with a lilting recital. Tales of the Emperor Shih Huang Ti’s exploits. Madam Auyong had recommended it. And Li Hwa, seeing them subside, even if with bad grace, felt her rapid breath ease. The thought of the packed afternoon ahead, which presented such a chore this morning, became oddly reassuring.
* * *
The leftovers were not an appetizing sight. Last night’s boxes were now stacked in the living room, shiny and taut with masking tape. Jamilah flitted in and out of the kitchen balancing hot plates between prongs and a kitchen mitt, her face sheened. She had been in trouble before when the boys were kept waiting too long for their lunch, and had been lining up the last carton as they trooped in. She weighed 35kg, half the weight of Chong and three-quarters the weight of Chuan, but had acquired the strength of five men.
“Can load,” said Li Hwa to her as she sat down with the boys. “Might as well save time,” she added, helping herself to the remains of last night’s fish.
“No she can’t,” said her older boy. “I don’t know where my Warrior Wasp bag is.” Each boy had bags designated by the tuition centre in question.
“Ok Jamilah, look for his bag first.”
“Ya, ma’am,” said Jamilah, wiping her hands on her sides. The morning’s two slices of bread were a distant memory but she knew better. Even propitious moments were fraught with risk when madam had this look.
Li Hwa’s mother came out of the children’s room burping the baby on her shoulder. Mrs. Sim had the same features as Li Hwa’s, with its pale roundness and indeterminate features, but these were in the mother softened by age into a look of resignation. She did not understand the younger generation anymore but had long learned the wisdom of reserving her opinions on modern ways. In her day you had your children and that was that. Her own daughters had the lives of people who worked in big offices, always on the road or too busy for a chat apart from the phone calls for help with babysitting or some domestic favour. Li Hwa had told her she was needed today and that was all she needed to know. She and Li Hwa nodded to each other.
“Eaten?” asked Li Hwa. Mrs. Sim nodded. “Call your grandmother!” barked Li Hwa. But they were arguing fiercely under their breaths.
Mrs. Sim shook her head, sighed, and returned to the bedroom, rocking the baby in her arms.
* * *
Presently the car, sagging slightly under its weight of cartons, groaned its way to Camelot Gables. The boys had been deposited at the Warrior Wasps Chinese Enrichment Centre and Einstein’s Higher Learning Institute respectively. Jamilah, wedged in the back seat between a box fan, a portable barbecue pit, a turbo-broiler and the cartons, would have been lost were it not for a woolly head that bobbed up and down with the car’s motion, huge saucer-like eyes stupefied above the rim of a mountainous pile.
As the larger pieces of furniture were already at the flat, it had only remained to transport their personal effects. For this, the services of a transport company were deemed unnecessary.
This conclusion had not required discussion as much as confirmation. Li Hwa and Chee were in agreement that the rates of moving companies were an outrage.
Chee had estimated ten cartons per trip, six in the boot, two in the back seat, and two stacked one of top of the other in the front passenger seat, strapped in, so his wife would not be hurt in the event of sudden stops (he had a patient who had been concussed in just such a manner). Of course, he had forgotten about such items as the barbecue pit, the box fans, the turbo-broiler, the ironing board, the laundry rack and the power-master (Firm abs, arms and thighs with just one machine), none of which could be crated.
Jamilah (helped by the building handyman), with pushing and shoving and heaving and nudging, had been unable to load more than six cartons. Which left 41 sitting at home. But at just six cartons per load and assuming moderate traffic she could just get in another two trips before the boys were done, which would leave a balance of five trips. These would have to be done after they were dropped off at home, and before their elocution lessons at the Oxford Speech Laboratory, which started at 6pm. Perhaps if she rushed, she could do three trips now, two in the interval between dropping them home and Oxford, and the rest after leaving them at Oxford. But then there was dinner to be bought for tonight, for how could Jamilah unpack and cook? Of course, the great blessing was that Chee would not mind whatever was put before him, whatever remarks he might make.
So this odd empty feeling in the pit of her stomach was very strange, she thought to herself as she reversed into the lot marked “#01-01”. In the rear-view mirror she saw Jamilah craning her head, bracing herself for a swift disembarkation with maximum load. The light muzak of the pristine lobby floated about them. The lift doors flew open like an invitation. Such a lobby would not be out of place in a four star hotel.
Yes, it was outrageous she would feel this way.
She made a mental note to ask Peng Guan to check her for anaemia.
I V
He’s nice, ah, girl? said Mrs. Sim.
Li Hwa’s mother had that careful, careless look that had come to characterize, over the years, her concern for her daughters. She had learned that one’s love for one’s children can be a burden to them. She had had her worries for them and her moments of thankfulness, her pockets of despair, as when Li Qin her youngest had gone through an unsatisfactory relationship, and her flashes of pure relief, as when Li Eng, rough, impatient ways and all, had brought home, against the odds, See Fong—so stoic, so monolithically impregnable to Li Eng’s shrill voice and bossy ways.
Mrs. Sim learned by now that even if the advice you gave was sound, it only made them more defiant. She learned to keep her views to herself. Love could push people away from you.
But now she could no longer contain herself. The young man Peng Chee had come calling twice, the second time even bringing a box of curry-puffs. A doctor, no less.
Amongst her sisters Li Hwa was the one most in tune with their mother.
Li Eng intimidated Mrs. Sim with brusque ways and blunt talk that shoved her mother, a mild and self effacing woman, into a corner. No one bothered countering Li Eng’s views simply because she spoke louder and more assertively than any of her siblings. Li Qin was downright incomprehensible, with her way of saying yes to everything and then doing the exact opposite, not from any defiance but worse, from self-absorption. Mrs. Sim, her natural timidity and uncertainty grown almost to gargantuan proportions from having children smarter and better educated than herself, knew herself an irritation to her daughters, perhaps to the other two more than to Li Hwa. She had been a filing clerk when she had caught the eye of Mr. Sim, then a junior officer, and was forever grateful he had deemed her a fit match in spite of her social and educational limitations. This deference to her husband’s superiority had made for a extremely happy and successful marriage, and Mrs. Sim transferred it wholesale to her daughters, a natural progression for her, for the esteem she held their father in, so that she knew herself subsumed in a role subordinate to their busy and profitable lives. A tacit understanding existed among themselves, never expressed but pervading their relations, that it was just as well that mother had Li Hwa.
Li Hwa did duty for everyone: living with the parents, and then with their mother after their father collapsed of a heart attack not long after Li Eng’s marriage. Their mother’s shyness and insularity had prevented her making friends beyond the immediate neighbours on their floor: there was therefore a genuine gratitude to Li Hwa for this.
And the result was a degree of understanding of their parent which neither of her sisters had, which allowed Li Hwa to interpret with accuracy what Mrs. Sim now meant by this remark.
