Saturday 24 July 2010
Thursday 22 July 2010
.jpg)
Monday 19 July 2010
.jpg)
His Father's Son
Written by Raymond Han, 1999
The casket rolled on the conveyor belt into the furnace. Cries broke out in the hall as Pei Wen sobbed in his thoughts. He could not allow his tears to show. He was a man after all though he was only sixteen years old. As he knelt next to his mother, he could feel the anger and frustration in her cries. Aunt Caroline was by Mother’s side, holding his mother in her bosom and crying above his mother’s head. Several metres away, bereaved relatives of another dead man lined up in front of his coffin, ready for the cremation ceremony. But Pei Wen’s mind was already far away.
He was thinking hard about the past few weeks. Things had been moving all too quickly for him and his family. His father was alive just last week. He had taken his own life exactly four days ago, on a Thursday when his mother was at the bank, sorting out her accounts with the bank manager. She was the first to find his body, slumped in the toilet bath on the ground floor and frothing at the mouth. By the time the paramedics arrived at the house, it was already too late. Andrew had stopped breathing and his wife was in a daze. There was noone else in the big house to tell her what to do next. She was lost. It was later that morning that Aunt Caroline, whom his mother had contacted, and her mother stepped into the house at 98 Tampines Road.
“Yoke Kuen, Oh Yoke Kuen,” Aunt Caroline spluttered.
“Oh Yoke Kuen, I’m so terribly sorry to hear the news.”
That brought tears down his mother’s face again. Her face was sallow enough but now her cheeks sagged as well, revealing lines of wrinkles normally kept hidden behind her makeup. She was all of forty-two, a cashier turned housewife after she married Pei Wen’s father. He was a bank manager in the Private Banking Department of a large foreign bank based in New York.
“Caroline, thanks for coming, I ..I.really don’t know what to do,” sobbed his mother.
The two of them needed no more words between them. They had been bosom friends since young and understood perfectly how the other had felt. The tragedy brought them even closer. Aunt Caroline was his mother’s cousin. Both of them had spoken to each other on the phone the evening before when Aunt Caroline had advised his mother to close all her bank accounts immediately to avoid them being frozen by the government when his father was made a bankrupt. His father was sued successfully in court by his creditors – two stock broking companies – because he had failed to pay them for his huge contra losses in his share trading facilities with them. Thereafter, everything fell apart. As the banks came to know of the suits, they jumped into the bandwagon, cancelled his overdrafts, loans and credit cards. They, then, issued demands for his father to pay up his outstandings with them. Their house, which was mortgaged to a bank, was to be placed on the auction block by the bank as his father had failed to pay the last few instalments. His father’s employer, for whom he had slogged for seventeen years since graduation, had cast a blind eye at his predicament. His repeated pleas to his employer for financial assistance to tie him over the difficult period had failed to draw any sympathy. He had been left to fend for himself. The bank watched indifferently as his father faced lawsuit after lawsuit the past few months. It even placed a hold n his father’s current account with it, requiring him to obtain its approval before withdrawing any sum of money from his own account. It was, least to say, humiliating.
Each month, for the past four months, his father had to swallow his pride as he approached his colleague and friend, the officer in charge of current accounts, to get authorisation to release funds from his current account so that he could pay the household bills. The bank had cleverly arranged for the salary to be credited into his father’s current account and there was no other way for his father to make a withdrawal except through cashing his cheques personally at the counter. His father had tried to clear his own cheques through an account with another bank to avoid this humiliation. But, each time the cheques had been returned to him unpaid and marked “Refer to drawer”. When his father had inquired at the bank’s loan department, his colleague, Andy Tay, in charge of staff loans, had put it very clearly to him that he still hadloans to pay off and the bank had to ensure sufficient funds remained in the account for the loan instalments. Hence, the hold on his current account would remain.
By the time Aunt Caroline arrived at the house, Andrew’s body had been taken to Changi Hospital for examination by a pathologist, for he had died an unnatural death. While Yoke Kuen was groaning over the loss of her spouse, Aunt Caroline had the presence of mind to call up Pei Wen’s principal and it was he who came to Pei Wen’s class to break the news to Pei Wen. Pei Wen had dropped everything he was doing and hurried home, eyes clearly red with shock and disbelief. He regretted that he hadn’t been close to his father. His father had always come home well after he had retired to his bedroom and the two of them seldom spoke to each other. But, suddenly, his father ’s death had torn a hole in his heart, a hole so big, everything in it had fallen out and there was nothing left to occupy it. It was indeed a broken heart. He cried silently as he waited for the taxi. It was strange, just when he needed these things, they were never around. His tears, unable to find their way out, wetted his heart as he sat in the taxi. It was a long journey, perhaps, the longest he had ever taken in a taxi.
The roar of thunder jolted Pei Wen out of his thoughts. The drizzle outside the hall had changed into a downpour and the rain itself was now crying as if it had lost its mother. Its cries were so loud they drowned out all the wailing in the hall. Presently, the ceremony was over. It was time to go home. The group, a mixture of relatives, his mother’s close friends and ex-colleagues of his father, made their way out of the hall to the waiting chartered bus, umbrellas at the ready. His father’s ex-colleagues took their leave and left the crematorium in two cars.
Pei Wen led the way up the bus. In his hands, he clenched a black and white photograph of his father. His father’s remains would only be released to them in three days and they would have to make another trip to the Bright Hill Temple to inter the remains in an urn which would be laid to rest in the adjoining columbarium. The return journey was quieter. Occasionally, there was chattering in the back of the bus, but mostly, there was an uneasy silence. This bus, which was accustomed to incessant chattering from students and housewives during its weekday runs for the Singapore Bus Services, today seemed stripped of all its candour. Pei Wen had not spoken a word the whole day, but then he had always been a quiet and reserved boy, and kept his feelings pretty well hidden in his heart.
At last, the bus came to a stop outside the house. After unloading its human cargo, it left hurriedly, as if it was glad to be finally rid of the mourners. There were workmen dismantling the tent in the garden. Pei Wen was directed to a new altar in the living room where his mother took from his hands the photograph of his father and placed it ever so carefully in the centre, with the elder Lee looking at them from behind his spectacles. That photograph had been culled from his father’s passport. The Lees seldom took pictures together and it was most difficult to locate a befitting photograph of his father at such short notice. So, his mother, on the advice of the undertakers, had snipped off his father’s photograph from the passport and given it to the photo studio for enlargement and framing.
The living room which was unaccustomed to having so many visitors looked uncomfortably full.There were Pei Wen’s maternal grandparents; his three maternal uncles, their spouses and children; Aunt Caroline and her mother; Uncle Leslie, his father’s elder brother, and his wife; and a sprinkling of distant relatives from his mother’s side. All of them had earlier washed their faces with water from two pails strewn with pomelo leaves and were now helping themselves to food placed on two small tables at the side of the room opening into the garden.
“When do you have to move out?” asked Uncle Leslie.
“I really have no idea, perhaps next month, perhaps next week… I really do not know.”
“Yoke Kuen, have you found a place yet?”
Just then, Pei Wen’s grandma interrupted the conversation. Her voice boomed across the room.
“Nothing to worry about. Nothing to lose sleep over. Both of you can stay with me. You know very well my other bedroom is vacant. It just needs a little tidying up. No worry at all.”
“Thanks, Mother.”
“It’s all over. Just forget the past. You have got to carry on. Pei Wen is so young. You just leave the rest to me. I will arrange everything for you.”
“Yoke Kuen,” Uncle Leslie resumed, “If you need anything, I mean anything at all, come to me. Andrew was my brother after all.”
“It’s okay. I’ll manage somehow. I still have some money in the bank. Of course, I will have to get a job again, what type I just now can’t figure out. I’m still in a daze as it is and it will be some days before I can get myself together again. Still, don’t worry your head over us, we’ll manage, somehow.”
“My sister is a strong woman. She won’t give up just like that. I don’t see how she could marry that brother of yours. I mean, he’s got no backbone at all, fancy going away just like that and leaving her and poor Pei Wen alone. He didn’t spare a thought about them at all.”
“Teng Joo, this is not the time for such nonsense,” said his elder brother.
Teng Joo was Pei Wen’s second maternal uncle. He was one who never minced his words. He never could resist jabbing others when he felt like it. Pei Wen never once liked Uncle Teng Joo. He thought this uncle of his was a show-off from whose mouth would reel nothing but uncalled for remarks and ridicule. But, this time, the jibe at his father had some substance in it. Secretly, Pei Wen wondered why his father was so cruel as to leave him and his mother so early in life. Everyone would have to go, sooner or later. Why did his father take things into his own hands instead of leaving it to heaven? Try as he might, Pei Wen could find no answers to his questions. He wondered whether his mother had harboured such doubts in her mind. But, these few days, whenever he looked into her eyes, he saw nothing. Her eyes were devoid of expressions. It was as if her soul had left the body.
On the third day after the funeral, Pei Wen accompanied his mother to the Bright Hill crematorium. They were met on arrival by Aunt Caroline, who had taken a half day off from work. Together, they filed into the same hall where his father’s cremation ceremony had taken place. They took turns to pick up pieces of burnt ash which were the remains of his father and place them into a yellow urn on which was inscribed:
ANDREW LEE
BORN 16th July 1952
DIED 12th February 1989
The urn was then set to rest on the third level of one of many rows of shelves in the columbarium, differentiated from all other urns by a number “1129D” inscribed above the photograph. The Lee house was quiet the next few days. It was an uneasy calm, the kind that came before a storm. Pei Wen’s mother put on a strong front, seeing to his daily needs as before, pretending nothing had changed. But her usual cheerfulness had disappeared. When he had gone off to school, she would sit by the verandah, and stare blankly into the garden forhours. There was no one to accompany her; his grandma had to work and so had the rest of the relatives. But it was quite safe. She wouldn’t do anything foolish – she couldn’t or Pei Wen would be all alone.
The day of reckoning came barely a week later. Staff from the Public Trustees Department stuck a notice on their main door. It required them to move out of the house by the third day and leave all furniture intact. An official affixed a sticker bearing the seal of the department to every item of furniture . Nothing except clothing was to be removed from the house. Mrs Lee had earlier, on the advice of Aunt Caroline, moved over to her mother’s flat a few pieces of furniture dear to both her husband and her. She couldn’t fit any more things into the tiny bedroom and had left these in the house. She was now glad her precious things were safe.
The first night in his grandma’s flat was strangely uncomfortable to Pei Wen. Though he had slept over many times before, that night was new to him.
He couldn’t sleep. Perhaps, it was because there was no air-conditioner in the bedroom. Perhaps, it was the unending cornucopia of noises from upstairs and downstairs and the opposite block. Perhaps, it was the loud footsteps from the staircase behind the wall where he slept. Whatever the reason, Pei Wen tossed and turned until finally at four in the morning, he fell asleep from sheer exhaustion.
The next few nights were no different from the first. Pei Wen began to miss his own bedroom at 98 Tampines Road. He missed the quiet of the old neighbourhood. It was, indeed, a good place to study in, he realised, albeit a little too late. His mother, who slept in the bed across from his, got up many times in the night to go to the kitchen, whatever for, Pei Wen did not know andhe did not find out. He guessed she wanted to reminisce the past from the kitchen window and didn’t want to wake her up. Perhaps, it would do her a bit of good to escape from this world for a while. He, too, was guilty of such forays in class nowadays and could not complain.
It was difficult for Pei Wen to concentrate on his lessons in class. He would find himself subconsciously looking out of the French windows into the open field. But his teachers who normally would have barked at him now left him to his daydreams. His form teacher, Mr Koh, was worried for him as he was to take his “O” levels four months away. Mr Koh called on Mrs Lee one evening when Pei Wen was out and had a long chat with her. That night, when Pei Wen was about to sleep, his mother sat on his bed and spoke to him. She stroked his hair with a hand.
“Your father left us at the wrong time, but he had his reasons. You musn’t give up. You can’t give up. He was a strong man in spite of what other people have said so you mustn’t blame him for what he did. If you want to, go ahead and blame his employer. Blame his colleagues who wouldn’t lend him a helping hand. Blame him for having the wrong friends, but never blame him for leaving us. Your father was a proud man. He had been one all through his life and proud people cannot be humiliated constantly. They just can’t take it.”
She stopped for a moment to catch her breath and then continued.
“The only bank he worked for gave him an umbrella in the form of credit facilities when the weather was fine, and yet, when a storm was brewing, this same bank snatched it back from him and left him to the mercy of the elements. It is something a proud man finds hard to swallow. It is what made your father do what he did. He didn’t leave any notes for us, not even a word of goodbye. Perhaps, it is just as well. Your father was a man of few words. I understand how he must have felt. In fact, the very morning I was at the bank, I felt uneasy, as if lightning was to strike. That was about the only message your father sent me before his death. But, the two of us have to put the past behind us. We have to go on living. You have to get on with your life, and your studies- make your father proud of you.
Pei Wen soon woke up from his self-inflicted spell and began studying for his “O” levels in earnest. Nobody knew what drove him on these days, but everyone was unanimous in finding him a changed person. They didn’t mind, though.
The year of the pig arrived shortly. It was his first new year without his father. His mother had started work as a clerk in a property firm to support the family. Things had got better progressively. However, emotionally, his mother still needed more time to heal her wounds. More money had come in over the next few months, mostly from his father’s CPF account. His father, in his lifetime, had accrued some four hundred thousand dollars in this account. The Public Trustees were unable to get their hands on this sum of money as, under the law, CPF proceeds were detached from any claims on debtors. Though Pei Wen’s father had died a bankrupt, he was able to leave a sizeable inheritance to his family, untouched by any creditor.
February 1990 saw the release of Pei Wen’s GCE “O” level results. He had scored 6 “A1s” and 1″A2″, almost a miracle, considering the turmoil he had been through the previous year. His mother was elated at the news. More good news was to be heard. Over the next few years, Pei Wen immersed himself in his studies, first at a junior college and then at the National University of Singapore. He put everything else on the shelf. He never found time for relationships with anyone. He kept pretty much to himself. Soon, he distinguished himself in economics and won a first class honours in the subject. With his academic pursuits at a close, he entered national service and spent the next two-and-a-half years sweating it out in the combat field. When he completed his tour of duty, instead of taking a break like most of his mates, he pored over the classifieds in The Straits Times every morning.
He found his first job in a local bank as a retail loans officer. Just when the managers were starting to like him, as he had shown much promise, he resigned. Within a month, he had found another job with another local bank, this time as a personal financial consultant. And he would resign again after barely three months on the job. This strange practice of his went on for a few more times. But, he never had difficulty locating a job. After all, he had impeccable credentials.
Banks were looking out for people like him. Finally, it appeared as if he had found the right job at last, for he had lasted exactly four months on this latest job, that of a personal investment officer at Tai Hua Bank, a local group with twenty odd branches in Singapore. The year was 1997, roughly eight years after his father’s death. It was late May and he had been posted to Tai Hua Bank’s Serangoon Garden branch at Serangoon Garden Way. As a personal investment officer, he was responsible for all credit facilities at the branch, reporting directly to the credit department at head office in Cecil Street.
He struck up a friendship with the manager of the bank across the other street. They would go for lunches together. The manager could get along with this fine young man who topped his class at the university, though they had a gap of some twenty-five years between them. One afternoon, while they were having their meal at the Troika restaurant three doors from Pei Wen’s branch, Pei Wen broached the subject of property investment.
“Andy, you should buy another property now. The time is ripe for a killing. Trust me, it won’t be long before the market moves up again. You buy at the low end and sell high.”
“I don’t know. The property market has gone down quite a bit and the dust has yet to settle. It doesn’t look too good now.”
“Look! You know pretty well the government won’t allow the property market to collapse. They have got plenty of money invested in it through their proxy representatives, the statutory boards. Trust me. I majored in economics, you know. I can foretell trends.”
“But I don’t have enough spare money. I am already quite committed with the condo unit I am staying in now and it is just not wise.”
“Don’t forget, I am a loans officer. I can help you. Remember- we are friends. I mean, what are friends for, anyway? Your account with my bank is safe. Didn’t I treat your clearing cheque as good last week when you were short of funds in your account? If not for that, your cheque would have bounced and it would have been most embarrassing. Fancy a bank manager having his cheque bounced by another bank. Come on, if you are afraid of everything you will never get to do big things or earn big money.”
“Let me think about this first.”
With that, the conversation turned to other things. That Saturday evening, Andy invited Pei Wen to tag along to a barbecue at his friend’s house in Frankel Avenue. They arranged to meet on the main road outside Frankel Avenue. Andy was punctual, as usual, arriving in his grey Toyota. He had his family with him- his wife, a plumpish sort of lady whose face you wouldn’t recall if you had met her in the street without her husband: and two kids, a fifteen year old bespectacled chap who resembled his father a little and a twelve year old girl with plain looks quite like the mother.
Andy introduced them to Pei Wen who then occupied the front seat which had been intentionally left vacant for him. Together, they left for the barbecue. The house was a terrace in the middle of a sloping Frankel Avenue. Both sides of the narrow lane were packed with cars and Andy had to park at the lower end of the lane some fifty metres away. When everyone had alighted from the car, Andy made his customary checks on all the doors, including the boot, just to be on the safe side. He had always been a cautious man all his life. At the gate was a young man fanning some satay on a makeshift barbecue pit. There were three boys with him.
“Uncle,” the three boys called out.
Andy waved to them and led his group into the open space in front of the hose. There was a motley group of people, some helping themselves to food on a longish table, some making casual conversation. and some seated at a stone table. A voice called out to from inside the house.
“Andy, Andy. Here you are at last.”
Andy introduced Pei Wen to the host, Mr Goh, who was a renovation contractor. Pei Wen learnt later that the two of them were ex-schoolmates from St Patrick’s. Mr Goh held such gatherings frequently to allow his contacts in the business to mix with one another. It was his way of promoting closer ties between people who otherwise would not have a chance to interact, for they came from different walks of life. There were painters, plumbers, electricians, carpenters, bankers, some chaps from a real estate firm and one or two architects. It was an uncomfortable fit and it showed. The painters and carpenters kept to themselves, the bankers and the architects found some common ground, however, their spouses found no problems getting along with one another. Presently, Mr Goh led Andy and Pei Wen to the group of bankers and architects and they engaged in petty conversation.
“Mr Lee, so you are a bank manager,” said Mr Tan, an architect.
“No. I’m only an officer in the bank. I handle all types of loans – housing, personal, you name it, I have it.”
“I hear you majored in economics at the U.”
“Andy must have blabbed again. Actually, its my main area of interest. I like to be able to foretell the future of the economy. I like to dabble around with figures, so it is this a proliferation of what I like to do, nothing else.”
“So young and yet so humble.”
“Well, Pei Wen’s like that. You see, he lost his parents in a road accident when he was young and in spite of that, he has grown up into a fine young man. I am quite envious of him. I wish my son would be like him, but fat hope, that boy will never amount to anything. He can’t hold a candle to Pei Wen. Pei Wen..”
“There you go again. You are making me blush all over with those remarks.”
“But, it’s the truth, you know.”
“Mr Lee, since you are so good in this area, can you tell us whether the property market will go up again?”
“Yes, do tell us.”
“Let’s see, I am sure you are all aware that the government has recently pumped in five billion dollars into infrastructure works on the island.”
“Yes.”
“This goes to show the government is committed to boosting the local property market. They inject funds so that the construction sector would be propped up. They have a huge stake, you know, through their quasi-government investment vehicles, the statutory boards. Of course, theywouldn’t want their money to go down the drain. After all, it’s public money. They are accountable for it. There’s been some talk in the papers about reducing the land put up for sale by tender the last few weeks. In fact, just today, the radio has reported that the national development minister has approved this measure. This is bound to rev up the property market in the months to come. Less land equals less condos and other units to compete with. Am I going too fast?”
"No, not at all."
“Mr Lee, what you have said is very enlightening, even for an architect like me.”
“I have been telling Andy now’s the right time to move in- get a condo, not a landed unit – then wait for the market to move up again. Shouldn’t be a long wait. But, he.. he’s still mulling over my suggestion.”
“That sounds like a great idea.”
“Why shouldn’t one buy a landed unit?”
“The prices of landed units have not bottomed out yet. They are still quite expensive and an investment at this time is unwise.”
“What would you figure is the waiting period for practical yields on investment?”
“I would say, two to three years on the conservative side.”
“Three years only. This is worth considering. Andy, you are a fool. There’s money staring in front of you and you are not willing to pick it up. Come on, opportunity doesn’t knock twice. I am in the property field and yet I agree with Pei Wen’s forecast.”
“Let me think over first.”
A week passed and Pei Wen had not heard from Andy. Pei Wen had been busy with a new promotion programme for selling insurance to customers. His bank had switched to selling insurance to make up for the lacklustre housing loans market. He had to make trips to and from the head office to gather material and attend briefings on the new promotion. It was next Tuesday morning. Andy phoned Pei Wen.
“Can you get an application form for me? I have found a condo unit over the weekend and I have put up a deposit. I need a loan for the rest.”
“Sure, no problem. See you at the Troika at twelve.”
The bait had been snapped up. Pei Wen sighed. He was relieved. He had spent so much time and effort setting this trap for Andy, the one person responsible for his father’s downfall. He would make this man suffer. He would make this man pay for what he did to his father- nothing less would suffice.
With the loan approved, Pei Wen was in seventh heaven. In the following weeks, he began to distance himself from Andy. He offered all kinds of excuses for not being free, everything except the truth. He managed a transfer back to the head office, to work in the credit department. He schemed to get an appointment as head of the retail loans department. Soon he was working behind this desk.
That July, the Thai Baht fell, making half the banks in the country bankrupt in the process. In the ensuing months, the Malaysian Ringgit, and the Indonesian Rupiah were hit badly. The Indonesian Rupiah at one point managed an exchange of 16000 to a United States dollar, a drop of some five hundred percentage points before stablising at 9000 to a dollar. The Singapore dollar was not spared either. It went down to a low of 1.81 to the dollar before recovering to 1.72.
By late September, billions of dollars worth of shares had been wiped off the stock market in Singapore. Shares in property companies pulmetted to their lowest in a decade. Overnight, many Blue chips were selling at below a dollar. Prices of all properties in Singapore fell. Most now had a market value of just under half their worth before the onset of the crisis a few months back.
Banks were scrambling to recall their housing loans. Many property investors were badly burnt – especially those who had second or more properties. Andy was no exception. What made things worst for him was that Pei Wen was behind the scenes making sure he had no way out. Pei Wen promptly recalled Andy’s housing loan on the second property. Andy’s employer, the bank, didn’t make matters better for him. A thirtyish graduate in charge of staff accounts at the bank treated him the same manner he had treated Pei Wen’s father many years back. Pei Wen laughed in his heart. He felt Andy was getting back what he sowed. What had happened to his own father was now happening to Andy.
Pei Wen arranged for his bank’s lawyers to serve legal papers on Andy at Andy’s workplace. First, the demand letters, then the lawsuit, the judgement and finally the bankruptcy petition – all in only two months flat. Andy’s appeals to Pei Wen fell on deaf ears. At first, Pei Wen would promise to look into the matter. He did this as a ploy. He wanted Andy to get his hopes up. He didn’t want Andy to look elsewhere for help until it was too late. His sweet talking convinced the poor Andy, who by now had turned desperate. Andy begged Pei Wen to help him. He tried to push for a meeting, but Pei Wen had many ready excuses. He did not know where Pei Wen lived though they were friends. Pei Wen had wriggled out of telling him that detail the many times they were together. He couldn’t get into Pei Wen’s workplace. It was restricted to staff only. He could only speak to staff at the counter and they were of no help at all- they couldn’t make decisions.
On 22nd December 1998, three days before Christmas, Pei Wen pored over the notice page in The Straits Times. Under the heading “Bankruptcy Orders” he fingered the names, one by one, till he came to one that read:
Tay Siew Chye, Andy 26B Ah Hood Road Singapore 274023.
How he laughed! Then he cried. It was a loud wailing of sorts. But it was all right. He was alone at home. He let out his frustrations, welled up over the past eight years inside him. Sweet justice, he thought to himself. He snipped the whole portion of the paper and highlighted Andy’s name in blue. He had taken leave for that day. He had a place to visit. A taxi took Pei Wen to the carpark in front of the cremation hall at Bright Hill Temple. He walked inside. The hall was filled with mourners, some in black and some in blue. They weregetting ready for the cremation ceremony. He took no notice of them, made a right turn down a long corridor on both sides of which was a pond with tortoises here and there peeking out of the water. He entered the columbarium, and shuffled past the shelves till he reached the one where his father’s remains were kept. He folded his hands in prayer and spoke to his father in his thoughts. He told him what he had done and placed the newspaper clipping, neatly folded, under the urn. He arranged the urn such that no one would be wise to the fact there was something under the urn. He spent a good half hour in the place.
That night, as Pei Wen sat on his bed reading a book, with the television set switched on, his attention was suddenly drawn to the set when a reporter who was at the scene of a crime was speaking to the viewers. The television set flashed snippets of a car in which the bodies of two children were lying side by side neatly arranged in the back seat and another two, apparently the parents, were in the front seats. He heard this was a case of suicide cum murder. The parents of the children had smothered the children to death before leaving the air-conditioner on.
The windows were all wound up and the carbon monoxide in the car had killed the parents eventually. The car was found by some young teenagers in a remote spot in the MacRitchie Reservoir area. The camera moved backwards to show the whole car. It was a grey Toyota. Pei Wen cried in horror. The licence plate told him it was Andy’s car.
Pei Wen placed his face next to the television screen to get a closer look. Just then, the screen flashed back to the newsroom where the presenter proceeded with a grim summary of the tragedy. Pei Wen was stunned. His face changed into a gory white colour. He was now crying uncontrollably. He cried as if he had never cried before. He didn’t mean for this to happen. He merely wanted that guy to be made a bankrupt. He was ever so sorry. His remorse showed in his actions. He sat by his bed staring blankly at the television set for hours.
Alas, he had gone too far. His conscience had finally surfaced from beneath all that hatred. But, it was too late for his target- the man whose only crime was being too ‘kiasu’.
*
The casket rolled on the conveyor belt into the furnace. Cries broke out in the hall as Pei Wen sobbed in his thoughts. He could not allow his tears to show. He was a man after all though he was only sixteen years old. As he knelt next to his mother, he could feel the anger and frustration in her cries. Aunt Caroline was by Mother’s side, holding his mother in her bosom and crying above his mother’s head. Several metres away, bereaved relatives of another dead man lined up in front of his coffin, ready for the cremation ceremony. But Pei Wen’s mind was already far away.
He was thinking hard about the past few weeks. Things had been moving all too quickly for him and his family. His father was alive just last week. He had taken his own life exactly four days ago, on a Thursday when his mother was at the bank, sorting out her accounts with the bank manager. She was the first to find his body, slumped in the toilet bath on the ground floor and frothing at the mouth. By the time the paramedics arrived at the house, it was already too late. Andrew had stopped breathing and his wife was in a daze. There was noone else in the big house to tell her what to do next. She was lost. It was later that morning that Aunt Caroline, whom his mother had contacted, and her mother stepped into the house at 98 Tampines Road.
“Yoke Kuen, Oh Yoke Kuen,” Aunt Caroline spluttered.
“Oh Yoke Kuen, I’m so terribly sorry to hear the news.”
That brought tears down his mother’s face again. Her face was sallow enough but now her cheeks sagged as well, revealing lines of wrinkles normally kept hidden behind her makeup. She was all of forty-two, a cashier turned housewife after she married Pei Wen’s father. He was a bank manager in the Private Banking Department of a large foreign bank based in New York.
“Caroline, thanks for coming, I ..I.really don’t know what to do,” sobbed his mother.
The two of them needed no more words between them. They had been bosom friends since young and understood perfectly how the other had felt. The tragedy brought them even closer. Aunt Caroline was his mother’s cousin. Both of them had spoken to each other on the phone the evening before when Aunt Caroline had advised his mother to close all her bank accounts immediately to avoid them being frozen by the government when his father was made a bankrupt. His father was sued successfully in court by his creditors – two stock broking companies – because he had failed to pay them for his huge contra losses in his share trading facilities with them. Thereafter, everything fell apart. As the banks came to know of the suits, they jumped into the bandwagon, cancelled his overdrafts, loans and credit cards. They, then, issued demands for his father to pay up his outstandings with them. Their house, which was mortgaged to a bank, was to be placed on the auction block by the bank as his father had failed to pay the last few instalments. His father’s employer, for whom he had slogged for seventeen years since graduation, had cast a blind eye at his predicament. His repeated pleas to his employer for financial assistance to tie him over the difficult period had failed to draw any sympathy. He had been left to fend for himself. The bank watched indifferently as his father faced lawsuit after lawsuit the past few months. It even placed a hold n his father’s current account with it, requiring him to obtain its approval before withdrawing any sum of money from his own account. It was, least to say, humiliating.
Each month, for the past four months, his father had to swallow his pride as he approached his colleague and friend, the officer in charge of current accounts, to get authorisation to release funds from his current account so that he could pay the household bills. The bank had cleverly arranged for the salary to be credited into his father’s current account and there was no other way for his father to make a withdrawal except through cashing his cheques personally at the counter. His father had tried to clear his own cheques through an account with another bank to avoid this humiliation. But, each time the cheques had been returned to him unpaid and marked “Refer to drawer”. When his father had inquired at the bank’s loan department, his colleague, Andy Tay, in charge of staff loans, had put it very clearly to him that he still hadloans to pay off and the bank had to ensure sufficient funds remained in the account for the loan instalments. Hence, the hold on his current account would remain.
By the time Aunt Caroline arrived at the house, Andrew’s body had been taken to Changi Hospital for examination by a pathologist, for he had died an unnatural death. While Yoke Kuen was groaning over the loss of her spouse, Aunt Caroline had the presence of mind to call up Pei Wen’s principal and it was he who came to Pei Wen’s class to break the news to Pei Wen. Pei Wen had dropped everything he was doing and hurried home, eyes clearly red with shock and disbelief. He regretted that he hadn’t been close to his father. His father had always come home well after he had retired to his bedroom and the two of them seldom spoke to each other. But, suddenly, his father ’s death had torn a hole in his heart, a hole so big, everything in it had fallen out and there was nothing left to occupy it. It was indeed a broken heart. He cried silently as he waited for the taxi. It was strange, just when he needed these things, they were never around. His tears, unable to find their way out, wetted his heart as he sat in the taxi. It was a long journey, perhaps, the longest he had ever taken in a taxi.
The roar of thunder jolted Pei Wen out of his thoughts. The drizzle outside the hall had changed into a downpour and the rain itself was now crying as if it had lost its mother. Its cries were so loud they drowned out all the wailing in the hall. Presently, the ceremony was over. It was time to go home. The group, a mixture of relatives, his mother’s close friends and ex-colleagues of his father, made their way out of the hall to the waiting chartered bus, umbrellas at the ready. His father’s ex-colleagues took their leave and left the crematorium in two cars.
Pei Wen led the way up the bus. In his hands, he clenched a black and white photograph of his father. His father’s remains would only be released to them in three days and they would have to make another trip to the Bright Hill Temple to inter the remains in an urn which would be laid to rest in the adjoining columbarium. The return journey was quieter. Occasionally, there was chattering in the back of the bus, but mostly, there was an uneasy silence. This bus, which was accustomed to incessant chattering from students and housewives during its weekday runs for the Singapore Bus Services, today seemed stripped of all its candour. Pei Wen had not spoken a word the whole day, but then he had always been a quiet and reserved boy, and kept his feelings pretty well hidden in his heart.
At last, the bus came to a stop outside the house. After unloading its human cargo, it left hurriedly, as if it was glad to be finally rid of the mourners. There were workmen dismantling the tent in the garden. Pei Wen was directed to a new altar in the living room where his mother took from his hands the photograph of his father and placed it ever so carefully in the centre, with the elder Lee looking at them from behind his spectacles. That photograph had been culled from his father’s passport. The Lees seldom took pictures together and it was most difficult to locate a befitting photograph of his father at such short notice. So, his mother, on the advice of the undertakers, had snipped off his father’s photograph from the passport and given it to the photo studio for enlargement and framing.
The living room which was unaccustomed to having so many visitors looked uncomfortably full.There were Pei Wen’s maternal grandparents; his three maternal uncles, their spouses and children; Aunt Caroline and her mother; Uncle Leslie, his father’s elder brother, and his wife; and a sprinkling of distant relatives from his mother’s side. All of them had earlier washed their faces with water from two pails strewn with pomelo leaves and were now helping themselves to food placed on two small tables at the side of the room opening into the garden.
“When do you have to move out?” asked Uncle Leslie.
“I really have no idea, perhaps next month, perhaps next week… I really do not know.”
“Yoke Kuen, have you found a place yet?”
Just then, Pei Wen’s grandma interrupted the conversation. Her voice boomed across the room.
“Nothing to worry about. Nothing to lose sleep over. Both of you can stay with me. You know very well my other bedroom is vacant. It just needs a little tidying up. No worry at all.”
“Thanks, Mother.”
“It’s all over. Just forget the past. You have got to carry on. Pei Wen is so young. You just leave the rest to me. I will arrange everything for you.”
“Yoke Kuen,” Uncle Leslie resumed, “If you need anything, I mean anything at all, come to me. Andrew was my brother after all.”
“It’s okay. I’ll manage somehow. I still have some money in the bank. Of course, I will have to get a job again, what type I just now can’t figure out. I’m still in a daze as it is and it will be some days before I can get myself together again. Still, don’t worry your head over us, we’ll manage, somehow.”
“My sister is a strong woman. She won’t give up just like that. I don’t see how she could marry that brother of yours. I mean, he’s got no backbone at all, fancy going away just like that and leaving her and poor Pei Wen alone. He didn’t spare a thought about them at all.”
“Teng Joo, this is not the time for such nonsense,” said his elder brother.
Teng Joo was Pei Wen’s second maternal uncle. He was one who never minced his words. He never could resist jabbing others when he felt like it. Pei Wen never once liked Uncle Teng Joo. He thought this uncle of his was a show-off from whose mouth would reel nothing but uncalled for remarks and ridicule. But, this time, the jibe at his father had some substance in it. Secretly, Pei Wen wondered why his father was so cruel as to leave him and his mother so early in life. Everyone would have to go, sooner or later. Why did his father take things into his own hands instead of leaving it to heaven? Try as he might, Pei Wen could find no answers to his questions. He wondered whether his mother had harboured such doubts in her mind. But, these few days, whenever he looked into her eyes, he saw nothing. Her eyes were devoid of expressions. It was as if her soul had left the body.
On the third day after the funeral, Pei Wen accompanied his mother to the Bright Hill crematorium. They were met on arrival by Aunt Caroline, who had taken a half day off from work. Together, they filed into the same hall where his father’s cremation ceremony had taken place. They took turns to pick up pieces of burnt ash which were the remains of his father and place them into a yellow urn on which was inscribed:
ANDREW LEE
BORN 16th July 1952
DIED 12th February 1989
The urn was then set to rest on the third level of one of many rows of shelves in the columbarium, differentiated from all other urns by a number “1129D” inscribed above the photograph. The Lee house was quiet the next few days. It was an uneasy calm, the kind that came before a storm. Pei Wen’s mother put on a strong front, seeing to his daily needs as before, pretending nothing had changed. But her usual cheerfulness had disappeared. When he had gone off to school, she would sit by the verandah, and stare blankly into the garden forhours. There was no one to accompany her; his grandma had to work and so had the rest of the relatives. But it was quite safe. She wouldn’t do anything foolish – she couldn’t or Pei Wen would be all alone.
The day of reckoning came barely a week later. Staff from the Public Trustees Department stuck a notice on their main door. It required them to move out of the house by the third day and leave all furniture intact. An official affixed a sticker bearing the seal of the department to every item of furniture . Nothing except clothing was to be removed from the house. Mrs Lee had earlier, on the advice of Aunt Caroline, moved over to her mother’s flat a few pieces of furniture dear to both her husband and her. She couldn’t fit any more things into the tiny bedroom and had left these in the house. She was now glad her precious things were safe.
The first night in his grandma’s flat was strangely uncomfortable to Pei Wen. Though he had slept over many times before, that night was new to him.
He couldn’t sleep. Perhaps, it was because there was no air-conditioner in the bedroom. Perhaps, it was the unending cornucopia of noises from upstairs and downstairs and the opposite block. Perhaps, it was the loud footsteps from the staircase behind the wall where he slept. Whatever the reason, Pei Wen tossed and turned until finally at four in the morning, he fell asleep from sheer exhaustion.
The next few nights were no different from the first. Pei Wen began to miss his own bedroom at 98 Tampines Road. He missed the quiet of the old neighbourhood. It was, indeed, a good place to study in, he realised, albeit a little too late. His mother, who slept in the bed across from his, got up many times in the night to go to the kitchen, whatever for, Pei Wen did not know andhe did not find out. He guessed she wanted to reminisce the past from the kitchen window and didn’t want to wake her up. Perhaps, it would do her a bit of good to escape from this world for a while. He, too, was guilty of such forays in class nowadays and could not complain.
It was difficult for Pei Wen to concentrate on his lessons in class. He would find himself subconsciously looking out of the French windows into the open field. But his teachers who normally would have barked at him now left him to his daydreams. His form teacher, Mr Koh, was worried for him as he was to take his “O” levels four months away. Mr Koh called on Mrs Lee one evening when Pei Wen was out and had a long chat with her. That night, when Pei Wen was about to sleep, his mother sat on his bed and spoke to him. She stroked his hair with a hand.
“Your father left us at the wrong time, but he had his reasons. You musn’t give up. You can’t give up. He was a strong man in spite of what other people have said so you mustn’t blame him for what he did. If you want to, go ahead and blame his employer. Blame his colleagues who wouldn’t lend him a helping hand. Blame him for having the wrong friends, but never blame him for leaving us. Your father was a proud man. He had been one all through his life and proud people cannot be humiliated constantly. They just can’t take it.”
She stopped for a moment to catch her breath and then continued.
“The only bank he worked for gave him an umbrella in the form of credit facilities when the weather was fine, and yet, when a storm was brewing, this same bank snatched it back from him and left him to the mercy of the elements. It is something a proud man finds hard to swallow. It is what made your father do what he did. He didn’t leave any notes for us, not even a word of goodbye. Perhaps, it is just as well. Your father was a man of few words. I understand how he must have felt. In fact, the very morning I was at the bank, I felt uneasy, as if lightning was to strike. That was about the only message your father sent me before his death. But, the two of us have to put the past behind us. We have to go on living. You have to get on with your life, and your studies- make your father proud of you.
Pei Wen soon woke up from his self-inflicted spell and began studying for his “O” levels in earnest. Nobody knew what drove him on these days, but everyone was unanimous in finding him a changed person. They didn’t mind, though.
The year of the pig arrived shortly. It was his first new year without his father. His mother had started work as a clerk in a property firm to support the family. Things had got better progressively. However, emotionally, his mother still needed more time to heal her wounds. More money had come in over the next few months, mostly from his father’s CPF account. His father, in his lifetime, had accrued some four hundred thousand dollars in this account. The Public Trustees were unable to get their hands on this sum of money as, under the law, CPF proceeds were detached from any claims on debtors. Though Pei Wen’s father had died a bankrupt, he was able to leave a sizeable inheritance to his family, untouched by any creditor.
February 1990 saw the release of Pei Wen’s GCE “O” level results. He had scored 6 “A1s” and 1″A2″, almost a miracle, considering the turmoil he had been through the previous year. His mother was elated at the news. More good news was to be heard. Over the next few years, Pei Wen immersed himself in his studies, first at a junior college and then at the National University of Singapore. He put everything else on the shelf. He never found time for relationships with anyone. He kept pretty much to himself. Soon, he distinguished himself in economics and won a first class honours in the subject. With his academic pursuits at a close, he entered national service and spent the next two-and-a-half years sweating it out in the combat field. When he completed his tour of duty, instead of taking a break like most of his mates, he pored over the classifieds in The Straits Times every morning.
He found his first job in a local bank as a retail loans officer. Just when the managers were starting to like him, as he had shown much promise, he resigned. Within a month, he had found another job with another local bank, this time as a personal financial consultant. And he would resign again after barely three months on the job. This strange practice of his went on for a few more times. But, he never had difficulty locating a job. After all, he had impeccable credentials.
Banks were looking out for people like him. Finally, it appeared as if he had found the right job at last, for he had lasted exactly four months on this latest job, that of a personal investment officer at Tai Hua Bank, a local group with twenty odd branches in Singapore. The year was 1997, roughly eight years after his father’s death. It was late May and he had been posted to Tai Hua Bank’s Serangoon Garden branch at Serangoon Garden Way. As a personal investment officer, he was responsible for all credit facilities at the branch, reporting directly to the credit department at head office in Cecil Street.
He struck up a friendship with the manager of the bank across the other street. They would go for lunches together. The manager could get along with this fine young man who topped his class at the university, though they had a gap of some twenty-five years between them. One afternoon, while they were having their meal at the Troika restaurant three doors from Pei Wen’s branch, Pei Wen broached the subject of property investment.
“Andy, you should buy another property now. The time is ripe for a killing. Trust me, it won’t be long before the market moves up again. You buy at the low end and sell high.”
“I don’t know. The property market has gone down quite a bit and the dust has yet to settle. It doesn’t look too good now.”
“Look! You know pretty well the government won’t allow the property market to collapse. They have got plenty of money invested in it through their proxy representatives, the statutory boards. Trust me. I majored in economics, you know. I can foretell trends.”
“But I don’t have enough spare money. I am already quite committed with the condo unit I am staying in now and it is just not wise.”
“Don’t forget, I am a loans officer. I can help you. Remember- we are friends. I mean, what are friends for, anyway? Your account with my bank is safe. Didn’t I treat your clearing cheque as good last week when you were short of funds in your account? If not for that, your cheque would have bounced and it would have been most embarrassing. Fancy a bank manager having his cheque bounced by another bank. Come on, if you are afraid of everything you will never get to do big things or earn big money.”
“Let me think about this first.”
With that, the conversation turned to other things. That Saturday evening, Andy invited Pei Wen to tag along to a barbecue at his friend’s house in Frankel Avenue. They arranged to meet on the main road outside Frankel Avenue. Andy was punctual, as usual, arriving in his grey Toyota. He had his family with him- his wife, a plumpish sort of lady whose face you wouldn’t recall if you had met her in the street without her husband: and two kids, a fifteen year old bespectacled chap who resembled his father a little and a twelve year old girl with plain looks quite like the mother.
Andy introduced them to Pei Wen who then occupied the front seat which had been intentionally left vacant for him. Together, they left for the barbecue. The house was a terrace in the middle of a sloping Frankel Avenue. Both sides of the narrow lane were packed with cars and Andy had to park at the lower end of the lane some fifty metres away. When everyone had alighted from the car, Andy made his customary checks on all the doors, including the boot, just to be on the safe side. He had always been a cautious man all his life. At the gate was a young man fanning some satay on a makeshift barbecue pit. There were three boys with him.
“Uncle,” the three boys called out.
Andy waved to them and led his group into the open space in front of the hose. There was a motley group of people, some helping themselves to food on a longish table, some making casual conversation. and some seated at a stone table. A voice called out to from inside the house.
“Andy, Andy. Here you are at last.”
Andy introduced Pei Wen to the host, Mr Goh, who was a renovation contractor. Pei Wen learnt later that the two of them were ex-schoolmates from St Patrick’s. Mr Goh held such gatherings frequently to allow his contacts in the business to mix with one another. It was his way of promoting closer ties between people who otherwise would not have a chance to interact, for they came from different walks of life. There were painters, plumbers, electricians, carpenters, bankers, some chaps from a real estate firm and one or two architects. It was an uncomfortable fit and it showed. The painters and carpenters kept to themselves, the bankers and the architects found some common ground, however, their spouses found no problems getting along with one another. Presently, Mr Goh led Andy and Pei Wen to the group of bankers and architects and they engaged in petty conversation.
“Mr Lee, so you are a bank manager,” said Mr Tan, an architect.
“No. I’m only an officer in the bank. I handle all types of loans – housing, personal, you name it, I have it.”
“I hear you majored in economics at the U.”
“Andy must have blabbed again. Actually, its my main area of interest. I like to be able to foretell the future of the economy. I like to dabble around with figures, so it is this a proliferation of what I like to do, nothing else.”
“So young and yet so humble.”
“Well, Pei Wen’s like that. You see, he lost his parents in a road accident when he was young and in spite of that, he has grown up into a fine young man. I am quite envious of him. I wish my son would be like him, but fat hope, that boy will never amount to anything. He can’t hold a candle to Pei Wen. Pei Wen..”
“There you go again. You are making me blush all over with those remarks.”
“But, it’s the truth, you know.”
“Mr Lee, since you are so good in this area, can you tell us whether the property market will go up again?”
“Yes, do tell us.”
“Let’s see, I am sure you are all aware that the government has recently pumped in five billion dollars into infrastructure works on the island.”
“Yes.”
“This goes to show the government is committed to boosting the local property market. They inject funds so that the construction sector would be propped up. They have a huge stake, you know, through their quasi-government investment vehicles, the statutory boards. Of course, theywouldn’t want their money to go down the drain. After all, it’s public money. They are accountable for it. There’s been some talk in the papers about reducing the land put up for sale by tender the last few weeks. In fact, just today, the radio has reported that the national development minister has approved this measure. This is bound to rev up the property market in the months to come. Less land equals less condos and other units to compete with. Am I going too fast?”
"No, not at all."
“Mr Lee, what you have said is very enlightening, even for an architect like me.”
“I have been telling Andy now’s the right time to move in- get a condo, not a landed unit – then wait for the market to move up again. Shouldn’t be a long wait. But, he.. he’s still mulling over my suggestion.”
“That sounds like a great idea.”
“Why shouldn’t one buy a landed unit?”
“The prices of landed units have not bottomed out yet. They are still quite expensive and an investment at this time is unwise.”
“What would you figure is the waiting period for practical yields on investment?”
“I would say, two to three years on the conservative side.”
“Three years only. This is worth considering. Andy, you are a fool. There’s money staring in front of you and you are not willing to pick it up. Come on, opportunity doesn’t knock twice. I am in the property field and yet I agree with Pei Wen’s forecast.”
“Let me think over first.”
A week passed and Pei Wen had not heard from Andy. Pei Wen had been busy with a new promotion programme for selling insurance to customers. His bank had switched to selling insurance to make up for the lacklustre housing loans market. He had to make trips to and from the head office to gather material and attend briefings on the new promotion. It was next Tuesday morning. Andy phoned Pei Wen.
“Can you get an application form for me? I have found a condo unit over the weekend and I have put up a deposit. I need a loan for the rest.”
“Sure, no problem. See you at the Troika at twelve.”
The bait had been snapped up. Pei Wen sighed. He was relieved. He had spent so much time and effort setting this trap for Andy, the one person responsible for his father’s downfall. He would make this man suffer. He would make this man pay for what he did to his father- nothing less would suffice.
With the loan approved, Pei Wen was in seventh heaven. In the following weeks, he began to distance himself from Andy. He offered all kinds of excuses for not being free, everything except the truth. He managed a transfer back to the head office, to work in the credit department. He schemed to get an appointment as head of the retail loans department. Soon he was working behind this desk.
That July, the Thai Baht fell, making half the banks in the country bankrupt in the process. In the ensuing months, the Malaysian Ringgit, and the Indonesian Rupiah were hit badly. The Indonesian Rupiah at one point managed an exchange of 16000 to a United States dollar, a drop of some five hundred percentage points before stablising at 9000 to a dollar. The Singapore dollar was not spared either. It went down to a low of 1.81 to the dollar before recovering to 1.72.
By late September, billions of dollars worth of shares had been wiped off the stock market in Singapore. Shares in property companies pulmetted to their lowest in a decade. Overnight, many Blue chips were selling at below a dollar. Prices of all properties in Singapore fell. Most now had a market value of just under half their worth before the onset of the crisis a few months back.
Banks were scrambling to recall their housing loans. Many property investors were badly burnt – especially those who had second or more properties. Andy was no exception. What made things worst for him was that Pei Wen was behind the scenes making sure he had no way out. Pei Wen promptly recalled Andy’s housing loan on the second property. Andy’s employer, the bank, didn’t make matters better for him. A thirtyish graduate in charge of staff accounts at the bank treated him the same manner he had treated Pei Wen’s father many years back. Pei Wen laughed in his heart. He felt Andy was getting back what he sowed. What had happened to his own father was now happening to Andy.
Pei Wen arranged for his bank’s lawyers to serve legal papers on Andy at Andy’s workplace. First, the demand letters, then the lawsuit, the judgement and finally the bankruptcy petition – all in only two months flat. Andy’s appeals to Pei Wen fell on deaf ears. At first, Pei Wen would promise to look into the matter. He did this as a ploy. He wanted Andy to get his hopes up. He didn’t want Andy to look elsewhere for help until it was too late. His sweet talking convinced the poor Andy, who by now had turned desperate. Andy begged Pei Wen to help him. He tried to push for a meeting, but Pei Wen had many ready excuses. He did not know where Pei Wen lived though they were friends. Pei Wen had wriggled out of telling him that detail the many times they were together. He couldn’t get into Pei Wen’s workplace. It was restricted to staff only. He could only speak to staff at the counter and they were of no help at all- they couldn’t make decisions.
On 22nd December 1998, three days before Christmas, Pei Wen pored over the notice page in The Straits Times. Under the heading “Bankruptcy Orders” he fingered the names, one by one, till he came to one that read:
Tay Siew Chye, Andy 26B Ah Hood Road Singapore 274023.
How he laughed! Then he cried. It was a loud wailing of sorts. But it was all right. He was alone at home. He let out his frustrations, welled up over the past eight years inside him. Sweet justice, he thought to himself. He snipped the whole portion of the paper and highlighted Andy’s name in blue. He had taken leave for that day. He had a place to visit. A taxi took Pei Wen to the carpark in front of the cremation hall at Bright Hill Temple. He walked inside. The hall was filled with mourners, some in black and some in blue. They weregetting ready for the cremation ceremony. He took no notice of them, made a right turn down a long corridor on both sides of which was a pond with tortoises here and there peeking out of the water. He entered the columbarium, and shuffled past the shelves till he reached the one where his father’s remains were kept. He folded his hands in prayer and spoke to his father in his thoughts. He told him what he had done and placed the newspaper clipping, neatly folded, under the urn. He arranged the urn such that no one would be wise to the fact there was something under the urn. He spent a good half hour in the place.
That night, as Pei Wen sat on his bed reading a book, with the television set switched on, his attention was suddenly drawn to the set when a reporter who was at the scene of a crime was speaking to the viewers. The television set flashed snippets of a car in which the bodies of two children were lying side by side neatly arranged in the back seat and another two, apparently the parents, were in the front seats. He heard this was a case of suicide cum murder. The parents of the children had smothered the children to death before leaving the air-conditioner on.
The windows were all wound up and the carbon monoxide in the car had killed the parents eventually. The car was found by some young teenagers in a remote spot in the MacRitchie Reservoir area. The camera moved backwards to show the whole car. It was a grey Toyota. Pei Wen cried in horror. The licence plate told him it was Andy’s car.
Pei Wen placed his face next to the television screen to get a closer look. Just then, the screen flashed back to the newsroom where the presenter proceeded with a grim summary of the tragedy. Pei Wen was stunned. His face changed into a gory white colour. He was now crying uncontrollably. He cried as if he had never cried before. He didn’t mean for this to happen. He merely wanted that guy to be made a bankrupt. He was ever so sorry. His remorse showed in his actions. He sat by his bed staring blankly at the television set for hours.
Alas, he had gone too far. His conscience had finally surfaced from beneath all that hatred. But, it was too late for his target- the man whose only crime was being too ‘kiasu’.
*
Monday 12 July 2010
World Cup
Check this URL out, especially if you are a soccer fan!
http://g.sg.sports.yahoo.com/football/world-cup/
*
http://g.sg.sports.yahoo.com/football/world-cup/
*
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
.jpg){kind=link}