Now he loved walking in the cool of a mall and finding warm comfort in the blast of heat as he left. He loved how clean Singapore was, how safe it seemed, the fact that he could not see police patrolling, even if they could see him. And being asked if he had had breakfast yet was becoming less embarrassing. Sometimes he was even asked if he had had lunch, and he would say yes I have or no I haven’t. It was quite simple, he discovered.
*
Hangover soothed by the hair of the dog, Percy was sitting outside The Tired Turtle with the hairless Sinead in a box, watching the lunchtime traffic flow out of Sixth Avenue and along the Bukit Timah Road. The first beer of the day was always the nicest, he’d found; quickly sunk, easing tension, gentle fingers of alcohol reaching out and fluidly numbing the ache. The morning leading up to the beer had been less satisfactory, however.
Uncomfortable with Sinead’s appearance he had taken her to see a vet. There, the vet had taken Sinead out of the box and asked in the usual way of medical people, ‘So, what have we here?’
Two things diverted Percy from delivering his response with the light-hearted tone intended. Firstly, how overwhelmingly attractive the vet was, and secondly, that despite being of South East Asian appearance she spoke with the accent and gusto of a traditional Oxbridge graduate.
‘Well if you don’t know, I am sure I don’t,’ was all he could manage.
The vet bristled, lovely face hardening. ‘Okay, Mister Field. What seems to be the problem?’
Situated between them both, Sinead was lying in a state of terror on a stainless steel gurney. Her naked body was flattened with nerves, a reoccurring shudder making her vibrate like a novelty phone.
Percy paused. It was there on the tip of his tongue, the same words he had just spoken: well if you don’t know, I am sure I don’t. He stopped himself.
‘It has no hair,’ he said stiffly, still failing to sound polite.
‘That’s very true,’ stated the vet. She said nothing more.
‘Shouldn’t it have hair?’
The vet levelled her gaze. ‘Would you like me to make it a wig?’
Now this was interesting, thought Percy, because that was exactly what he would have said. ‘Actually, I thought you might treat it?’
‘What were you thinking of, Mister Field, perhaps riding the Luge at Sentosa? I’m not sure they’d have a helmet small enough.’
‘What I can see is that you obviously take your job very seriously…’ Percy was pleased with the pitch of his sarcasm, finally achieving a tone intended.
‘Actually I do, Mister Field. Very. That is why I do not like time wasters.’
Percy frowned, ‘And what do you mean by that?’
‘Strangely enough, by that I mean people who waste my time.’
‘Is there a proper vet here?’ Percy said, searching the floor as if any spare vet might be three feet tall, ‘only I have to be honest and say that I don’t think you are very good. If you don’t know what to do with this animal, then have the courage to say so and find me someone who does.’
The vet paused, thoughtfully. ‘Mister Field, do you mean to say that you genuinely believe this animal should have hair?’
‘That’s it! Enough! Nurse. Nurse, I need help.’
‘This is not a film set, Mister Field. Calling the nurse will do you no good.’
Percy picked up Sinead.
The vet looked at him as one might a tiresome child. ‘Mister Field, when did you get this animal?’
‘This morning… well, yesterday. It was a gift. I have no intention of keeping it, but I don’t think it right to let animals suffer.’
‘Suffer?’
‘It clearly has mange or something.’
Shamelessly, the vet laughed. ‘It’s a skinny pig… a naked guinea pig. Naked pets are becoming very fashionable. They’re relatively expensive, too; a generous gift indeed. She’s in perfect health, Mister Field.’
Percy was astounded, ‘No mange?’
‘No mange. Put her back on the table and I will give her a thorough examination, since you’re here.’
Percy noticed that the vet’s face, previously so unforgiving, had developed an extremely cheerful expression. He stood silently, waiting for the final verdict.
‘Yes. All fine. Here you are, Mister Field. Pay at the desk. Good day.’
With that, the beautiful vet swept from the room into the private recesses of the surgery.
*
One hundred and fifty dollars poorer, Percy sipped his second pint as Sinead scuffled in her box. Briefly he opened the lid. Behind him, two people stopped.
‘Hello Percy, friend of yours?’ came the familiar voice of Joyann, as she peered over his shoulder.
‘Hi, Perc,’ Phrike raised the lid a little higher, ‘what is that?’
Feeling generally battered by life, Percy could not help but grin at the sight of two dear friends, old friends by expat standards. ‘Phrike, Joyann, It’s been too long.’
‘I know, Percy. I am sorry,’ said Joyann.
‘I’m the one who should be sorry. I should have returned your calls… but… you know.’
‘Yes I do. Tough times.’
‘Have a drink? Come on, sit down both of you.’
Phrike beckoned the waitress.
Joyann smiled, ‘Just for five minutes. So tell me, what do you have there? Such a mysterious creature!’
Chapter 15
IDOL CONFESSION
To one side of contemporary Singapore, Haw Par Villa slept quietly away from the main tourist areas of Orchard Road, Sentosa Island and China Town, a novel and obscure place. Once a showy symbol of deepest sibling affection, the grounds bowed to the power of modern expectation, respectfully welcoming the few choosing to step back in time and lose themselves amongst the weird and wonderful. No villa remained, no hordes revelling, only colourful moulded giants in the form of Gods and lobsters, huge gorillas and winding caverns, all perfectly restored and maintained, a mad relic and memorial to the man who built it and his beloved brother, the inspiration behind it.
Considering their normal venues, it was neither an expected nor usual choice to convene a meeting of the Discussion Group, but Percy had his reasons. He was not really in the mood to talk, but had promised Joyann he would choose that week’s location.
Standing at the foot of a long, steep, sloping driveway with the feeling that he was about to enter the set of an old Chinese television series – something he would feel even more strongly in the coming hour – Percy was pleased to see Joyann step out of a taxi. It was strangely refreshing to be out and about and stone cold sober.
Mornings, he found, were slowly becoming easier. He no longer necessarily awoke to a niggling sense that he had forgotten something, wrestling for a few blurry seconds to gain back that important memory only to be crushed by Sal’s departure all over again. Now, on many mornings, he’d reached the bathroom before the sense of futility hit him. On really good days, he’d even showered. And sometimes, whether showered or not, he even resented that feeling, which he took to be a good thing.
Percy waved and called to Joyann. Everything about her exuded optimism, a quality that could easily irritate a man such as Percy, especially when down, but in the case of Joyann had the opposite effect. She was sunny without grating on his nerves, and this he found fascinating. Being a tourist with Joyann as his guide would be a pleasant way to spend an hour or two, he decided. But as she approached he thought she looked a little tired, not her usual bright self at all. Percy hoped the day wasn’t going to be ruined.
‘You know what this place is?’ she said, without greeting. ‘It’s a theme park, built by the Tiger Balm brothers. It is very old. I did not think you Ang-moh visited places like this.’ She smiled lazily and with affection, knowing Percy would be obliged to take the bait. Her reference to him being Ang-moh, meaning red-hair and Singaporean slang for Caucasian, could not be overlooked, given the reddish tone in his brown hair that he always firmly
denied.
‘Ang-moh, lah?’ His eyes glinted with revenge as he emphasised the word lah.
‘I did not, nor do I say, the word lah. Singlish is not a proper way to speak.’
‘Even for a Singaporean?’
‘Especially for a Singaporean.’
‘Are you sure?’ Percy thought back to the first time he heard her talking with her brother and their colleague, in The Bean.
‘I am sure.’
Percy grinned. Then for a split second he was serious. ‘You okay?’
‘Yes. Are you?’ Joyann’s surprise was obvious.
‘Sort of. You look nice, by the way.’
‘So do you, lah, even with your red hair.’ She chortled in a small explosion, quickly controlled.
Percy was relieved to hear her laugh. ‘So who else is coming today?’
‘Most of the group, I think. Yes, it will make an interesting change being here. I haven’t been since I was a girl. And I have definitely never been with the Son of God.’ She stopped and looked at him, a startled expression on her face. ‘Excuse me. I did not mean to say that.’
Percy was puzzled. ‘What do you mean?’
She smiled. ‘Nothing.’
‘Joyann? Why did you call me that?’
‘No reason.’
‘Joyann!’
Joyann laughed again, a small reluctant chuckle. ‘I cannot say. It makes me feel like I am not a nice person.’
‘It makes you seem like not a nice person to tell someone half of something, and then to openly laugh at the part you’re not telling. Come on. Tell me.’
She breathed deeply. ‘If I tell you, you are not to say anything to anyone, do you understand?’
‘I can’t promise.’
‘Then I cannot tell.’
Percy glowered. ‘You drive a hard bargain.’
‘Is asking for discretion a hard bargain?’
Percy rubbed his chin, as if checking whether or not his stubble was coming through. He nodded. ‘Okay. I promise.’
Joyann paused before speaking, seeming to order her words carefully. ‘It’s Norman. He and I met up with some others from the group, Meera and two ladies I think you do not know. One older and one sort of glamorous, I suppose.’
He shook his head, confirming lack of recognition.
‘He was quite open about how strongly he feels for you, Percy.’
‘So you are saying he thinks I am the Son of God?’
‘Percy! Don’t be ridiculous. I am saying he likened you to the Son of God.’ She paused again. ‘And…’
‘And what?’
‘Well let me just say you clearly have more than one admirer, because they all agreed you have qualities that a prophet might have.’
‘I don’t wear sandals, nor do I consider the wearing of sandals by men a quality. And I don’t have a beard.’
Joyann laughed, ‘Think of less superficial similarities, Percy. Not footwear. Not facial hair. These are certainly common images, but I suspect not vital.’
He shook his head, ‘I am not asking.’
‘Not asking what?’
‘Which qualities. I’m not asking you which qualities, if that’s what you want me to do.’
‘I don’t want you to do anything, Percy.’ Joyann’s eyebrows raised, pretty eyes widening, ‘I am just telling you something. I am just telling you that when you are short with people – when you avoid sharing your time, or giving advice – it can seem as if you are offering some sort of alternative. This is because you appear strong, a man able to carry a great deal upon his shoulders without a second thought.’
‘Ridiculous.’
‘Is it? When a person who appears to be something set apart from others then chooses to spend his time with those others, without needing to; it sends a certain message to more vulnerable individuals.’
‘And if I could decipher what you just said, I would say that it sounds like bullshit. Besides, I haven’t been around much at all for anyone to admire.’
‘Absence makes the heart grow fonder, does it not?’
‘Why would vulnerable people, as you put it, feel drawn to a person so…’ Percy searched for a word.
‘So remote and aloof?’ Joyann finished, smiling a little. ‘It’s how some people are, that is all.’
Percy stared. ‘So based on this, you decided to call me the Son of God?’
Joyann nodded, enthusiastically. ‘It is funny.’
‘It is not funny,’ he said, not smiling.
‘Maybe not,’ she conceded, ‘but one thing is certain. One way or the other, you are utterly divine in the eyes of Norman Sullivan.’
Percy shook his head. ‘You are a bad woman, Joyann Tan. Come on, let’s go in. Where do we pay?’
‘It’s free.’
‘Then let’s walk up,’ Percy said, already heading up the wide path, ‘the others can catch up. They may even be up there already.’
‘I’ll send an SMS.’
‘No need. They’ll work it out, Joyann.’
‘Or I could send the message, which is what I intend to do.’ Joyann took out her phone. ‘You are a grumpy man sometimes, Percy.’
‘Is Phrike coming today?’
‘No. He has an appointment or something.’
‘A mysterious man, that one,’ Percy remarked.
‘He is indeed,’ Joyann laughed, ‘I am still unsure where he is from. I thought South Africa but he said not, and when I mentioned it again…’ Joyann paused momentarily and looked thoughtful.
‘What?’
‘Ah! Excuse me Percy. I am easily distracted at the moment. I was just trying to remember what Phrike and I were discussing when the subject came up,’ she shook her head, ‘I cannot. But I do recall my confusion regarding him had not lessened by the end of it.’
‘Well that’s the beauty of this place, Joyann. You don’t have to know a thing about anyone to get along. We just are who we are.’
‘For an expatriate I have no doubt there is some truth in that. Most I know seem very caught up in the moment, in their own lives. It surprises me they are not more interested in others, though I suppose some I know do embrace what is around them; enjoying Singapore as we are today. But they do not appear interested in one another’s cultures, which are often quite different from their own, and different from here. Do you think, Percy? In our group, I cannot sense a desire for deeper understanding of others. Do you?’
‘I am not sure I agree. I remember telling Meera all about fish and chips. I thought she seemed quite interested, to be honest.’
Percy strolled away, while Joyann began messaging various key members of the group. By the time she had finished, the pair had wandered a little way in and as far as The Ten Courts of Hell.
Percy stopped. Inspecting the entrance to a long and narrow man-made cave, he said, ‘God. This looks grim.’
‘It terrified me as a child,’ confirmed Joyann, nodding towards a sign warning that it might not be suitable for younger people, pregnant women or anyone with a heart condition. ‘But I think that was the idea. Shall we go in?’
‘Why not.’
Together they moved forward into the darkness, passing under the intimidating and watchful eyes of two large painted figures, grim in expression with the worst of the fairground about them, material for a horror movie even without the ominous surroundings. Once inside, Percy’s eyes quickly adjusted to the low light. The first sight to greet him was a model depicting the recently dead being herded across three bridges, heading to glory or doom. As he looked, so Joyann moved to his side.
‘Ah yes. The three bridges. Which will you have to cross, Percy? Are you virtuous and good, quite good, or really bad?’
It hadn’t occurred to Percy to empathise with the scene, to mentally place himself amongst the fictional masses.
‘Guess,’ prompted Joyann.
‘Okay. I expect I will be kept back for a spot of eternal bridge painting. A bit of community service.’
&
nbsp; Joyann sighed gently, ‘No community service, Percy, only judgement and punishment. You will learn as we go through the tunnel that only the perfect people on the first bridge escape the courts.’
‘In that case I doubt the first bridge needs much maintenance, anyway. Perhaps I’ll offer to paint one of the other two. I imagine this lower one gets quite worn.’
‘Percy! No community service.’
‘That seems harsh.’
‘It is meant to be harsh.’
His eye was drawn further into the cave. Either side of the dark cavern, hellish scenes were depicted in full gory detail, displaying a variety of sinners suffering a multitude of barbaric punishments.
‘Look at this, Joyann.’ There were heads on spikes; bodies being ground mercilessly under heavy millstones, or boiling in a giant wok of blood, body parts stuck here and there, any torture imaginable and for crimes as simple as arguing with elders or disrespecting siblings, as well as murder and rape. ‘They aren’t a very tolerant bunch, are they?’ Percy observed.
‘Are you?’
‘Compared to this, I am a very tolerant man.’
‘I wasn’t thinking of you as just a man,’ she smiled. ‘More a prophet.’ He heard the snigger and could see her teeth gleaming white in the darkness. She was very beautiful, he thought. He rolled his eyes purposely hoping she could see, and walked on.
At the end of the tunnel a final scene showed all being forgiven and recast in life, destined to be anything from simple life forms to wealthy humans, until in death they would be forced to endure it all again, unless they had lived faultless lives.
‘Surely people would just learn, Joyann, and the first bridge would fill up?’
‘That would be simpler. But in every life lived all forget the terror that went before. Look, it says so here.’
Percy read the caption, and then walked out into the light feeling a little shocked. ‘Maybe it’s just as well to forget purgatory, or else we’d give up and be content to live life as a slug. Surely a slug can’t be judged as being bad. Even if it eats someone’s lettuces. No demotion, no promotion, sounds good to me. Just existing.’