Faithful Service

Twenty months insufficient for the show of the master-servant relationship, even benign form. Made one wince still. The entire city-state apparatus, politico-business regime predicated on it; social relations in large part. And of course a wide-sided pyramid piercingly sharp at top.

         Somewhere along upper Geylang the pair had clambered aboard the No. 51 traveling out to Bugis. As often, unclear initially that there was any connection between the pair: Filipina with the jeep sits one side along the bench-seat and older woman further back. Adjacent seats were available, but rather a squeeze. Hot mid-afternoon even in January, shopping jeep crammed with upcoming New Year.

         Wiping her brow, chin, neck and under her tee for the small of the back…. Ah, that's better.

         Opposite no ill-effects. If Madame is hot and bothered no sign.

         Recent red dye, iridescent lavender spotted finger-nails; neat, orderly, unassuming.

         At five hundred a month after added government fees it does not take a Captain of Industry to employ a maid in Singapore. True Captains of Industry have two or three in their employ, upstairs and down, chauffer and gardener. The political colossus here of course was famed for a Pharaonic touch retaining at his board a Food-taster. Likely the fellow clipped the hedges between times. The credo of course work, earnest work and no slacking. Thus red and lavender Madame—blouse a tone in-between—might have run a Kopitiam or Chicken-rice stall; son imports product from the Mainland with an outlet in one of the Malls. Either way solidly PAP. (People's Action Party.)

         Couple of times Maid scrutinizes Ma'me just in case something was missing. There may have been a pillow in the trolley for bumpy rides on the buses. All in order by the looks; decent relationship and nothing of concern. Through the week an old Malay employer pictured in a wheel-chair was up before the courts for physical abuse of her girl: hot irons and boiling water scaldings.
         Comfortable enough journey, aircon of sorts on the older models. The swing from Crawford into NorthBridge always results in lurching and on the side bench-seat one is riding against the motion.

         The first seats filled on the buses were of course the ones facing the front; passengers boarding immediately cast in that direction. As usual, these had been filled when Madame and Maid joined. At the first NorthBridge stop, however, one of these seats had been vacant. Mooning out the opposite window Ma'me oblivious; opposite Maid's ken keen.

         Tongue clicked, swivel of chin.
         — Oh!
         Perfectly audible over the grinding traffic and construction drilling and hammering.
         Before anyone else could get there Ma'me had leapt forward, four steps tagging the bars along the way, swinging legs in.

         PLOP.

         Safely seated. Perfect. Much better.

         That was when the spotted bright lavender on the pinkies showed on the bar of the seat in front, gleaming, hard-backed line of beetles down on the forest floor that a short while ago was the natural environment here. Feet match was uncertain.