Cat-lady Auntie Helen giving further goss. on goings-on
in our duplex here. The pretty young shapely Mainlander upstairs next
door is in fact the kept mistress of none other than landlord Tan's
brother. Yes indeed. There you go. Didn't know that I warrant. Earlier there
had been precious little news of Tan's family apart from his own mistress, who
doubled as an assistant for his rental concerns. "My Assistant", he
had once referred to "Jacqueline". Shiva during his term here when he
had been palsy with Tan heard Tan's wife had complained about the mistress, had
threatened to leave. After a talking-to from her husband that included such
bullets as 1. Haven't you got everything you could possibly want? and 2. Why
would you be crazy to walk away from this and make everything harder for both
of us? Mrs. Tan folded back her wings again and one marriage sensibly saved.
Hand it to him, for an illiterate Tan was a good talker. A bullock, but there
was force of reason apparent too. If you wanted to best the
pugilist in the rhetorical ring better prepare your best punches in advance. (Auntie Helen had needed some
tutoring in petitions for rent
reductions.) How had Tan earned the dollars one wondered. Running
girls and nothing else. Currently the man ran a Karaoke Bar around in Joo
Chiat somewhere, as well as a kitchen renovation business in the same strip. A big-noting big
time bullshit artist too by the same token. Given a lift early days, Tan had casually dropped the detail of his proprietorship of eighteen houses in Singapore.
One-eight. You believed
him? responded Auntie
Helen when she was served the tidbit.
This next door Master of the Mistress was likely a half brother, Auntie
Helen speculated. Nothing in features shared; and this chap might have brains
given that friends included doctors and the like. Nice shiny blue-black Merc pulling
out the driveway prompted the line of conversation. Glimpsed down in the
driver's seat it did appear an unlikely fit. Blue striped shirt,
dark trousers, greyhound more than bulldog. You would not think boxer Tan's dad
stayed at home sweeping in front
of the family compound and feeding the chooks, right enough. Mistresses in the family line.
Further, Mr. Toh is the name
of the horse-head granddad next door. Aunt
provided the English spelling. Nice,
genial chap, always ready with a greeting, pulling up on his tall handle-barred bicycle in the driveway
Christmas morning in order to wish Happy New Year. Barely a word
of English. New Years were the
standard markers for all the ethnic communities in Singapore, easy to confuse.
Sing-song Good mornings
extended into the dark for Granddad Toh. Early
on there had been a correction and a blushing apology, lesson failed to be
learned. Let slide. That Chrissy morning the penny finally dropped too for
Granddad Toh. Belatedly. Fifteen, sixteen months later up close again shaking
the hand the simple realization Mr. Toh could be parachuted behind the lines into any European city, dress him
up in the local garb and an immediate pass as a native at any pub or supermarket. Half caste of some description, or
mixed blood, as they said in Singapore; granddad of his own perhaps not far
back in the works. Crystal clear. How in the heck had it taken such a blessed
time for that realization to strike? Quite remarkable given not an ordinary
eagle eye.
In Block 21 here at the Haig
Road towers Mr. Toh has an elder brother. This man is a father of eight
children: eight hungry mouths.
That was the reason for the progressive sale of the inheritance. In fact Mr.
Toh now owns only the second storey of the middle, sandwiched house in the row. Above, the third floor,
owned by Brains Tan, where the mistress is ensconced. Often the other three
rooms there left vacant, confided Auntie H. Wise perhaps to safe-guard the
Pretty, though Aunt’s point seemed to be the ample resources—no shortage of dosh. Occasionally Brains T. will let to foreigners short-term.
The glimpse left uncertain who was the elder, Brains or Brawn. One would need a better look to judge properly.
Upstairs in our own front
house a pretty young Viet has been installed in the last month by her
own Sugar Daddy. Quizzing Jap Tour
Guide, day-time TV addict Richard, the
dad had been generously described as “middle-aged”. Hohoho! Yeah right.
According to the standard of the CCP Executive Council a couple generations ago
maybe. Rich himself was a transgressor, marrying an Indon woman about thirty years his junior only
four or five months ago. The new Sugar Daddy might be quietly celebrating his
seventh decade a hop step and stumble away, like Richard keeping up fortnightly
dyes. Man has already alienated Auntie
Helen by washing his late model white Toyota Max 1 in the driveway close-by Auntie’s
door. No scrimping on soap, the run-off later was lapped up by auntie’s mogs of
course. Thoughtless. Sugar cooks for Pretty when they are
both home, dries the dishes at the sink. Many of the Viet brides here are
part-Chinese with some language share. The Courts TV salesman who has taken over the
former front room has a Viet wife himself, much more respectable age
differential in that case.
Devoted good couple, lady’s job to keep herself trim, cook and wash the company livery. Rewarded with
flights back to see her family periodically, when back-sliding hubbie reverts to the bottle.
Auntie
Helen is passed the newspaper lunchtimes
after the morning tea, gratified at the consideration shown her. Most in the
house avoid the Cat-lady. She smells, her
day shift carrying the yellow stain of the close loving bestowed
upon her litter. There might be six or seven mogs who have the run of the front
room, special favourites. Otherwise nightly Aunt feeds perhaps a dozen others in
the near neighbourhood with her specially ordered premium food delivered
regularly in 20 litre plastic buckets to her front door. Taking pity on some of
the local association, Auntie
provides feed where she can. One old hunchback from Haig Road could not be
ignored poor thing. For a time
there were stretched canvas banners behind the Haig Road bus-stop warning of thousand dollar
fines feeding birds and cats just where the permed hunchback deposited nightly.
The
party wall dividing the former garage converted
by Boxer Tan into two extra rooms lacks
any acoustic insulation. In
front Auntie Helen has the benefit of a separate entry door and two large
windows looking onto the Tohs row of pots and fringe
garden. Breeze curling in perfumed by the greenery, bird song, early warning of
the landlord’s comings and goings. Aunt had no time for cooking, no wifi
reception out there, her own refrigerator and LED TV bought at her own expense.
(A mountain of matter for the rental relief petition, once added to the recent
downturn in the market that was well reported in the newspaper.) For
Number Ones Auntie would use the shower, one or two of her indoor enemies
speculated. For her “shit” no such luxury. When Aunt entered for the shared
WC’s beside the washing machines the import was
unmistakable. (Some Malay-Chin prejudice, sad to report. Nothing major.)
Outback behind Auntie a different story. A fully equipped bathroom was one
thing, sit-down throne included. Strongest negative however the lack of ventilation: windows
opened onto the passage to the utility area, machines and twin bathrooms.
(Notice lacking for prohibition of post-11pm
washing.) Add the shared waste pipe with Auntie’s rich feline perfumes and the
problem compounded. Small
wonder the Courts husband always had his door open
and the side door of the house likewise angled hopefully for any breath of air.
What to do?
Morning and night one wondered at
the piercing fluted notes sounded by Aunt Helen in front. Was it telephone
conversation with friends and family? Aunt had professional sisters in
Singapore; convent educated like herself no doubt. Perhaps chat with the girls
and women from her chapter who came regularly to her front door. There was
radio later in the morning and seemingly TV nights—it was not difficult to
differentiate the two media even in a foreign language through a wall. After eleven at night deep peaceable rowing across the wide lake of Auntie’s sleep. A former Chin woman who had
been in the back room earlier had complained. Auntie had asked the question soon after the return to the house.
Later the thought occurred for the reason of attempting to establish her privacy
within her own domicile—if snoring was hardly audible
there might be free reign given otherwise.
The rhythms and lilt were striking. Captivating
would not be putting the matter too strongly. One
regularly found oneself straining
to listen. Aunt was a smooth,
garrulous talker once she got going. Initial encounters could find Auntie H. slightly cross-eyed and
askew: head tilted to one side, firm defensive posture, patient hearing out
without interruption as if readying
for any barb that might be fired in her direction.
Once relaxed perfect smoothness and good humour. As an older, educated woman
and fluent English speaker, confident and strong in temper, Aunt Helen was the
natural leader of the Cat-lovers at the top-end of Carpmael. Recent de-sexing
issues, the problem of strays and then rats attracted to food left out for animals all featured in the Home section of the newspaper in recent
weeks. An on-going story concerned a Cat Café somewhere on the other side of
town where in a few months there had been seven fatalities. When it first broke this particular
story had been highlighted in fluro for Auntie Helen. Horrid heartlessness.
Typical business instinct over-riding all compassion. The man operating the establishment
had been photographed relaxing in his cosy interior with cats all round. What
might Aunt have done with that paper indoors and
the large picture of the Smiler?... Had she been an employee of that café by golly….
It
took some while to comprehend the full extent of loving Auntie Helen was devoting to her
brood. Mornings the rousing calls were of a distinctly different pitch to
Beddy-byes. Night Gucchi-gucchi-goos fairly stunned a listener and took the breath away. Oh dear lord the depth of that tender loving
from the overflowing heart. The stain in the middle of Auntie Helen’s shift was recalled. Meeting with Aunt
thereafter one’s eyes wandered unavoidably. One black green-eyed beauty that slept afternoon under the
front entry porch bore buck
teeth and a persistent dribble of phlegm which
was sometimes left on the newspaper awaiting Auntie Helen. (Some of the papers were re-cycled
after reading for softening hard seats for the felines.) There was another more regular black
and one handsome full-bodied black and white. No ginger in this household of Auntie H.’s and precious few in the entire neighbourhood—it always seemed to be the gingers that drew the strongest attention from captivated children along the paths, for many of whom
these free-ranging beasts of
the animal kingdom were the strongest form of untamed
nature in the city-state. Remarkable scope of loving delivered by Aunt. What an abundant well of
feeling she drew up from deep within
her heart. No fond mothers nursing babes at their breasts rejoiced more
passionately in the glory of their blessed station, sending their rooms spinning away into
starry heavens. Perhaps only in
song-and-dance Bollywood movies there might still remain segments of such heady exaltation. Aunt’s
arias morning and night were a
miracle of their own kind. As in the circles of other displays
of love, one was privileged to witness.
The deepest night secret
in the house however in fact centred on the downstairs bathroom, the
right more spacious than the other. Time is witching 4am. Most recently—last
night—duration was sixty
minutes, give or take seven-eight
either side. Periodic bursts of running water. Guttural screeches. Wretches. Strangulations and choking. A terrible battle joined. Long gaps in-between brought dripping taps, dribbling in the piping in
the floor. Other kinds of movies followed this particular pattern of development. Again
tearing regurgitations and purges behind the door heaved
into either the pan or the basin. Water drips. Cut away to the figure of the victim.
Was she lowered to her knees, or rather leaning all the while against the mirror with blinded eyes? Brief gushes of water washed away the
evidence; toilet flushes intermittent. Since her marriage breakdown Shafeera the Banquet Manager at a near-by five star hotel has had her younger cousin Susie staying
with her, keeping company. Thirteen-fourteen months now Susie has been traveling to Changi for her shifts
at one of the boutiques at the airport. Shafeera's husband up and left
fourteen-fifteen months ago. Does Susie know? Did the husband leave because his
wife had gotten so large? Cigarettes during pauses in the battle
within. Darkest night secret. Canna tell.
Who is the sadder, Auntie with her cats or this other? Canna tell.
