The Antechamber (Dec25)

Mr. Ng’s health failing a little, long walks now leaving the man outta breath.

A visit to the National Heart Centre showed a weakened pump, medication prescribed, pacemaker installed and a reference to the local Polyclinic, requesting an eye be kept on him, Mr. Ng reported.

Returning from an outing to the Haig this morning, Mr. Ng would take the No. Such-and-such to Marine Parade, from where hook back on another bus to his landed property at the rear of the Haig Blocks. The latter was now too far to reach from the market up front.

It was not the dark clouds closing that had Mr. Ng worried and led him to this circuitous route home; it was the heart. Pointing skyward at the Haig Road corner traffic lights, from where Mr. Ng had hailed his friend, Mr. Ng reinforced his fearlessness where rain was concerned. 

This, declared Mr. Ng—this delightful cool from the cloud, the whisper of breeze and the coming rain itself, the man must have meant—is better than god.

So said the old man Ng on that corner this morning near the bus stop. Better than god.

We had just passed Hari Raya. 

Finished, Mr. Ng had replied when he was offered the season’s greeting.

Ah. Indeed. Yes... No time to tarry, Mr. Ng. Work waiting.

It was impossible to keep shepherding so many of these deserving to the other side; a power of that service had been done already and started at a young age. There was a granddaughter of Mr Ng’s newly enrolled in NUS Psych; little doubt the old man had cast some light in that direction. By all reports a fine young lady.

With Al Wadi still closed after the Muslim New Year and Starbs dribbling re-mastered Satchmo classics, a front table at the Haig Food Court over an average halia from an Indian in a back stall, watching the rain come down, was the best that could be devised just now. Mr. Ng had always been a flyweight; always something to spice up a conversation from his side. Had Mr. Ng once said he was a little partial to Daoism? Buddhism Mr. Ng could take or leave, and certainly no burning of paper money or the like for him. That was clearly recalled, delivered with a wagging chin at one of the kopi shops where Mr. Ng had pulled up a pew.

Mr. Ng had excellent Bahasa. The Malays were OK, he had said. As for Islam itself, well...

The man didn’t want to say too much on that score. Not in the present climate, when they were under such siege on all fronts, you would guess.

A goodie this old man nearing his eightieth year. The Dao. Zen. Mr. Ng was a pretty good standard-bearer for that old tradition that dispensed with the need of gods.