The Antechamber

 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 kept on him, Mr. Ng reported. Therefore returning from an outing to the Haig this morning Mr. Ng would take the No. Such-and-such to Marine Parade, from where he would 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. No, 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 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: 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 shepherd more 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 newly enrolled in NUS Psych: little doubt the old man had cast some light in that direction.) With Al Wadi still closed after the Muslim New Year and Starbs dribbling re-mastered Satchmo classics, it was a front table at the Haig Food Court over an average halia from an Indian in a back stall for watching the rain come down. 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, from memory, 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 shop tables 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.... Didn’t want to say too much on that score Mr. Ng. (Not in the present climate when they were under such siege on all fronts perhaps, was it? Mr. Ng.) 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 for gods.