The Players (Dec25)

Shortly after time by the bakery clock was half-eleven. A group of six men making a circle on the corner of Lorong 26 & Guillemard. It was a large, grassy square there awaiting some opportune time for development. Beside the deep, partly covered channel the men had formed a loose circle, sitting on the grass like schoolboys with their packs behind.

On busy Guillemard the traffic kept up, the divided road carrying three lanes each way there. The inner lane on their side of the footpath was no more than three metres from the men.

They had washed and changed after their work-shift. Earlier up the other end near the highway a company lorry had off-loaded a score of Indians, who had quick-stepped into their building in the race for the bathroom. Half hour on, these were Chinamen, loosely joined in their round.

Older than the usual Indian crews, these men were well into their thirties, supporting families back on the Mainland. Many of the foreign Indian labour were unmarried, saving up in Singapore in order to be able to afford a bride.

There were no dorms in the vicinity; the men had likely walked down from Geylang Road after supper. A similar Chinese group had been seen on that corner before. It could hardly have been another gathering. The last couple times a lesser number of men, but very likely the same contingent, or like-minded Chinamen at the very least.

Greying and balding in a number of cases; nondescript drab clothing. Unlike the young Indians, no loud colours or brightly patterned tees here. After a long shift they sat comfortably, with no sign of weariness.

There were four printed sheets to go round, 3 - 4 pages in each sheaf. As the dialogue developed the sheets passed to the designated speaker.

The entire reading may have been unrehearsed, but the men had some familiarity with the material, and more particularly with their respective roles.

Youngest in the group wearing glasses was early-thirties; one or two of the others at least seven or eight years senior. It was the young chap, however, who had the primary role.

First he engaged the man on his left, then right. Finally one of the older fellows further away, raising his voice to pitch.

Once or twice the young man had cued his interlocutor on the beat.

Now! With a hand striking in that direction.

Whilst the other returned, the young man beat time with nodding and rejoined quickly in response.

The last, older chap in the final exchange had nervously rubbed his bald spot half a dozen times through his delivery. It was brought to his attention by a man who had not taken a turn, at least in that final part of the recitation.

While still very much part of the circle, this man had withdrawn from proceedings, keenly following from a remove.

Why the rub, rub, rub like that, hey? he asked smilingly of the stage-frightened victim, passing his hand over his own thinning crop in gentle mockery.

Sheepish, bashful smiles resulted.

After the final exchange a chap in a bright blue polo with his back to the road showed himself the leader of the group. This man too had not participated in the reading. When it was over he rose to his knees to give his commentary on the performance, gesturing and motioning.

Momentum and correspondence seemed to be part of the concern; answering what had been received from the previous actor.

Just prior to the intervention, another—the one who had ticked off his mate next to him about the rubbing of his scone—led a brief applause for a performance well done. Light and brief clapping with raised hands in his case.

This man faced the street and had smiled at the curious intruder when he stopped at the railing.

The sheets were loose A4, dense with horizontal script it seemed, rather than vertical. Possibly the different speakers were not marked clearly. Certainly none of the players, even the keen younger man, knew the dialogue by heart. Something of it only might have been known.

On an earlier occasion on another night, one of the men in a smaller group had held a book and seemed to almost harangue the others. To rouse them it looked like, not passionately or sternly, but force was apparent.

The thought of falung gong had lessened the interest that night. Closer to the  business district the falung gave out leaflets. This on the corner was almost certainly something else.

The gentle critic returned a wave and smiled again at the end. Plainly, none of the men had any English. Joining their circle to better catch the tone and rhythm would have been an intrusion.

Mechanics' Institutes & Workingmen's Associations from an age ago came to mind; the restored buildings in our cities converted to other, more mundane uses now. The halls of those places had been filled precisely by men such as these after their work-shifts, spread across the hard benches, keen and alert expressions.