Malaysian Security at the gate needed the form filled in and
signed. Block 10 straight ahead. Kristie running late allowed a little gander.
Clean neat lobby without anything fancy, notice-board by the lift confirming
what had long been reported: No unsightly washing permitted hanging out on
poles at condominiums. HDBs the practice was allowed. They had dryers in the
condos. Garden neat and clean, gazebo one side and BBQ pit another. Pool not
visible. (A gym and pool was dangled in the ad. Presumably at the base of
another of the towers.) Immediately a dog-walker, a busty young Indo lass
pulled along on a leash. Indian painting crew down on terra firma outta their
cage, DULUX Let’s Colour tees
and Stand Clear signs. Ten-twelve storey: if the thing came down
unexpectedly you’d likely get a lump on the scone. Iron tables in the picnic
circle were discoloured; the next job for the work-crew perhaps. Synthetic
tennis court below tall light poles—doubtful anyone was foolish enough to chase
the ball while the sun was blazing. (These outdoor courts were indeed used in
Singapore. No fans, no aircon. Usually at night when the temp had dropped to
high twenties, humidity still off the chart, enthusiasts played. Marathoners and
young National Service men were known to drop dead here; thus far no tennis
players.) Ghostliness. Hollow ghostliness. The cropped shrubbery, an outdoor
cleanliness like indoors—nary a stray leaf anywhere, much less slip of paper or
plastic wrapper from the common outside world. Eerie. If there was such a thing
as spine-chill on the equator. Some art-house splatter movies came to mind:
Scandinavian films of violent meltdown began with such perfectly sedate surrounds
featuring boy/girl-next-door villains. The Indian crew could have easily
created mayhem: a Kashmiri or radicalized Muslim gotten past the Immigration
desk on a U.S. passport carrying a certified couple of million $$ in a
briefcase for cover. With the right explosives brought in on the truck past the
gate you could have demolished the entire ten storeys, filmed and posted
online, before police and fire brigade reached the site. The long ropes that had
brought the Indian painters down from the top of the building waved like
ribbons in the breeze. Every so often the lads looked up as if one of their
number had been left on the roof. The cage sat on the grass 2.5 x 0.65 - 70m.
Some kind of winch was involved, lads on the ground taking turns with those
above. If these young men were Kashmiris perhaps it was less daunting, like for
the Appalachian Indians on the early NY skyscrapers. Finally Kristie arrived, a
Mainlander when the text exchange suggested hipster Singaporean. (A boyfriend
had helped with the English acquisition.) They had a two month gap to fill,
reduced price $900, utilities and wifi thrown in. Two prof. women in two
rooms, one a Master that had its own bathroom. The other bathroom would be
shared with one woman, a German guy and an Indian who stayed in the Maids’ Room
(Bomb Shelter likely, with the early sixties construction). Kris was studying
Accounting at a private college, $3k per semester. Expensive, but rental in
Sing was the largest expense. Kris had lived in this condo earlier; now she was
at upscale Orchard. Eighteen months out from Northern China, an hour from the
Yalu River and North Korea. Recent high-colour toenail polish. Perhaps she did;
perhaps she didn't moonlight out at Orchard, famous for its offerings. A second
young maid was encountered seeking a gate for exit, this one led by two dogs of
the same pocket-size as the first (again no plastic bag visible). A granddad
stumblingly leading two children around a narrow, winding path. Don’t step on the grass whatever
you do! Had you unconsciously tip-toed toward the garden-seat yourself
perchance?
