with her, as he had been impatient many times
in the past when the matter cropped up.
Now that the old man was dead, who would Old
Mother move to live with?
Angela did not want to ask the question; she
dreaded the answer, the possible consequences.
Chapter 4
The door creaked a little and Old Mother,
thinking it was Ah Kum Soh or Ah Bock returning home, asked, “Who is it?”
Having got up and ascertained that it was
neither, she stood still and waited expectantly.
“You have come back,” she said. “You have
come back so soon.”
The old man stood before her, thinner than
in life. He said nothing, and he looked at her, not with the look of
irascibility as in the last weeks before his death, but with sadness.
“You have come back,” said Old Mother again.
“You have something to ask of me. What is it?”
The old man still said nothing, and Old
Mother became impatient.
“When you were alive,” she said, “I called
you ‘The-one-with-gold-in-his-mouth’. Tight-lipped, as if opening your mouth
would mean gold falling out for others to pick up. What is it?”
The old man kept resolutely silent, not with
stubbornness, but with sadness. Old Mother heard a sigh, as from a burdened
heart.
“Is it about your sons?” she asked. And it
was at this point that the old man began to weep silently.
“Do not weep,” said Old Mother, but she did
not go up to him to comfort him. In life, she had never touched his shoulder,
his arm, to comfort. She referred to him as ‘Ah Boon’s father’ or ‘Ah Siong’s
father’, never ‘my husband’. ‘Husband’ embarrassed her.
“Do not weep,” said Old Mother again. “I
will be all right. The Almighty God in Heaven looks after the old. Now that you
are in Heaven, you will also take care of me and see that I come to no harm.”
Old Mother strained to hear. The words came
very faintly, with great effort: “Ah Siong.”
“Ah Siong will take care of me; you take
care of Ah Siong, too,” said Old Mother, beginning to weep herself. “You take
care of him in that far off country and give him success and happiness so that
he can come home soon and take care of me in my old age.”
The old man nodded, his wispy beard
quivering on his chin. He did not disappear in a puff of smoke or haze; he
simply walked away. Old Mother saw him close the door behind him. She went to
the window to watch him, and saw him walk away in the dimness of the moonlight.
“Who’s that?” called Angela.
It was strange – this place she was in.
“Who’s that?” she called again, and walked
into a room.
The old man was there, lying on the bed.
Beside him was a walking stick, the stout one with the brass head that he had,
in a fit of vexation in his illness, tried to hit Old Mother with.
He was dead already – or was he? She thought
she heard a rattle from his throat, a kind of rasping sound, as she heard at
the birthday dinner.
She walked up, slowly, deferentially, and he
opened his eyes and looked at her.
“Are you all right, Father?” she said, a
little timidly, for the old man never stopped staring at her. “Can I get you
anything, Father? A cup of hot water?”
“He can’t hear! He can’t hear! He’s dead!”
The idiot was suddenly beside the bed;
strange that his words came through so clearly, usually he slobbered
unintelligibly. He was carrying Michael on his shoulders; he began to prance
around the room and the boy laughed with joy.
“Mikey – Mikey, please get down,” pleaded
Angela, stretching out her arms. “Come to Mummy, Mikey.”
“Not dead yet, but you want him dead!”
This from Old Mother. The room suddenly
filled with people. She could see Ah Kum Soh and the old servant Ah Kheem Chae
and another very old servant, Ah Siew Chae who had died so very long ago.
“This can be easily managed,” said Old Mother
with asperity. “Ah Kum Soh,” she said in an imperious voice. “Knock on that
coffin. Keep knocking, with your knuckles, like this. That