EyeEye on on the the World World BaringBaring SolesSoles
CREATIVE ARTS PROGRAMME
SINGAPORE
EyeEye on on the the World World BaringBaring SolesSoles
Yong Shu Hoong Grace Koh Lim Siew Yea Celena Oon
Editors
Copyright © The Authors 2012 EYE ON THE WORLD: Journeying Home 2009 EYE ON THE WORLD: Word Weavers, World Makers 2010 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, EYE ON THE WORLD: Winnowing Memories 2011 stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without Published by the Gifted Education Branch the prior permission of the authors and the designer. Ministry of Education Eye on the World: Baring Soles 51 Grange Road, Blk 1, #01-09 Singapore 249564 ISBN
Eye on the World: Baring Soles is the 21st publication of the Creative Arts Programme under the General Series Title: Eye on the World.
The Creative Arts Programme is jointly organised by the Gifted Education Branch, Ministry of Education, Singapore and the University Scholars Programme, National University of Singapore.
There was no publication in 2004. The other publications are:
EYE ON THE WORLD: The Writer’s Response 1991 EYE ON THE WORLD: Changing Landscapes 1992 EYE ON THE WORLD: Bridging Worlds 1993 EYE ON THE WORLD: Making Waves 1994 EYE ON THE WORLD: Envisioning Communities 1995 EYE ON THE WORLD: Crossing Boundaries 1996 EYE ON THE WORLD: Celebrating Diversity 1997 EYE ON THE WORLD: Imprinting the Journey 1998 EYE ON THE WORLD: Romancing the Millennium 1999 EYE ON THE WORLD: Remembering Tomorrow 2000 EYE ON THE WORLD: Beyond Beginnings 2001 EYE ON THE WORLD: Engaging the Other 2002 EYE ON THE WORLD: Engaging Ourselves 2003 EYE ON THE WORLD: The Past as Future 2005 EYE ON THE WORLD: Re-making Language 2006 EYE ON THE WORLD: Wiring Heartlands 2007 EYE ON THE WORLD: Healing Silence 2008 DEDICATION
Young artists are never alone in their quest for excellence in their art. Their mentors are their guiding force and sources of inspiration. This publication is dedicated to the following mentors, in appreciation of their guidance of the Creative Arts Programme Mentorship Attachment students:
Zafar Anjum Meira Chand Chow Teck Seng Chua Chee Lay Dave Chua Terence Heng Ho Poh Fun Koh Xin Tian Aaron Lee Jeffrey Lim Sui Yin Josephine Chia Nicholas Liu Aaron Maniam Chris Mooney-Singh Marc Daniel Nair Enoch Ng Kwang Cheng Paul Tan Angeline Yap Yong Shu Hoong CONTENTS CONTENTS Foreword xvii
Contributors xx
Acknowledgements xxii
CAP MENTORSHIP PUPILS
English Poetry (Junior College)
Khoo Wu Shaun silence in the passing 3 lights 5 friendship and love 6
Koh Jia Ren 家人 (Family) 7 In memory of the snail who spoke to me 10 aletheia 12 An ex-lover’s wake 14 Burgeoning 16
Lee Xiu Yi Eunice Forever 17 Lamb in the fold 19 In retrospect 20 Towards midnight 22
Loke Wen Hao Kenny Bridging years 23 Airports 24 Winter escapade 26
ix CONTENTS CONTENTS Toh Hui Ran Sandra Tan Baring Soles 27 Death of a Reason 48 The Tiger’s Nest 28 keeping time for the world 49 Dry Sentiment 29 strangers in a hospital lift 51 It’s been a long time, since I last saw you 30 When the water came 52
English Poetry (Secondary School) Joanelle Toh Yu Ling 12 53 Ho Kai Ling Phyllis exit wounds 56 The Age of Waiting 31 you are a hotel room 57 Paper Offerings 32 A euphemism for the inevitable 58 A Subject of Old 33 non-conversations in the kitchen 59 some days you just feel like that 34 A Butterfly Pays Respect 35 Nicholas Wong Zhi Feng Critic 36 the feather room 60 A dead bird weighs very little 62 Ho Yarn Yu Hilary princess of china 63 Say This Out Loud 37 shutter 65 火 (Fire) 38 Cherished Unawareness 39 English Poetry (CAP Alumni) Ode to a Lost Pup 40 Remains of a City 41 Maria Chung Su-Yin Faith-test 66 Hoh Yi Hui If You Have A Dream 43 Theophilus Kwek Analysis 68 Lee Shu Yu 45 Enoch 70 comfort 46 玉 (Jade) Daniel Lye Baring Soles 72 Jonathan Neo Hsien Ming The Bund 47 Cheryl Tan City Traffic 74
x xi CONTENTS CONTENTS Marylyn Tan Yeo Wen Xin The Bokononist Plays Footsy 75 Running 146 The Nimble Bark 152 English Prose (Junior College) English Prose (Secondary School) Clarilyn Khoo En Ping Between Seabed and Sky 79 Darren Chen Zhi Jie In Surfeit of Sweetness 84 Thump 158 Mirror 86 Just Like The Movies 162 Of Kindly Demons 167 Lam Ka Hei Deborah One-eyed Men in the Kingdom of the Blind 90 Thaddea Chua Yun Fang Boy 98 Stars and Leprechauns 173 When Worlds Apart Clash 176 Liow Wei Yuan Freedom 180 The Shore 102 Oleander 105 Gavin Ezra Goh Shao Xian Shoo 109 Human Rights by the Sword 184
Loh Hui Qing Sheralyn Freya Ho Choy Ying One for Every Centimetre 113 Dulce Et Decorum Est 201 Seeking Shadows 118 The Space Between Heartbearts 205 This Is Not About You 123 What Once Was And Never Will Be 210
Grace Ng Mei Fong Lim Ao Jun Joel The Professional 127 Colours in Greyscale 216 Water Treads and Aquarunners 131 Firecrackers 220 The One-Man Orchestra 135 The Whispering Wheels 224
Wong Yong Li Liu Fangzhou I Want To Be Thin 138 Ensky 228 Nothing Much Left 142 Fernweh 232 Highway and Horizon 237
xii xiii CONTENTS CONTENTS Mahadevan Aparna Crystal Lua Xin Yi Little Ralph From The Swimming Pool 241 Life Insurance 314 Singalorean 245 Mock Yong-Jie Aidan Clara Ong Wei Ling 1945, Away Across The Sea 316 Ephemeral 250 The Birth Of Venus 253 English Play (Junior College)
Darryl Ong Ming En Lim Ye Jun Glass Of Water 259 The Corpse 323 The Painter 262 Outflown 265 Yustynn Panicker When Pigs Fly 349 Tejala Rao Escape From Mordor 366 Gramophone 268 Haunted 274 English Play (Secondary School)
Tng Hui En Faith Tan Wei Ying Kate Down The Aisle 279 The Death Code 372 Snow Ghosts 284 Rising Hope 381 Flawless 289 Shayna Toh Tien Hsia Austin Zheng Zeyuan All The World’s A Stage 388 Encirclement 294 The Importance Of Your Audience 300 Chinese Poetry (Secondary School) English Prose (CAP Alumni) Wu Yu Tzu 吳宇慈 Miriam Cheong Gek Lui 外套 401 She Swears It’s Allegorical 305 灰色地带 403 Kelly Chng Wei Ni 光着脚 In Between Here and Tomorrow 308 405 追求 407 xiv xv CONTENTS FOREWORD
Chinese Prose (Secondary School) The metaphor of “groundedness” is an old one. For centuries, “grounded” has been used for ideas which are firmly Wang Ruoni 王若霓 established, and for people who are either expert in an area of 光着脚丫 408 knowledge or secure in their personal lives. There's a whole family of such metaphors. We talk of ideas and people being 母亲的幸福 410 “rooted”, “anchored”, “well founded”, even “earthed”.
Lu Jin Yao 卢金瑶 All these metaphors have a common basis. (And “basis” 桥 413 itself belongs to the same family!) They are concerned with the contact between a person and the environment, between the 茉莉知我心 416 abstract and the concrete. They exploit and articulate the meeting Chinese Prose (CAP Alumni) of the intellectual, emotional or spiritual with the physical. At first sight, this year's CAP topic seems slightly Lin Yao 林瑶 idiosyncratic. A common phrase is given an uncommon meaning 两颗心的距离 419 by a pun. Normally, we think of baring “souls”, not “soles”. But the topic works. Indeed, closer consideration shows it to be both very provocative and very rich.
Our young writers have been invited to think about “groundedness”. Not the familiar metaphor of established knowledge or secure expertise, but something more difficult and vexing than that. They have been called on to consider the ancient puzzle of the relation between ethereal and material. They have been pushed to question the connection between “soul” and “sole”, between interior experience and external world. They have been asked to ponder and articulate the point at which a person touches the ground.
xvi xvii There was a wide range of responses to the invitation, and emerge, but the only knowledge we're secure of at the end is that many of the best of them are included in this volume. All cannot S is a story-teller and the facts might all be part of his fiction- be mentioned here, but it's worth considering just a few varied making. Where, when, what? The questions of the physical world examples. and so-called hard reality elude answers in this story.
One of the pieces which deals most explicitly with the Among the mysteries of human existence are the relations implications of the topic is Lee Shu Yu's “comfort”. The poem of soul (if it exists) to body, and of body to world. Our interior meditates on the relations between the physical comforts of a soft experience is intellectual and emotional. We seek explanations bed and a good night's sleep and the mental comforts of memory and we seek meaning. But we live in the bodies of animals in a and security. The latter seems to trump the former, but both are physical world. Our internal lives are shaped by external objects, important. acting on us through physical senses.
Some texts use the topic to explore family ties. Koh Jia The poems and prose pieces in this volume explore that Ren's, 家人(“Family”), is about the changing relationship between puzzle with energy, wit and imagination. In doing so, they a mother and her son, as the son grows up and grows away. It is demonstrate that to talk of “baring soles” is more than a glib pun. an intensely physical poem. The mother's search for her son is Physical and spiritual are intimately connected. To bare one's sole figured through her cutting up and cooking a salmon. Eventually, can, indeed, be to bare one's soul. she chokes on “strands of bones”. Her distress at losing her son to adulthood is like this experience with the dead fish. Professor John Richardson Other texts are more enigmatic. Nicholas Wong Zhi Feng's Director of University Scholars Programme “shutter” describes a grandfather's ancient camera with great National University of Singapore delicacy and tact: “the lens / is red-veined / and milky”. Somehow Chairperson of Creative Arts Programme the old camera is like the old man, but quite how we're not sure. The poet asks us to consider the connection between object and person, but does not tell us exactly what that is.
Such questioning is even more central to Deborah Lam Ka Hei's short story, “One-Eyed Men in the Kingdom of the Blind”. It's a police interrogation which sets out to establish some basic facts about a young man identified as “S”. The facts slowly
xviii xix CONTRIBUTORS Hwa Chong Institution (College) Loke Wen Hao Kenny Hwa Chong Institution (College) Khoo Wu Shaun CAP MENTORSHIP ATTACHMENT PUPILS 2011-12 Hwa Chong Institution (College) Koh Jia Ren Hwa Chong Institution (College) Lee Xiu Yi Eunice Hwa Chong Institution (College) Liow Wei Yuan School Name Hwa Chong Institution (College) Toh Hui Ran Anglo-Chinese School (Independent) Darren Chen Zhi Jie Hwa Chong Institution (College) Wong Yong Li Anglo-Chinese School (Independent) Gavin Ezra Goh Shao Xian River Valley High School (IP) Lim Ye Jun Anglo-Chinese School (Independent) Jonathan Neo Hsien Ming Bukit Batok Secondary School Tng Hui En Faith Cedar Girls’ Secondary School Lee Shu Yu CAP Alumni CHIJ St Nicholas Girls’ School Clara Ong Wei Ling Dunman High School Joanelle Toh Yu Ling Miriam Cheong Gek Lui Fairfield Methodist Secondary School Nicholas Wong Zhi Feng Kelly Chng Wei Ni Methodist Girls’ School (Secondary) Hoh Yi Hui Maria Chung Su-Yin Nanyang Girls’ High School Wang Ruoni Theophilus Kwek Nanyang Girls’ High School Wu Yu Tzu Lin Yao NUS High School of Maths and Science Mahadevan Aparna Daniel Lye Raffles Girls’ School (Secondary) Freya Ho Choy Ying Crystal Lua Xin Yi Raffles Girls’ School (Secondary) Ho Kai Ling Phyllis Mock Yong-Jie Aidan Raffles Girls’ School (Secondary) Liu Fangzhou Cheryl Tan Raffles Girls’ School (Secondary) Lu Jin Yao Marylyn Tan Raffles Girls’ School (Secondary) Sandra Tan Raffles Girls’ School (Secondary) Shayna Toh Tien Hsia Raffles Girls’ School (Secondary) Tan Wei Ying Kate Raffles Institution Austin Zheng Zeyuan Raffles Institution Darryl Ong Ming En Raffles Institution Lim Ao Jun Joel River Valley High School Thaddea Chua Yun Fang Singapore Chinese Girls’ School Ho Yarn Yu Hilary Tanjong Katong Girls’ School Tejala Rao Anglo-Chinese School (Independent) Grace Ng Mei Fong Anglo-Chinese Junior College Loh Hui Qing Sheralyn Anglo-Chinese Junior College Yustynn Panicker Catholic Junior College Lam Ka Hei Deborah Dunman High School Clarilyn Khoo En Ping Duman High School Yeo Wen Xin
xx xxi ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS • Selection Committee (Junior College): Mr Zafar Anjum (prose writer), Ms Meira Chand (prose writer), Mr Dave Chua We thank the following for their contribution to the Creative Arts (prose writer), Ms Heng Siok Tian (poet), Ms Ho Poh Fun Seminar 2011, Eye on the World: Winnowing Memories (30 May to 3 (poet), Ms Koh Xin Tian (poet), Ms Lim Siew Yea (GEB June). Senior Specialist), Ms Celena Oon (GEB officer) and Mr Cyril Wong (poet). • Professor Edwin Thumboo, Professorial Fellow, Department of English Language and Literature, National University of • Lecture Speakers: Mr Huzir Sulaiman, Professor Jewell Parker Singapore for his faith in the ability of young writers in the Rhodes, Mr Alvin Pang, Mr Joel Chua, Ms Melanie Oliveiro, Creative Arts Programme; Mr Chow Teck Seng, Dr Chua Chee Lay, Mr Isa Kamari and Dr M.S. Shri Lakshmi. • Associate Professor Anne Pakir, Director, International Relations Office, Associate Professor, Department of English • Concurrent Literary Enrichment Session Speakers: Mr Language and Literature, National University of Singapore, for Matthew Lyon, Ms Angeline Yap, Mr Yong Shu Hoong, Ms her strong support for the Creative Arts Programme; Courtney Fowler, Mr Hugh Martin, and Dr Terence Heng
• Visual and Performing Arts Workshop Facilitators: Mr • Dr Tan Bee Geok, Deputy Director, Gifted Education Branch, Arron Teo, Mr Paul Balasingam, Ms Savinder Kaur, Mr Jerry Ministry of Education, for her active involvement in the Hinds, Mr Chris Mooney-Singh, Mr Andrew James Mowatt, Mr Creative Arts Programme. Marc Daniel Nair and Mr Zaini Mohammed Tahir.
• Selection Committee (Secondary School): Mr Zafar Anjum • Writing Workshop Facilitators: Ms Josephine Chia, Mr Dave (prose writer), Ms Meira Chand (prose writer), Dr Chua Chee Chua, Ms Courtney Fowler, Ms Heng Siok Tian, Ms Ho Poh Lay (prose writer), Mr Dave Chua (prose writer), Ms Heng Fun, Mr Aaron Lee, Mr Jeffrey Lim Sui Yin, Mr Jason Siok Tian (poet), Dr Terence Heng (poet), Ms Ho Poh Fun Lundberg, Mr Hugh Martin, Mr Chris Mooney-Singh, Mr Huzir (poet), Ms Koh Xin Tian (poet), Ms Lim Siew Yea (GEB Senior Sulaiman, Mr Paul Tan, Mr Cyril Wong, Ms Angeline Yap, Mr Specialist), Ms Clarissa Lui Ya Yi (GEB officer), Ms Celena Yong Shu Hoong, Mr Chow Teck Seng, Dr Chua Chee Lay, Mr Oon (GEB officer), Mr Cyril Wong (poet), Ms Angeline Yap Ang Eng Tee, Mr Isa Kamari, and Dr M.S. Shri Lakshmi. (poet), Mr Yeow Kai Chai (poet), Mr Isa Kamari (Malay prose and poetry writer), M.S. Shri Lakshmi (Tamil prose and poetry • Theme Sharing and Critique Facilitators: Mr Nicholas Liu writer), Ms Grace Koh (GEB officer), Mr Enoch Ng (Chinese and Ms Koh Xin Tian. poet and publisher) and Dr Tan Chee Lay (Chinese poet).
xxii xxiii • The CAP Mentors (2011-12): Mr Zafar Anjum, Ms Meira • Principals and Teachers of the participating schools for their Chand, Dr Chua Chee Lay, Mr Dave Chua, Mr Chow Teck belief in the value of creative writing. Seng, Ms Ho Poh Fun, Ms Koh Xin Tian, Mr Jeffrey Lim Sui Yin, Ms Josephine Chia, Dr Terence Heng, Mr Aaron Lee, Mr • Parents of the participants for allowing their children to Nicholas Liu, Mr Aaron Maniam, Mr Marc Daniel Nair, Mr choose the writer’s path early in their lives. Enoch Ng, Mr Chris Mooney-Singh, Mr Paul Tan, Ms Angeline • Lee Foundation and Shaw Foundation for their sponsorship Yap and Mr Yong Shu Hoong. of the Creative Arts Programme (CAP) in 2011. • The CAP Council (2011): Rohan Shah (Head Councillor), Chan Kei Nin (Vice-Head Councillor), Peter Jan Kwek Yi, Kuek Yi Ting Lynn, Kwek Mu Yi Theophilus, Lai Juanmin The CAP Organising Committee 2012 Sarah, Lee Zhi Xin, Aisha Lin Mohamad Tamrend, Lin Yao, Crystal Lua Xin Li, Neo Yee Win, Quah Er Chuan Nicholas, Gifted Education Branch University Scholars Programme Adam Bin Mohammed Rafey, A’in Nazihah Bte Mohammed Ministry of Education National University of Singapore Lim Siew Yea Professor John Richardson Rashid, Sim Xin Yi, Alethea Raelyn Tan, Tan Weiqing, Wong Grace Koh (chairperson) Kar Mun Nicole and Yip Jia Qi. Sharon Ong Celena Oon • The CAP Teacher Observers: Choo Boon Kwee Leon Chay Chia Ling (Anderson Junior College), Na Ming Yang Nigel (Catholic Junior College), Fauziah Daud (Commonwealth Secondary School), Nurasyikin Bte Kassim (Dunman High School), Lynette Ong (Methodist Girls’ School), Lee En Lin Angeline (Nanyang Girls’ High School), Yim Ai Lin (River Valley High School), Ng Kah Gay (Victoria Junior College Integrated Programme) and Marcia Annelise Vanderstraaten (Yuhua Secondary School).
• Administrators from the Faculty of Engineering and the Faculty of Arts and Social Sciences, National University of Singapore, for generously granting us the use of their facilities for the Seminar.
xxiv xxv ENGLISH POETRY 3
Khoo Wu Shaun silence in the passing her wedding gown has faded since they first held ringed hands; a month ago was the last time. their house emptier – winds find safe passage from door to back, they chase away the silence too. once four chairs around the cold marble table, only one still warm. she hides under their quilt, pieces of him and her interlocking, cloak-draped across the field of patchy cotton – they hid from the extra moons; sought their own darkness, talked about birth, death, and in between. his collection of tools and toys were given away for the young to reinvest with meaning and life, but she keeps one item – his loud, ticking clock, bursting through the house, like death with its mining pick chipping away at time's finite space, until it found you. 4 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 5 the clock keeps her awake at night, Khoo Wu Shaun but she keeps the clock ticking, knowing that each tick is just lights another step towards him, again. to starve the night of the darkness we fear, we create citadels of artificial suns.
to protect us, we hired night-knights: the citylights
gouge eyes with anointed rapiers, murder solitude with their lasting shadow.
in our towers we look up to the swash of grey – because the dark sky is scraped by
crystal urchins crucifying the night, torturing it before the chariot returns.
the sky is a broken window from the lowly lands to galactic dreams;
only in darkness can we see the cracks, as we fill in the lines between the guiding dots.
where the lights of the night twinkle, they are not seen. 6 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 7
Khoo Wu Shaun Koh Jia Ren friendship and love 家人 jia ren1 friendship enjoys saccharine Son, you are no longer here. grape juice innocence; I hope that you’re lost. easing into beginners’ flagons, Then you haven’t realised why, later hopeful throats. Every morning before you wake, but love – it swirls with I escape to cast dream catchers into the ocean; bloodlike intention, smothering with its Dreams slip though like minnows, weighted aroma, grows jaded from air; I kill a manatee in vain. the solitary clink its final lock. Sunset creeps up like the cruel hooks That reel me back into this house, for years it waits, friendship in the Where you bury yourself beyond me. sauna of oak, comfortable in When I call your name my voice coyish lights and autumn air. some Echoes through this hollow house, grow audacious – shed youth, Which shivers in the colour of my tone. draw blushes at its intensity, Can you feel its textured shade? waiting upon scarlet gates, unsuspecting of its renewed fate: a slip is all it takes. Mom, the house is already emptied of me. I am lying naked in a crater barrel’s opaque; russian roulette Which might have held an ocean, each time we open up a little. senses But now has only space for me. do not fail us, only the deprived mind does – At night it frames the cosmos into a bowl, smelled the hurt after, seen the blood-tears, From which I scoop up the stars but we raise the glass, hear its satisfied With these hands and hoist them to my lips grin, and gulp it all down. And swallow the taste of true distance. we only truly find out as it traces Is this how the ocean tastes to you? dizzying warmth on the way to our heart.
1 家人 jia ren: Chinese character for “family”
8 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 9
I cannot share this vastness with anyone. The ocean returned and swept me up in desperate embrace; At most, we can meet on this crater’s shores, I realised she was as lonely and landlocked as me. Where we can stare at the Sun setting together You will try to reel me in with your bait, Because I can’t look you in the eye anymore. But I cannot let myself be tempted Landbound, with sun-drenched eyes you watch me By your prospects of home, because Recede into my ocean to breathe again, Our skies are held up by different constellations. The cornerstone of your strangled vision Mom, look up, not down, for direction. Fading away from you. You cannot see me swimming below your ship.
Today I caught a salmon from the ocean, I’ll break my teeth upon your anchor, But you wouldn’t know. And use what’s left to severe I run a kitchen knife along its flanks, The thread stringing the hook And its scales peel away like tears. Buried in the nape of your neck I accidently punctured the skin; To our house on the shore. Unveiling the rawness of wounded flesh. Will you leave it? I cleave off its head, splintering wood. I lift up the fish’s head and ask, I grilled the salmon, Where is your blood? Where is it? To delve through more easily the layers So I can sniff you out and track you down Of its body; they part like waves, And haul you upstream, back to our estuary? Giving me white crowns of foam, But it stares past me to a figure in the distance. The silence it jewels. I splatter the head with the flat of my knife, Are my instruments too blunt? Making yet another mess. With chopsticks and a porcelain spoon I prick a finger sweeping up the bones; I fumble off the skin that no longer fits, A sliver of blood reads the fortune of my palm. Relieving it of the browned flesh Is this your answer? That runs down its spine, feel it Break like water upon my teeth. Today it rained upon my crater. I try to swallow but choke It leeched everything away; Upon strands of bones that lodge Warmth fled to my core At the mouth of my throat, Which swelled like summer, Beyond voice, Withering my diseased thoughts away. Beyond reach. The sky is so clear, so close, mine, Kept from falling only by the pull of the stars. But the rain hasn’t stopped. 10 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 11
Koh Jia Ren Is this the sound God would hear: In memory of the snail who spoke to me A smacking of lips? A eulogy for all the snails I have trodden upon unwittingly. Sorry. iii. i. Escargot was scattered A snail was caught out On my plate in the rain. Like unmarked graves.
I could imagine How easily they The explosions echoing Are salted into sponges, Through its head. To lap up water
Is this how schizophrenics feel? Unquestioningly. A head heaving These grey tongues With a riot of voices. Are ripped out To never stop running, Never rest, lest to fall From the conch’s mouth, And have sentience Alien to the ways Crushed out, stomp Of teeth. By heavy stomp. Clinging to my throat, To be the martyr They fight for the right Of the occupiers To remain silent. And the occupied. ii. I stepped on a snail Walking through a field.
With a loaded pop, It took its final stand, A battle cry. When the world ends, 12 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 13
Koh Jia Ren Like an eye in my mouth. I unfurl myself, shadow aletheia1 Pregnant with life.
2 Walls whisper of gravity. The clearing ; dyed In mold, sunlight has seeped A smoldering black, Through the film of paint. Speckled with Ascension; the lotus White hope. See; Pierces past the surface, The desert is a prairie Petals poised for rain. Of wind-lusting sand.
Hear; time breathes Softly, sighing into The silence of thought.
The smoker snuffs out A cigar on his altar. I dive off the balcony
To grasp what ghosts left Behind; concrete greets Me stiffly as strangers.
The eunuch dies for Phantom release. A black cherry ruptures
1 Aletheia; truth as unconcealment
2 Refers to the site where unconcealment occurs, which is language. See Heidegger. 14 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 15
Koh Jia Ren The white noise of the past Eating away at the present. An ex-lover’s wake The glass cage taunts me; I gaze upon your father’s casket, Even if I find the plug, Which reveals only his face; Do I have the strength to pull it out? A yellowed bust of copper rust Immortalised behind glass. Or will I stare, frozen, Until the credits reel past He is not the only one And I am collapsed onto a screen, Shelved away in a glass cage. Reduced to silence behind glass, The rest of us wear one Dancing with no consciousness Like ill-fitting suits, like air. As the one who watches Skins yearning for warmth smothered Ventriloquises me with her own voice? By this strange, transparent film. He is beyond us both, Your glass cage is Shadowing life in The displacement of your pain. A broken clock of a casket, You fog it up to blunt its clarity, Watching forever, To blur to motion Firm handed and still faced. The stillness of his expression: The tension of a frozen lake. We are suspended In this void deck, My glass cage is a magic box Held together by tarpaulin drapes. Screening my memories of you, In colour, in grains of truth, The drains have choked In a language I tried to forget. On the wake of our Passing away The glass cage taunts me, Into strangers. Beckoning me to turn it off, Drawing me closer To watch the scenes unfold Into grey static, 16 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 17
Koh Jia Ren Lee Xiu Yi Eunice
Burgeoning Forever
It's the far off rumbling of thunder we sit ensconced in the embrace of As we are drenched in nothing more than the humid idea of rain. our snow duvet, watching as another star is born, their fiery hearts of Magpies hoard their trinkets with the ferocity of kin, blood Tuck their crown of thorns away like wedding rings. adrenaline rushing Eavesdropping the mute couples' conversation reveals earthward Actions mean more words ever could. * The wind chime shivers in the wake of your entrance. I turn around and smile to the blue-bird on my shoulders. shivering in an alien cold, we wriggle our toes. They meet with a private giggle of We wear the blemishes of our hearts like freckles. Walk onwards, Jiaren. Seeds will not wait for you to bear fruit. *
forever
*
I sit, a picture of concern as you bury your face in my insubstantial mass; your woes spray like the stinging ocean, word by excruciating word
* 18 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 19
3 a.m. you’re satisfied, you say; Lee Xiu Yi Eunice retreat you, careless, placated into your dreams Lamb in the fold while I extricate the salted wreck in my chair no sound, no sound. the stillness is perfect.
*
my lovely carpet – your blistering wonderland.
*
condemn, conflagrate the fragile equilibrium you see in my retreat;
*
red running
*
in the deeps of your book, you wipe your hands upon that greying apron unheeding. 20 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 21
Lee Xiu Yi Eunice Yet long after the departed have gone their way And I mine, In retrospect Little else is within reach of remembrance Save a lingering sense of his regret In family lore a callous man That to his old companion who’d gone on ahead, Who neglected his kin Neither he nor time had been more kind. Biding in a smoke-filled den While his wife brought home little to fatten the dice.
*
Yet when they were small (or so it seemed) They would visit her and naturally – him During Chinese New Year Satisfied metal plinks on plates echoed And without fail – the elastic swish Of clubs and hearts with humming natter.
*
They loved most by far, The sparklers and rockets he’d cycle out to buy That could be balanced on mouths of gaping glass bottles, Lighted and launched, Whistling, whistling into the twinkling night sky.
*
His lined, toothless countenance wreathed in smiles As he witnessed their glee at fleeting delights.
* 22 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 23
Lee Xiu Yi Eunice Loke Wen Hao Kenny
Towards midnight Bridging years these are craven days where the world’s demise is drumming his hands on the cold metal whispered about spoken of mumbled muttered of the railings, he leans out just a fraction, gasped croaked in the same breath his eyes closed in contemplation; with the price of peas in persopolis back and forth the minutes stumble he traces mentally the images and sounds while the boys play; of distant moments, captured in the click back and forth the minutes stumble of a shutter, revisited in the space between when boys’ naughty fingers sticky with crust and jam shall intrude both ears; stealing surreptitious bites of batter thinking no one watches; but those moments have receded like the waves two minutes to – now five – then four underfoot, the sloshing river beneath the concrete her dire pronouncements go unheard, that he stands upon; next muddy patch goes to work; back and forth the minutes stumble now he reaches the crossroads, on this bridge forgotten between present and past – as easily as we draw breath, my dear. his feet guiding him off and back onto familiar ground. 24 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 25
Loke Wen Hao Kenny the dry winter air abroad has given way to humid summer air. Airports this is the feeling of home, with moisture clinging to my shirt and my skin, i. kansai, osaka as i step out of automatic doors. i settle comfortably into the seat maybe my travel-bound feet at the front of the cabin, after pulling away from home will soon grow weary of lethargy, in full daylight, rays of sunshine skittering restless for movement, but for now, off the plane’s body. i am content to be home. soon day turns to night, and the plane glides towards another temporary destination, its descent slowing in tune with the rhythm of its wings. as it approaches the airport, the runway lights up in a maze of colours – red, green and blue, all marking different trails, working in unison to guide each airplane home. ii. changi, singapore the plane's nose angled downwards, its wings no longer gliding on updrafts, i find my way back onto familiar territory. 26 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 27
Loke Wen Hao Kenny Toh Hui Ran
Winter escapade Baring Soles (In response to a Chinese wake, witnessed briefly, at the void deck) wander with me into a winter wonderland, meandering aimlessly through a path They swathed you in white, lines carved out of snow, whose remnants pile up in your skin pressed to limp cloth tenting by the side, three feet tall and misshapen like birch – soft tree fibres pushed on either end. against bark. Your nestlings circling like birds; without the trepidation of vultures snow-capped mountains fill the backdrop, as we walk side by side, but sparrows restless in familiar silence. picking at crumbs passive, pausing on twig legs you shift three inches to the left, and it will leave an awkward space that barely shuddered cold cement further than what we're used to; a final nesting place three inches to the right, conversely, means your fingers finding their way between mine. Funerals are for the grave living; cut strings, To burn their frayed ends. 28 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 29
Toh Hui Ran Toh Hui Ran
The Tiger’s Nest Dry Sentiment
Here, silence is the flutter of sutras on overbright wings, How strange that Five Pure Lights that braid The ocean keens for shore, delicate ladders Drags her offspring to dry banks to heaven. On the backs of turtles, in the scales Of fish. A steady sand crescendo plays Though the zenith of our dreams Before she reaches, slipping into land – surpasses no such sanctuary, Cautiously at first, growing brazen as day melts into dusk, There is unnamed ethos about it; wild horses’ habitat – Waves shattering like hungry we are stabled schoolchildren slipping Gulls screeching an orchestra, beaks uphill in a confused canter, Clapping wooden castanets, whinnying naiveté, Marching her band in to play the night. not grasping that here How odd that the moon should conduct her happiness is a gushing gold Heavy pearl of oyster sky, lured in siren song to port. that prayer-wheels churn like water. 30 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 31
Toh Hui Ran Ho Kai Ling Phyllis
“It’s been a long time, since I last saw you.” The Age of Waiting (In response to The Happy Prince by Oscar Wilde) Oceans Time froze with us, like sparrows Hung on the walls of her eyelids.
Flying over the frigid Atlantic Dabbing on her palette, to a blazing Egypt, a winter of warmth She did not heed the plastic vines A chill opened its palms; Growing from Cracked through veins and blood Vein-throbbed wrists.
Crept into our hearts as She framed those If we were sparrows Fickle waves hissing That would never see the slow movement of In relentless return camels over a desert blush, feel sand As if reluctant Storm beneath our feet, thundering the Sphinx’s rise To desert the shore. Nor witness pharaoh’s gaze scrape the edge of a dusty sky. That was what she made of him.
It’s been too long. We have made a mummy of time, buried Her child, High in our capillaries. There is no oasis between us. With feet buried in warm sand, No stretch of Sahara I could nomad for you, for Whose face, was a creamy blemish, we have flown our nests, burnt our bridges of birds. As if the careless nurse Who swiped his features off her memory Forgot to put them back. 32 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 33
Ho Kai Ling Phyllis Ho Kai Ling Phyllis
Paper Offerings A Subject of Old
Light of feasting flames glared back, at Having made eye contact with Lenin, Mortals with weak bonds, watching its meal, while I shuddered at the innocuous photograph. Ashes, reunite as Strangely enough, the peasants trapped my attention, Specks of regret. Their cries springing off the paper’s edge, Only to have them drowned by Houses to fulfill his bungalow dreams, and the Raging ancestors of France racing down the Bastille, Attendance of maidens made up for those Yet inaudible to a class of silent children. Not-frees, hospitals-too-troublesome, while Money is bought with money more valued. Clueless am I, of these spectres of the past Let alone their pleading haunt I cannot respond to. These paper offerings; offered to As thought waves swept me ashore once more, I Mortals as a medium for repentance, play Sat upright just before the bell sounded. On his muted response to Sudden awakening – the world calls me back. Appease the guilt of Mortal themselves.
As it burns, it consumes.
They, too, are consoled by Falling flakes Brought forth by the wind. 34 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 35
Ho Kai Ling Phyllis Ho Kai Ling Phyllis some days you just feel like that A Butterfly Pays Respect
Eyeless fish, They told me he resided in you. You are bruised from retaliation. You, On the other side of this glass dungeon, Whose possessive stillness impersonates the A legion of Poseidons peer in – Patriarch he once was, but You feel their eyes. Yeye was tucked beneath his grand crib, Fins grope in dark waters Powdered in greys, greens and yellows, while For something ungraspable Breathing someplace else. Like voices tangled In air. Thus, you could have been an angel. With feathered wings burned and The tail shudders Blushed into brown crisps, While lips plead in bubbles. Your gown has been shed as The halo grew dim.
You looked on At Yeye’s eleven children, Heads greying like the morning Sky of sorrow.
Raising our bowed heads, We learned of your departure, And how emptiness cannot be swallowed,
While you flew In a direction unknown to us, Headed for heaven. 36 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 37
Ho Kai Ling Phyllis Ho Yarn Yu Hilary
Critic Say This Out Loud
My words this is for the silent souls, Never knew what it felt like, to be the scorned, the suffering victims of lisps. Suspended in air. Sealed lips cease parting, for the simple reason of being made fun of, They cower in paper balls, the solemn whispers that slip Though they ought to be sliding from throat and voicebox. Out of inky forms Sounds – natural, clogged (no offence), stuck – Into trains of thought as if a sponge remains, Speeding through one-track minds. soaking up your aptitude of inability to pronounce these subtle ‘s’ sounds (none taken). Silence – And so, instead of speaking in your slated vocabulary, Else my neck might snap, you rant. Like the heads of Rigorous. Rapid. Repetitive. Blunt pencils. Teachers tell us of sibilance, its causes and effects. but none of this is explanation for a lisp. No emphasis on a message, symbol, idea or theme. Significance is obsolete. So continue spilling words onto your pages, scribble, gossip; suffice to say, read your sleep-inducing chick-lit. because inside, somewhere, I know your heart pumps parseltongue through your veins. 38 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 39 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES
Ho Yarn Yu Hilary Ho Yarn Yu Hilary
火 huo1 Cherished Unawareness i am: To act your age is to live a lie. the girl who withstands your bullets I don’t remember the days when my parents brought me trekking, twin rays of sun sliding down this mountain or when I went kite-flying on barren fields of weeds or even a snowflake drifting, two edges unfinished my first bus ride, experienced with my grandparents. a plant with roots dug deep, leaves sprouting I do recall overlooking wooden tracks, and sprawling in uncertain air Withered with age and scarred from infinite metal burdens. little do you know what rages To think that those before us within its forest trudged these paths, some without the comfort of Nikes or my own shoes from Running Lab, barefoot amongst the jagged edges, their blood staining rocks, feet scalded from the sun-caked rails, not in flesh, but in spirit – a rumble of metal against pebble resonating through the trees and the remains of a legacy still echo in our footsteps. No, sometimes memories need no fresh experience in heart or mind, for what we treasure most may be the comfort of absent things.
1火 huo: Chinese character for “fire” 40 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 41
Ho Yarn Yu Hilary Ho Yarn Yu Hilary
Ode To A Lost Pup Remains of A City maybe if we had fed you more, i. you wouldn’t have left. Or maybe if we had brought you The fields are a flourish of weeds out on more walks, where gladiators used to practice, you wouldn’t have felt the need stone counters lay buried under a sheen to explore the world which you knew of dust, and I imagine the original was not restrained to the rooms of our hollow house, draft of the Pizza Hut menu the wilting garden and your doggy bowl: embedded on the grainy walls. your handheld fantasy of freedom. If you listen closely, Running around without a leash you might still catch the politicians must have been heaven for you –it was hell for us at home –tear-rimmed pupils and in the auditorium, smatterings of pointless whistling, a futile Ode to a Lost Pup a foreign language still linger replaced your presence, then your absence. among the numbered rows. I still remember sitting at the gate, We watch as he plants his soles on the spot shaking that tin of canine treats that you loved so much that gathers the most echoes (you always came running at the sound of food) of his legacy. like a beggar; but I never once saw that ii. mess of grey locks that adorned the crown of your head. Even back then, men were perverts. The days have been reduced to numbers, Shards of mosaic scar the corridors, the metal bowl in the kitchen vacant as the silence you can tell who drew what on the walls at our dinner table. by guessing who scratched on a sailboat and who painted a scene of the neighbourhood brothel, inside sits a stone bed, a stone pillow, the drawings above come with the prices. The building seems colder than the rest of the streets. 42 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 43 iii. Hoh Yi Hui
A figure tucks his knees into If You Have A Dream his chest, the smoke still (This is a performance poem, meant to be read aloud and slips past the cracks in his fingers dramatised.) over his nostrils. A guard dog arches its back to the air like ***If you have a dream, speak it, a gymnast, paws curled upwards in a Write it, paint it, dance it, live it. perilous strangle of ash and throat, If you have life coursing through your mind jaws separated in a silent plea Let the colours fly from your hands like they're the only things for freedom – turns out it was worth waking up for. still chained to its post in the backyard in a sea of fire. ***Preach your gospel when you're trapped in an elevator, A woman clutches her unborn child When you're tapping your foot at the grocery store line, festering in her blossoming belly; When you can't find a rhyme, the little one couldn’t kick its way When no one seems to want to find the time to listen, out no matter how hard it tried. When you are on a rooftop alone, Something tells me they still breathe in death When someone's dialled the wrong phone as if it were oxygen, When they have drowned you for speaking out, even if kept in glass cases. Let your bones write the trails of your dream In the sediments of the pale ocean floor. iv. ***Scream like you have your voice for this day only Stray pups line the uneven cobblestone, Speak like it's your civil duty to disturb the peace they are up for adoption, but this is Speak like you've got a gun pressed to your temple their home; all of them And the only things stopping the finger on the trigger walk around like they’ve seen things And the bullets coming out of the barrel are the words roaming around the city, And pictures, movements, melodies you're scribbling down and barking at nothing in particular. sending out They tell me they howl in the dead of night. ***If you've ever loved or lived for something, Say it now or forever try and try again. Don't you dare hold your peace! Fold it up And give it paper wings to fly up in the sky 44 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 45
Like it's the first day of your life Lee Shu Yu And you're not sure when you're gonna die comfort ***Let 'em have it, because you only have one life And it’s too short not to do the things you want It's not the way in which the And just long enough to make you regret not doing it. bed remembers your shape or catches you like a soft cloud ***If you have life, courage and nothing to stand for, then this is a call Out to you, yes, you, you too can have a world to call your own. It's the way you remember the shape Discover what you love, and no matter what they say you're not alone of a soft cloud that returns to the sky. One of the only things that unites us here, in this room, Is our citizenship in Dreamland – It's not the way the silken sheets give warmth but how the sheets that give warmth seem silken ***So forget every single person who's told you to remember your boundaries It's not the promise of a good night's sleep any more Because you are knees-deep in your own soul than it is the promise that you will wake safe. Remembering what made it whole and giving it a place in your heart again. And when they break your spirit in half, and take away your breath, Build yourself a new pair of lungs from feathers and new dreams stuck together With blood and glue and hope.
***The world is what you make it, and you are as great as you tell yourself to be So be as high as it takes to make the clouds storm with envy. So what if you're not the stars? Maybe you're the space in between And we are what hold up the light in their place, Not those twinkling things that have the ability to say nothing at all.
***We are the dreamers, we are the believers, And when they say they don't have the time for you and me We say that all time is our time to be free. 46 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 47
Lee Shu Yu Jonathan Neo Hsien Ming
玉 yu1 The Bund
一 The river swirls, an angry beast dividing two lands – She is special One of then One of now 干 The land of giants: the Oriental Pearl, So they place faith mirrored monsters and glass towers looming in her over working man. The financial heart driving her to of the city glistens, polished to perfection.
王 The den of the old flame, once burning bright, is now only an ember of what it was. Buildings that have withstood the test of time Climb, and depressions – children against the skyline. upon a ladder, to the top, Shanghai is a magical place and to dominate all. where past and present collide gently, silently – 玉 cushioned by walls of water linked by a bond against time. The jade, a precious stone they saw in her, lacks lustre and is dull and weary.
1玉 yu: Chinese character for “jade” 48 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 49
Sandra Tan Sandra Tan
Death of a Reason keeping time for the world after The Hall of Mirrors by Bruce Quek (2011) Insusceptible, he lived during the early hours of there is a wall. eleven to four pm. a white wall with mounted clocks he was stubborn – he knew how to treat a lady well but that stare back with blank faces. realised waiting on people wasn't an obligation. in the room, there is a ticking I heard he found reconciliation in chasing ghosts and an incessant ticking. loving brittle things he could not grasp. you dumbly adjust your feet as you I loved him from the day he left. inspect each exhibit, counting down the revolutions Absence fosters such of red minute hands. sentimental souls. living hand to mouth on you will spend seven minutes our theoretical time zones, browsing the installation. two-liner niceties draw static – I'm left to conversations with dial tones. and three more minutes, reading the labels on the clocks. He was a missing thumb and forefinger, He was a romance of misguided placebos. the labels that recite He was a riot of compromised words, various morality rates He was a prayer spat out across fingers. in fine print. He was a consonant, unpronounceable, a compulsion that never existed – soon you realise that the room is empty. it has always been full and empty He was a bowler hat, framed between two rails. at the same time. it is a queer room. 50 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 51 and you are left with yourself, Sandra Tan the wall of clocks, the world written out in invisible numbers. strangers in a hospital lift and that ticking. the roof of your mouth is a corrugation, you slip away in haste – that ticking, it smokes time increments flowers bathed in blue in the brevity of soft sighs – waste away on fluorescent fevers, the sixty seconds it takes in the way to watch a child die. you avert
all inconsistencies in faith. under the slanting light of a theatre,
redemption is a diagnosis
best left cold
52 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 53
Sandra Tan Joanelle Toh Yuling
When the water came 12.
Forgetting is a gift, is what his watch reads yet in opposing terms, as he unclasps and places it you have left a slice of the sky on the ledge and some champagne on my doorstep beside his battered wallet.
When it rains it doesn't rain in sheets but he holds the weight in translucent skins of water of the world on his back – he’ll die of gravity, either way. That s p l a y like feelings when set against tarmac. 11. his mother is sound asleep The cold is such a dismal thing as he chokes on all his apologies. it comes knocking on my door every night 10. And I can't contend you, * Living adrift in an ocean but being grounded, 9. another one falls asleep we can only live within to the sound of a blank the spiral of our shells. static screen.
When the water came (for you), 8. there was a collective sadness– lipstick tainted guilt. too-smoothed-down (Sometimes it rains in people, hair. the night was a blur for all– you can see it in their eyes) she fell asleep and you left her waiting.
–we all know the rest. 54 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 55
7. *
* the void deck a bridal bouquet plays mute 6. to the “please come back”s a whisper and a clamour and the “i love you”s that no one had the from lovers to no one. chance to say. they build their world – under covers and in the air.
5.
*
4.
*
3. “ah boy, must work hard, okay?” “ah boy, cannot fail, you know?” “ah boy – ” he stab stab stabs the paper lying in front of him.
2. that dengue commercial? she had always thought it ridiculous. until baby started burning up. she knows this much. the heat is felt when she touches her lips to his forehead. 56 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 57
Joanelle Toh Yuling Joanelle Toh Yuling exit wounds you are a hotel room i am well aware on the streets lie of the blisters on your feet. so many opportunities to (when our limbs are not be alone – but i chose to tangled, i feel the cracks and stay within the peeling walls calluses brush against my heels.) and white duvet tell me, what time is it that dusted with cigarette burns and you usually leave (are you still lipstick stains. i notice these things going today, going to when i scrub the fraying fabric and wherever?) hang it out to dry. the hinges creak and sometimes it is midnight and in a half lucid stupor, i hear them and when i wake, i am waiting by the telephone for a reply, i ask the woman in the mirror but the operator only sends me static that crackles a question we both know the answer to. like an erratic pulse. the clock ticks and ticks and too soon coffee from last night sits on the table, stale. your thin-soled shoes are already gone. day breaks like a beating heart and light spills like blood from a vein onto a cold bedside. 58 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 59
Joanelle Toh Yuling Joanelle Toh Yuling
A euphemism for the inevitable non-conversations in the kitchen you are the grandfather It is almost an instinct clock that looms in a How I always thatch a haphazard smile hallway, and i am the As I accept the plate you readily offer. child crouching by your feet This is a barter, (I will not say anything if you do not Either. ) such gestures are so easily tell me a story, like the Misread by the untrained eye. our expressions are ones you’ve told me before as you Unchanging, like people in photographs with hovered over me as i slept. perhaps that Framed smiles. i am unfazed and cannot one about decay and how we will Fault you anyway – things like these, all one day turn to dust I never told you. but trivialities like these will No longer matter the moment we both on heels. as i wait, i am Step out of the room. dancing in your shadow with dust on my heels that i can no longer wipe off and am reminded that we will all end up that way when your steel hands trip us and we stumble like fools and when the pendulum swings like a scythe – father time, you've got me by the neck. 60 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 61 (vi) Nicholas Wong Zhi Feng pigeon(vi) throats were like timed explosives goingpigeon off throats were like timed explosives the feather room onegoing after off another one after another (i) (vii) the grenade pin isn't in; (vii) we're wearing it like a the grenade pin isn't in promise ring, like butthe heregrenade we arepin isn't in we're engaged to the grabbingbut here weboth are ends of the wishbone explosion that's going to follow andgrabbing pulling both it apart ends of the wishbone and pulling it apart (ii) the aftermath was the feather room. In the prologue of The Feather Room by Anis Mojgani, a empty at first, but young travellerIn the prologue asks a farmer of The if Feather he can stayRoom the by night Anis atMojgani, his farm. a Theyoung farmer traveller agrees, asks saying a farmer he canif he sleep can onstay the the couch night in at the his livingfarm. (iii) room.The farmer However agrees, the travellersaying he is can not sleep to open on theany couchof the inthree the doorsliving the aftermath is the feather room inroom. the house:However a yellow the traveller one made is notof wood, to open a redany one of themade three of stone,doors covered in bloody pulp and feathers andin the a thirdhouse: made a yellow of blue one glass. made of wood, a red one made of stone, like the pigeon throats were timed explosives and a thirdThe made young of travellerblue glass. agrees to the condition, but opens and we were keeping their wishbones each of The the youngdoors anyway. traveller The agrees first to one the shows condition, his past: but a opens girl to do better things sittingeach of in the a pile doors of anyway. bicycle parts, The first polishing one shows the handlebars. his past: a The girl secondsitting shows in a pile his ofpresent: bicycle a room parts, filled polishing with featherless the handlebars. birds and The (iv) ansecond old man shows crying, his present: trying to a makeroom themfilled fly with again. featherless birds and the feather room reminds us of an old manThe thirdcrying, do tryingor shows to make his future: them fly a again.room completely filled pillow fights with feathers.The third door shows his future: a room completely filled with feathers. (v) the grenade pin is in but we're still screaming as it hits the floor 62 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 63
Nicholas Wong Zhi Feng Nicholas Wong Zhi Feng
A dead bird weighs very little princess of china one day, on my way home we sat there i saw a dead bird by the road dinner plates its wings folded to its chest, empty, we never eat stray feathers on the floor. i decided to keep a few the table was wincing, jerking away from i just sat there. our kicking feet stroking its fragile little head before bringing it to a corner pieces of cutlery hit each other and whispering a prayer as if they were trying to speak to whatever god it was going to but failing to find the words
* we sat there, the tremor against the wood i gave a few of the feathers to you making plates leaving out the fact that fall off the table they were from something dead, so they could break on the floor instead telling you they were from a bird we continued kicking that flew into my house till the fork was a horse knocking things onto the floor, galloping across the tablecloth leaving a few feathers behind as payment. and the candlestick was a castle, but you still use them as bookmarks, despite how you don't like dead things. and you were a prince with a foot hitting the table, thumbs twiddling, because you didn't care that we could have had a kingdom 64 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 65 with no feasts, and no food Nicholas Wong Zhi Feng and just us, boys made of china shutter
i think it’s broken, grandpa.
your old camera’s shutter makes an odd rattle but the reel is still like a purr.
the lens is red-veined and milky.
i think it’s broken, grandpa. 66 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES English Poetry (CAP Alumni) 67
Maria Chung Su-Yin that their hearts break for me that my heart should break Faith-test the shame, the shame they tell me to think of Him they all stare now, at while earth is rubbed onto my feet, feet obscene in their nakedness crumbly-damp and cool blistered feet faithless feet while a cleansing fire which I still must claim for my own burns, they tell me think of Him, He will deliver they show me smooth soles reborn, those feet belong to wise eyes wise faces, who now tell me, think of Him as the embers glow, as I fall forward and dissolve into ash, ash so that my thoughts too melt with my limbs and when I stumble out there are those wise faces crying, crying that my faith had failed 68 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES English Poetry (CAP Alumni) 69
Theophilus Kwek at least not yet. There is much to learn. Reconsider: Bed. Wall. Little else. Analysis One might think he’s had his fill. the poet imagines his room ransacked Unless, of course, he’s searching. Still. In the middle of his room is a large bed, unmade. At least the sheets are clean. Super-single, or a small queen – we think he settled for an in-between.
There is a crossbow above the headboard, primed but decorative, on a cord, several degrees in coloured frames, a shield with an eagle and wooden sword.
Perhaps he still has dreams of war, not having outworn that boyish phase. But the certificates throw us off. Are they conquests of another kind?
Opposite, a wall that brings to mind patchwork not too neatly woven – pictures, cards, and scraps of poems, a bust of Beethoven. Some cut-out maps.
There’s Berlin, several towns, and Paris, torn at a bend in the Seine. Both are faded, used. The cities could have been the same. We are unsure what to make of this – 70 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES English Poetry (CAP Alumni) 71
Theophilus Kwek he never appeared – no, he disappeared. Later we found by his hovel a searing rut Enoch much deeper, even, than the grinder’s wheel, hoofprints, stamped bold into the peat, “All the days of Enoch were three hundred, sixty and five years. earth scorched gold with flame. The girl And Enoch walked with God: and he was not; for God took him.” next door, Itzhak’s second, dreamt – Genesis 5:23-24 of a chariot in the clouds for weeks afterwards; Old Anna the Teller – whom we half believed – It was strange from the start, the way he walked – saw him carried away in a storm of dust. head tilted, shoulders slack, eyes to the stars. Months passed, as we watched in vain Arms useless by his side. I remember well for his return, then years. Soon we forgot. how the boys would follow, call after him: tipesh Not that we ever knew, of course. What he – idiot! – and throw stones to see him run, was. What he was not. for he couldn’t go straight. We were less direct, the rest of us. Thought him off-knock, loony, but didn’t breathe a word. Sometimes, charitably (and most often in conversation), he was a bit of a dreamer, simple, nice – or some other, universal phrase. That was before we realised that things were going missing. Then things went a lot worse. He was seen in the duck-coop, kindergarten, a dozen unguarded backyards; at both my neighbours’ doors. Those who tried to argue his cause said a daughter, unreturned from some better city years ago had driven him quite mad. We didn’t think so. He wasn’t the type, and it was hard to imagine that he had relations. Eventually – you know the rest – a tribunal was called, but we never heard the case: they talked about him for weeks, during which 72 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES English Poetry (CAP Alumni) 73
Daniel Lye we cover these feet. to forget the scars of freedom and wild Baring Soles abandon. but even in security, the sand in our shoes remind us of what it is to bare our feet circumstance is the cadence of life. for another. our feet pace that rhythm, bare soles on dirt, asphalt, then glass. we trace the imprints of each other’s disfigured footsteps, chasing the void left by another.
* our naked feet in the sand, are an unlikely yet natural couple, wrung together by some warped fate and framed in a snapshot of our imperfection. the embodiment of (our) ugliness. these feet, they speak of perennial misalignment. mirroring the crooked lines of our jaundiced fingers that were tangled in each other. in their blemish our feet speak of hardships tread in cold water and mud.
* 74 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES English Poetry (CAP Alumni) 75
Cheryl Tan Marylyn Tan
City Traffic The Bokononist Plays Footsy (With reference to Kurt Vonnegut’s Cat’s Cradle1) only here, will you find marine mascots poised by the seaside, but stationary – You are choosing, instead, to project watery, an honest idealist. lopsided frowns unendingly into the ocean’s cupped, accepting hands. Tell me (things I could have told you, Clouds shape-shift, drifting like flotsam, but was always too polite to) mirroring the people who, from below stare above at the sky, heavy with birds how you want to solve me that have migrated from cooler places with hugs, and, because of the unchanging heat, too-tough massages, endless interest in one another. have forgotten when to fly home. How you pull me cat’s cradle taut,
the idea being we need only follow rules to win.
Remember when hell was still other people? Remember when I said,
press your feet to mine. Don’t tickle me.
1 Cat’s cradle is a children’s game, played with string. 76 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES
Bokonon1 tells us it is very bad not to love everyone exactly the same.
I waited for our souls to touch, even checked if your feet were clean.
That was when I still believed what I read.
But you don’t read ENGLISH my books, so who's been telling you PROSE things you want to hear?
1 Bokonon is a fictitious character in Cat’s Cradle, who invents a religion known as Bokononism. It is asserted early on that Bokononism consists of harmless lies which help its believers stay happy.
79
Clarilyn Khoo En Ping
Between Seabed and Sky
Njord wasn’t sure if they had invented a saying for it yet, but he and Skadi were like… like two things that didn’t go together very well. He liked her well enough, and although she was the goddess of Winter she had tried her best to break the ice, as it were. The overwhelming feeling between both of them, however, wasn’t love or even affection so much as awkwardness.
***
Oil and water, that was it. Njord wasn’t very good with words. Skadi was the oil and he was the water. They didn’t mix. His new bride was quiet and controlled, and he always felt slightly unnerved by the way she observed him with her steady, clear gaze. It was as if she was a hawk watching a hare, waiting for it to run before taking flight. In contrast, he himself was the very opposite of quiet – he tended to lose his temper as easily as breathing. He cared nothing for ceremony or verbal sparring; his preferred method of dealing with a nuisance was to dangle it over the maw of the Kraken until it begged for mercy.
***
He couldn’t help it. It was in his nature. He had a whole ocean of icebergs and currents and creatures to deal with – wrestling sea monsters or subduing waterspouts was all in a day’s work. The sea was a troublesome beast to rein, and it took all his will to keep the waters in his control. It was just that, when things required a finer touch, he was the last to be asked.
*** 80 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 81
When he looked at her, Njord felt that Skadi was in fact a *** statue of ice, cold and pure and clean, and if he lost his temper at her, she might shatter. In the end, he supposed, they were equally Odin and his stupid ravens had dragged him up to his hall cold. in Asgard, and told Skadi to choose her husband only by his feet. For a god who had given up an eye for foresight and wisdom, that *** particular incident seemed unnaturally foolish. All the gods had stood behind a screen, with only their feet showing. Njord had As he sat in his cabin on the shore (some Aesir were wrinkled his nose at the stink. It dawned upon him that, unlike enamoured of huge palaces, but he found them a nuisance), Njord himself, most of the Aesir probably never had voluntary contact sulked about how he would never be able to speak to his wife with water at all. Then, as he was wondering how long he would properly. Skadi was easily more elo- elbo- better with words. It have to endure the stench, he heard a quiet, confident voice say wasn’t that he was stupid or anything. Njord simply didn’t have a “These. I choose these.” Cold fingers touched his feet for an vocabulary for what he wanted to say. instant, making him shiver. Njord gulped.
*** ***
Soon Skadi would be coming back with some poor animal When the screen had been drawn away, it was apparent she had speared. And all he had done was mope around all day. that Skadi had not been expecting him. Her wide eyes flicked to Feeling disgusted with himself, Njord decided to take a long walk where Baldr, the god of Beauty, was standing, and Njord knew on the beach. then that she would never be happy with him. Still, he’d tried his best to appear calm and unaffected, and to bear the ensuing *** ceremonies and various innuendoes. The male Aesir could really be like eight-year-olds sometimes. Emerging from the cabin, Njord breathed in the salt air, made crisp by the cold. It was early autumn, and the firs further *** inland shook with the wind. The ice-smooth bumps of the pebbled shore prickled against his bare feet. Njord grunted expressively. Njord continued to walk along the shore, letting the tide His stupid, clean, pretty feet. It was his feet that had got him lap over his toes, whispering its briny words to the rockpools and married to Skadi in the first place. Walking on stones and sand the few gulls that hung above. Soon, he knew, the gulls would had made them smooth; standing in waves and currents had made leave for warmer lands, but he would stay and listen to the sea. them pale. He hadn’t given a thought to them, but as god of the Sea it was only natural that his feet were actually presentable, *** unlike that of many other Aesir. 82 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 83
Once the seas and lakes and rivers had flowed in the veins had waded in after him, and the carcass she had brought back lay of the giant Ymir, and pounded through his heart. Although Odin abandoned on the shore. She did not need to say anything. and his brothers had slain Ymir and created the oceans with his blood, some days Njord was almost certain that Ymir’s heart still *** beat under the waves, contracting with the eddying of the currents. This was the language that Njord understood instinctively: water Gently, Njord let her lead him back to the rocky shore, and gushing and ebbing and crashing and drifting, the pulsebeat of the as she did Njord noticed the tinge of redness in the water. “Your ocean, speaking mysteries of a time too old for any to remember. feet are bleeding,” he said shamefacedly. He was beginning to feel Even when the tide was low, the ocean never stopped breathing, guilty about having made her worry. and Njord carried its every breath in his own. *** *** “No. They are learning. Learning to walk with your feet. I Inhaling deeply of the sea winds, Njord waded further into have no need of shoes.” Skadi winced a little, but heaved the the water. Soon he was waist-deep, feeling the cold-and-warm tide carcass back onto her shoulder and began to drag it to the cabin. seep into his skin. His toes dug deeper into the sand. Slowly, Njord hastened to help with her burden. They stumbled along, without thinking, he flung his arms wide, as if to gather in the barefoot and silent, hearing the thunder crack and the sea’s immeasurable leagues of the sea. Njord’s eyes were closed, but he whispering rise to a roar. The pebbles bit into their feet, but they felt the presence of the oncoming storm, fury and heaviness did not care. Perhaps they were not so different after all, Njord gathering into an enormous, angry cloud-mountain. thought. He sneaked another look at her feet. They, too, were beautiful. ***
Soon… now! The lightning spat, the thunder tore open the sky. No rain yet, but Njord could sense it on the edge of his mind, the bottled-up vapours and humours of the sky ready to burst. The storm was in his face and the wind was in his hands, and this was who he was, he was tempest and icebergs and the darkness in the trench of the leviathan, he was between seabed and sky.
***
A hand grasped his shoulder. Njord opened his eyes. Behind him was the steady gaze of Skadi, patient and alert. She 84 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 85
Clarilyn Khoo En Ping hiss open and shut, gaping wordlessly at the people who enter. Cartoon faces wear their printed smiles for unsmiling customers, In Surfeit of Sweetness passing in and out of the cold halls of on-sale clothes and gilded gadgetry, paying for plastic toys and plastic boxes of price-tagged It’s after hours, and the streets are wet with afternoon happiness with thin credit cards and plastic notes. The digitised rains that linger on past the sunset. Lamp-posts glower sodium vocals of the newest pop sensation sweep every store, swallowed orange at the tides of people and traffic; red backlights burn by the thrums of the electric guitar, and the only difference trails of fire in the tar. This is the city at night: glares of mall between the songs is the precious seconds of silence, in which displays and drink-machines and the winking eyes of lingers an unspoken disquiet, a sudden surfaced gasp before the aeroplanes in starless skies. There is a shop across the road, and it sells bubble tea. In return to unquenched sound. fact, turn the corner and five feet away is another bubble tea outlet, The drinkers observe this, and what they behold at the very much like the first, but of a different name and different scents. bottom of their plastic cups and plastic straws, I do not know. These two shops always attract waves of people, people washed up They toss it carelessly away, and resume the migration- from every shore and clime. Despite their variegation, the crowd movements of the unending crowds. Leaving the sugar-crystal combs itself into a line, to wait in their murmurs and squabbling for light of the bubble tea shop, they wander back to lives that only this single common denominator: bubble tea. stop to catch a reflection in sightless glass, and forget the illusion Even now, as the birds cease their clamour and huddle they find. For the alcoholic wakes up with the ache of lager in his back into dark branches for shelter, the fluorescent lights of the brain, but bubble tea drinkers float away in the night, with a slight bubble tea shops illuminate scattered drinkers, clutching their buzz in their heads and the aftertaste of syrup. saccharine-and-ice concoctions. They stand and drink, they drink In surfeit of sweetness, we drown our nameless and talk; twilight is settling down and they have nowhere to go. In restlessness of the soul in grand euphoric pearls, caramelised other places you might find dim and smoky rooms where men in vapours off a well of hazelnut-milk. thick jackets nurse their bitters and remorse, but here, in the heart Our meditations lie unheard save for the dry-sound of the of the unblinking metropolis that is Singapore, the bubble tea straw, colour amid ice and empty plastic. Fill our mouths with drinkers. In surfeit of sweetness, they drink to it all the more, tastings and cold, and we will find joy in this heat-crazed city of taking in the night glamours of the malls reflected off passing cars false lights and hollow-boned malls that do not close their eyes. shined by rain. They observe the city, and its eternal pulse. The city is a study in plastic, a decorous rococo miniature model all strung together with highway lights. Plastic mannequins hold frozen poses, decked out in clothes no one buys. Glass doors 86 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 87
Clarilyn Khoo En Ping palms. They might feel like stones, but they’re not. They’re just cold on the outside. Inside they’re gooey and vulnerable and so Mirror full of life that might have been. Funny how the things that look so impenetrable just break when you throw them. You don’t throw It’s cold. You can feel the fragments of a dream the eggs. You crack them into a frying pan and get some oregano. shifting in your head, falling away. Something about a big bad The frying pan prickles and sparks with the egg. You take wolf. The not-silence of the house bothers you, you can hear every vehicular rumble, every shrill skreet of the birds, and a spatula and throw in oregano, green specks of sharp scent, and the sobbing. Stop it, you say to yourself, stop it. Why don’t fold the yellow and white together. A few minutes later, hot and you stop it? floppy and no longer gooey, the eggs are ready to eat. Oh, yes, You get out of bed. You walk out to the front door slowly and the tea! You clear the table and settle down to eat. and open it. The newspaper lies there, slightly crumpled, You eat by sheer force of habit. It’s even easy. The eggs displaying its headlines proudly. You don’t understand what there are a bit overdone, but good anyway. Pigeons outside make fhruu, is to be proud about. Some minister somewhere’s fouled up again fhruu sounds, blending into the undertone of unquiet until you and another pop legend’s dead, what’s the good of it all? Telling can’t tell which is which. Why can’t you just shut up, you think. you doesn’t help. Newsprint blackens your fingers as you turn the Just get on with living. Life’s not going to wait for you. pages, greying away the red. The paper smells inky, rough, like The scream shatters into the nothingness. You hold your the smoke of city nights. breath. Somewhere a dog is barking and it beats a rhythm into the The worst part is that you can’t say anything, because if empty sky, and you feel irritated. Maybe breakfast will help. you say anything then down the slippery slope we go, everything The tiles are not cold. They have been trodden hard and just explodes beneath us and then we’ll feel our face hardening warm as packed dirt. You reach the kitchen and put down the into a laughless grin, things animal and senseless snarling between newspaper and hope no one calls you today. You set the kettle to our temples, down that d*mn slope we know so well, because we boiling, fish out a teabag, wait. trod it a thousand and fifty-one times, and we all know how it The kettle seethes and exhales. With the heat of it in your ends. We’ll both fling knives and sticks and stones and every one face, you pour the water into a hopefully-clean mug and slip in the of them will tear a rent in us, dissect us clean as a scalpel. Soon teabag. The smell of it wreathes upwards immediately, soothing we’ll be down to our bare bones and we won’t know it. and familiar and so beautifully ordinary. That’s why they call it a This is how it is: you carry on with life and all that must be homebrew, you think, and you almost smile. done, while inside we bleed and bleed from the gasping wounds of Eggs. Eggs would be lovely now. You retrieve the eggs the knives we threw at each other. All the knife-wounds, all the from the fridge, feeling their cold-stone smoothness in your knife-words. Why can’t we just go on like before? When we were 88 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 89 so wrapped up in our own existences to care? Now we’ve opened to you. You let your hands fall to your knees. Behind you, the it up, Pandora’s bloody box, we can’t stop. Down the slippery stark sky is framed in the mirror. And she is right: you know the slope, down once more, to all the bridges we burned. answer. You know the answer to that. Shut up, you tell yourself. Don’t say a word. No, I won’t shut up. I’m here. Look at me. Look at us. You can’t. You can’t allow yourself to do that. You move to pick up the tea, but she’s there, she makes you stop – Look at us. Look at you. You’re useless. You’re a bloody failure too sunk in your own misery to get out and make something of yourself. Why won’t you see? Go away, go away. You push away from the table, and you run. You run back to your room, hoping she won’t find you there, but of course she does, she’s screaming again, and you feel the scream push past her lips, except they’re yours, because she’s there, she is there in every line of your face and every twitch of your eye, she is in every sweat-washed pore and fibred cell that is you, that is her, and you can’t tell which is who is what – We’re walking to the mirror. What big brown eyes you have! All the better to see your own putrid ugliness. All the better to see your wretched worthlessness with. No, you don’t want to look. But the image in the looking-glass, though it repels you, you can’t stop looking. Please, get out. Leave me alone. Let me be. Don’t you see? I am the wolf in woman’s clothing and you are the woman and the wolf, don’t you see?! I am here and we are here and we are not the same, doesn’t she know you’ve been trying so hard to not be her? The lengths you took to burn her out of your skin. You knew she was there behind all the scars and the resealed bones. Behind every welt on your-her-our breath. We seize hold of our face. “Why?” we say. “Why can’t you stay dead?” But we know the answer to that. We haven’t stolen your face, we gave it 90 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 91
Lam Ka Hei Deborah O2: S-so you’re twenty-nine years old?” S: Yes. One-eyed Men in the Kingdom of the Blind O2: You’re a con man?” S: I prefer the term professional storyteller. If you can do a half-assed job of anything, you’re a one-eyed O2: What? man in a kingdom of the blind. – Kurt Vonnegut S: Con is such a sly and immoral word. I prefer to say that I tell people stories and it’s up to them to believe me or not. The following is a transcript of an interrogation with O1: Er… Okay. suspect #03481 (S). Officers Arik Jamil (O1) and Richard Tan (O2) are interrogating him. But again, this was not new to them. They wanted to know where he was born, the countries he had been to and the family he O1: Okay, we’re going to ask you one last time. Who are you had – if any. And they did not fail to express this to him. and where are you from? S: Let’s start with my family then. We’ll eventually work our The young man was not reckless, but neither was he way towards the other geographical questions – cautious. He knew well enough that the two police officers in O2: Eh, wait! We asked you where you were born and the front of him were irate, frustrated, not very intelligent and thus, countries you have lived in previously, not geography not to be trifled with. But he was also a rather self-indulgent man questions. This is not “O” levels, you know. and this did not bode well in suppressing his condescending urges. He peered hard into their faces to see if they were joking. S: Gentlemen you know full well who I am. You have the They weren’t. necessary records. I really don’t know what the problem is. S: I used to live with my grandparents. My grandfather was The two officers stuttered to tell him the problem: it was from Shanghai and he had to move to Guangzhou with his not what they had on their records that concerned them, but rather, family because of the Japanese Occupation. It felt what was absent. Their record of him had only covered what a completely foreign to him because Shanghai was a big city child who has heard him tell stories at his school could say about whereas Guangzhou seemed to be in the middle of him. Initially, he had been brought in because he was suspected of nowhere – being a notorious con artist, but during a background check, they O2: Hang on, was this the first Japanese Occupation or the had found nothing about him. Only that he had been in Singapore second? for a mere three years. As it was also their business to know O1: Shh, let him finish lah. What happened? things, this was a concern. S: He eventually returned to Shanghai to study. He was top in his class in engineering. He met my grandmother and was extremely happy for those few years in university. But 92 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 93
then he remembered that he had a family in Guangzhou. O2: Oh. That is sad. And he gave it all up to return back home to his family. O1: (in a whisper to O2) What does that have to do with where They needed him to support them and that’s what he did. he’s from and who he is? O2: (in a whisper to O1) Maybe he was traumatised because of He proceeded to tell them that after he had returned to how badly his grandfather scolded his grandmother lah. Guangzhou with his new wife, he focused only on working to give S: Actually, no. My grandparents took care of me after my his family a better life. It was especially hard because it felt like parents died. he had nothing. His grandparents had gotten married out of O1: Oh, um. I’m er, sorry to hear that. tradition and obligation rather than love, and though his grandfather knew that his wife would become a wonderful The young man shrugged. It was a gesture so slight and mother, this did not translate to her becoming a good wife. She almost unintentional that it seemed strange on him compared to did everything a good wife should, the storyteller qualified; she everything else he did that was always so calculated. He began to cooked, she cleaned and she looked after the children. But it speak in a vastly different voice. It was quieter and lacked the became harder and harder to return to a woman who provided same expressive cadences that would peak when at an exciting affection and not love. climax and drop when at a dramatic and suspenseful point. But it was a lot more cryptic and it made him harder to read, especially O1: So he was angry and then he beat you? when his companions already found him such a mystery. S: He never hit me. O1: Your grandmother then. S: He was a domineering husband; that much is true. But I S: He often scolded her when she was forgetful or careless. often think that that’s what happens when you force But he never beat her, no. My grandfather was harsh and yourself to put away your own dreams and never look at strict on two people. His own wife and – them again. It was not easy, doing what my grandfather O2: You? did. Before I left, he told me to learn a lot and make a lot S: Himself, actually. of mistakes, but never to make the same one he did. O2: Why? O1: So you left? S: I think it was because he always knew that it wasn’t her S: Yes, and to answer your original question, I left Hong fault. That it wasn’t fair to her either. But you were right to Kong (where my grandparents lived), studied in England, say that he was angry. Remember when I told you that he lived in France, Italy and South America for a while and had to go back to his family in Guangzhou? then came to Singapore. O2: Yes. O1: And you were a con artist there, I mean, storyteller as S: He often told me that if he had stayed on, he would have well? become a professor at the university. All the people he used to go to school with who were worse engineers with He gave the bug-eyed officer a wry smile. him are now teaching there. 94 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 95
S: I am always a storyteller. Everywhere I go, whether I do it After all I have a family to support. But unlike my as a profession or not. grandfather, I’m actually doing something I like to do.
A vein twitched in the officer’s temple. He was a man that He appraised the two officers in front of him. The first had obviously detested cryptic answers. both his hands placed squarely on the table, glaring at him and resembling a pit bull, while the other was biting his nails O1: Now see here, you are a suspected criminal. I don’t know nervously. about in France, Italy or South Africa – S: South America, actually. S: Well, now you have everything you need to know. O1: I DON’T CARE. But here in Singapore, you don’t anyhow O1: Wait! You still haven’t gotten to the point. Why do you... tell stories to trick people and get them to just throw S: Tell stories? money at you because they so easily believe you. You O1: Con people more like. think conning old aunties is fun? The suspect glared at the police officer with a concoction The suspected con artist sighed deeply. He looked as of menace and irritation that made him uncomfortable, fidgeting though he had aged considerably, although his features were still in repentance. youthful. S: Do you know how adults always look at children? With S: Were there any reports of my illicit storytelling? their wry, condescending smiles that say, “Oh you’re so O1: Well, no. But your so-called storytelling is very suspicious. young. Just wait till you grow up…” Well I still get that. I S: So you’re going to arrest and detain me because my still get people telling me how tiresome my idealistic ways storytelling was suspicious. are. I still get people telling me that I will never make any money being a storyteller and that I should just “wait and His voice was brimming with sarcasm that made even the see” what becomes of me if I continue. two officers who were oblivious to any kind of sarcasm O1: And of course, you wanted to prove them wrong, show uncomfortable. them that you can earn as a storyteller, blah blah. S: No, I could put up with that. But what I couldn’t stand was O1: Uh, well. I-I’m not saying that that’s the only thing you them thinking my Grandfather, who was the only person did. I-I mean, we barely had anything about you on our who ever supported my ambition, was crazy because he records. didn’t tell me to get another job or that I was stupid or S: If people willingly gave me their money out of sheer mad. I wanted to prove that he wasn’t crazy, and that he generosity, I think I’ve rightfully and lawfully earned it. would be the Grandfather who lived in a big house paid for You have your means of making a living and I have mine. by his Grandson’s mad ambition! 96 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 97
The two policemen looked at each other. The young man The second officer opened the door for him as the first one had remained too calm and too collected the entire time and it was still seething. As he just about got through the door of the seemed like they had made a significant crack in this façade. claustrophobic interrogation room, the second officer stopped and asked him a question. O2: Who said your Grandfather was crazy for supporting you? O1: Shut up, Richard. O2: Hey, so… You’re a storyteller right? S: Right. When he replied, his voice was icy and dangerous. O2: So was what you told us true or what it just a story?
S: My Grandmother. She was, ironically, an ignorant “old But as a good magician never reveals his tricks, the auntie” as you called them. storyteller flashed the poor officer another of his enigmatic smiles O2: O-okay. We are… er, satisfied with that answer. Where and left without answering his question. did you save you were from again?
He signed once again and kneaded his forehead.
S: I told you. I was born in Hong Kong, where my parents died in a car accident. I was taken care of by my grandparents and then I studied in England and lived in many countries – would you like me to repeat them again?
The other officer decided to intervene before the vein in his counterpart’s forehead decided to burst.
O2: No, no. That’s fine. If we need anything else, we’ll be in touch. S: Good to know.
The man stood up and gifted the two officers, still slightly stunned, with a charming smile.
S: Well gentlemen, it was nice talking to you and giving you more things to put in my file. Good day to you both. 98 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 99
Lam Ka Hei Deborah I started, “Well, the war ended in forty-five and now it’s ninety-six, so it’s been fifty-one years.” Boy He laughed. “You always were so precise. A good habit.” And then his tone changed, “I’m sure Einstein found it useful I loved procrastination so much it was revolting. To others, when you helped him with the bomb.” procrastination was like the devil. It ruined them. People could I shifted uncomfortably. His warm and friendly tone had chant ‘carpe diem’ to their reflections every morning when they disappeared, leaving a cold, bitter resentment that cut with every looked themselves in the mirror, but it was no use, they were as syllable. I didn’t want to discuss this yet. Not so soon. I wanted helpless as Eve was with the snake tempting her to take a bite of him to be my friend for at least a while longer. the forbidden fruit. I revelled in it. It was easier. And at my age, I “Yes, about that… Was that why you never contacted me didn’t have many days left to ‘seize’. after –” I always put off calling Axel because there was a fifty per “After the atomic bomb was dropped on Hiroshima. Yes.” cent chance that he’d hate me and a fifty per cent chance he “But why? You knew we were racing to invent it. You wouldn’t. And the thought of the former was enough to scare me. promised that our friendship wouldn’t be affected by a So I didn’t call him. Not for fifty-one years. competition to see who would get there first. Were you that When I finally did call him, it was absolute torture. There jealous?” was this long silence when you think that you’ve dialled the There was another long silence, one that I’m certain was wrong number and you’re relieved that you can try again, but then shorter than the two that preceded it, but it seemed longer. Not the dreadful, cracked ringing began and so did the counting. It just because I was holding my breath, trying to listen for any signs rang once. Twice. Thrice. And it was not till the eighth ring that of what he was feeling on the other side of the world, but because he picked up. I was getting an answer to a question that I had asked myself “Axel? It’s me.” constantly for fifty-one years. There was an even longer silence as I imagined the weight “I’m not jealous,” his voice cracked like a child denying of my words travelling thousands of miles to reach him. that he envied his younger sibling, “You don’t know.” “Augustus. It has been too long,” he replied. Same thick It occurred to me that in the time I had known him, I had German accent with an unfamiliar fifty-one years showing in a only seen him vulnerable twice. Once when we had gone to huskier growl. school together as boys, long before the war, when I was in the I had to do everything in my power not to sigh too loudly playground with a group of friends and we were kicking sand in in relief. another boy’s face. Axel had appeared, shorter than the rest of us, “It must have been fifty years since we last spoke,” his looked us straight in the eye and said in broken English, “You no voice was slow and measured. The familiar carefully calculated, kick sand.” My friends had just laughed and walked away, but I even tone sent me dancing with nostalgia. felt so immensely guilty that I gave up the role of the worshipped “Fifty-one, actually.” leader of the group and started to befriend the strange German “Has it been that long?” boy. 100 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 101
Now, seeing him break his cool demeanour made me just him that I would have blamed me as well. But I just clutched the as uncomfortable. I was afraid to ask him what I didn’t know, phone to my ear as if it might slip out of my hands and shatter into much like I was afraid to call him. pieces if it fell. With a quavering voice, I asked, “What don’t I know?” His next question surprised me. He asked, more composed, The sound I heard next was so foreign and yet so familiar “How are you doing, health wise?” to me. Across the oceans that separated us, I could hear Axel “Pancreatic cancer. Stage four. Terminal.” quietly sobbing into the tenuous telephone line that spanned the I could see him nodding methodically as he said, “How miles apart. much time do you have?” “My son. He stationed in Hiroshima. And –” “Enough. You?” He had always treated English like a science. Precise, “Leukemia. Stage four. Terminal also.” calculated. But when he got angry or upset, cracks in his “How long?” knowledge of the language would appear and fall apart at the He laughed. It was a sad sound. “Two weeks, give or seams, mirroring what was happening to him. He didn’t have to take,” he said, “The doctors told me this last week. And every finish. I knew. day, I can’t help but think it isn’t right, it’s not supposed to “I know, Axel. I know. My son. He died in the war too.” happen like this.” It was difficult for me to remember that he was no longer “What is?” the friend he was to me. It felt almost natural to tell him how “That I saw my son die, but he would never see me die.” difficult it was to lose my boy, how I couldn’t tell anyone, especially not my wife because she blamed me for his death. For being involved in the very thing that killed him. I wanted to tell him that she left me eventually, and how enormously guilty I was because it was a relief not to see her anymore because my son had looked so much like her. I wanted to him to tell me that it was alright hurt sometimes. And I desperately wanted to hear him tell me what he always did – that I needed to allow myself to be human. “Why you call? You call to clear your conscience? To reassure yourself that it’s not your fault?” “I –” “You were part of it, Augustus. You always logical, rational. But my boy die. I don’t know logic. I don’t know reason.” I wanted to tell him that I understood. That it was difficult, if not impossible to be logical. To not blame me. I wanted to tell 102 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 103
Liow Wei Yuan invisible creatures. They grasp the wounded flesh of their struggling brethren and pull them to pieces, each darting away The Shore with a silver piece in its mouth. Nothing is wasted. He quickly steps out of the water. There are ships, lots of ships. Over the horizon, in the distance, smokestacks belching black clouds. He tries to imagine, *** from his spot on the beach, what they’re carrying. He can’t; he knows they don’t carry anything that’s real on the outside, just There is a tide-pool, a short distance away. As he looks stacks upon stacks of containers in their holds. He stares at them over the edge, a starfish singles out a mussel and latches on, and doesn’t notice as his shoulders twitch back and forth. smothering it with its arms. It tugs the mussel’s shell in opposite directions, against the muscles holding it shut. Fascinated, he *** watches the slow-motion battle. It is not unlike an arm-wrestling bout, except that the stakes are life and death. He shakes his head The water is warm and he touches it with his feet. He at the misfortune of mussels; they are rooted to one spot by their watches as the slow waves sweep the sand away from the lines of “beards”, and when danger comes they cannot escape. If he were his toe-joints and the grooves in his sole. The grains settle in with to die and be reborn as a shellfish, he would much rather be a their companions below the waterline. He feels an itch he had scallop, leaping from danger with a clap of its shell. The starfish never realised was there fade away, and sighs. Then, he takes off finally breaks its prey’s defences and throws its stomach into the his thongs, stands up, and walks around to feel the sand properly shell of the hapless mussel, dissolving it in acid. There is no this time. Once again, he dips his feet back into the rising tide, further struggle; mussels cannot feel pain. letting the water embrace them and wash away the sand once more. He walks along the waterline now, so no more sticks. ***
*** Treading at the edge of the waterline, he sees little balls of sand stacked in small piles next to holes in the ground about the There are fish near the shore where he stands, small and diameter of his little finger. Small crabs flit in and out of the thin, like moving needles sewing the sea. He follows them with holes, chewing the sand and spitting it out in tiny globes after they his eyes as they dart around, chasing infinitesimal morsels in the have extracted every last bit of food from it. He steps closer to shadow of a palm tree. The wind blows, and he hears a sudden one, and watches it emerge fully from its hole, claws raised and snap as a coconut falls. It hits the water hard, and then drifts away waving at his big toe. He chuckles and grabs it from behind, into the sea, carried by the wind. He sees a few fish drifting, all lifting it into the air and watching it squirm, then sets it down at bent out of shape and ruptured in places like incompletely-broken the entrance to its hole, giving it a little push. It needs no further piñatas. He stares at them intently. They gasp, their mouths encouragement and scuttles back in; if crabs had feelings, this one opening and closing without realising the futility of each breath. would have been embarrassed, he thinks. He picks up a little sand- Slowly, the others return, but this time they don’t dart after 104 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 105 ball and examines it. It is slightly soft, like one would expect of Liow Wei Yuan chewed-up food, and also a little wet. The sand in it is fine powder, a flour ground by the mandibles of the crab and shaped Oleander into dough. Briefly, a smile flashes across his face as he imagines the crabs eating little loaves of sand-bread, baked by the scorching There is an oleander tree just outside her house. It is noon sun to fluffy yet crispy perfection. He watches a while around two metres tall, not very big for a tree. It has several dozen longer, then moves on. flowers at any one time, and the ground beneath it is strewn with white and pink. The neighbour’s kids have been told not to pluck *** its leaves because its sap is poison. Sometimes, she cuts off a branch, flower and all, and puts it in a jar of water, engraved with As he travels the beach, time passes and the sun begins to flower patterns, in her living room. It adds a little colour. She likes set on the horizon, casting a red pall over the white sands. His the oleander. It reminds her of her mother, poisonous and bitter, body follows its movement, sagging with the day’s heat and the always cursing her for breaking her body such that it could bear knowledge that he must leave soon. There will be no more shore no more children, or more specifically no more sons. It reminds after this. They will build something over it, and maybe people her that her mother’s long dead, burned to ashes in a cigarette fire, will come to love that something, but it will not be his shore. With and she likes to think that old hag’s watching her, cursing her a small half-smile, he scoops a handful of sand up and puts it into from the little porcelain jar that was her wedding gift. a small bag. As he walks back to his car, still bare-footed, he savours the gritty feeling of the sand for the last time. ***
Her boys are hardly around. One’s in the Army and the other’s an undergraduate in Australia. It’s funny how people still say she has boys, not men; if she had men she would be labelled “unfaithful” and her name would become scandal among her neighbours. No, she doesn’t have men, because she has a husband. He’s almost never home either. He’s the regional head of a company with a foreign-sounding name and a Singaporean- sounding abbreviation. She doesn’t mind; she has a house and a car (even though it’s not hers to drive; there’s a driver for that). It’s all pretty. All white, too, because that’s what she wanted. It gets dirty very easily, because people keep touching it and there’s a constant stream of people flowing through her house, talking and touching and getting their hands all over everything that isn’t theirs. White hands with grey palms and oily palms and palms 106 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 107 greased with the sweat of their brows and the oil of their faces. someone’s music could ever be that loud, but she knows, because She has maids for that. Maids only ever clean, they don’t dirty, she sees and they don’t, and therefore she believes it. She holds on because maids have no dirtiness about them. They could come to that even when the police call her and say she needs to stop from the filthiest of lands and yet have hands so spotless they complaining about the “crazy young people” who live upstairs. wouldn’t leave fingerprints. She hasn’t found out which of hers It’s her own house, and they’re renting her upstairs room, so why stole the golden urn she once kept on the mantle, but she won’t can’t she complain? She can’t kick them out, not when she fire any of them because everything’s just so dirty, all at once. It’s doesn’t own the place to begin with. like they’re not even there sometimes, and yet every time they do clean she feels their tiredness in her bones and lies down to sleep. ***
*** It’s now a Friday night and she’s changing her goldfish’s water now, because the booming has gotten too loud and some of There’s a pair of goldfish swimming in a bowl the size of the dust from her ceiling’s fallen in. She fills a jug full of water her head where the microwave oven used to be. It blew a fuse, from the purifier in her kitchen, takes a drink, and then pours it in. months ago, but anyway she doesn’t even cook any more, not when she can always order takeout or go to a restaurant for dinner. She notices a sprig of something, woody with green leaves and She still sets the table every night, though, because it’s always a white-pink flowers, and she takes it out so it doesn’t block the good idea. Always. In case her husband ever comes home, or her stream. The water tastes funny, and she thinks of changing the boys are back and she’s forgotten they’re there. Of course, there’s purifier before she realises it’s probably just the jug. She pours the never any food to be served, but it’s a place to sit. Sometimes she rest into the goldfish bowl. They’re acting all funny, like they’re remembers she has instant noodles in one of those boxes in her out of breath and gasping for air, which is funny because they’re store-room and boils a pot of water to cook them, and then she remembers they’re all expired and she has no idea why they’re fish and they breathe water. She feels a little feverish, and she’s there so she just turns off the heat and forgets about them. bending down to take a seat when a goldfish jumps out and hits her in the face. She blinks away the water, and realises her eyes *** are aching now. Her vision’s a little blur; that naughty goldfish must have taken one of her contact lenses with it. Then she Occasionally, she hears the people upstairs playing their realises that her vision in the eye that didn’t get hit, the eye that music too loud. They’ve got surround sound, and she hits the didn’t even get wet, is blurred too. And then she sees that the jug ceiling with a broom so that the sound surrounds them from below, too, and they turn that noise down. She can see the flaps of is not a jug but a jar engraved with flowers, and she starts to the cardboard boxes on the ironing board in her living room shake panic. a little. There’s one with aluminium foil in it, and it sounds like rain, the way it whooshes. Her boys tell her there’s no way *** 108 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 109
She grabs for a phone, but she doesn’t have one; the line Liow Wei Yuan was disconnected months ago, about the same time they came for her microwave and her pretty, white furniture. She screams for her Shoo boys and her husband, but the former are overseas and the latter is several months deceased, with his money and mistress stashed in “Shoo.” Batam. She stumbles past the faded white boxes that line the walls, straight into the altar where her husband’s urn used to be *** before the thieves broke in one night; clutches at the latch on her wooden door and falls out into the common corridor that she calls It was not much of a sound, more of a soft and petulant her yard. She lands face-first in a bag of her own refuse, rotting squeak, but it was expelled with quiet force. I gazed at my brother takeout from the week before, and the muck gets caught in the Damien, all of six years old, staring at the thing on the counter lines of her face. She can’t feel it, though, because it’s starting to intently. He briefly puffed out his round, red cheeks in defiance, itch so bad, so bad that she can’t stop scratching, and the sauce and pepper are seasoning her cheeks through the lines she’s and blinked at it questioningly. It was a moment in time that was scoring upon them. Her head starts to whirl, and her arms and legs incredibly, terrifyingly beautiful. It was the first time either of us start to swell. Already small welts are starting to appear where the had seen a watchman. pain is worst. She crawls forward in agony, screaming and clawing at herself, and her neighbours shut their doors even *** tighter because madness itself is shambling down their corridor on four legs, scratching and shrieking, and it terrifies them. Damien had been taking his afternoon nap when it had landed. I’d heard a thud in the kitchen and gone to investigate, *** leaving him in the bedroom, and the second I’d walked into the kitchen it had turned its head to watch me, and just like that I’d The ambulance only arrives in the morning. They classify been caught. I’d been rooted to the spot for two hours now. If I so it as an attempted suicide. She’s a poor, mad woman with no much as looked away for too long, I’d been told time and time lovers or loved ones; what else could it be? They don’t know again, we would be killed. The air was still; the switch for the where she got the oleander, though. kitchen fan was all the way on the other side of the room, next to the counter where it was. It was late afternoon, and the sun blazed in from between the rusted metal slats that stood in for windowpanes in our little three-room apartment. Little motes of dust flitted about in the calm, almost alive, and fell around the watchman in a grey mockery of a halo. If it noticed this, it didn’t 110 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 111 show it. Perhaps it was amused, or perhaps it was just smugly It was a sensation of utter stillness, a moment so quiet that I could admiring its handiwork. Perhaps, I thought, this was its way of hear the sound of the gas meter rolling. It was the feeling one feels letting us know it was in charge. when something big is about to happen.
*** *** “Shoo.” “Shoo! Shoo! Shoo!” *** *** Again, Damien didn’t raise his voice above an indignant whisper. In the silence, however, I was terrified that the watchman This time he yelled, at the top of his lungs, while angrily would hear. Its kind was prideful, and took unkindly to dissent. waving his hands at it. It took to the air, and for a moment I thought that we would both die here; him defying the thing that Thankfully, it showed no sign of displeasure. I shushed him with a had entered our little apartment while our parents were out, and finger, but did nothing else. He would have made a fuss, and that me with great valour and courage, and ultimately with utter was the last thing we needed. He looked at me with disapproval in futility, defending him from the vicious beast. his eyes and pulled my hand down to rest at my side. I made to remove it from his grasp, and it stirred as if about to lunge. *** Hurriedly, I bent down lower, and with considerable relief saw it settle down again. He tugged at my shirt and pointed at it, sticking The watchman took to the air, and it flew straight at his tongue out. I quickly pushed his hand down before he made it Damien. I yelled at it, trying to distract it, but it didn’t care. Its angry. He stared at me, and then stepped forward, pushing me target was the one who had aroused its anger, and it would not aside. stop now. Then, stop it did. It hovered in front of his face, clicking its mandibles loudly. He picked a little of the dust it had stirred up *** from his eyelashes, but otherwise didn’t move. He was clearly “Shoo!” unafraid. To him, it was probably just a really big bug, something he’d have crushed without thinking if it had been smaller. He *** inflated his cheeks as he blew in its face. The watchman reared up This time with more conviction and breath, he uttered his and shrieked, and for one dreadful second I thought it was going little battle-cry. The watchman merely huffed, not even turning to to strike. It attached itself to the ceiling, its eyes swivelling as it look at him. I slowly breathed out. Damien took another step sighted upon my brother. He looked into its eyes and spoke, forward, and the watchman immediately swiveled on its single calmly but firmly, waving his hand slightly for emphasis. leg, its compound-eyes staring into his. The atmosphere changed. 112 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 113
*** Loh Hui Qing Sheralyn “Shoo.” One For Every Centimetre *** By the age of four, he learns the phrase ‘an eye for an eye’. The watchman was quiet. It hung there for a moment, and He doesn’t know what to think so he doesn’t. then detached itself. It made a circuit of the room, buzzing the When he’s ten, peerless and cocksure, he steals a 10 cm tops of our heads, before slipping out the slats of our kitchen ruler. At night he buries the ruler in a flowerpot along with his window into the afternoon light. Damien switched on the fan, and courage and cries in his room. the grey halo it had left behind scattered. When he’s thirteen he hits a pothole while cycling and gets thrown off his bike. He smashes face first into the tarmac. The *** wounds heal over time and soon only crisscrosses of scars remain on his face. Every night, when he removes the makeup, he counts We never saw a watchman again. I had no idea what the crisscrosses. There are ten of them. happened that day, and I still don’t now, but I’ll always remember He rips a hole in his school bag when it’s pouring with it as the day my little brother “shooed” a monster away. rain. His textbooks and homework escape and land in a muddy puddle. When he gets home he’s punished. His arms are red and throbbing when he finally crawls into bed. In the morning he counts his scars. There are nine of them.
***
After a while he begins to check what’s outside before he opens the window. A bird flew off with a scar after becoming acquainted with his face. He frets over crossing roads after, on two separate occasions, a passing truck and a motorbike drove off with two scars. He continues his downward tumble when a traitor destroys another scar and a thief snatches his sixth. He becomes an anticipation machine, slow to take a leap of faith. It’s only been 114 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 115 a few incidents, but what happens within a metre, stays with one “Let me see,” then she’s uncovering his sin with a pale for a mile. finger. He feels years of trepidation and anxiety stirring into a The flowerpot still sits in a corner of his room. The soil frenzy and slaps her hand away. has not been changed for years but he’s afraid of digging it up, “Stop it!” He yells. The teacher on duty shouts at him to afraid of what he might find. shut up and everyone else in detention turns to look at the scene He’s on the verge of fifteen now and he’s down to four he’s caused. The girl flushes bright red and slaps him hard. crisscrosses. When he goes home angry and frustrated, he’s lost yet another scar. *** *** One day in class he intercepts a note that’s being passed around the class. The girl turns up at his home room the next morning and He’s in the midst of trying to pass it along when the offers him chocolate and an apology. He tries to escape. teacher catches him in the act. He’s handed out due punishment of “I’m Lilly,” she says, refusing to move. “With three Ls.” detention and a five-page essay. After that he can’t get rid of her. Later, when he checks, he’s a scar short. *** *** Lilly invades his once quiet breaks. She’s the battering During detention, the girl next to him is wearing glasses an ram at his door, the nonsensical phone calls at midnight. She’s a inch thick. “I was late for school.” She says, “What are you here string of fairy lights on a cloudy night, distracting him from for?” Halley’s Comet. She’s brilliant and he can’t look away. He tears off a sheet of paper a little too roughly. He stops checking for chips in the mirror, starts paying She curls her upper lip and says, “Why are you wearing more attention to the reflection, to the angle in which it catches makeup?” the most light. It shouldn’t have been a surprise when he slips on He rips his pen cap off and begins to write his essay. some wet leaves one day and ends up twisting his ankle. But it is. “Are those scars?” She continues, staring at his cheek, The doctor in the emergency room patches him up nicely “Cool! How did you get them?” but he’s given a long medical leave. “What are you going to do “I fell down,” he finally says. “Hard.” about your exams?” His mother asks him, her sharp eyes boring into his ankle. He closes his eyes against the harsh glare of the 116 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 117 hospital fluorescent lights and tries to imagine fairy lights strung The soil in the flowerpot rumbles and slowly a sprout everywhere. begins to break through. A rose blossoms from a fresh green bud One scar to go, he thinks. and fills the room with a golden light. The last vestiges of fear disappear in the blinding light. ***
On his birthday, Lilly pops by his house to see how he’s doing. She unloads a pile of homework and revision papers onto his desk and remarks how absolutely boring his room is. Her eyes fall upon his face and with a sickening jolt he remembers he’s not wearing any concealer. “Didn’t you use to have three scars?” She asks innocently. “They healed,” he says, a little too quickly. She doesn’t buy his sorry act and soon she’s got him spilling his guts to her. She looks a little shocked and impressed, he thinks with pride at how much he’s been through and what he’s managed to deal with. “Though not ideally, or healthily,” she adds. He shrugs, he’s doing the best he can. She looks dubious but pulls out a brightly wrapped package. “I didn’t forget, birthday boy,” she says, winking. He unwraps a pendant of a four-leaf clover encased in plastic. “It’s not too late to change your luck and life,” she says. “Thank you,” he says and he doesn’t just mean the gift. He puts it around his neck and several things happen at once. The pendant crumbles to dust. The last scar fades from his cheek. The flowerpot in the corner of the room begins to glow. He turns in awe, to look at Lilly. She’s grinning and clapping her hands in joy. 118 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 119
Loh Hui Qing Sheralyn the show. His personal show. He likes to think of it as a confession. The human spirit in its unbridled form. Seeking Shadows At the magical hour of 11, like Pinocchio, the shape on his wall shivers into existence; the night breathing life into the figure. There’s a woman, living next to him, in Flat 232, when He’s captivated every night; he forces himself to stay he’s 231. awake. Sometimes, he braces himself against the wall. Against her He falls asleep to her figure slipping across his walls; shadow. The closest he’ll ever get to it. when she is concealed within her own. Her window projects the On nights when he falls asleep too soon, he wakes in the most divine figure of her, a shadow cast by the light from her morning drained and devoid of feeling. He’s not sure what’s bedside lamp. She’s never still, she’s always moving. missing until he finds his eyes trailing along to the blank wall opposite his bed. *** *** Every day is a re-learning of how to breathe, how to eat and function. Communicating with people is the hardest. He’s “Hey, a group of us are going to go out for drinks tonight. selfish but he’s not above talking to people. You want to come?” “Hey.” “No, I'll pass, thanks.” “Hey.” He begins to hand out rejections like flyers. It’s easier, he “Want to grab some coffee?” thinks, than trying to pinpoint the eye of the storm of social “Yeah…actually sorry, I’ve got a lot on my hands right situations to insert himself, to avoid being tossed out in the now. I'll take a rain check.” whiplash. It’s easier to stay within the four walls of his room, That’s where it gets difficult, rejection in its basic form. dancing to the song he can’t hear with his neighbor’s shadow. He doesn’t get people though he knew how that worked and as a child but he can’t put bread on his table by crying. Just like how *** he can’t make anyone fall in love with him just by smiling. He lives in a routine, resistant to change. *** He collects his mail every day. He even has a routine for that. Take wallet out of pocket. Unclip keys from wallet. Find key She’s there; giving him comfort every evening. On for mailbox. Insert key into mailbox. Open mailbox. Remove cloudless moonlit nights, he comes home. He’s there in time for mail. Close mailbox. Lock mailbox. Take key out. Clip keys back onto wallet. Put wallet back into pocket. Leave. 120 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 121
It takes him approximately 40 seconds. Maybe some time long ago, he could not have lived He checks his mail in the elevator, through the sharp without knowing. But now, it seems impossible for him to put a ‘ding’ of the elevator chime and the smell of piss coiling around face to the shadow, to breathe another life into existing life. Some his nostrils. He presses the buttons with his knuckles and flips say that a shadow is actually a doppelganger, another person, an through the envelopes. He spots a name that doesn’t belong to him entity all on its own. A person’s soul. but an address that is familiar. He could live his whole life not knowing who she was. The unit number is exactly the same as his. He could not live his whole life knowing who she is. Except for one number. He thought that when a moment like this came, everything *** would tilt on its axis. Maybe his senses would gain hyper When he knocks on her door, the knock echoes deep into awareness. His nostrils might flare and pick up the scent of dried the apartment. glue from the envelope flap. The edges of the envelope might seem sharp and crisp against the soft flesh of his palm. *** He can’t sense any of these. Instead, everything becomes muted, like he’s submerged underwater. Even the once sharp Someday in the future, he will go start a family, settle ‘ding’ of the elevator arriving at his floor is mellowed. He palms down with a nice girl, live life doing the laundry, cooking meals the letter like his brain palms his revelations. By meeting his for two, maybe three, clean the house more than once a week, neighbour, all things that tied him to the shadow would be cut. things like that. He’d have to assign the shadow a face, give it a name every time Maybe he’d move, maybe he’d sever his bond with the he addressed it. slim figure on his wall. He can’t hold onto her, she’s intangible. Each laboured step towards her apartment is a step he The world is a dream, it’s all intangible. doesn’t want to take ever again. The setting sun drags his shadow But the shadow is perfect – finely shaped nose, prominent to the floor and he gazes at it as it walks towards something like cheekbones, fluid and shapeless hair, shapely body, graceful betrayal. The sun dust parts to let him through, nothing can stop limbs. him. He can’t imagine anything less. He pauses outside her door. 232. *** *** He holds his breath, partly hoping to melt into the ground before she appears. 122 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 123
But she doesn’t answer, she’s not in. Loh Hui Qing Sheralyn He thinks that it may be a second chance. He leaves the letter on her doorstep and doesn’t look back. This Is Not About You At night, the shadow on his wall looks twice as happy to be there. He can’t help but think, this is the rest of my life, it’s on When I woke up, I thought it was dawn. that wall. Outside the window, it looked like a large waterfall had formed where skyscrapers once stood. I strained my eyes, the *** skyscrapers were still there but a wall of fog stretched across the They say you search until you find something but he’d quit horizon, thick and looming. I left the house. while he was ahead. Ai met me by the door, she seemed nervous and jittery. “What’s wrong,” I asked. She shook her head. “We must run,” she hissed. We took off, the thin tendrils of fog lapped at our heels. The people of the world were sleepwalking; the people of the world lolled their heads and dragged their feet. Around us a parade of the living, dead to the world, marched onward. Cloaks of thick fog rested upon their shoulders. We ran, but we could not outrun them. “We don’t need to run, do we?” I asked. I ran like I wasn’t running, although I felt that I should be. “We do,” she said, fear stained her eyes, her every movement was stiff and jerky. I tried to take her hand but she sped up, pushing against the wave of people. “Where are we going,” I called. “Away from the crowd,” she said “Away from—” “—The beast,” I finished. Then I began to recite in time to our footsteps. “The crowd is a large moving mass of people, a dark shadow, carrying with it the weight of human lives, but no feelings.” 124 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 125
“A crowd of people is like a giant wounded beast,” she “He catches fish every day,” she said, her dry voice skirted said. “Trudging from place to place. The people are the individual over the water. “He tosses them all back because he’s waiting for cells. The heart is never where you want it; it’s not on the outside, the golden one. The fish with the pale yellow streak. The fish that because the outer shell is hard and angry. It serves as protection sang of stars and maybe it was just fireflies or street lamps but that against the harsh environment.” doesn’t matter,” she paused as if to listen, but there was only the “The beast is selfish and does not wear its heart on its sound of the fog rumbling into view. “He keeps thinking of how sleeve,” she said, and did not notice when I flinched as a man he had no answers for the fish’s questions like ‘where does fire stumbled and nearly fell upon me. I could not remember the rest. come from’ and ‘why do birds fly when they can walk.’” “The heart is located at the centre of the beast, near the “He’s thinking of when the fish couldn’t answer his small child with his mother, clutching a teddy bear,” she questions like ‘where do your parents live’ or ‘what’s the currency continued. “The teddy bear has the heart. If it is lost, the child will like’.” lose his heart and his mother will lose hers. The strangers standing “The fish can’t answer these things because it is a fish that nearby will lose their hearts one by one. The crowd will slowly lives in shallow waters. After a while, the fish becomes depressed. disperse, not understanding why it is suddenly so sad and so It swims away one day, saying, ‘I WILL COME BACK WHEN I distressed, not knowing that it has lost its teddy bear heart.” HAVE THE ANSWERS FOR YOUR QUESTIONS’” “The soft gentle thing,” she said. “The black button eyes.” “Afterwards, the fish in his net look less alive. Everything Where are you, boy, come find me. looks and feels less alive. The man is annoyed because it was just “The heart is lost.” She said, as the river of people dried like that fish to just swim away with no note to say where it was up. The beast had died. going or when it’d be back. So he goes out and trawls the sea, the We continued to run. local bars and pubs and he finds lots of fish but none of them is the golden fish.” *** “One day he’s at a bar when a fish that most certainly is not golden comes along and says “Hello” and “Let’s go”. After Ai led me to a HDB flat. The elevator wasn’t working so leading the man into a darkened room, the fish sheds its not- she began to climb the stairs and I followed. golden skin.” Water was flowing down the stairs. It meandered along the “The man sees the pale yellow streak down the middle of corridors of the building. She climbed the stairs two at a time. The the ‘not-golden’ fish’s back. The fish puts its ‘not-golden’ hands water was cold and gritty, like sewage water. The air compressed on his face and says ‘I can give you answers now. Are you willing by the fog was thick and made it hard to breathe. Ai didn’t look to listen?’” out of breath, and we had run a long way. 126 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 127
“The man nods and then the fish presses its fish mouth to Grace Ng Mei Fong his. Then the man can breathe again.” We reached the thirtieth floor and Ai paused at the top of The Professional the staircase as I struggled to reach her. “We’re at the end of the corridor.” It’s just about his fiftieth visit; he counts the days by I nodded mutely and followed. flicking his thumb along the edges of the guestbook pages and counting how many have been newly turned. Every time he comes *** here, he flips to the page where the tide of words ends, and pens his name in the first blank spot he finds. Nothing but his name, in Ai was quiet as we approached the door at the end of the an ink-river of endearments and tokens of gratitude and ‘I-miss- corridor. you’s. Nothing but his name, written small and tight in schoolboy The fog was just over the balcony. I was mesmerised by handwriting, as inconspicuous as a clenched fist against the hip. the cloudy screen that lapped the edges of the railing. I reached Corked up in urns, ashes line the walls and stretch up out to touch it. Ai grabbed my hand, “No! You must escape or towards the ceiling, each niche with offerings of plastic food and we’ll never be free. We’re not the same as those people. Only I pictures of the deceased. The columbarium is a place that is both am asleep.” too-hot and too-cold; he walks feeling constantly on edge. He’s in “What?” no hurry to find their niche, not after so long, and that’s why he She gave me a shove without answering. The fog rushed in stops in the hallway between the Job and Song of Songs aisles and from behind us coating me from behind just as I entered. acknowledges the silence, allows the air to circle around his *** nostrils but not in, suddenly feels like moving would be impolite to those who had lost the ability to so long ago. I was standing by the door as Ai emerged. “What’s Then he turns and sees her. Dress black, hair loose, skin wrong?” she asked. pale, the look of a typical mourner. She kneels before a niche with I could feel the press of the fog against my shoulders. “We paper taped on its whitewashed slab rather than a proper must run,” I said. engraving; a new cremation. It’s barely a kneel; her entire body is thrust forward, one forearm flat against the wall, the other hand gripping the metal flower cone next to the niche, spine arched, chest heaving. He watches her and he can see her tears forming mascara- splotches on the makeshift nameplate but she makes no sound. 128 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 129
There is no wailing, no pleading to higher authorities. It is a “It’s something I do,” she says, in a voice too refined to curiously quiet grief, and when he approaches her it isn’t purely even consider doing these things for money. “It helps them. When out of obligation. He squats and puts a hand on her shoulder, they can’t take leave. When they feel like the deceased deserves a flinching slightly at the warmth. vigil they can’t provide. When they just feel like they aren’t “It’s okay, I’m sure he lived a good life.” enough.” He doesn’t even know if it’s a he or not, just guesses, She shakes her shoulders loose and looks down. “When thinks she probably won’t hear him anyway; usually comforting they can’t bear it.” makes people cry more, try to stop themselves, cry harder. But not “But why… why do you want to do it?” her; she cries steadily. Five minutes pass and his hand is still on “Like I said. It helps them.” her shoulder. “But why you? Don’t you have anything better to do? Why Finally, he feels the rhythm of her hiccups slow under his waste time crying in front of dead people you don’t know?” his palm, coming to a stop. He dares to look at her then, getting a voice is cracking more than necessary now, he knows he’s handkerchief ready, pauses when he sees her face. Her eyes are gesturing too much. The security guard’s peering around the closed, but not crinkled, simply closed, as though in prayer. He’s corner but he can’t help himself. surprised by how young she looks. Sister? Daughter? Girlfriend? So he stops talking and stares at her as she bends over the His voice cracks, for some reason, perhaps obligation, when he paper, smoothes out the lines of text typed in Kaiti and Calibri. asks her. “Look. See? It’s a whole life, written here. One proper look at it “Who was he to you?” and it’d send anyone to tears.” Every move she makes is part of a ritual, the way she “You like crying that much is it?” straightens up, stretches and curls her fingers, shakes out her “It’s quite beautiful, I think.” spine, and when she finally turns to him it’s like she’s shed all the “You cry and the tears smudge the ink, then how?” grief and folded it neatly on her lap. “God gave us tears–” “I didn’t know him.” “To wash dirt out of the eyes.” He starts. “W-what…?” “To send the dead home.” She laughs and the air shifts at how foreign it is. “The He finds himself standing and he turns around to look at family… after the funeral, they needed to migrate. Business, or her. She’s smiling. “Like scattering ashes in the ocean.” something. They felt one night of mourning wasn’t enough. So She gets up and when he blinks, she’s gone. they hired me.” He doesn’t move for a long time. The silence crowds in on “Hired you?” him again but it’s not comforting this time; the quiet echo of the 130 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 131 girl’s words wraps around him like a crumpled sheet that’s been Grace Ng Mei Fong slept in too long, stale and suffocating. He turns into another aisle, reaches his parents’ niche. It’s Water Treads and Aquarunners a double niche, their pictures taking up half of the heart picture There's one uncle who wears shoes in the condo pool. He frame each, names and death dates twined together. is a swimming instructor who comes every week to teach five He lays his hand on his parents’ foreheads and grips their small boys, and when he does, he always wears the same shoes. flower cone with his fingers just as the girl did, reads the They’re that sort of special swimming shoes that don’t get spoiled inscription – 3rd January 1999…called home to be with the even when completely soaked, porous blue with two yellow Lord…greatly missed. He touches it. He breathes, trying to stripes up the side and an indecipherable squiggle over the ankle, capture its essence. Breathes, trying to summon the feelings of the secured with drawstrings like nylon bags over his feet. He wears boy he was years ago, the boy with nothing to wear to the funeral them with black Speedos, his ample belly spilling over the just-a- little-too-tight waistband, and on top of all that, a pair of plastic- but his primary school uniform, road rash peeking out from under rimmed aviators crooked on the nose and a cap crooked on the his collar as he craned his neck to watch the custodian smooth wet head. And every time his right foot bangs against the tiles of the cement along the edges of his parents’ nameplate. The boy who pool deck, a ping sounds, crisp and crystal. wasn’t afraid to sob all over his uniform and into the thighs of the Across the pool, the boy watches, fascinated. He blinks aunts that took him in afterwards, the ones that told him to be through his fogged-up goggles as the uncle’s bottom half slides strong for his parents, to grow up for them, to stop harping on the through the waist-deep water, making sure his students don’t fall sad things and to never cry for them again. The boy who corked off their kickboards. The pool is always crowded in the late afternoon, but in the throng of bare feet and rubber flippers he can up his grief in those urns for fifteen years and thought that made always pick out those blue, soft shoes, and every day he watches him a man of steel. those shoes till the sun sets and all the mothers surge onto the pool His fingers slide down the concrete cold and slippery and deck bearing towels and snacks. no matter how hard he tries now, he can only imagine tears. Through three weeks of lessons and avid observation, the boy realises the uncle doesn’t swim at all. He never swims, only walks upright through the pool, like he’s trying to keep his sunglasses dry. He spends his lessons yelling, hoarse and rough like the skin of a tree, pretending his students can hear him over the splashes their flailing limbs make. When they stop for breath, he demonstrates arm movements in the air. As the uncle stays above water, the boy dives below. He hovers, ignoring the water in his leaky goggles, just centimetres above the slimy bottom. He memorises the rhythm the uncle’s feet 132 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 133 beat against the floor, one foot silent and cloaked, the other taking mounted an only vaguely foot-shaped maze of hinges and screws just a little longer to swing forward and come down with the ping and metal sheets. that becomes nothing but a thick echo when it vibrates through the It looks like the insides of one of his remote-controlled water. The boy likes the echoes better. The feet swing and swing cars and the boy can’t help but smile too, and with that his fingers and he holds his breath as long as he can to watch, and even after reach for the laces on his own watershoes, tugging them off with he comes up for air he stares at them through the refracting waves all the care a seven-year-old could possibly muster. He looks and till it gets dark and he has to go before his mother gets worried. the uncle looks too, both of them smiling as they behold his pale, He imagines what the uncle’s right shoe could be covering knobbly, cleft feet, with their two giant toes each that are twisted – a metal brace, a reinforced sole, a secret weapon – and when he and bowed at the joints like lobster pincers. They smile down at gets home his sketchbooks and the margins of his worksheets are the feet that his pastor calls devil’s hooves, the careful bandages covered with drawings of the feet of superheroes. his ever-worried mother wraps around them every morning now One day life is hard and the kids at his school are stained with dried sweat and blister-fluid like they always are after especially mean, so it takes more effort than usual to stop them a long day and now unravelling smoothly in the water, borne by from untying his bulky, padded shoes, and even more to block out the rippling waves far away across the pool, far away where their venomous jeering: why you scribble all over your neither the uncle nor the boy can reach them. worksheets? what are they? why you draw feet only, crazy? you rather have those than your own right? But it’s those disembodied feet marching down the paper that pull him on his own aching, screaming soles back home, into his swimming gear, and straight to the pool. Somehow the uncle is there, looking out upon empty waters, laying out the kickboards for his students in a scrambled rainbow. He’s wearing the same thing as always but out of the water the pinging sound his right foot makes is too thin and too metallic and makes the boy feel bad inside, even worse than school makes him most days. Uncle, he asks, why your foot make noise ah? The boy’s voice trembles, he hears his mother’s voice in his head saying how wrong it is to ask such a question, how he shouldn’t, what if someone asked you that question, but the uncle’s chestnut face crinkles up in a pure white smile. He sits on the edge of the pool and beckons to the boy to join him (the water is warm as it seeps into his trunks) and then pulls his shoe off with the flourish of a magician. He doesn’t have a foot at all; his ankle is a stick that curves concave in a gentle ‘L’, upon which is 134 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 135
Grace Ng Mei Fong with something new they would gather in the square like birds to roost. There they would perch, examining the latest products of The One-Man Orchestra the man's mind, ogling with wide eyes at these artefacts from another world, but never bothering to understand. You’re standing on the podium, making your And so they filled the concert hall that night, watching him valedictorian’s speech. set up his instruments on the darkened stage. He broke an E-string It’s hard to keep your eyes on the paper and him at the same time, but you end up doing it anyway. He stands a little on the first viola five minutes before the performance. The show ways off from the rest of the students, dressed in their alabaster was delayed two hours for him to fix it. And finally, just as he was robes and pressed into their neat rows of school crest-marked about to begin the 1st Movement of Mahler’s 7th Symphony, the folding chairs. He’s wearing the uniform too, but he doesn’t man raised his arms, spreading his fingers out wide and shaking, have a robe or a tasselled hat so the teachers form a barricade and promptly sprained his little toe. between him and the graduating students. They remember his I’ll be back, he said, I’ll be back, and I’ll be better. And red-stained report cards and his balls of crumpled notes the villagers knew he would. launched from the back of the class. That’s enough for them to know who he is, that he doesn’t belong with the other students That’s ridiculous, you said after, that would never work, and never did. it’s not real, but now you find yourself telling this story in your He doesn’t have the creamy roll that you know he could speech. They stare at you with their eyebrows raised, unformed have gotten but he’s smiling anyway. He’s smiling right at you in laughs melting on their lips in the afternoon heat. They shift in the way he always does and it wasn’t too long ago he was rocking their red robes and it’s like the time you dropped a grade again, your head in his arms, weaving you the story of the man who tried the way they looked at you and traced the spidery cracks in your to play a one-man orchestra. The man who made bows out of GPA, the looks that put your head in his arms in the first place, splinters and trumpet bells out of melted paperclips over a candle even though you knew it was his fault in the first place, that you flame. The man who played the violins by rubbing his left finger dropped that grade because you went to play un-intellectual, time- and thumb together, the trombones with his right, strapped tiny wasting drumsticks to the rest of his fingers, and constructed a wire rack to it was Thursday night and the day before the test and you hold the trumpets between his teeth. hadn’t finished studying because you had too many assignments He’d been the boy who’d tried to make his first violin out due and you weren’t supposed to not have finished studying, you’d of cardboard and rubber bands, the boy who assembled rock never not finished studying before and the clock was ticking too robots and musical marionettes in the village square, a crazy fire fast and too loud and the council was chasing you for your lacing his every move. The villagers appeared to ignore him, and proposal and so was the library club and nothing was coming out sometimes they even jeered at him, but every time he came up right, nothing was and a gaping hole with nothing but teeth and 136 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 137 darkness in it was yawning open beneath you, but something and he told you about the world and how teachers didn’t banged against your window and he was downstairs with his know everything and how tears weren’t just salty gland secretions battered, beautiful ball and that’s how you ended up playing un- in the corners of your eyes, while you watched the papers and intellectual, stupid, pathetic, time-wasting grades become as ephemeral as the lamppost lights shining on soccer with him. your shoulders and thought about how weird it was that it made What do you mean by that? he replied, and he was still you feel so light inside, that you didn’t want any more than this, laughing, just as he had throughout the entire story. People have that you never wanted anything more than this. made tiny pianos before. That's ridiculous, you said again, and then you resumed crying into his shoulders while he chuckled and traced the trails of your tears on his lips. You remember that laugh now and the creamy roll turns cold and dry in your fingers. It falls from your grasp, the words from your cards dissolving in your mouth, and silently you seize your mortarboard off your head and throw it in the air. It lands in the grass at the feet of the graduates in the front row. They murmur at you. You salute them, and it’s like you’re raising the baton for your own orchestra. The timpani crash and then you jump off the stage, down the aisle, past the teachers who move too slowly to stand in your way. The strings soar in your ears as he catches your hand with a silent nod and you’re off running and suddenly you remember, the day you first met him running from the prefects with that strange, wild smile on his face – when you started seeing him everywhere – when your eyes started following the parabolas of the notes he threw across the classroom – the day you walked past the soccer field and he was there, gleaming shirtless and dripping sweat on the curling grass – the day he passed the ball to you for the first time and you both lay there as the sun set boiling in your own sweat, 138 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 139
Wong Yong Li your thighs best this way,” you explained. (It took all of me to stay still for you, to be that friend who stood unshaken.) I Want To Be Thin “I am going to the bathroom.” There was silence. I was contemplating if I should call you back, but you beat me to it. Irritation welled up in me as you spoke. “I want to be “There’s a weighing scale in there.” And I watched you disappear thin.” How could you be so dumb? behind the door. Then I tweaked my head to the left and my thighs “I think I’m too fat,” you whined. No! The vehemence of the negative shook me as I answered. Inside my head. to the right. You were right; I could see my thighs best. “Nah, don’t think so.” I knew I said so little, but that was all I could think to answer. I had run out of answers. You have *** been harping on this for a month and I am left with nothing to respond to you. I accompanied you to the psychologist. I was supposed to “Don’t think what?” you insisted. be the friend that helped you, says the psychologist. I shrugged. “Don’t agree with what you said.” Help me: you sent me the message. I remembered staring “That’s it?” you still asked. And I got annoyed at you. at the screen. Help her, that was what the psychologist said as Why are you forcing me? What are you trying to get at? Why do well. So I went down to the grocery store, walking out with three you keep asking – “Yes.” And with a straight face, I plopped onto the bed. one-litre water bottles. It was like watching a movie, seeing you You lay down next to me, staring upwards. It was still there; the gulp down three litres, seeing your skin-tight stomach balloon, foiled poster that worked as a mirror. I wondered how long you seeing the numbers on the scale increase. It was a film, with a took in a day just to stare at it, deeply thinking about nothing other main character apart from me. It was drama, that only ended when than your weight. I met your doctor. “Stop looking,” I said, gazing at you and then at the She saw the empty bottles and it told her everything. mirror. (I did not know when it started – ) “What is this?” she demanded. “I am not.” “Do you know what you are doing?” What a question, I “Ok then, I will take it down,” I jumped up, shocking both thought. I clearly do. you and me. (I wished for it to be up there…) “Are you even helping her?” “You don’t understand,” you said breathlessly. “I have to “I am her friend.” This was my answer the very first time keep seeing myself.” I was breathless, perhaps from anger at your she came to speak to me about you. obstinacy – but more from relief. (I have it too, Theresa, I need to “That is not even answering the question.” Ha, I almost keep seeing myself.) laughed. It was only now that she realised I did not answer the That made me sit back down, watching you ritualistically tweak your head to the right, your knees to the left. “You can see 140 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 141 question? I have never answered the question, I never promised to could cup it with your fingers. Your knees were knobbly, the help. bones sticking out at the sides; that was how far you had gone. She got angry but I never answered again. You did not “See, the hair’s sticking up,” you lifted it to my gaze. I only responded with silence though I knew that it was killing you know of what happened; and of course, you were puzzled why – your searching eyes across my face told me so. But I did not they never let us see each other. Or have you doubted? Have you know why you observed me as such – had you hoped that I would doubted that I could never help you? object to everything you were doing? “It is?” *** How could I describe your expression – deflated, that is the only word. You only smiled and when we left, I watched how Nothing explains why you still chose to meet me, always you took the one road, before I took the other. at a bistro. I guess you were trying to tell me something, is that it? I remembered ordering a latte on the last day I met you. *** You took the menu from me, flipping through the pages. “I like looking at food.” I smiled, my conscience sick of this acceptance. I cried at your funeral. I cried when I saw your corpse and all that it could offer was 26 pounds. Raging tears, I blamed that I only tried to do what is right but what is right? Is ordering those all you left behind was that ugly story – the story I reminisced as I food for you the right thing to do? violently hacked at cake, swallowing sweet sticky mixtures and You smiled at my smile. I thought it looked uncertain. the salty slithering tears at the back of my throat. And then you began, “Are you cold?” I wondered what you are driving at and why we could not just have a normal conversation of “How are you” and “Fine, thank you.” It is after all always easier to pretend to be normal. But you were not waiting for a normal answer; you just jumped in. “I am. Look, I am shivering.” You were shivering in two thick sweaters. I had always wondered what sort of reply you were looking for and I really thought about it before I gave my answer – “Nah, I think it’s just you.” You gave me a smile – we were always smiling! – but your eyes hid a suppressed disappointment; the kind when one feels betrayed. Was I betraying you? I was startled when you stood up and began walking over. I looked at the nearing feet, how far would you go? Stopping right in front of me, you pointed to your thigh – thin, so thin that you 142 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 143
Wong Yong Li Esther and Belle stood a little to the side and they played with earrings right under the teacher’s nose. Nothing Much Left The seats in the front row would then have been filled and I would trudge to the back where all the footballs and eraser dust There was nothing much left for me to lose now. lie. Somehow I never managed to get to school as early as the rest. Dad would ride me on a bicycle, pass all the cars in the streets — The stash of jewelry boxes, piling up one above the other I was sure one of them had my classmates in them. at my bedside blocked me from view of anything else on the table. My hand reached to the table, fumbling for that last piece of I found it strange that the girls never seemed annoyed. The greasy thin film – boys made me angry with their dribbling and they knew that when I got mad, I would charge up to the ball, a sharp angle intercepting “Madam, do you need my help?” The servant from behind their straight lines. stepped forth. That day we took the photo could not have been any “Did anyone ask you to speak,” I barked out, in full force different. “Not her again,” they would have groaned, as through of the chant ringing in my head – dreading competing against a worthless opponent. But they knew “Independent till death, independent till death,” its volume that I could run the fastest — not a single one of them could clouding over the guilt that reasoned when I glanced over the outrun me — and they would never get their ball back. maid’s eyes. Another swipe of my fingers and the photograph “Come over Monitress. Look at what Sumei’s father got.” slipped into my hand, alongside the tumbling boxes. The girls would call me over when they had something to share. “I saw it tumbling.” I spoke up, waiting to hear the When I found out it could take a picture of us, I called everyone to response. “Yes.” Collective and brief; from the kneeling dozens of take it together. I got to be Monitress and that was what offspring before my bed. Monitresses did. Hands raised higher than anyone else, voices The greasy film had been in my hands for quite some time. louder than others, to stand at the front line of the class. I The faces were no longer in its brown tinted radiance for quite a wondered if I had to lay my life down if a bomb exploded in our while too. classroom. How old was I then, in primary school uniform with a leg “Get in the picture. Move closer, move tighter,” the proudly arched above a soccer ball. I could only be seven. This cameraman told us to keep squeezing The screen was too small to was when cameras first came. They had begged the teachers to get everyone in, so I got some classmates to stand a little to the take that picture of us. I had snatched that soccer ball from the side. And I tilted completely to the side for the photo, the ball still boys at practice. with me. They were Sumei and Yi Wen, the girl who brought the I stared back at the photo, forgetting that my family was in camera and the girl who always sat in front of the classroom. the room as well. This was not surprising; I had forgotten what I had eaten yesterday — rice or broil — or what I did an hour ago. It was easy to forget that I had lived until the present moment. 144 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 145
Funny how I could remember something from seven years old, “What does it do?” I asked. now that I seemed to forget that I lived. Funny how the whole The girls shook their head in nonchalance but the boys class was smiling gleefully for the whole class photo we had were excited. “It’s like a mirror, reflecting us and then,” taken. Funny how the boys were still so happy even when I had mimicking the sound of the camera, “Click. We will be in the taken the ball from them. picture.” I frowned in concentration. “Madam, don’t think too “Let’s all take a photo then,” I declared turning my back hard,” the maid at my side began. “Shush,” I thought, angered at on the pained looks of the girls. There was a stack of films of four her sudden voice. What had I been thinking of? of them in different poses and I reckoned it was only fair that we “Madam, put down the film in your hand. Go and rest.” Ah had a chance too. yes, the film. The photo with all of us smiling so happily. It “Give the film to the monitress. It’s her birthday today,” should be my birthday. And all of us were playing with the ball. I the boys said before one of the richer girls put it in her bag. turned to the photo, doubting if the girls ever liked played ball. No, it had to be just the boys and me. I was different from most “Nah,” she placed it in front of me, stalking off as I girls since I was young. They played dress-up and picked flowers grinned at the photo in triumph. while I kicked balls in the mud. The boys in my class must have That must be how the photo is still with me, ever since I looked up to me. They would even invite me to play a game with left primary school. Funny how it still stays in my head so vividly them. like a well-told story. “Hey Monitress, it’s your birthday today?” one of them had asked me as I turned away. “Birthday parties and presents are only for little girls,” I must have scoffed. That was my genuine thought then. “Oh come on, everyone’s birthday should be celebrated. Look, if you can kick this in, I will give you the ball.” “Pah,” I could have thought, kicking the ball was easy. I did not care for the present. But the feeling of receiving one was sweet. That could have been the first goal I ever scored in my life. I dribbled, dodged and shoved it right into the net. None of them could stop me. “Good game,” the boys patted me as we returned to class, all sweaty. The girls were fiddling with something they called the “camera”. 146 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 147
Yeo Wen Xin Too fast. I never ran with shoes. Couldn’t afford them, but I never needed to, the pain was part of the fun and the experience. Running I thought I could escape. They caught up to me, everything did, just when I was It’s too cold outside. But there is nothing I can get my beginning to get lucky, start a family, get a decent job. All the hands on to burn. Not if I want a blanket to warm the rest of the little wagers I won as a child, thinking I could get away with night, and beyond. anything, fast as I was, made me cocky. A little bet here, a little The autumn cold bites hard here in the city, and it hangs on bet there – in the villages you never make enough money to get and refuses to let go. Some nights I wake up screaming amidst the out of the cycle anyway. Spend it when and while you can. And shrieks of cars and the cries of agonisingly slow traffic, thinking soon it was running, everything was, running too fast out of my it’s got me, it’s going to bite off my legs. Then I remember, what control. I had to make it stop, somehow. A little quick fix here, a legs, and though they are old wounds, the pain is horrifically new, little quick fix there, and the thinking that you’re fast enough to every time. get away – but you can’t. Not this time. Gotten used to it, I think, crawling. Don’t think it hurts me They caught up to me. any more than it hurts my pride, but even pride gets bruises till it’s In my dreams I still hear them. The loansharks. We’ll take black all over and you can’t tell what it is anymore, whether it’s what you hold dearest, then, they scream and cackle and growl, from being dragged through the dirt so many times or if it hurt so and all I can think is, not her. Not them. Not the little one. much it died. I can still remember, from when I was seven, I used Then we’ll take what you next hold dear. to take part in village races and all the people would bet on me. And they took them from me. My legs. The stakes crushed That’s the one, they’d whisper, and push forth their best goose, or me. Beg what you bet, they told me, win it all back, why don’t hen, or fresh crops from the new harvest. That’s him. Even as the you? Jeeringly, mockingly. It did not matter it was horrific, what years piled on the stakes just got heavier. they did. Beg what you bet. Too heavy, they got. Too heavy. (She said that when she grew up she’d run as fast as I Usually, the all-star runners (like those I hear who train for could, maybe faster, Daddy, faster.) the Olympics in China), they train while carrying weights. They (For her sake, I hope she does. I know she can. No run with weights chained to their feet, or strapped to their torsos. I monsters will get her, no they will not.) was never willing to do that, get strapped down. I could run just Tonight’s lucky. One lone star winks down at me, amidst the way I was. Too fast, they said, you’re too fast for us. the jealous neon and the skyscraper fingers that claw their way Whenever my mother had an errand or a caning in check I was towards the night sky, as if reassuring me that everything will be always nowhere to be found, or at the other end of a wake of dust. over soon. At least I’ve got something to rest my head on tonight. 148 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 149
A brick is better than nothing, I suppose, but the stumps burn in I won’t beg for this one to come. the cold. Got to find something for that, but till then, as I lie here She catches the jerky movement, though, and her eyes trying to blend into the faded red of the wall behind me, I’ve got a meet mine. I freeze, my arms still slightly outstretched, still good vantage point of everyone else who, for the one star I have imploring enough that she understands what I really want. She shining down on me, must have the galaxy heralding them. takes a step forward, then another, towards me. Such light, such Nikes, I notice, then some Adidas, many unknown brands, stars! She blinks and smiles, and the gesture lights up the air probably rip-offs. I even spot a pair of Louboutins, following between us. She gingerly navigates the curb, taking one tentative behind a pair of dollar slippers. Shoes, of every shape, shade and step down onto the gravelly road. You’ve got no shoes, little one, I hue. Feet to wear them on. These people do not even know, do not want to call, why don’t you have any shoes? even know what they have. They do not know what I can see from If she could talk, if she could have replied in that one where I am. I can see the brands, yes, but more than that I can see second, she would probably have said, I don’t need any. the calluses on the heels of the ladies and the bunions in the But why? sandals, the wear-and-tear on skin and shoe. How lucky, I think, The question runs out of my mouth before I have a chance how fortunate. to think, and launches itself at the girl in a scream. “No!” Then, as the next hard-heeled foot passes, I see something She looks surprised, even a little perplexed at my panic. different. Nothing. She’s wearing nothing. Nothing on her feet at The next moment, all I see are her feet. Her perfect, all. unblemished little feet as the grey van runs her down. Through the smog I peer and it strikes me. She’s probably But why? Why, why, why? no more than two, or three. Something in the way she cocks her My torso is nearly halfway off the pavement. I scrabble head inquisitively at everything, reminds me of my own little one. towards her, my fingers slick with sweat as I launch myself at the That’s a nice red frock she’s got on, but she doesn’t have any toddler, lying so near. She’s too far away. I’ll never get to her in shoes. time on that busy street. Help, somebody, I scream, but it’s like How unlucky, how unfortunate. waking up from the nightmares again, the ones where the biting She’s a runner, this one, you can see it in her legs. In her wind devours, and the hellish sounds of the city drown me out. gait. She’s tall for a toddler. Her little pigtails bob frantically as Blends me in. I don’t want to be part of this. I’m a human carpet, I she looks left and right, searching for something. Probably lost her can’t move, immobile, I even feel a couple of shoes on my back mother, I suppose. Instinctively I reach my hands out, as if I’m but I don’t care, I don’t care, the little one is lying there in the begging, and the next moment I’m repulsed and draw my hands middle of the road and why, why does no one care? Why does no back. Like she would ever come to me. Beg what you bet. I bet one care? her, and lost her, my little one. 150 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 151
She’s not your little one, the screams and the cackles and Such light, such stars. This van’s got its headlights on, but the growls croon. Why bother? who are they blinding? She’s not our little one, the howling traffic echo. I reach out, begging her to run. Begging like I’ve never All I can see from here are her little feet. White, tender. done before. She’s got no calluses like them. I hope she’s running as hard as she can now, like I know At that moment something in me explodes, and I let out a my little one can. As hard as she can on the road to heaven, a path guttural howl that somehow makes the traffic cower, just for a of clouds lined with stars, nary a bit of gravel or dirt to blemish moment. She’s not like them. She will never be like them. How those lovely feet. lucky, how fortunate. The people with the lovely shoes, the And those shoes, those shoes, they walk on, I hope they covered, sheltered feet, hiding and developing calluses that will walk on, walk on and never turn back. grow and grow till they can’t feel no more with them feet, till they become just as useless as I am, they might as well be limbless – But they are. I couldn’t save her. No amount of running could have saved her. Her left foot twitches, suddenly. “Somebody help,” I gasp, wriggling, twisting around, flailing my arms. “Somebody – somebody! The girl! The –” But no one is listening, but I’m sure I’m loud enough this time, but I’m sure I’m heard. The girl stirs, weakly, her foot jerks and spasms. The colour of her dress is too wrong, too stark, it wasn’t this blood-red just now. “Listen to me! Listen – the girl! She’s lying right there, somebody move, somebody help!” Her eyes meet mine. Such stars, such dying stars. But stars nevertheless. “Somebody!” I wheeze and scream but no, the shoes walk on. “Somebody get her, run! Run!” The last word, I can’t decide who it’s meant for, but a sinister howl answers me, utterly mechanical and inhuman. The scream of revving engines, not the screeching of brakes like there should have been. 152 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 153
Yeo Wen Xin myself of functions, and reasons that a tree should live. Why should it cast roots into the ground, and where? And there is no magic in science, no magic in that realm; surely mystery is too The Nimble Bark much to ask in a discipline so… precise. The arthritis in her fingers is the only thing that belies the “Discipline, child! Do you want to learn how to make deftness of her hands, the youthfulness in the way she handles the ngoh-hiang, or not?” ngoh-hiang. “When a tree’s rooting area is gradually diminished by “Corn starch,” she says, and her fingers dabble in a saucer varying factors such as space, climate as well as artificial human of the sap-like stuff, “and you put it on the corners like this.” The activities,” I recite, as I wipe down the beancurd skin – it’s all Po beancurd skin furls in upon itself, the wisdom of all her seventy- will trust me with at the moment – “it results in a gradual decline eight years translated into the lumpy worm-like thing on the from the top of the tree. The further the branches are away from chopping board. The skin is whorled like hers. The resemblance is the roots, the earlier and easier it is for that part of the tree to uncanny. perish and harden.” “Looks like tree bark, Po,” I tell her, laughingly. “Maybe that’s why it’s so hard to get across to the lot of “Inedible!” you,” Po mutters darkly, as she continues to prepare more filling. But of course it isn’t. The consistency of the meat paste “Hardening, yes. That must be it.” and the way it is packed into the beancurd skin, tightly but never overflowing, is something only my grandmother knows how to *** achieve, a skill carved into the very marrow of her hands. I’ve never thought to inquire into the roots of the recipe for ngoh- I can tell the arthritis eats her up a little bit each time, like hiang, but it was only until very recently, when her arthritis started termites. getting worse, when I thought I must. I used to think that secret It’s the way it costs her, nerve by nerve, to regain the same recipes were secret recipes only if I came from a long line of standard of taste each time she cooks, especially when it comes to cooks, passed down in tatters and shreds, but I realised it mustn’t ngoh-hiang. More of a pride than a pain issue. She always wants be so. Each cook embroiders and mends the recipe bit by bit, with to achieve that same excellence, that richness in quality, and there individual flavors, spices, tricks… When it reaches you, you add is quite a lot of handiwork involved in the whole process. your own daring to the broth, and no one else knows what magic First, you’ve got to wipe down each piece of beancurd skin you put in it. (or else the result will be a tad too salty); prepare the filing, which “Don’t read so much, child” she says, clucking her tongue consists of mixing in different proportions of fish paste, ground in mild sadness. “Pay attention.” pork, celery, shrimp bits, and water chestnuts. Then you’ve got to “I’ve got a test on Monday.” let the batter set for a while, marinate it with soy sauce and a bit of Truth is, I would pay attention, but only because the sugar. beancurd skin reminds me of what I have to study. We’re learning But that is nothing compared to what ultimately makes a about ecosystems and plants in Biology now, and I need to remind good ngoh-hiang – crafting it. From scratch. That was the part that 154 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 155 was the hardest for her to teach me – you’ve got to have some sort her and she forgot the chestnuts, and that batch of ngoh-hiang of intuition for the kitchen, my mother teased when I told her of tasted terrible when we had to swallow the lot with a side-dish of my resolution to pick up the ngoh-hiang. Not everyone can do it. complaints. It just wasn’t her best. Mother was always grousing Especially not the way your Po does. about how little time she had to cook for the family that we might “Trees undergo a certain process of ‘hardening’ prior to have to resort to catering or microwaveables, and how I’d grow up their deaths, in which the bark toughens and hardens, blackening to be a wife for someone that would never know the family dishes. as in ‘rigor mortis.’” I look at Po. At something strange about her “I do know how to cook!” I said loudly, in self-defence. “I – suddenly I realise what I am drawn to. The blackness of her know… well, scrambled egg.” My mother snorted. “With cai-bo. joints. ‘Then, as the roots finally cease their intake of fresh water, Or even with tomatoes.” the tree dies, and what that is left of their magnificence falls to the Point proven. exposure of sun, wind and rain.’ “Are you sure you can handle it?” Her reedy voice bends It stains her joints – there isn’t enough Year 4 Biology can in murmuring protest as the pain acts up. “Oh, my ring finger. It teach you about the human body at the moment – but it must hurt always hurts the most here.” She massages the offending quite a bit. All swollen and inflamed, some parts soot-black as if extremity, and peers at me, and unloads a torrent of instructions she’s got a fire eating her up from the inside. But when she cooks, and advice although I haven’t even managed to wash my hands I reckon there are two fires that burn within her, and the bigger yet. “You’ve got to make sure you pack it enough that it won’t one always consumes the painful one – that passion. She doesn’t flop around like a dead fish, yet not too much that it’ll burst in the let it matter – the steely scythes of her irises as she takes the oil. Are you listening?” She smacks the table with the beancurd diseased and the doubts and slashes them down, it doesn’t stop skin to get my attention but what I’m really doing isn’t texting but her. The gentle planting of her hands as she waits to reap that typing down her instructions on iPhone Notes. “Make sure the harvest. She lives for that harvest, when the ngoh-hiang goes into consistency of the corn starch is gooey. Not too watery. You need the wok to hibernate, and it seems, in that eternal winter of it like glue, to stick the ends down. Pack the filling tight, but not waiting for each freshly-made batch to come out, like she has too tight, hear? You missed the part where I prepared the filling, nothing to live for. how do I teach you now? You’ll have to remember closely, then. But Po waits. She’s learned to live waiting. Pack the filling tight, you hear? But not too tight!” “Po, you rest your hands,” I urge, but she shooes my help *** away, as if dying tree stumps could still shake off the vulturous flies that are beginning to gather. Even that small action hurts, the “Can I try, Po?” pain flits across her face as she flicks her hand, but the rough bark She looks up at me, and there is no mistaking the of her face has smoothened out into wrinkled joy. milkiness of age in her eyes. She can still walk and talk pretty “Nonsense! It’s not every day the qian-jin is willing to get normally, of course, but gradually that expected inconvenience down on her knees to learn such menial tasks!” (I hate it when my has caused many a tablespoon of soy sauce to be mistaken for family calls me a princess. It’s not that I don’t know how to do teaspoon, salt misunderstood as sugar. Once her memory failed housework, it’s more like selective drudgery.) 156 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 157
“Now, you follow closely here, yes? First, the beancurd shall we?” The old bark falls away to reveal the nimble, as she skin: wipe it down…” guides my hands to where the wok of oil, simmering neatly on the The stiffness of her face and hands has vanished, stove, is waiting. In slips the ngoh-hiang with a splash; when it stretching and relaxing into suppleness. Her smile is radiant – she emerges again, brown and steaming and supple with success, I is passing on the goodness of her work, the artistry of tradition. know then that the same skill is locked into my own bones as “Next, you scoop up the paste with the spoon and place it well, passed on like a refreshing little spring of understanding, as I into the skin, in a straight line. Pack it so that it’s hard enough, recite the last bit of Biology back to myself. you hear? Not too loose. Oh, the pain.” She hisses through her Eventually, the tree decomposes to yield nutrients for other teeth. living things. The decomposition fertilises the soil which might well benefit new, fresh seedlings in the vicinity that will grow to *** take the place of the dead tree in the ecosystem.
“You’re going to have to do it for me.” I jerk a little, startled from typing in the instructions feverishly into my iPhone. “What? But I only just started learning! Like, ten minutes ago!” I stare at the insurmountable little lump of meat sitting innocently on the chopping-board, staring sagely back at me with its wisdom-whorled skin. Tree-bark. “Surely the pain isn’t that bad, Po –” She hisses through her teeth again, whether in pain or for dramatic emphasis, I can’t really tell. She’s funny that way. “Ow, my ring finger. Hurry, child, or the corn-starch will harden.” “I can’t.” But the corn-starch is hardening. “I can’t.” But the beancurd skin is already soft, and yielding, and nimble in my deft and youthful hands. The paste forms quickly in a row, and I am already folding, and rolling, as naturally as if I had developed that intuition for the kitchen overnight. “The skin is barely enough to last the roll, Po,” I say, worriedly. The corn-starch had better not fail me. “I think I packed in too much paste. Or is it too little? What if the skin explodes?” She envelops my hands in hers as I cup the precious seed of my efforts sown, the raspy skin rough against mine. “Let’s try, 158 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 159
Darren Chen Zhi Jie across his chest and a rifle cradled in his arms. He had never come back, that old man. Thump As easily distracted as he was, the child noticed that one of the straps on his tattered sandals had torn off. Frustrated, he Kabul, Afghanistan certainly would have started cursing his misfortune to the powers- 1100 hours that-be, had he known any examples of such foul vocabulary. Still August 14 2002 ignorant of such language, the boy resigned himself to shrugging off the sorry excuses of footwear, and instead decided to walk The child woke to the distant thump of another bomb barefoot. going off. The soil crunched beneath his feet, still cool with moisture that the morning sun had yet to take away. He took the time to *** wiggle his toes, relishing in the texture of the sandy earth that he strode upon. Even then, he failed to understand how all those big And yet another thump, as the child found himself back at white men could stand their feet being cocooned in those ugly the roadside stand, baking in the sun, helping the vendor sell boots of theirs. Had they already lost their touch with nature? Had DVDs to the big white men who often travelled the length of the they forgotten the freedom of having nothing between their soles, street for various purposes. He was quite sure the discs were and the ground beneath them? blank, but a child of his age never attempted to voice his opinion Suddenly, the child’s attention was drawn by a man to big white men armed with guns. As long as it earned him his kneeling at the side of the street just adjacent to the ruined wall. Afghanis he would be fine. The man stood up, clad in the same uniform as all the other But soon – as it always did – the lack of business, coupled white men. But he was… different. He carried not more than a big with a boredom one feels when exposed to a routine life under satchel, strung across his chest, and a pistol holstered at his waist. fire, led the child’s mind to wander. Wandered to the thirst that he He seemed preoccupied by something in his hand, something that had long-failed to quench. And where his mind went, his feet – to the child – seemed vaguely like a toy. often followed. It was then that the child saw many more of these “toys”. They were placed in the most haphazard manner along the road, *** presumably placed by the white man. The “toys” were metallic boxes, dull green and scantily covered by sand, as though they had Had he any water to drink, he might have drunk it to been a mere afterthought. The child felt inexplicably drawn quench his thirst. He did not, however, and was forced – once towards these toys. Still barefooted, and his curiosity piqued, he again – to scavenge for some untainted water. began a leisurely stroll towards the “toys”, intent on playing with He climbed over a shattered wall, his dark body thin with them. hunger and thirst and hardship. He paused for a moment to think The thought never crossed his innocent mind that a single of his father, he who had gone off one day with a bandolier slung one of those “toys” held enough explosives to atomise him, wipe 160 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 161 his existence clean off the face of the earth. *** He kept walking anyway. Keen on putting some good distance between the white *** man and himself, the boy had made it quite far, when a small light atop the toy flashed a bright red, and began beeping. Sergeant First Class Edward Hummel stood up, attempting Intrigued by what seemed to him like the toy coming to to sooth his aching back. Curse those overcomplicated American life, the boy slowed to a stop, staring at the toy in his hand, feet Mines, he thought, at least NATO took the time to make things crunching into the yet-to-be-warmed ground. easy for bomb squads. He was still staring – barefooted – when the toy gave off a Having finally prepared a full kilometre of road for a tank shrill beep, and invasion, the Briton was wasting time trying to set the fuse on yet Thump. another faulty M18 claymore. Being preoccupied, he failed to notice the child who so happily strode past him, intent on getting himself one of those toys.
***
The boy reached into the man’s satchel: Years of living on the street had made him into a capable pickpocket. Withdrawing a toy from the satchel without attracting the white man’s attention, the child proceeded to retreat around the corner of a building, and out of sight.
***
Hummel finally convinced himself that the Claymore was malfunctioning. Tossing the bomb to a safe distance, Hummel took out its detonator, and with the intent to dispose of the faulty Claymore, thumbed the trigger. Nothing happened. Deciding that he had used the wrong detonator, Hummel shrugged to himself, tossed the useless detonator away, and began walking back to the nearest military base to reward himself on a job well done. The faulty Claymore lay silent on the ground. 162 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 163
Darren Chen Zhi Jie “Remember, Green, we had a deal. We live through the night and you'll get half my rations tomorrow.” Just Like The Movies… John thought of a witty retort to counter Stykes, but drew a blank and resigned himself to shaking his head sadly. If the “That's right, ladies, you heard me: Any volunteers for VietCong failed to get him first, malnutrition would. With the setting up the listening post tomorrow night? Anyone?” supply lines being shredded by Viet ambushes, amount food and No response. The Sergeant stared at the faces that looked medicine was rapidly dwindling. He was hungry, and Stykes knew silently back at him. He sighed. it. He was about to start calling names, when a single, grimy The sun was fast setting: Neither man wanted to be hand raised itself above the sea of weary faces. It belonged to attacked by the VietCong without cover at night. With a John Green, the thin-faced attaché from the New York Times. To rudimentary foxhole having been dug out, the men tossed in their man a listening post was to essentially have a few men dig in far radio pack, supplies to last a day, and draped the standard-issue in front of friendly lines, in the meagre hope of detecting enemy camouflage netting over their new home. Stykes fished a cigarette movement early. Those sent to listening posts rarely ever came out of one of his many pockets, lit it with a matchstick, and took a back walking. long drag from it. So it was indeed logical for the Sergeant to feel surprise “Well Green,” he said, expelling smoke from his chapped that a reporter – basically a non-combatant – would volunteer for lips. He eased his faded Army trousers to the ground. “Just you, such a dangerous task. But reporter or not, Green would not be me, the radio, and the Viets. It's going to be a long night...” going alone. As the Sergeant opened his mouth to ask for names, yet another hand shot up: that of Corporal Stykes, platoon joker *** and an expert radioman. Yet again, the man had chosen to volunteer. Despite having spent a fair bit of time at listening posts, Conveniently, the skies had chosen this night to let loose a the Corporal had an uncanny knack of coming back alive, making light shower upon the two Americans: Light enough not to be too him a something of a veteran at surviving listening posts. No one much of a nuisance, but heavy enough to create mist and bring out knew why he chose to do so. No one had ever bothered to ask. the bugs. John tried to ignore the bugs, choosing instead to *** disassemble, clean, and reassemble his M16. One can never have too clean a rifle. “Still can't believe I'm doing this,” Green muttered as he He finished putting the rifle back together, slapped in a shoveled aside more Vietnamese soil. “I'm going to get sent back fresh ammunition cartridge and looked towards Stykes. The man home in a body bag because of you.” was lying prone against the wall of the foxhole. Even from across Stykes stuck his shovel into the forest dirt. It sunk in with a the foxhole, he could hear the radioman complaining to himself: repulsive slurp. “Stupid rain, stupid forest... Stupid Viets can jump us before we notice their stench... Stupid, stupid, stupid...” 164 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 165
John chose this moment to interrupt the radioman's train of that the Sarge that put my dad in the dock had left the Army as... a thought. full Captain.” “Say Stykes, why did you volunteer for this? This must be “Just like in the d**n movies...” was all John could mutter. the fifth time you opted a listening post to spend the night. Love “Don't... Don't you see, John? I have to do this. I have... the Viet odour, do you?” have to fight. I have to fight, if for nothing else, then for my dad. The radioman turned to face him. Back against the foxhole For my dad, whose honour was compromised for nothing… wall, and his wet M16 cradled across his chest, Stykes let out a “G*d-d***it” he growled, throwing his M16 to the ground. low, humourless chuckle. “D**n the military. D**n the brass.” He lashed out at the rifle “Let me tell you this, Green: I do not have a death wish. with his foot, and watched it clatter to a stop at the opposite end of No matter what anyone tells you, I am not out here to get myself the foxhole. “D**n the Army...” killed. Both men lapsed into silence, huddling together, listening “My dad served in the Army during the Korean War. His to the soft patter of rain on their camouflage netting. All John platoon was stationed at a South Korean village when the could think of was the unfairness of the court, and poor Stykes... Northerners stormed them. When the defensive line collapsed, my John’s rifle was cocked and aimed out towards the dad turned and got the h*ll out of Dodge. Spent a week on grass, Vietnamese jungle before his mind had realised anything was rainwater, and two clips of ammo, but he made it back to friendly amiss. It was then that he registered the constant thud of feet on lines. the jungle floor: Something was headed their way. “Now, all should have been good and well. The medics Stykes pulled out the radio pack and spoke into the handset patched him up and got him posted to another platoon. He was in a coarse whisper. “This is Surveillance Outpost number 2, fine until another fellow from his platoon showed up, out of reporting possible hostile contact. Requesting immediate nowhere. He was the Platoon Sergeant that used to be in charge of reinforcements at the Outpost, with coordinates bearing...” my dad. When he saw my dad, he accused him of running at the He read out the position of the listening post and replaced sight of the Commies. My dad said that the Sarge had in fact the handset. Stykes raised his rifle and swept the jungle for signs deserted the platoon when the Commies first started to break of movement... through the lines; in fact, my dad had chosen to run because the Only to have to hold his trigger finger at the sight of a cow Sarge had left his men behind! lumbering out of the mist. “The way our Army seems to work, however, is that when Both men stared at the cow in disbelief, then at each other. two soldiers argue, the brass tends to believe the one with the Stykes laughed – a proper, humorous one this time – and pulled better pay grade. So my dad got court-martialled for cowardice out a poncho from another of his pockets. Still chuckling, he and desertion under fire, and was dishonourably discharged from swung himself out of the foxhole and walked over to the cow, the Army. pulling the poncho's hood over his head as he did so. After a “The month before I enlisted, I had to stick my dad in a minute of jostling the cow to shoo, Stykes turned back to John nuthouse because he had become depressed over his discharge. with a grin on his boyish face. And just the other day, I... I heard from my buddies back home 166 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 167
“D**n, John,” he said, “The boys back at the line aren't Darren Chen Zhi Jie ever going to let me hear the end of this –” A solitary crack of gunfire cracked through the whispering Of Kindly Demons rain. The grin on Stykes’s face turned into a gasp of shock. He Dear Diary, managed to stumble a singular step towards John, then collapsed. John simply stared in shock. The man, who'd just It was a relatively hot day in Hell today. confessed his secrets to him mere minutes ago, had been shot. He Today was also a day He chose to visit. I was seated in my pressed the butt of his M16 against his shoulder and opened fire, armchair – as I always do – watching the world go by from the feeling its staccato rattle. He heard the wild, animalistic screams screen of the television in my office. On the occasion, names of the VietCong soldiers, knew they were going to overrun his would pop up along the bottom of the screen, and would fade position, and started to pray... away. These were the names of the recently deceased, the names It was then that the reinforcements called in by Stykes – of those who’d finally stopped breathing. My job remains – as it correction, the late Stykes – swarmed around the listening post, has since the dawn of time – to make sure they pass from the charging into the firefight and firing at the Vietnamese guerrillas. human world and get to where they are going – in arbitrary human John clambered out of the foxhole, scrambled to Stykes and pulled terms, up and down. him back into the listening post, even as bullets kicked up plumes To this day, I still don’t know why people hate me so of wet dirt around him. His hands were slick with Stykes’s blood. much. They claim, Death is bad, or Death takes away one’s loved But even as he stuck his helmeted head back out over the ones. But truly, am I anything other than an agent of change? I lip of the foxhole, and screamed a futile plea for a medic, he knew am, however, tired of my job. One gets weary after taking lives Stykes was a lost cause. since the beginning of time. This wasn't the movies. Regardless, He appeared in a near-blinding flash of light, giving me just enough time to straighten my red tie and pat down my pinstriped suit before coalescing into a human-sized body of shining white. No features, nothing special other than a perfectly- proportioned male body of solid, white light. He was brief, to say the least. With a wave of His hand, He caused my screen to zoom in, until it viewed an operating room in a hospital. The screen displayed a mother giving birth. It seemed fairly normal to myself, really: Soon-to-be Father clutching her hand, offering her words of encouragement, medical staff moving with chaotic, yet subtly well-orchestrated movements. The blood and screams were all routine to them. He turned back to me, at least, I thought he did – it’s hard 168 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 169 to tell with beings of pure light – and simply said: Watch this one. Dear Diary, Then he vanished in a most dramatic burst of white light, leaving my office seemingly untouched. I sighed, and resumed watching My attention has turned to Daniel yet again, after so long. the screen. One so often immersed in Death, such as myself, We both know he was adopted after being left at the hospital, was rarely has time to concentrate on matters regarding life, and as an average student in school, and became a devout Christian after such I was absolutely fascinated. being introduced to church by one of his friends – Darren or Daryl The child was named Daniel. or some other name beginning with a D. Well, today’s the day Daniel became a missionary. And I think that had been His plan Regards, all along: One more addition to His ever-growing army. Still Death. doesn’t explain why He needed me to “watch” him, though. He leaves for a foreign country in July this year. Still *** fascinated by how much he’s grown, and how much he has yet to grow. Dear Diary, In other words, today is utterly boring, like every other day. I’m sick and tired of making people kick the bucket. I will I’ve become thoroughly fixated on this Daniel fellow. personally shake the hand of the first man who figures out Today his parents abandoned him, a mere toddler. How… immortality, like I did with Armstrong after returning from the disgusting. They hid his sleeping body in a dumpster and Moon. I need a vacation. This I proposed to Him earlier today. He scampered off, like the rats they are. Then again, if Daniel’s shot me down by telling me that my job was a full-time, 24/7 parents had even considered dumping him, they probably commitment thing. Bah. Things get so lonely around these parts. wouldn’t have made good parents anyway. I must, however, Explains why I have you. Heh. devote some time later to find an ingenious way to make them regret their actions… Forever weary, Anyway, the interesting thing was that almost immediately Death. afterwards, the garbage collector found him, and delivered him straightaway to the hospital, where the good doctors and nurses *** set about caring for him. I wonder how Daniel’s life is about to develop. More on Dear Diary, that as it comes along. Daniel came back from another missionary trip today, this Best wishes, one more of a relief trip for disaster victims than anything else. Death. I’m impressed, really. Even for a being such as myself, the number of missionary trips he’s gone off on eludes me. Certainly *** more than the fingers I have on my hands. And I have a set of 170 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 171 rather normal looking hands, mind you. Still trying to figure out what just happened – the number But this mission trip was… different for Daniel. I could see of people who have ever cheated me are few enough to be counted it in his eyes the next time I look for him in my screen. Perhaps, with my hands. on this trip, he had seen more death and poverty than he could But I’ll be d**ned if I don’t stop trying. I’m interested to handle. The photos taken by the mission trip’s designated see how this develops. photographer certainly proved my point: Horrible images, the kind that is painful even for me to digest. And well, I’m me. Forever alone, He visited me again today. Told me that I was supposed to Death. do something to Daniel soon. Told me I would get more information soon. I really hope it isn’t something bad. *** Today, I decided to break the monotony of my existence by rearranging the books on my bookshelf. Decided to slot Dear Diary, Dante’s Inferno alongside Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Looks rather nice, I must admit. Attempt number 26 today. This Daniel is causing me much Still wanting for a vacation that I have never received. I frustration… But I’m starting to see why He asked me to do this. want out, but there is no way out for me. His numerous attempts at eluding me have shot him to fame. People flock like sheep to his sermons. D**n, he’s good. Very Warmest regards, good. Every time I come close, it’s as if he’s looking me in the Death. eye. He makes for good entertainment, in any case. Will keep trying until I achieve success. They called me *** stubborn for a reason, you know?
Dear Diary, Regards, Death. He came again today, and told me something that I’d never expected Him to say: *** Kill him, Death. Kill him. Needless to say, I was shocked, but regardless I proceeded to have a go at taking him. A classic Dear Diary, flower-pot-off-the-roof, enough to crack his skull open, discreet enough to prevent implicating anyone else. Today marks the passing of a most interesting character. But just before it crashed into him, he looked up at the pot He came today, and finally told me: It is time. And it was then that and stepped aside, leaving the pot to hit the ground harmlessly. I knew that this final attempt was fated to work. And He ignored my shocked expression, only to pat me on He had returned from a relief trip, and was jogging down a the shoulder, and leave, whilst echoing in my mind: Keep trying… road in the evening. A lady, her curious child, a drunken driver, 172 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 173 and an all-too-helpful missionary. And even as the child walked Thaddea Chua Yun Fang just off the pavement, and the driver made a last-ditch attempt to swerve away, Daniel was already sprinting to the girl, and in that Stars and Leprechauns final moment, that last split second after he shoved her away, far away as he could, he looked at the driver. And I knew he was “Come on! Keep going! Don’t give up!” Coach yells. I looking at me. pick up speed. Then, we embraced like old friends. Coach is a strong believer in perseverance. He shows no And for me, that day the world just became that little bit mercy, ever. Sports – or anything in life, really – is for people smaller, that little bit duller. who can push their limits. You snooze, you lose. For the Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away. “Not good enough!” I ramp up the effort. I think of the big race. I think of the other competitors furiously training out there. I Death. think of the trophy cup. I ramp it up a notch more. “Just a little more! Almost there!” He’s yelling at me so furiously, face flushed like mine. I’m only halfway through but I’m going all out, every last bit I have. I can’t even glare at my coach, can’t yell at him, or, can’t even, hate him for torturing me like this. I’m in survival mode; nothing is important save for one: the finish line. My legs are in autopilot, moving on their own accord. My vision is blurred, stinging with salty sweat. There’s a sharp stabbing pain in my side, throbbing with each leap forward I take. I start singing songs in my head to distract myself. Twinkle, twinkle little star How I wonder what you are. Mum used to tell me that I’m her little star. And I want to believe it. I’m her diamond in the heavens. She says that I can achieve anything I set my mind to, as long as I work for it. Reach anything. Go anywhere. Rise above the world. She used to cane me. Caned me even when I slowed down because of a side stitch in my side. “Don’t you dare let it stop you! It’s only an obstacle if you allow it to become one!” she barked. She wasn’t mean, she was teaching me. Even if the stitch felt like a black hole, sucking me back into obscurity. 174 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 175
Up above the world so high, where I started from. If I could, I would grin a huge toothy grin. Like a diamond in the sky But I don’t have the strength. Not yet at least, until I finish this Mum tells me that stars are people’s hopes that die off, lost run. and forgotten. Their owners aren’t strong enough to hold them. Almost… I’m almost… So, their hopes die off and are sent into space, shining down on There. Earth. They stay there for eternity, mocking their owners for their I stumble across the line, not quite in control of my limbs. weakness, and reminding the rest of us to hold on, to stay in the The pain in my chest is unbelievable – my whole being is singing race. No exceptions, no excuses. She says if I ever give up in a harmony of aches. But I barely notice. The world is spinning too anything I do, I’d be sent to live among the stars. much, too fast. Off to the side, Coach crows in delight. He’s I don’t want to live among the stars. saying something. Why does he sound so funny? Was his voice “Is this the best you can do?” Coach yells at me from the always so soft and muffled? side. “Then give up! Because you’re too weak to win!” he taunts. “Best!” I make out the faint words. Somehow, I realise the I’m tired, but I try… try to go faster. No, that’s not right. I world isn’t spinning, I am the one swaying. “…Personal best!” have to go faster. It’s not a choice. Because I’m not doing my Oh, my mind processes, he’s saying I hit a personal best. Despite best. This isn’t my best. It’s just me making excuses for myself. I the horrible pain in my chest, despite the exhaustion in my must not give in. My best, I need to do my best. muscles, despite the pounding in my head, I smile. I am vaguely aware that I’m less aware of my I did it. I tried my best. surroundings. It’s natural, because no one tunes in throughout the So why are there so many stars? I did it, I tried. entire marathon race. No one can. But today, there’s something I don’t want to be with the stars! different. I can’t seem to focus on anything. The trees, the dirt And then I black out. path, the sky are all melded into a contorted mess. There are spots everywhere. They’re so bright! So many of *** them… Why is everything so fuzzy… oh! the building is My teacher once told me that a rainbow would always trembling… appear after a storm, and at the bottom of the rainbow, sits a little White – everything is turning a strange shade of white… baby leprechaun, waiting his pot of gold for someone to find him. how very …very strange. But she says only special people get to meet him. I always like to My thoughts become more incoherent, dominated by the think that some day, I’d get to meet this kind leprechaun. strong desperate need to survive. I am gulping in air faster than I I think after today, I just may get the chance. have ever done before, I am working harder than I have ever done before, I am aching worse than anything I have experienced. Is this my best? Could I push harder? Do I want to push harder? The finish line. I see it. Is that it? I can’t tell, what with all the random flashes of bright light. It is; I see the big oak tree 176 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 177
Thaddea Chua Yun Fang Dinner
When Worlds Apart Clash “Shalom! Welcome to Israel, darling!” her strong accent warped her words, but the inviting friendliness in her tone was unmistakable. Touchdown I was stunned. The woman at the door had the same unsmiling features as all the other Israelis I’ve seen so far. Her Everyone was staring. I surreptitiously prodded my teeth sharp nose, thin lips and looming height was the picture of for lingering traces of plane food (nope, nothing) and sniffed for unfriendliness and would have me frightened, if not for the warm signs of my deprivation of a bath (still nothing). And then I smile she wore. It completely transformed her cold hard face. realised, they’re staring at me because I probably looked as alien “Aunt Eenber,” I stumbled on her name. “Thank you. to them as they did to me. It was a rather comforting thought. Thank you for having me over.” I tentatively smiled, still blown Fourteen hours of flight brought me to a new land, by her unexpected warmth. immersed in chilly winds, desert sand and a foreign tongue. Road She hustled me into the apartment and went through the signs, billboards, restaurants, graffiti… everywhere I looked, customary introductions. Uncle Rami and my cousins – Roee, weird alphabets glared back, harsh and unfriendly. It was Noa, Ido, Omer – were waiting to see me and greeted me with the frightening, being in another land which speaks a foreign tongue same zest. How was my flight? Good. How are my parents? Fine. and dances to a different tune. And I’m not just talking about the How is Israel so far? Lovely. strange melody the taxi driver’s humming. One word answers with polite grins and appropriate nods The people on the street weren’t bustling around, wearing on my part; I didn’t know what to say to these over friendly not- black and white office suits, talking on their cells. No, they were quite-strangers. They, however, kept the questions coming with strolling down narrow streets, weaving between cars parked on amazing ease, one question flowing to the next, quite unlike the the curb – the curb! – rather haphazardly. And, what was that? I boisterous chatter I grew up hearing as everyone carried out their blinked, flabbergasted. There on the street, stood a soldier, with own conversations over another. They never rushed into the next his rifle slung casually over his shoulder. A rifle. question and yet there were no awkward silences. Even though A sudden jerk of the taxi jolted my attention away. The there were 5 of them, none of them started at the same time, as if taxi driver was making funny gestures at the lady sauntering there was some invisible order that I was missing. They laughed, across the road in front of his vehicle... The green man flashed and they joked, they included me. Soon enough, I was laughing the then went an angry shade of red. He stuck his head out and yelled loudest and the one with the longest stories to share. a string of alien profanities. She looked up and yelled another Dinner was served as the Sun went down (it was only string of alien profanities back. And I, not in the mood for yelling, 5pm!). Instead of rice, there was bread. Instead of many kinds of contemplated my options if things got ugly. But before I knew it, meat, there was a whole variety of salad. Instead of dishes of chili, we were back in motion, as if nothing had happened. The driver’s whistling even turned merrier. We’re not in Texas anymore, I thought. 178 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 179 there were servings of cheese. It wasn’t what I was used to, but it warm hospitality of cousins extended and the easy banter of the wasn’t any worse. family, the warm food and cozy house and the toasty warm tingles “Try this!” Uncle Rami scooped a pile of leafy greens. I was feeling even though it was about 10 degrees outside. I might “This one, good!” Aunty Inbar piled some pasta on top of the be a continent away, but family is family, people are people, greens. “You want some?” Roee kindly offered. “Take more!” doesn’t matter where I am. Noa grinned. The small plate didn’t seem big enough to take on “Actually Ido, Israel really isn’t that different.” the Sagi Family. Just like the table seemed a tad bit too small for the countless bowls squeezed on it and the apartment seemed to burst from the energy in it. There were no rules here. No one was reminding us to “chew before you swallow” or “no talking with your mouth full”, no one fighting over the best piece of meat (or in this case, vegetable). We talked while we ate, laughed as we chewed and occasionally, choked as we swallowed. Perhaps it was the food, or maybe it was the company, but as darkness fell and the night grew cold, the tiny apartment was heating up. “So Thadda,” Roee stumbling over my name as I did theirs, “tell me about Singapore.” I paused, thinking of how to describe my home to my family. Then I told them about the sights, the food, the weather, the people, struggling to capture the essence of my homeland, a country a continent away. I didn’t think I did a good job, but judging by their fascinated faces and excited laughter, they probably thought otherwise. Then came the million dollar question. “Different, is it?” Little Ido piped up. Is Singapore different? Is it? I thought of the tall buildings, green trees and classy attractions versus the sandy sidewalk, European-style buildings and patches bare fields. I thought of the neat little spaces everything is given and compared it with the organized mess here. I thought of how the buildings at home always appeared to be squashed against each other and contrasted it with the wide expanse of land here where buildings sprawled lazily over it. And I was about to answer when I remembered the 180 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 181
Thaddea Chua Yun Fang gradually we get into our groove. I can’t really describe it but it’s like there’s a beat around us. We’re running to a tune, an unsung Freedom tune. I’ve never heard it before – none of us have – but we feel it, right down to our bones. Even the wind is singing to it, whistling Today, there’s nothing different – same time, same place, in soprano. As we pick up speed, I land further and further apart, same drill. brushing the track so fast I might as well be floating. I feel the prickly bits of the track crunching beneath me as Floating… each time I spring off, I hang in midair for a Josh steps onto the track. He stretches and the muscles above me while. I live for those split seconds, like a junkie needing his daily start to awake, ever so slowly. Me? I’m all set. I always am. fix. I wonder how a bird feels when it flies. Must be something Josh starts off with a slow jog… and gets faster. And like this, because it can’t get any better. faster. And faster. Muscles which were complaining just now are Somewhere, at the back of my mind, it’s complaining. flexing with ease, Joints which were creaking are moving with Josh’s steps are heavy and it hurts to be repeatedly smashed – face graceful silence, Shoulders which were drooping with sleep are flat, no less – onto the ground. I ignore it. The thrill of soaring swinging in rhythm. Everyone is buzzing with blood, pumped and through the air, of speeding across the track … it makes it all energised. There’s nothing quite like the rush of the wind, the worthwhile. weightlessness of slicing through the air, the freedom of running. I leap past the white line, coming to an uncoordinated stop. “Okay, guys. Today’s the day. It’s about time we get a I can’t see myself, but I’m pretty sure I’m all red and swollen, new personal best”. Brain gives his usual prep talk. Most of the sweaty and stinky. It’s stuffy in my confined space, the heat time, I pity him. While we sprint, he never moves. An invalid, I bouncing around inside. But I’m not complaining. I love it all; this secretly call him. He’s just barking out orders. Sometimes I think is what I live for, what I’m meant to do. he’s spiteful. Everyone agrees with him though; we have been “Not bad”. A muffled voice said from above. And though I underperforming and they’re looking – figuratively – at me. can’t see his face, I know he’s smiling. Fine, I think. Bring it on. That makes two of us. Coach’s voice is muffled as he explains the set for today. But I don’t need to listen. That’s not my job. *** Eyes guide me to the starting line. Heart pounds with excitement, adrenaline fuelled, eager to We’re back. Same time, same place, same drill. If it were kick around rib cage as I tear around the track. “We need more up to me, I would never come here. But of course, if I could blood here!” calls someone, “Hey, stop crashing into me!” yells choose, things would be different. Everything would be different. another, “You need to loosen up, man. You’re pulling on me.” I rest limply on the cold metal as Hands expertly complains the third… and manoeuvre up the stands. Someone left a towel on the bench and BEEP! the empty 100 plus can is still lying dejectedly on the second seat. Off we go, flying down the lane. It’s suddenly all business; It’s crushed now. we have one focus: finish line. We start off a little unsteadily, but 182 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 183
We take up our place. If Eyes were mine to control, I While everyone’s fixated on Josh, I brace myself for the would shut them tight. But again, it’s not up to me. Eyes quickly inevitable. absorb everything. Josh is on lane 3, probably just started It’s coming... It’s coming… There it is. warming up – drills on the length, jogging around the bend. Coach Muscles subconsciously tighten. It’s almost like a knee (I have never heard his name before) is standing on the field, by jerk reaction. Still focused on Josh, no one notices. I do. I always the start line, red whistle around his neck, stopwatch in his left do. I feel the strain of Muscles trying to pull a response from me. I hand. I feel the longing in Body, the aching sadness is suffocating. clench myself, or at least try to, efforts all in vain. That’s the best I Every cell in Theo is dying to move, get off the wheelchair, to be can do – nothing. It tenses … normal. They can’t. They don’t say anything, but the hatred is And tenses… there. Yes, that’s right. Hate. They hate me, right to the bones. It’s And tenses… okay, sometimes, I hate myself too. Of course, nothing happens. I know it would be like this. At the beginning, Eyes used to well up every evening Yet every time I feel the sting of failure as strongly as before. And when they turned to face the window, looking the other children I hate myself a little more. cycle, play catch, kick ball. Looking, but not really seeing. It hurts too much. Then Heart starts pumping, Lungs heave, and Cheeks feel the warm salty water spill down their sides. We can hide from everyone, Brain says, but we can’t hide from ourselves. If Eyes look away, Brain goes wild, tormenting everyone with the feel of the wind in Face, sweat rolling down Skin, Hands swinging a racket, muscles feeling the burn of exhaustion. The feeling of freedom, movement. Sometimes, Hands hit me again and again, angry, desperate, pleading. I guess they hit me hard, I guess it would have hurt … but I couldn’t feel a thing. So I lay on the cool metal, imagining the sting of the slaps. Down at the tracks, Josh takes off. Theo’s whole being responds to him. Hands grip the hand rests, as if to anchor the body to the wheelchair. Not that it could go anywhere else. Eyes stare intently at the sprinter, memorising the motion of his hands and legs, appreciating something it would never experience. “Go! Go!” Voice cheers softly. Despite everything, I feel a stabbing pain of jealousy. It’s my voice, but it will never be cheering for me. 184 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 185
GavinGavin Ezra GohEzra Shao Goh Xian ***
Human Rights by the Sword Tbilisi was bustling with numerous commercial and urban activities. The communications of trade and commerce buzzed I looked forward, across the ruins of a once prosperous throughout the atmosphere. I had nothing to do with any of it. town, overlooking the beautiful Alazani River. That beauty Walking in line with the Prime Minister, we got off the vehicle seemed to contrast with those desolate ruins, as if crying out for nearing the Parliament, where I stopped ere I came into contact my attention, an attention I had failed to give long ago. with those hallowed steps. I recall how I had frantically rushed from Tbilisi to this Across the building was that beautiful flag of red and area, my hometown. Once my hometown. For many years the white, untainted and unchanged from 1918 when we gained victim of the raids from the nearby People’s State of Turkey and independence from the Russians. That was a very long time ago, Minority Republic of Armenia, now lay nothing more but bare, centuries ago. Now, no one speaks of the Republic of Georgia unusable soil of a once thriving river settlement. except in condemnation. Behind me stood the solemn Prime Minister, his eyes Proudly looking forward to our coat of arms, that had not barely wishing to meet those of mine, in the knowledge that I had been torn down as a “symbol of oppression”, I carefully entered vowed to escape a life of poverty to rescue his nation from this into those halls in a strangely cautious way. derogation. The Prime Minister looked back to me once again. “Anzori Koridze,” the voice was an order, but it was a “Koridze, I hope you enjoy yourself in Tbilisi, because soon you sympathetic one, “it is time. The World Assembly waits for no would have to return to the World Assembly in London.” one.” I simply nodded. I turned to leave before one longing look, and made my “It is going to be difficult, but you’re going to have to way towards the helicopter to leave back to commercial Tbilisi. convince those other delegates to lift sanctions off Georgia. Also, The Prime Minister looked out across the plains, once the you must order an implementation of that ceasefire with plains, before looking back towards me, “Koridze, why didn’t you Azerbaijan. We’ve been attacked again.” live in this place, this rural settlement? Why work in Tbilisi?” Once again, I nodded in silent acknowledgement. This was a question I knew how to answer, but scarcely “I hope you understand me. You don’t seem very could explain it. “I thought Georgia was worth protecting.” responsive today!” He was immediately intrigued. “Isn’t she still?” I sighed. “No, I don’t believe I am.” A pause, before I gave a slow nod in return. “Indeed, but “Don’t pretend that your job is impossible. I recall this the rest of the world is not.” expedition is one you always told me was a,” he paused here to The rest of the trip proceeded in silence. That was the last think, “complementary duty. I always wondered what you meant time I would bid farewell to the Alazani River and its wondrous by complementary. That it complemented your time?” treasures. “That it complemented my spirit.” He was silent. 186 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 187
“It complemented my goal, to see a free Georgia, not “And of course, there is the issue of Armenia’s numerous constantly harassed by these Minority Republics.” ‘pre-emptive strikes’. You would be surprised at the number of “Yes, yes, those decadent Minority Republics! Came about ‘pre-emptive strikes’ they are pulling against us.” in the middle of the 22nd Century by some wacky philosopher! “Yes, but they claim these strikes are necessary for Said that minority races, religions and economic classes ought to regional security.” dominate the government! What utter rubbish!” “Look,” and here the Prime Minister lowered his tone, “I I murmured something incomprehensible. don’t care what these lackeys of this minority philosophy are “Pardon me?” and here he laughed, “It is hard to believe spouting. I know the nature of these people. They would be the appreciating rate of nations converting to Minority Republics! willing to impose their new ideology on any nation. Like our other Those nations are in such poverty!” allies. Let us be grateful we have not ended up like them. I heard “Be careful what you say, Mr. Saakadze. According to the Austria is soon to have humanitarian aid withdrawn, and of course Minority Republic of the United Kingdom, we are the ones who Costa Rica is soon to be invaded to ensure a successful are ‘dictatorial oppressors’ and ‘abuses of human rights’.” insurrection against the government. At least Georgia is fine. But “Who cares what those Minority Republics say?” we won’t be for long unless our neighbours stop shelling us! Now, “They make up the majority of today’s sovereign nation- the President wishes to see us, and I hear it is important for our states.” internal security.” “Now, Anzori Koridze, I understand your job in the World I couldn’t imagine anything else that could be so important Assembly is difficult. But you must remember, the World as my trip to the World Assembly as their representing delegate. Assembly is very different from the United Nations. The United The air had a smell of inevitability, whatever inevitability smelt Nations was an ineffective body, but you must be able to adapt to like, but what I found strange was that I could discover it. the different bureaucratic procedures.” Without unnecessary hesitation, I followed suit into the I did not vocalise my next thought, No, Prime Minister room. Saakadze, the difference is not bureaucracy, but ideology. The United Nations was a defender of democracy, the World Assembly *** is a defender of Minority Republics. “So you see, Mr. Koridze, it is very important that you The President of Georgia was a man of pride and honour, convince the World Assembly and numerous delegates that they as I had remembered him in the early 2100s, an aristocrat in every must recognise Georgia’s sovereignty in today’s international manner except birth, whose gestures indicated knowledge of his scene. We cannot live with these economic sanctions! How can motive, his intention. He sat shoulders laid-back, but not in ease one tolerate having military units barricading our borders?” or comfort, but in defeat, a strange defeat, as if by an enemy “Prime Minister Saakadze, these economic sanctions on whose inaction and incompetence unwittingly led a man as great Georgia have been renowned as a ‘victory for human rights’.” as our President to depreciate to such an extent. His next few words were spoken as if I knew them before he had even spoken them. 188 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 189
America has converted. “You better get going. London waits for no one.” The file containing the relevant documents hit onto the I left immediately. Headed towards London, towards the desk with a note of finality, but I could scarcely imagine the heart of the new international community, to the eye of the world, consequences. winnowing memories, there was I headed. “What do you mean, converted?” Prime Minister Saakadze inquired, but his question remained unanswered, since the Prime *** Minister himself understood the meaning. I fear his statement was merely a denial against what he had known would happen. The entire city of London was flooded with wealthy A pause, before I spoke, “At last, the largest defender of socialites passing by. Ever since the United Kingdom became the democracy, hath fallen.” first nation to convert to a Minority Republic, London became the The President made no effort to get upset about the curse I capital of politics not only for the English people, but for the had just pronounced. “No point lamenting, but we certainly will entire world. not convert anytime soon. Mr. Koridze, you are not allowed to I saw around me the great intellectuals, writers, thinkers make any ideological concessions. We shall stick to our course.” and reporters of the age, intellectuals who had made this new “Then London maintains its sanctions.” I spoke in world possible, by fighting in the world when Minority Republics acknowledgement. were scorned. The others who had supported the Ancient Regime “I know.” The response was defiant. had slowly faded away. Everyone knew where they went, but no “Azerbaijan maintains its shelling.” one said so. “Yes, of course.” I rushed quickly through that thick emulsion of the crowd, “Armenia keeps to the invasions.” entering into the hallowed halls of the World Assembly “I know.” Headquarters. Along the top of that massive, glorious building “Austria will shrink to anything but an economy.” was that honourable symbol, the two swords of glory, love and “Surely.” protection set against each other, as if in unity to fight towards the “Costa Rica will fall.” goal of protecting all nations. The President resigned, “Mr. Koridze, I know.” “From Ocean to Ocean, Here Lies all Human Rights” “And you know what comes after that, sir.” I dared not face the motto. I dared not look towards that He looked aside from the file. “Georgia comes next.” large board of statutes and principles of this World Assembly. It I shook my head. “The World Assembly rejoices.” would also remind me of the gate in Dante’s Inferno, that gate “No concessions.” His voice was harsh, but I knew not to which was the guardian of all justice, except this was a self- me. “No concessions, at all. The World Assembly wants us to appointed honour of London. falter. We will not. We stick to our route. We will not become a The various delegates congregated at the hall of the Minority Republic.” Primary Assembly. Each delegate with his suit neatly placed, I nodded, slowly, but all I could think of was the charred hands grappling the other in anxiety. We sat in accordance to our remnants of the settlement by the Alazani River, my home. geographical position. Beside me sat the Delegation of 190 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 191
Azerbaijan, and on the other side the Delegation of Armenia. Each Kingdom would like to call for tighter sanctions on the rogue state gave me dirty looks, for a reason I could name but scarcely of Georgia!” wished to. I wasn’t listening. The speech was laden with words I had I paid no attention to the opening procedures, to the heard before. My eyes went straight towards the delegate from the announcement by the Chair, to the opening amalgamation of United States. His eyes met mine, and that unspoken response told synonyms for “human rights”. me everything, the resignation, the realisation of the difficulty of I knew from the beginning my proposal to life sanctions the fight for the last pockets of a forgotten ideology. He slumped off Georgia would be repulsed by all. Almost instantaneously. I back. had hoped a few individuals would support, but the opposition The process grew more heated as the meeting progressed. was nearly overwhelming. The resolutions passed contained words which I knew would be “This is an outrage!” the outspoken Delegate of France implemented. Before I knew it, a World Assembly coalition had immediately responded, “Georgia is a rogue nation. They do not invaded Costa Rica and Austria. I did not speak up against it. respect the human rights of their minority groups! They follow a Very soon, new governments would be in charge of my allies, and democratic system, which we all know is a horrible system, the the two names would signify very different principles. mistakes of our ancestors have shown the brutality of this tyranny Very soon, as the Chair concluded, I found myself of the majority! It has become clear that the only humane way of instinctively the first to get up, as if in response to a pervasive protecting the welfare and standard of living of all nations is to smell, and briskly walked out of the hall, as if fleeing. ensure minorities are given an added boost in the government!” The delegate adjusted his tie with a smug look, gesturing to the *** entire room, but stopping above a specific delegation. “Why, even the United States of America has seen the truth! Recently, they I knew it, I knew it, I knew it... reinstated affirmative action policies for African-Americans I knew this would happen. within their nation. They are on the way to have racial quotas for I leaned against the wall, not pondering or thinking in the appointed minority members in their legislature!” least, but merely existing. He sat down, almost in triumph. I knew it, from the What right had they? beginning: the sanctions would never have been lifted. I refused to answer. The Delegate of the United Kingdom likewise had this to Slowly, I waved my hand over the disc, and there appeared say, “The Irish and Scottish people in the United Kingdom are the image of Prime Minister Saakadze. given extra privileges. America has recently abolished elections! He did not say a word. Neither did I, at first. He spoke After all, history has shown that the elections process does before I. nothing but get the worse people in parliament. It allows the “Don’t need to tell me anything, Anzori.” His omission of majority to impose their ideology on the minority in society, my last name showed that his tone was that to a friend, and not a which is completely heartless and brutal! In fact, the United subordinate. “Just keep going. Make sure nothing happens. Sure 192 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 193 the sanctions will make it damn near impossible for us, but we can “Yes, a threat to his life. But it was very vague. It read, keep trying, can’t we?” “Tomorrow at midday, thou shalt witness the fray, and then those I weakly nodded. streaks of red and white shalt falter in the night.” “All right, I have a few issues to discuss with the “I don’t believe I have to ask what that means.” legislature regarding this. For the moment, just make sure He shrugged. “You think I know what it means?” everything is in order. I don’t think anything too horrible will I chose to drop the subject. “I will not worry.” happen.” He spoke so artificially, it was almost the same as “That’s good. Just make sure the World Assembly listening to plastic being crumpled, slowly, one layer after another understands our position.” folding upon itself. I did not have to ask for him to sense my “No compromise.” mood. He froze. “What happened? You’re hiding something. Tell me what “Is there a problem, Prime Minister.” it is.” Again, a strange pause. “Yes. Both of us know what the I reached into my pocket to that repugnant paper, and I threat meant, and so did the legislature. There have been calls for lifted it to the screen for him to observe. There, printed very a reform to a Minority Republic.” nicely, were those horrible streaks of black reaching to an over- In that moment, I wanted to take that holo-disc and smash elaborated Sun, supposed to symbolise the revolution of the into onto the ground, in that blightful moment. But I did not. The workers. It paled in comparison to that beautiful flag of the fear of something I knew would happen kept me paralysed, Republic of Armenia, which faded away only a few years’ ago. instead of afeard. There was no letter. There were no words. Only that “The President remains adamant, and so has most of the picture; but the horrified expression of Saakadze’s face indicated a legislature, but there have been calls, and these calls are growing hidden meaning. slowly. Anzori, don’t worry, there is really nothing wrong. But “Anzori, take care. Don’t...just don’t worry about you have to understand, the international community won’t wait anything, all right?” for us.” “All right.” “Who ever said that a Minority Republic would progress?” “Now...please...really...why do you look at me that way? “Now, don’t be so conservative. This minority philosophy There really is nothing wrong! I’m serious, Anzori, really!” is a progressive one. Don’t get me wrong, I am a supporter of “I understand.” democracy in the ideal world, but you have to understand, times “Now... fine... look at it this way... I mean to say... the are changing, and the international community refuses to wait for Minority Republic of Armenia has sent the President a threat.” us.” A slight pause. “A threat?” For some reason the Minority “Maybe it is they who have to catch up to us.” Republic of Armenia did not seem threatening in the least, not “Please, don’t say that. Listen to me. These economic outwardly at least. sanctions are more than we can bear. We will probably hold out for a few more years, but after that, with no trade, we’re nothing.” 194 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 195
“No, Saakadze, listen to me instead. When you think of the fact is, figures show that we only have about 10 years to survive, word Georgia, what has it come to symbolise?” and that’s if we’re lucky. And for those 10 years we will be barely He was mute. scraping by, suppressed by high inflation and degenerate wages.” “Say it.” “When are reforms enacted?” “Democracy.” A sympathetic pause. “When the tanks roll in.” “Hundreds of years ago, it wouldn’t have meant “Who said anything about tanks?” democracy, would it? Then, democracy was the dominant opinion, “Fine, troops, artillery, shells, nuclear bombs, I don’t and they forced it down on other nations. The last pockets of know! But don’t kid yourself. This entire time, everything has monarchy and despotism were squeezed out of existence by brute, been happening exactly as you predicted, hasn’t it?” military strength. Now, we live in a new world. Democracy is I said nothing. now the new dictatorship, and perhaps it is time for us to pay for “And this entire time, the exact two resolutions you Georgia’s old mistakes in contributing to the suppression of those predicted would be passed, have passed by a huge margin.” dictatorships. We are on the receiving end. With so many I wanted to protest, but I knew I could not. Minority Republics and People’s States, we are the victims now. “And now, you know in your heart the final resolution that Georgia, the last rogue state, has come to mean democracy, that will be passed. This isn’t the General Assembly, Anzori. They can “fascist” ideology, as they claim. When I lived by the Alazani use military force, and you know it.” River, I wanted to fight for Georgia. And now, I realise that to “Yes.” fight for Georgia means to fight for democracy. It took me 20 “Then?” years to realize that, and by then, my entire hometown had been “Then what? All I can think of is the time I promised my shelled.” family that Georgia will be my dying breath, and you know our “Anzori, listen to me, please.” flag of red and white has come to symbolise democracy. It didn’t “You don’t know how it feels, to have been trapped, before, but now it does. Saakadze, I am the one who will not kid unable to progress without the weight of the international myself, and I refuse to do so. Thus, I resign.” community hanging onto you, to feel like Atlas with that He paused for a while before speaking. “All right then.” gargantuan planet upon his shoulders. I, and the entire Georgian “I will resign, but not before I witness the final scene.” government, carry our nation on our shoulders. But now, I more And here, I held up that card, with that cursed flag. than anyone, for our survival now depends on the ballot of the Before the Prime Minister could protest, I waved over disc Minority Republics.” again and switched it off. “You don’t have to put it that way.” “But I do, and you yourself know it is the truth. I hold to *** democracy because I hold to Georgia. To me, there exists no other option.” I don’t remember waking up, walking over to those “Now, don’t be so extreme. Georgia is a lovely nation. “hallowed halls”, and getting seated. I only know that I somehow Eventually, though, we must submit whether we like it or not. The got there, from the previous night, as all the delegates once again 196 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 197 adjusted their uniforms and their ties before getting seated. As the I laid back. I did not see any. Not the United States, not proceedings were introduced, I looked over to my left, avoiding Costa Rica, not Austria, not Armenia, not Azerbaijan. I did not the gaze of the delegate from the United States, to the Armenian want to have anything to do with international politics any longer. bureaucrat as he filed some papers. It had been my promise. I certainly did not pay any attention when It was not a condemnation, but a procedure, that I the resolution passed, when the Chair silently celebrated the witnessed, to see that resolution drafted out after the first two had outcome behind the facade of neutrality. already been set, and the fate of all democratic states had already “Delegation of Georgia, the order has been passed. Do you been set. Those words on paper, denouncing, exemplary, obvious now proclaim yourself a Minority Republic?” and certain, as I had noted. I thought of the sieges, the cordoning of borders, the The nations around me, faces set towards a purpose, pens rolling in of tanks and infantry ready to wipe us out. I thought of noting every word of that resolution. These Minority Republics the change from America to a Minority Republic, the extent of were imposing, were reactive, but they were sure, they knew their Costa Rica’s and Austria’s destruction. I saw before me the purpose, even if it was to impose and to shun, to depreciate and to history of Minority Republics, from a persecuted minority to the degrade, they knew their purpose. Prime Minister Saakadze did perpetrators of the international community, hypocrites in not. themselves of their past persecution. And with guilt I saw Perhaps that was a source of admiration, however little. democracy committing the same error, from persecuting Even as the Armenian delegate spoke of the horrors of our revolutionaries to becoming coalitions willing to invade those military build-up, his efforts to ensure regional peace and security, they believed had no welfare, no respect, and no human rights. a call for a World Assembly coalition to facilitate pre-emptive “Delegation of Georgia, has your government given you strikes. I wasn’t listening. Instead, what came to my mind first permission to ratify the terms of our Declaration of Human were the charred remnants of the Alazani settlement, the people Rights?” who perished in their efforts of conformation. I saw all that had happened, the slow fall of remaining “And of course, the World Assembly prides itself on democracies. From the United States to Austria, and I want to say human rights, and the respect of equality amongst all people. something of meaning of significance. I only think: what the heck! Therefore, the Republic of Georgia clearly denounces this aim. “Delegation of Georgia...” There have been calls for reforms in their parliament, and an “My government has approved the conversion.” invasion of Georgia is the only way to make these calls stronger, The resounding applause was directed at my nation, but I and to prompt a revolution of equality within the nation.” felt no pride at the admiration. He spoke, with fervour, with a conviction I knew was fake. I looked aside. Towards the doors. The various delegates. I only thought of the time I had excitedly been appointed a World “But I have not approved it.” Assembly delegate, the pride of serving Georgia, seeing the The Secretary-General eyed me, and a few surrounding got Armenian flag burnt in celebration before the walls of the civic up in alarm, but quickly retreated back. district. The product had become a nation who played on human “Leave us alone, and back off, for once.” rights and equality to make others just as they were. “Sir, we simply asked...” 198 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 199
“I am aware of what you had inquired, Mr. Secretary- “No, you don’t.” My mouth soon spoke for itself. “But I General, but for the moment, that is not my concern. We are the shall speak otherwise. People who protect human rights do so in last surviving rogue state, and for many years survived the love, do so in care, and do so in affection. They guide people to hardship of strict economic sanctions and numerous legitimate discover that enlightenment, and that thirst for reform. Any pre-emptive strikes. From the very perspective of the people of ideology that requires invading other people to sustain itself ought Georgia, democracy is not a fascist ideology. That’s our opinion. not to be kept. You all want equality amongst races, so prove it, So let us be, let all of you call it oppression, but leave us alone, let and start proving it by not treating democratic states as inferior by the people of Georgia speak for reforms on their own, don’t virtue of the fact that they hold to a minority ideology. For once, I pretend that you know what type of government they want.” am already regretting saying this, but I reject all statutes ever “Now, sir, be reasonable...” passed by this bureaucracy! And the people of Georgia speak for I could not bear to listen. I heard over and over again: that as well! If you want human rights, you don’t force it down Tomorrow at midday, thou shalt witness the fray, and then those our throats, for I condemn these cursed proceedings!” streaks of red and white shalt falter in the night. Suddenly, I I had not recorded the response in my mind, but from my understand the fray, the true purpose, in those few sentences it vague impressions, I knew it was priceless. I had stayed on the becomes clear what any military invasion desires: conformity. delegation that last day to achieve a response no where near to And I look up to that honourable symbol of the two swords that which transpired. That hurried look amongst the delegates, slashed against oppressors, but I see it wrong. I am almost the outrage of the Secretary-General shouting futile and un- mistaken. The swords did not seem drawn in defence, but in executed orders. The outcry, the condemnation, the hatred and offence, poised to kill. It appeared as if the swords shielding men surprise, surprise that I had not crumbled. in that symbol, was not in protection, but in fear, fear of social I recall World Assembly officers immediately rushing to inequality amongst nations. the defence of the Secretary-General, but the inaudible shouts I don’t know how I see the symbol differently, but I almost from amongst the delegates meant nothing to me. They were not think it is important. “Leave us alone...” I repeat, again and again, directed at any, and the screams and cries from amongst them shot and the various delegates break out in noiseless chatter, at any nation, at the Chair, at London, and at Georgia, there was incomprehensible debate, bureaucratic procedure... no target. “Just cease and desist! Cease and desist!” the Chair had Held, and bound, I know what I had seen, and I witnessed grown aggravated by the discussion. the crumbling of a faith, or a revelation of the inevitable. I have “Cease and desist what?” been told many things by my captors. That the Costa Rican “Your government has given you permission to convert to delegate fled the room in disgust, the American delegate tried to a Minority Republic, has it not?” fend off the crowd. I cannot feel any admiration or respect for I remember Prime Minister Saakadze’s face, and yes, they any. I heard that the proceedings went on after my detainment, have given me permission. Silently. that the Armenians had burnt the Georgian flag as the remains of a “Yes, they have.” “past imperialism” to a resounding chorus of triumph. I could feel “Then, we need not hear what you have to say.” nothing but apathy. I had witnessed the farce, I had seen the 200 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 201 downfall of Georgia. I had seen it before, as I stared into the eyes HoFreya Choy Ho Ying,Choy FreyaYing of that burnt village, I saw the words of that resolution imprinted in that future. I don’t think anything of it. What the hell, how do I Dulce Et Decorum Est know any of this is real? The next day, the tanks rolled into Georgia, and the He is at war. President fled Tbilisi in vain. Georgia was changed, reformed, Sweat meanders down his cheek and his tongue completely turned around, and I could think of only one thing. automatically darts out, savouring the cool moisture. His water Surely, here ends Georgia’s sovereignty. canteen has been empty for immeasurably long – he has resorted to everything from chewing leaves to drinking his own piss to survive. He should have reached his limit long ago – he does not know how it is that he is still alive. Countless times he has thought of…giving up, per se. At the beginning some foolishness (masculine pride, was it?) would not allow it. That hardly poses a problem anymore. After the weeks, months, years (he does not know, he’s long lost track of time) of hardship and atrocities he’d seen (some committed by his own hands) the so-called pride had withered – without putting up much of a fight, he might add. Or maybe it had but was too tired to go on. He knows he is. He does not know why he has these vivid memories – he sees himself going through the motions, putting a gun to his head, pulling the trigger – and blissful nothingness for a while, maybe (he does not know, he knows only this stream of torturous, never- ending consciousness), before he finds himself lying prostrate in the mud, jungle looming above him with their leaves –claws– reaching out, with no trace of the sin he supposedly has committed. He does not know what he is doing wrong – he will readily admit that he has long forgotten the division between reality and…not. Perhaps it never happened after all. Or perhaps it has happened countless times. Perhaps he has endured ceaselessly till he has lost all strength to carry on, too afraid to see what torment the next series – of weeks, months, years – will hold for him. And perhaps bravery is born of 202 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 203 cowardice, because in his fear to live on there is courage also, to shaggy dog, all of whom he cannot even name. Sometimes he move on to someplace which the most gallant men fear. What was cries for these people he has lost and wonders if they do the same it that Hamlet said? But that the dread of something after death/ for him. If he was worth that before he became the monster he is The undiscovered country from whose bourn/ No traveller returns, now. puzzles the will/And makes us rather bear those ills we have /Than He thinks he might love them, if only he remembers what fly to others that we know not of? love is. The very thought is amusing. He knows what he is, and he Would they still love him, he wonders, if they knew of his is no chivalrous knight – only a coward – and a fool, for only wickedness? fools, as they say, would rush in where angels fear to tread. He has burned down entire inhabited villages and He does not know. He only wishes he had someone to talk hardened his heart to their agonised screams, closed his ears to to. Anything is better than this aching, blistering loneliness. their shrieks for help. He has seen escapees dashing towards him, He knows he had a life before this one, but it is a struggle faces pleading, and he has been the one to push them to their fates remembering anything from it, not when he is stuck here with his – quick deaths, at best. He did not execute their murders – he mind constantly pushing memories of bloodshed and gore to the could not – but has many times pushed them to crueler hands, and surface. On good days he recalls blurred visions of – books? — for that he is equally responsible. He has shot and knifed and lessons and knowledge, all culture he is no longer part of. And strangled with his bare hands, all with stoic face that would be his then there are the faces, the ones he cannot remember although victims’ last memories. something tells him he knows them well (he cannot reach it, it is He cannot even remember what he did it for. buried too deep) and inexplicable emotion wells within him, He thinks of the boy. May you never commit the same threatening to erupt. mistakes. As if it is not enough, sometimes he hears them calling – He continues on, eyes unseeing, weary and still waiting for Papa? an end to come in sight. At first he faltered, dashing madly to the voices’ origin, searching fruitlessly for hours on end till he was left with nothing *** but scabbed fingers from where thorns and roots had dug into him and screaming nothingness. “How is he, doctor?” Now he knows better. He hears the voices – Dr. Martin, Certified Psychologist (an entire wall in his Papa? office is dedicated to the proclamation of this title) shakes his - and fires off a round of bullets. He does not hesitate, nor head, directing a look of unreserved pity at the quavering woman does he look for the corpses. There is no one there, he thinks, and before him. She visits every day, unfailingly, with two children in wills himself to believe it. And if he sheds a tear or two for what tow and a big dog which they leave tied outside the hospital he may have lost, he does not acknowledge it either. entrance. He is fond of them, this woman who will never know his A pity about the father. Really, now – how many has he depravity, and the children, the boy and the girl and their big seen go into war and return mere shadows of themselves? Few 204 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 205 recover, and he doesn’t think it likely that this one will. He’d HoFreya Choy Ho Ying, Choy Freya Ying tried, honestly, but six months of failing to excite any reaction save excessive drooling and blank staring was…discouraging. The Space Between Heartbeats He watches them enter the ward, sees their eyes fill with tears – even the boy, who tries to hide it – will they ever learn it is At the junction where the light had just turned red, she was all right to be weak?- and spares them a moment of grief for the a misshapen figure bundled under ill-fitting clothes. Derelict, magnitude of what they have lost. decrepit – hardly a person one would notice, unless to point out an eyesore and jeer. Up close, not that anyone bothered looking; wrinkles augmented the world-weariness etched onto her weather-beaten visage. Her cheekbones were sharp from malnutrition; her hair, matted with dirt; her eyes dull and yet when met they gasped a tale of pain that had long since lost its voice. She clutched a sack of empty cans, and was in fact midway to the recycling centre to sell them, which would earn her enough for tomorrow’s meals, maybe. Breakfast, obviously, was a luxury she had long learned to forgo. Not that anyone cared. Oh, there had been someone who did, all those years ago, but he had left – they always did – and she had long given up on him coming home. First had been Keow, her husband. He’d suffered a stroke two years after their marriage, and she’d had to work after his hospitalisation. She had graduated from primary school, but Singapore wanted more, people kept talking about this ‘O’ level, and they spoke English – “What rubbish lah,” she murmured, but no one cared. So she’d done odd jobs, but it wasn’t enough, Keow’s bills were so expensive. When he died three months later under her grief she embraced a tiny smidgen of relief – she didn’t think she could afford his bills any longer. And then there was Meng, her son. 206 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 207
The thought of him suffused her with warmth. The He drove, basking in the admiring looks he received. stabbing pinpricks of ice had not always been there, but she had Every kid had quixotic dreams of being rich. The difference was grown used to them, with time. that he’d made his a reality, despite his pathetic background. “Are you going to work again? Stay with me, Ma!” Upon returning from England, he’d fought not to recoil at “Sit and rest, Ma, you’re so tired.” their – his – mangy, one-room flat. He looked at the place which “Did you know, Ma…?” had been home to him so many years and saw only cheap décor, “Ma, look, I did it!” grimy walls, faded wallpaper – incongruous with his Grand Plans Then he went to study in England and come back changed for the future. – she’d easily recognised the disdain in his eyes and cringed. It He stood, still with shock, till his mother appeared in the hurt worst that he didn’t notice. He always had before. doorway. She started to embrace him but the rough itch of her His departure had been acrimonious. clothes tore at his skin and he’d snapped. “What are you wearing, Mother? Surely you cannot “What are you wearing, Mother? Surely you cannot be believe that those rags are clothes?” under the impression that those rags are clothes?” “What are you doing, picking cans off the road? Mother, He remembered the vindictive thrill he’d felt when she people are staring! Stop at once – you’re embarrassing me – stay flinched, though she’d pasted on a smile immediately after- did away –” she think him stupid? Moments later he realised with growing She was not surprised when he’d left without informing incredulity she’d honestly believed he hadn’t noticed. her. He had simply outgrown her, and she was not good enough He spent the rest of the day trying to forget the stricken anymore. She understood this. look on her face. It did not mean it did not hurt. She’d hoped in vain, and In the two weeks he remained he was mortified to observe the world had drained of colour. her picking up cans when they were out together, and spoke to her The light turned green. Above her storm clouds gathered, only when necessary. One night he packed everything he owned and with a sigh she stepped onto the road. and watched her clean. Plebeian. Irrational fury rose, crowned by disappointment. She *** should have tried harder to improve her station. If not for herself, then for him. She should have known. What child doesn’t want He woke up, head pounding, the acrid taste of bile in his riches? mouth. Swearing, he recalled just how much alcohol he’d had the What child leaves his mother knowing he is all she has night before. left? Slowly, he made his way to where his Jag was parked. He He studied her frail frame and contemplated storming in, slid into the leather seat, admiring the purr of its engine and grabbing fistfuls of shirt and yelling. He wanted to seek her feeling much better already. comfort as he had as a boy. You used to be so big. He turned and left. 208 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 209
*** was grateful for them, because it meant he could pretend the moisture on his face was something else. His dead father and garbage-selling mother – he couldn’t Yet in those six feet he saw vast caverns, gaping chasms, be gladder to be free of their stigma. He’d proved himself bigger unconquerable landforms, unbridgeable distances. and better. Six feet never seemed so far. Revelling in the sublime confidence of youth, he impetuously stepped on his accelerators, speeding up to clear the empty stretch of road ahead.
***
She saw a hauntingly familiar face, before her monochromic world exploded in a coalescence of colour – blues, reds, hues of purple and pink, and a white so bright it hurt her eyes before everything gradually faded to soothing black.
***
He saw colour too, the stark white of a face he’d vowed to forget and its contrast to the harsh black of granite, a momentary blur of what he later knew to be fatal impact which he could not know in that moment, and then that didn’t matter anymore because everything bled together into redredred –
***
Two heartbeats thudded. Then only one.
***
He stared down at her diminutive form sprawled six feet away from him. Around them raindrops fell, fat and heavy, and he 210 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 211
HoFreya Chong Ho Ying,Choy FreyaYing “Don’t worry; I’m yours.” He grinned suddenly. “It’s flattering, though.” What Once Was And Never Will Be She didn’t respond. “Are you –” Part One: Prologue “Yes! I told you!” Stunned, he said hesitatingly, “I was going to ask if you It started with a window of stained glass and a piano room. were happy.” The piano stood alone; a convoluted mixture of rosewood She forced a nod. He turned away. and ivory keys. It faced the window, and sometimes light danced She whispered a word that the wind snatched away, her across the room, alighting on the alabaster, sending tiny bursts of secret safe with those who could not divulge it colour ricocheting about the room, joining to meld a rainbow. No. Sometimes it was played, and as lilting melodies filled the room one could almost tangle in gossamer webs of memory, and *** taste the bittersweet iridescence of receding dreams. Part Three: Then Part Two: Veneer He was dead. She had wide-set eyes of cerulean framed by long lashes. His body lay sprawled on the cement tiles. No one had An aquiline nose. Pale pink lips. Tumbling locks. dared move it before the police arrived, but already the whispers She was the paragon of beauty. were building up. Dark hair, darker eyes, and a blinding smile. Women Red. The colour invaded everybody’s senses. There was so swooned over his Byronic personality. Features immaculate. much blood… Dress debonair. The police arrived. Murder, they said. He defined Adonis. A sudden hush fell, and the crowds parted for her, collectively anticipating her reaction. *** She knelt. Emotion which few caught and none could put a name to flashed in her blue eyes before fading away to blankness. “Are you all right?” he’d asked. They’d just narrowly escaped his admirers. *** She had nodded curtly. “I don’t see why you put up with them,” she’d said, not trying to hide her distaste. A man. She stared at the shining buckles adorning his He had laughed. “Jealous, are we?” he’d murmured, uniform. They reminded her of his eyes when he was happy. leaning in to kiss her cheek. She tried not to flinch. “Look,” he’d say. “Look…” “Madam.” 212 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 213
She started. “Yes?” She could not help but feel that it had lost something He didn’t waver. “Your whereabouts at two o’clock?” irreplaceable. He’d been a brilliant pianist. Blue eyes widened. “I …I can’t remember –” Subconsciously, her hand slipped into her pocket- but “I apologise. But your co-operation –” something cut her. Startled, she glanced at the offending object – a “Yes – I was…in my rooms? Probably.” Keep calm… serrated piece of stained glass. “…he was your beau?” The last missing sliver. A needless formality. Of course he knew the answer Dazed, she delved for her handkerchief. Her fingers closed already. Their arranged engagement had been publicly announced. around something soft, and hesitantly she drew it out. The children of two powerful families… It was a red rose. Still, she answered in the affirmative. “Did you bear him any animosity?” Part Five: The Last of Halcyon Days She shook her head slowly. He held her gaze a while, then transferred his attention to his notes. Her memory had been nebulous – she couldn’t “I’m sorry. It must be painful.” remember… She stood and walked till she was sure no one could hear. And then she could. “No,” she said. “It isn’t.” *** *** He strolled towards her, gently placing a red rose on her Look, he’d said. Look. lap. As if carelessness would break her. *** He smiled at her, then turned to the piano. Slender fingers met ivory keys. A lullaby’s dulcet tones resonated. Police report: No incriminating evidence found – one His concentration was obviously diverted. It was a moment fragment of stained glass missing… of vulnerability. An opportunity. In her pocket, cold metal glinted. Part Four: Now *** Days had passed, yet a funereal aura clung to the house, suffocating its occupants. Gone was the idyll of past days. In its Her eyes fell onto the rose she still clutched. Maroon, place, uneasy silence ensconced. vermillion, scarlet, crimson – they bled together into red… In She had holed herself up in her room. When she exited, revulsion, she let go, and somehow she fancied she could hear the her feet led her to the piano room. dull thud of knife hitting floor, that awful sound inexplicably loud as it had reverberated through the room that day. 214 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 215
*** Part Six: The End
She watched him stumble against the glass and fall, ice Fallen from her fingers, the rose lay bleeding. etched into her visage. Before that, his lips had parted, maybe to tell her he loved her, maybe to ask why. Her breath abruptly caught. She waited for his final words, but the light left his eyes, his eyelids drifted shut and they never opened again. At the last moment, she reached for him, but he was gone.
***
Obsidian eyes pinned her against her conscience till she had nowhere else to run. Why? They asked. I loved you. And even as she struggled for an answer she knew there was none. And he was there, betrayal and hurt glaring at her. Her insouciant façade dropped and she blindly rushed towards him, stepping on the rose in her haste, crushing its fragile form. She reached for him and grasped at air; her hands bloodstained – And suddenly she was back with nothing but a broken rose and a shard of shattered glass, a piece of something erstwhile beautiful, but what use was it to her now? It was nothing if not whole; its beauty lost just as she’d lost love, the only reminder that she’d had it a broken flower at her feet. What right had she to this maelstrom of agony? Why should she feel when he could not? Still her knees gave and she collapsed onto the piano, which spat out jarring notes, a contrast to the canorous sounds he’d once coaxed from it. As people swarmed around her, she dimly realized – I loved him – her last thought before she drowned in paroxysms of screaming and nihility, the strychnine taste of loss burning on her tongue. 216 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 217
Lim Ao Jun Joel What struck me most, though, was that the toddler wasn’t wearing shoes. Seeing him trot about the dirt-crusted floor on his Colours in Greyscale bare feet, the first thought that leapt to my mind was how disgusting and unhygienic it was. Mentally, I chided the woman In the beginning, Adam and Eve were naked, and without for neglecting her child’s cleanliness. Ever the stickler for shame. When they ate of the forbidden fruit, they were afraid and hygiene, seeing such unsanitary practices made me shudder. And disgraced, and clothed themselves in fig leaves. if there were sharp objects lying about on the ground… I’d rather not go down that path. *** The woman started talking to her child in simple Mandarin. It seemed like she was trying to supplement his The bus was an ordinary one – grimy green walls, dusty- education. “Is the umbrella colourful?” He nodded fervently, looking seats and stained, foggy windows. The dull colours grinning as he grasped it with both hands. outside blended into each other, swirling about murkily as the bus “Can you tell me the colours on the umbrella?” Perhaps it journeyed on in the dim night. was a Herculean task for him, for he suddenly frowned a little. It had been a long day at work, and what worsened my She gestured to one of the coloured stripes, and he named it utter exhaustion was the rain. The walkway to the bus stop wasn’t correctly – red. completely sheltered, and my shoes were wholly drenched, not to “How about this?” mention the suit as well. My black briefcase, perhaps, was lacking “Green!” a little in the makeshift-umbrella department. Wriggling my wet “And this?” She gestured to the orange patch. toes about, I grimaced at the squelchy feel of my socks. My only “…Red?” The woman shook her head, smiling, and he consolation was that the bus wasn’t all that crowded, and I pouted sadly. managed to secure a seat opposite a woman, probably in her “That was red just now. This is a little lighter. What is it?” thirties, and a young boy, who (as I would glean from their “Orange!” His eyes lit up with evident glee. He applauded conversation later) attended the kindergarten school around the eagerly for himself, drawing forth a laugh from his mother. The area. wrinkles about her eyes creased in her broad smile, and her face The woman was Chinese, and spoke in Chinese. Her black seemed to light up – true happiness that arose from the boy’s hair was tied up in a bun at the back of her head, and she was innocent, childish pride. I myself could hardly keep a straight dressed in a simple attire. The boy held in his hand a 7-Eleven face, though they took no notice of my grin. umbrella, and every now and then when the bus jerked a little it Now they were discussing shapes. Rectangles, like the would send sprays of rainwater across my legs. I was hardly advertisement posters lined below the roof; squares, like the pleased, but I kept my irritation to myself. His mother looked glaring red “STOP” button; circles, like the mirrors along the road apologetic, but he refused to let go of the umbrella even after her and the woman’s wedding ring. They were in their own world, short lecture, headstrong as most little children are. one of magnificent discoveries and childlike naïveté. And somehow, they managed to draw me into it too. As I watched the 218 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 219 boy embark on his exploration of the tiny world in the bus, I The bus came abruptly to a stop, and I got off, carrying my couldn’t help but look at the world through his eyes. Shapes, wet briefcase and shivering in the cold weather. After some colours, all these wonderful things that make up our world – had I deliberation, I took off my socks and shoes, exposing my pale, forgotten how I marveled at the littlest miracles as a child? wrinkled feet. Then I sauntered off into the calm drizzle, staring at Soon, the bus rolled to a halt at their stop. They alighted, the green trees, the white circular moon – a child once again. and the last I saw of the little boy was the little pitter-patter of his bare feet on cemented ground as the bus continued on its journey. I sighed, extending my feet out a little – his umbrella had been restricting my comfort. Hunching my shoulders, I stared down at the pointed leather shoes, past the wet socks, and saw myself as a boy of ten or eleven, in Gold Coast, Australia. It was June, I think, during the Australian winter. We (my family and I, including various relatives from my mother’s side) were just standing there, looking across the vast expanse of sand and sea. The water came in intermittently, sweeping over our feet in a calming, cooling wave. We buried our feet in the beautiful, golden beach, enjoying the feel of the soft, wet sand against our toes. It was a wonderful feeling, so gloriously indescribable, that it made my heart swoop with joy. The sun set faster in Australia, though, and soon, we had to return to the hotel. We trudged back to the place where we left our shoes, and decided that it was simply too much of a bother there and then to clean our sand-caked feet. And so we simply walked back barefooted along the sidewalks. The pavement was clean, and a little rough on our feet because it was the pebbled kind, but I didn’t mind at all. Perhaps those Australians found us rather odd, but I couldn’t care less about what they thought. And there we were, strutting down the streets like we owned the place, kings and queens of our own kingdom. And here I was, all grown up, guarding my feet so warily that my feet were probably two inches off the ground. Though did it really matter if they get dirty? I could just wash the grime off them. And what did it matter if the world saw my Achilles heels? Did I really care so much about my image? 220 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 221
Lim Ao Jun Joel “I’m only two or three years younger!” He pouts dejectedly. Firecrackers “That’s still too young to play with fire, dear. Come inside, and eat some pineapple tarts! I can’t finish them all by myself, Tonight is the night when black skies turn bright, a vibrant you know.” chaos of colours erasing the emptiness, a blank void renewed into He seems to weigh the options mentally, and nods his head a symphony of lights. Red thunder shall roll across the land, the eagerly. “But next year, okay?” roaring of burnt gunpowder obliterating the silence. “Promise.” Even phoenixes turn to ashes some day. But amidst the The child holds out his tiny finger, much to his mother’s dying embers, a fire will spring to life; a phoenix will heal its initial surprise. Then they make a pinky promise – a small hand wounds in a fiery baptism to fly free again. grasped lovingly in a large one – in the dazzling light of the Let the courageous sparks rise and ignite the flames of the fireworks. New Year. “I can’t wait to grow older!”
*** ***
Hiss… Crackle! He has not seen his brothers and sisters in a long time – a The young child toddles around, jealously watching the year, to be exact. And now they sit here, chortling in a game of others play with the firecrackers. Though the noises are harsh on mahjong, as if they have never been apart. his ears, he is not frightened, or at least tries his very best not to “Kong!” be, for he wants to prove to his mother that he is old enough to He grins as he takes the newly-discarded tile, forming a play like the rest. full set of four Red Dragons. He lays the white tiles proudly Slowly, he creeps towards the large stash of firecrackers, a before him, and the others groan as they come to terms with his defiant gesture that does not go unnoticed by his mother. In one quick victory. swift motion she scoops him up, his feet thrashing and kicking “Pay up, people! I believe it’s the last game, so pack up about wildly as she chides him – gently, not wanting to further while you’re at it!” aggravate his hurt feelings – for his insolent actions. After they keep the set of mahjong tiles, they return to the “Mnnhhh!” He stops with his futile struggles when he sees living room and plant themselves in front of the television. He the fruitlessness of his efforts. walks towards his teenage son, tapping away at his phone, “It’s dangerous, don’t you know?” She sets him down after unlocking a new high score or whatever his enthralling game he is pacified. requires. “But they can all play with it, and only I can’t!” He sits down with a sigh beside the gamer, arm reaching “They’re older and their mommies don’t have to be over the latter’s shoulders. scared.” 222 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 223
“It’s not every day you see your cousins, you know. Kuala cover her arms, a testament to the times she spent in hard work Lumpur isn’t exactly a half-hour drive from Singapore.” under the sun. It feels disgustingly as if she was wearing a saggy, “Well, there’s MSN or AOL if I ever want to contact patchy overcoat. She can vaguely recall a time when her them.” complexion used to be better. Why, young men in the kampong “I’m convinced you’re just spouting random letters!” vied for her! Not that she would ever want the latter to happen, Computers have certainly gone a long way since his youth. “Come but losing a few decades from her features would certainly help on, let’s get into the Chinese New Year mood!” her self-esteem. His son pockets the offending phone and wearily follows Wanting to dispel these unhappy thoughts from her mind, him out where his nephews and nieces have set up an elaborate she gets up, groaning as her knees barely hold under the pressure. display of fireworks. Blue, yellow, red, they form an ephemeral She goes to the kitchen to carry out some New Year treats for the dance in the night sky, bolts of light exploding and falling as kids. No, for the adults; she still thinks of them as little children beautiful, shimmering sparks. He whistles in contentment, this sometimes. sight to him more enrapturing than any movie or video game. When she returns to the living room, she finds it empty. “Dad,” the teen asks, gazing disinterestedly at the The adults have gone out to light the Kongming lantern. After unimpressive lights, “Isn’t this basically shooting money into the setting down her tray of tidbits, she hobbles out to join in the sky?” festivity. The father’s eyes glaze over as he stares at the “Here Grandma, make a wish!” One of her grandsons undecorated, navy blue firework box – the one that burned a eagerly passes a bright blue marker to her. Quickly, she looks substantial hole of five hundred ringgit in his pocket. He looks left through the aspirations of her large family: getting good grades, and right at his entranced siblings, then looks up and sees the earning wealth, finding love – the last one has to be from her answer amongst the glorious display of lights, always different, youngest son, yet to be married. She smiles, and pens down her but always so magical throughout the many new years he has own lofty desire: for all in her family to live happily and without spent in Malaysia. regrets. She unfolds the lantern and holds it out, providing some *** form of support as someone else sets the small square of fuel below it on fire. As the orange flames grow, the white paper The aged woman sits upon her couch, one that has billows outwards, the inky wishes illuminated from within. Soon, weathered many a year and seated many a child. Though the the wishing lantern is able to soar freely on its own, no longer others seem fascinated by the television set, but a relic of twenty needing her to hold it up above the ground. And it slowly rises, inches tops, she glances out the door at the children instead. They hesitantly at first, swaying from side to side, as if unsure whether leap, they shriek, they play, while firecrackers soar and dance and gravity still drags it down to earth. Then it confidently flies, sing their monotonous melody. bearing her hopes and dreams with it. Eventually the lantern fades Green veins run through her aged, wrinkled hands, liver into the blank sky, no longer in her sight – but she knows that it spots – she never really understood why they were so named – has yet to fall. 224 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 225
Lim Ao Jun Joel muscles needing time to adjust to the strain. Then it went as smoothly as a cart could roll on cobblestones, and as silently as The Whispering Wheels wood could clatter on stone. Finally, their little social aggregate got a tad bit more He had always thought of himself as a linguist, seeing how intimate when one of them spoke. It wasn’t really hard to tell who he communicated with people of different languages on a daily would be the first to speak, seeing how one was a brooding, basis. Though his grammar was admittedly less than perfect, he withdrawn businessman and the other was a chatty old fellow. could say anything from “Hello, how are you?” in Malay to “What is your name, young chap?” The wind gushing “Thank you, have a nice day!” in English. against them made his words difficult to decipher, so the young Sure, carting around passengers all day – especially under chap in question craned his neck forward, and the statement was the burning sun – was no easy feat, but he was quite content with repeated, more loudly this time. his lot, to the surprise of many of the aristocrats he had met. “Carter Jones.” His deadpan, dismissive tone told the old Although it could get tiring at times, it certainly never was dull, driver that he wasn’t really interested in the conversation, but was for he was a sociable companion. His passengers’ tales were like a being polite. lush, marvelous oasis beckoning to the thirsty camel that he was. “I am Li Ming. I would shake hand if I can.” Carter And no matter how exhausted he was, he would plod on with the managed a tight, close-lipped smile at this weak attempt at stubbornness of an ox, the life-giving words of the travelers humour. trickling into his ears. An awkward silence dragged on before Ming tried, once He was just helping an old and rather reserved lady off the more, to draw the reclusive gentleman into a conversation. “How rickshaw when a Englishman, flustered to the point of blushing, was your day, Mr. Jones?” came running by, tie flapping in the wind. The woman almost “It was fine, thank you.” His fingers tapped across the leapt back in shock and her feet teetered precariously on the edge passenger handrail, face turned aside for his eyes to sweep of the pedestrian walkway. Fortunately, he was in time to stop her superficially across the shophouses rushing by. fall, as well as holler for the man to turn back. “You seem much troubled. Do you want to talk about it?” “You must get to some place, mister?” At this, the man The younger man rolled his eyes. What would a poor old worker stopped. know about his problems? But the journey would not be short, and “In truth, yes, but I don’t think I can make it.” He sighed the old driver would probably keep pestering him anyway, so he regretfully. might as well get some of the load off his chest. “Do you need a ride in rickshaw?” “It’s… my son. He’s, well, disappointed in me.” Now that “Well, if it’ll take me less time, then sure. Thank you.” he started talking, it felt so hard to stop the emotional gush of And so the man made his way up the bamboo cart, taking a few words, as much as he tried to shield his life from the man he moments to find a spot that didn’t poke into him too much. barely knew. “I’ve been spending so much time at work, just The long journey soon commenced as the poles were trying to give him a better life.” hoisted upon the driver’s shoulders. It started off slowly, his 226 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 227
The cart swayed dangerously to the right as the old man sighed contentedly. “Sometimes I think, if I go many places, bring faltered in his steps. After a quick apology, the suddenly-tense enough passengers around, I might see son again…” driver gently beseeched of Jones to continue. “I’ll definitely listen to your advice, Li Ming. Thank you, “Today’s his birthday. And I was so caught up with work really, for this. I should take time off work, and bring him on a that I just forgot. I failed as a father. I hope I can make it back fishing trip. When we came to Singapore, he was so amazed by home in time to wish him a “Happy Birthday” and kiss him a the water all around, I knew he longed see the fishes.” A small simple goodnight.” The Englishman was relieved his face was smile crept onto his face. It was a rare thing for him to feel this hidden from the old man. It would spare him some shame. happy, somehow. It was then that the old man realised that the two of them “Fish well then, Carter.” had more in common than he had envisioned from the start. “Travel safe then, Ming.” “I… have not seen son in long time. He left. To work, to The Englishman reached into his velvet pouch for some study, I don’t know. I never give my time to him, and I did not loose change, but only the crackle of paper notes met his hand. care at the time.” He sniffled into his dirty sleeve. “I was addict to Apologetic, he shrugged at the Chinese rickshaw puller, who opium.” promptly waved away his insistent offer of several bills. Standing Carter gave a start, unable to imagine the kindly optimist up, he gingerly made his way off the ramshackle wooden vehicle. in front of him as a feeble, wretched slave to drugs. Then again, And so the rickety brown wheels tumbled across the road, the better part of the Chinese community was made up of opium creaking and clattering, leaving traces of their whisperings amidst smokers, but it was still a stretch to think of Ming as one of those the blackened gravel. lowlifes. “I stop at lowest point in my life, when I use the family savings to buy foul drug. My wife, she left me, disappointed in me. My son, already adult, stayed on longer, wanted to see me change, but all I did was puff, puff and puff the pipe until I lost everything.” Now that the tears came along, he was glad he wasn’t facing the Englishman. The rickshaw creaked harshly as the driver gradually slowed his pace and halted in front of the businessman’s house. He laid down his weighty burden, and to Carter’s slight discomfort, placed his sweaty, grime-covered hands on the other man’s shoulders. “Young Jones. Work little. Love much. I can only remember one time, even before he was teenage, when two of us spent time together. I brought him on a ride, he was young, happy, laughing as I ran, pulling the rickshaw fast behind me.” Ming 228 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 229
Liu Fangzhou The tip of a finger traces up and down and up my feet. Torn flaps of skin from jagged stone, a twisted nail, shards from Ensky someone’s long-broken mirror piercing unseen and cutting deep into flesh. I imagined them chafing against my bones. Leaving I walked into bare light. marks. The concrete plateau stretched to an endless dust-colored I wanted to bare those travelling-marks, to touch them with horizon as far as I could see. Every step was hot against my naked my skin. Strip past flesh and muscle and read them like braille. soles, bare as they’d been the day I was born. The landscape of my feet was harsher than my parents’ The light falling on my shoulders was warm; it felt like faces: their lines were slower, mellowed, roads and rivers instead music on my skin, and I knew if I looked up, if I only looked up – of fault lines, edges. My chin tilted to seek the light but I knew, I knew if I I remember the night before I left – just for a while, I’d looked now I would see the world in a single moment of startling thought then. I had traced the gradually deepening wrinkles on brilliance, and never see again. their faces with my eyes under the steady drone of artificial light I shut my eyes. at the dinner table. I thought I saw those lines close in on one another. I thought I saw a maze with no way out. *** (Mother had worried, though she couldn’t possibly have known. “Dear, you aren’t eating very much today,” she’d said, Below lay my city in miles of silence and still concrete. I “are you feeling all right?” believed I’d grown to love it as I climbed its endless vertical “But I am hungry, mom. I am.”) maze: the walls that had held me in and shut me away building onto each other steadily to let me out, and there had been nothing *** more perfect than their grey symmetry. From where I was it looked at once huge and unspeakably Sky [n]: meaning the region of the clouds or the upper air; distant. Its ground, walls and ceilings were made of concrete and the upper atmosphere of the earth. the forests, I’d heard, were hewn from stone. I had grown up on I still remember those words, feel them on a thin page dust for meals and cakes of fine ash. Like all children I dreamed damp between my searching, sweating fingers. The thick book first of staying forever, and then of leaving this home. had been wedged like a secret between gaping metal shelves in the I first heard the word Sky when I was thirteen years old. It city archives. I read it cover to cover, each slick with dust; leafed was a hot little word, rasping from deep within my mouth and through every yellowing page and inhaled its scent of secrets. slipping out on a breath of wind; a curling of wings. I held it in Days of furtive searching through shelves mysteriously my heart and wouldn’t let go. purged of anything about the world beyond the twisting walls of the city and Sky had come into a meaning parsed in my *** untrimmed yearning. It became an absence of things: the yawning cavities in the huge, ugly shelves, the halt in conversation 230 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 231 whenever a child dared to ask a question about the past. The I smooth over my sole and find the heart on my first try terrible feeling when I realized that it wasn’t that the adults and oh, there is a rhythm beneath my fingertips and it goes on and wouldn’t answer, but that they couldn’t. Sky: my longing for a on and on dream without ceilings.
***
Sky, the Tutor had breathed, her shorn head sweaty and her eyes bright. A protest ready on her tongue but what she said was, “Up. You keep going up.” I had come up; there was nowhere further to go. Along the way I had lost my shoes, the torn page from the dictionary, a few other things I can’t remember, all fallen into a stone crevasse I could not dream of reaching; I had imagined, briefly, falling myself. Now Sky-light was hot and sweet on my skin, yet I could not bear to look. Where did that leave me?
***
I am here: light tracing my skin and shading the soft rise of bone, pooling at my feet and soaking my skin. I am here. And Sky is an endless, dazzling impossibility waiting above me (for me). Perhaps one day I could look up and drink my fill of raw light, but until then it will not go away. For now I sit and wait in this stolen moment outside of time. I trace the new calluses on my feet, wondering at how far I have come to get to this place, and recall, suddenly, a trick my Tutor had taught us, some harmless wisdom from an old civilization. An ancient people had believed that all the organs of the body were mapped on the soles of our feet, and if you found the heart-place right over the instep and pressed just hard enough you could feel a vague, steady thrumming. 232 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 233
Liu Fangzhou “To see the Berlin Wall.” The minute the words left my mouth I realised how flippant I sounded, saying this in summer, Fernweh 1997. Still, it was partly true, and I left it at that. He let it slide. A row of cars were engaging in small-scale Take a map of the city and fold it in half. Mark out where warfare with their horns, and neither of us spoke for a while. you are and where you want to be, the Wall standing somewhere in between, and marvel at how close it seems on paper. *** Shaped almost symmetrically, halved and held lengthwise, the edges of my city almost meet. Yet everything is only almost Later he told me about how he used to sell chocolates to something, and by the year I turned sixteen I was angry, furious tourists west of the Berlin Wall. “Why chocolate?” I remember with having to settle for the nearly-there, the not-quite. asking. Scaled and shrunk onto a map, Berlin is unlovely, ill- “Why not chocolate,” he said. “This lady was selling shaped and jagged. I covered its sides with my yearning hands and drinks and postcards long before I came, so I sold chocolate.” see a human heart spread between my palms. There are words in He went on. “The people who came almost always bought German for most things: the word for wanderlust, Fernweh, it – I guess they thought it was a local specialty, though I never literally translates to an ache for distance. Mine, then, was an ache said so and the shop didn’t have a sign.” He smiled a little at that, for jagged places and distance, distance from the home that had and so did I. stopped feeling like one since – “And then one spring they said things were changing. That summer I bought a one-way train ticket to Berlin, but There were rumours everywhere, but if you stood right here and left enough money in my pocket for a return trip. Just in case. looked far enough you’d see the same soldiers holding the same guns. And the Wall, always the Wall, impenetrable as ever in the *** distance. “I wanted to believe, but I couldn’t.” The man I’d asked for directions turned and looked He paused. “I must be boring you.” straight at me. Suddenly I was aware of my smallness in the great “No,” I said vehemently, “please, carry on.” city, the grandeur of its sad, sad past. “It’s a long walk,” he said, By some strange instinct I knew that there was something “and you must be a long way from home. to his story that I had to hear: like a trapdoor in a deep, dark “Come, I’ll walk with you, if you will tell me what brought house, it had yet to be unlocked, but once it was, I would either you here.” fall or find myself free. I didn’t know which, just that I had to He reached into his knapsack and gave me some chocolate. know. I followed him and he let me pretend we were walking in tandem. “Why did you come?” he asks. *** 234 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 235
“So that was 1989. Then one day I was closing the store away, and the vision paled along with its fading light. Suddenly I when someone shouted, “The Wall is coming down! The Wall is was sharply aware of the cold. coming down!” I glanced up; at first there were people gathering there in pockets, then a surge, so much colour and movement I *** had to stop and see. “From where I was standing I could see so many people. “His brother had died trying to cross earlier that year,” he The guards and even the Wall looked thin, small. People on either said suddenly after another stretch of silence. “That night he told side were running to the edge and waiting. Suddenly something me everything about himself; there was no one else to listen. I’ve gave and some trickled through, at first neatly, then wildly, never had a closer friend than him, that night. uncontrollably. The guards just stepped aside; they had to. There “And I still remember the flavour of chocolate he bought – was nowhere else for them to go. it was honey macadamia, an old favorite.” “Some people climbed up the wall and started stamping, “Wait,” I cried, “what happened to him?” dancing, the guards helpless, down below. “He returned East, and I never saw him again.” “I wanted to dance on the Berlin Wall on the night it was coming down.” It was said almost wistfully, though I didn't think *** he was a sentimental man. When his story was over he fell silent, and so did I. The *** chocolate was melting rich and wet in my mouth, strangely bitter. I wanted to ask him about the flavour; suddenly it seemed to be “There was this man – I say he was a man, though he was the most important thing in the world, to know if I was tasting the really a boy, maybe two or three years older than you – he was same chocolate on my tongue as that boy had all those years ago. standing slightly apart from the crowd. He jumped over and came I didn't ask, I felt curious and ashamed. For an instant I to where I was standing, looking a bit lost. I think he didn’t know almost wanted to cry. what to do once he was here. Instead I gave him what he had asked in return. I told him “He asked to buy some chocolate, but his hands were my truth, halting and shy and surprisingly short. It was the first shaking. He couldn’t open the packaging. I don’t know whether it time I had spoken it aloud. was because he didn’t know how, or because his fingers wouldn’t “I had a sister; she was my twin. I never knew her. I never hold still. In the end he tore it with his teeth, foil and all. knew.” “It was one of the saddest things I’d seen.” He held my hand, briefly, but did not attempt to console By then it was dusk. A car paused beside us, washing us in me or to probe, for which I was grateful. We remained silent for white light, blinding me momentarily. Yet in my mind’s eye was the rest of the way. the image of the chocolate-seller standing there, watching a stranger he would never see again take his first bite of chocolate *** with trembling fingers, so clear it burned. And then the car pulled 236 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 237
In my mind it came down to this: A brother he had loved Liu Fangzhou and known, and a sister I hadn't, would never get the chance to know. I tried to weigh my loss against his; it was impossible. Highway and Horizon I folded up the map and boarded the train. This time it was bound for home. I. In an obscure town remarkable only for its curious propensity for gathering dust, she loses her names. With a bag of apples in one hand she reaches into her pocket with the other and comes up empty. The slip of paper made creased and flaky by her own touch is missing. She slides slowly, carefully down onto a bench, bare fingers combing air.
II. If she had to tell her story she would say it was like a fairy tale, the kind to while away winter evenings in lonely villages – the kind where everyone’s wishes come true but someone is unhappy anyway: Once there lived a woman with her names, all her names, listed on a slip of paper. She had been to many places, one after the other, each further from where she came than the one before. In each town she wrote about other people’s lives for a living and wrote about her own tenderly, carelessly in the time she had left on napkins spotted gently with grease. She laid them under tables and tucked them into vases, a trail of white leading away from home. Like Hansel she dreamed vaguely, just in case, of returning home. Right before she left every place, in the last quiet mile before the highway, she would take the scrap of paper from her pocket and write the name of the town next to the one she had given herself for the past months. In Eagle Point I was Lynn. In Avera I was Margaret. In Fielding I was Simone. This she would write and keep away, always carefully in the past tense. She tries telling the story to herself sometimes to while away the hours between highway and horizon the way people sing 238 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 239 themselves lullabies but it always stops here. She doesn’t know remember geography; remembers loathing the subject and loving how to go on. the idea of north – true north – a pure point on a map that would not shift with magnets or earth or time itself. IV. Recently she has found herself going north and north and The man in the grocery store is looking at her hard, the north. In sleep she finds herself answering to names she had never way only very shy people do. He is disbelieving but he must be been given. And something in her stirs and turns and quietly waits kind; after all he’s still listening. “S-so you lost – what did you whenever her name, any of her names, is called, like leaves lose again? I don’t think I heard you correctly.” seeking light. She likes the men and women working in grocery stores; She always wakes before she can answer. they are always either old or young. Few people in the middle of their lives like to wait on someone else. Is that why she left home VI. before she could turn thirty? She cannot remember. Suddenly in the middle of the night she stands up in her “I lost a piece of paper. It had names and places written on tiny room and begins to pace. Does not pretend that she is still one side. It’s important.” asleep, there is no one to pretend for. There has been no one to The man is looking at her expectantly, as though waiting pretend for in years and years. A decade. The thought makes her for an explanation. And she suddenly realises that she does not heart pound and she paces faster, harder, till there isn’t enough air have one except that she cannot go to the same place twice, or in the room for her lungs, her straining heart. Time and again she take the same name. The names themselves didn't mean a thing; finds herself up against a wall. that was the point. But what if she finds she was the same person She walks out into the night and sits by the pool, between all along? the light coming from below the water and the dark night. It has She tries to remember: She did not want to become been closed for hours but at this time there is no one to stop her, someone who wore soft, faded colours and hideous expensive the staff are asleep at the small counter; this is the kind of town shoes. She did not want to own spatulas and wineglasses and where no one fires anyone. Her legs dip slowly in and she sits in careful insurance plans. But what does she want to be? Where the liquid silence until she cannot bear it any longer, and she finds does she want to go? She lost it; she forgot. It flew out of her herself drawing her knees to her chest, soaking her shirt and pocket and settled in soft dust in a hidden corner of a grocery saying her names, louder and louder as far into the last decade as store. she can recall. When she cannot remember any more she closes her eyes and repeats her first name over and over again into the darkness and the foreign place, like a truth, like north. V. And something in her is rising and falling with the water, She remembers going to school as a child, long, tepid days the waves, the ripples made by her own feet. The sound of her of palms sweating onto ink and teachers with permanently name. Till she stops, hoarse and breathy, and there are only parched throats. Of her early memories the lessons faded first but echoes and the dripping water. as she teases towns and journeys out of maps she has begun to 240 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 241
VII. Mahadevan Aparna She wakes to the stink of chlorine and vague morning light. The skin on her feet is folded in onto itself like dead fruit: Little Ralph From The Swimming Pool she finds slowly that it hurts to walk. As she has done for the last eleven years she ignores the hurt and goes where they take her. It feels funny being back here again. She finds herself before the grocery store. The door is open After all these years, I thought this place would’ve and she steps in, uncertain but unafraid. changed, moved on. The man from the day before is standing behind the And yet it is all still here; the trees, the overhead bridge counter, his hair wet and face smooth from the morning. bursting in efflorescence, the old black gate by the bus stop – it is “Hi, how’re you today?” It is smooth and practiced, an almost as if it is meant to have stayed this way. oddly jarring sound coming from such a shy person. I feel like a child walking back from school again – Listless, she thinks. I feel list-less. And she giggles, absurd shuffling through the oddly shaped pavement from the bus stop and unabashed, bending over from the force of her joy. She is grinning idiotically, clutching my blue file and swinging my old weightless. She is floating. yellow-striped school bag, key chains and all, humming a little And then suddenly he is laughing as well though he cannot tune. possibly know why. They are chortling at each other for entirely I almost laugh at the towering black gate in incredulity – different, incomprehensible reasons but in that single shining 20 years and it still claims all power despite being 10 metres away instant she is looking straight at him and he is looking right back, from the actual main gate, the one through which everyone is smiling at her as she has not been smiled at for years. supposed to enter but misses because of this pseudo-gate that Maybe she will tell him her name. Maybe they will go for demands their attention. It stands defiantly, 3 times as large as it coffee later and she will learn the way he takes it, the way his needs to be (its opening is located right at the bottom – the smile flexes around the rim of a cup. Maybe she will stay for a remaining three quarters of it is just there to be covered with month and then another, and then one day she will bring a map to artistic designs that portray its eternal elegance and strength) with him and talk to him about homes and true north and where she the Singapore flag resting majestically at its peak. I feel proud, should go next, and maybe then he will ask her to stay. standing here gazing up at it, with the melodious sound of a wet Maybe she’ll listen. Maybe she will never see him again. road calming me and the light raindrops pecking my face – just But right now he is smiling at her simply, secretly, and asking for like old times. My heart lifts at the sight of the aureate words her name. And maybe, finally, she will answer. emblazoned at the top – SPRINGDALE – and I remember how I used to make fun of it, its humdrum name and how it seemed to think so highly of itself. A very familiar dull thunk indicates that someone has pushed it open (for residents can open it only from inside) and before I realise it, my legs have carried me to it, my fingers just stopping it from closing again, and I swing it open in delight as I 242 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 243 slip in quickly. I realise I am panting – my body is old, but my the pool and strides purposefully to me, putting his hands on his mind has gone back to the times when I would hang outside the hips. gate after getting off from my school bus, reading a book, waiting “What are you doing here?” for someone to open it so I could avoid passing the scary old I mumble something incoherent and turn away, trying not security guard at the main entrance. to meet his eyes, disturbed by his shingled shock of grey hair and I do not wait a second longer, my mind and heart thinking ragged appearance – I do not like talking to strangers. simultaneously of the place I am yearning to see first. I spare a To my surprise and horror, he doubles over in laughter, glance at The Doggy Corner as I run, with my formal black heels and I turn to look at him incredulously. scraping against the pathway, and am not surprised to see a typical “Well, you’re still the same, huh, Senorita?” little boy in a red cap, dazedly holding his terrier on a leash and I freeze in shock at the name. The first time someone staring me unabashedly down with his large brown eyes. called me that, it had been to ridicule me for my obsession with a I smile to myself and suddenly look up at the fourth favourite Mexican cartoon of mine. window from the right instinctively, almost expecting to find my And there has only ever been one person who has ever mother smirking at me from behind elegantly patterned gold called me that. curtains. But there is no one there, and the once lit up square that “Ralph?” had been our window is now dark, dampening my spirits slightly. He beams at me, wiggling his eyebrows, his silver tooth In my reminiscence, I forget to look out for the slippery tile (the glinting in the sun. 57th one from the entrance, if I recall correctly) and my feet give A smile forms on my face and I stalk right up to him, way. I sigh and catch myself just in time and shuffle past the searching his eyes in wonder – it is him. awkward fountain, but not without subtly letting my fingers graze I laugh aloud and clap my hands in delight and he watches the cool waters as I pass. me with a bemused expression. He has gotten so old now. Every Then, I see it. movement on his face reveals wrinkles, his once smooth, freckled It is as glorious as ever, I am pleased to find. It is calm, but skin gone. He seems shorter, and definitely wider, with a sizeable innocently inviting as always. I peep around the bushes next to it belly and surprisingly skinny limbs – no longer the fit young man to watch for the security guard (how he managed to be at the main I knew. He still wears his famous red swimming shorts, however entrance and the pool at the same time, I never knew) and softly (lord knows how they still fit him) and an infectious, albeit toothy, kick my shoes off, wiggling my toes at the side of the deep waters, smile. glad for the opportunity to cleanse my toes. There is no one here I remember when I used to come to the swimming pool but an aged man standing at the corner, huffing and puffing as he (against my mother’s wishes) and jump headfirst into the pool pumps his arms up and down, doing water aerobics. He is staring before doing anything else, that too right in front the sign that at me with piercing black eyes, but I ignore him, splashing a little said, “Please shower before entering the pool”. I would swim all bit of water as I walk on the edge of the pool. I pass him and his around in a doggy-paddle, purposely blocking the paths of other eyes follow me, his lips set in the indignant frown that all old swimmers and throwing up fistfuls of water everywhere. And people seem to give me. I think nothing of it until he gets out of Ralph would be there – Little Ralph From The Swimming Pool, 244 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 245 we called him. Boy, was he a rogue. He would go around ruffling Mahadevan Aparna people’s hair and stealing their floats, sometimes hiding behind trees and scaring people whenever they swam that way. Singalorean Sometimes, he would let me play pranks on them too, and together we’d become The Dangerous Duo, out to do the common Today, I am going to India to see my cousins after a year. I swimmers in and nick their pool-time chocolates and sunscreen am so excited and feel like I am already going to India, although I lotion. We were so playful that we once got banned from the am only in the taxi with my mother going to Changi. swimming pool for a day, and I remember how we camped at At the airport, after check-ins, I insist to my mother that I Ralph’s house, plotting our revenge for the whole day. can handle immigrations by myself, and stand in a separate queue I cannot believe I was ever so fractious. I was so carefree from her. I am old enough to take care of myself, I believe, after back then, not a worry in the world. I spent half my time planning completing most of Secondary 4. Besides – if I queued with my pranks and the other half executing them. I wasn’t a bit worried mother, she wouldn’t allow me to take any of those delightful about my school work, for I got straight A’s without studying and lemon candies from the immigration counter and I cannot have I wasn’t a tad ashamed of how I behaved. Back then, Ralph and I that (not that I wouldn’t sneak a sweet in anyway). would sit down and make a list of all the things we would achieve I go smilingly to the immigrations officer; her inability to by the age of 50. Thinking back now, I realise I haven’t achieved smile back annoys me, and I frown. a single thing on that list. Back then, I wanted to set a world “Name?” she asks. record, win a Nobel Prize, become famous and rich. And yet here “Aparna” I reply impatiently. Can’t she read it on the I am, an old Primary School teacher with two teenaged kids, passport? standing in my childhood home wearing dull, worn out clothes, “You’re from India, is it?” having achieved nothing. “No I’m from Singa- uh India, I guess, yes,” Then I look at Ralph, and it all comes down on me – my “Sure anot?” boring career, my broken up family, my messed up life. It sounds “Uh –” I am unable to answer. so clichéd – if someone had told me 20 years ago that this is She shakes her head and hands me my passport, calling for where I would be in the future, I would have laughed. the next person in queue. Ralph gives me a knowing look and extends his arm for I stumble over to my mother in confusion and we continue me to take. I grimace, but link my arm with his anyway. on without another word. As I walk silently past several gates, (we And before I know it, he has pulled my rubber band out of have to walk what seems like a mile to get to our gate because, as hair and run off into the guard house with the agility of his 17 year usual, we have been lucky enough to get the one that is furthest old self, and I am left swaying on the spot in a daze, all my away) I have the sudden urge to recite the Singapore pledge. I feel worries forgotten. bad, like I am doing Singapore an injustice, by abandoning it on I sigh and shake my hair free, muttering to myself. its National Day. Sometimes I wish I were a child again. So I say the pledge silently in my mind, marveling at the fact that during morning assemblies in school I am able to say it 246 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 247 automatically without missing a beat, but somehow when I focus And every other day, I am able to just pop over to my on it, I stumble over the words. As I do this, what happened at grandma’s house on my cousin’s motorbike instead of having to immigration earlier comes to my mind and I am left confused. I dial a 12-digit number and shout over the phone because of the am quickly distracted, however, with boarding and I let it pass. bad connection. I am able to make fun of my cousin face-to-face Later, on the flight, after we’ve awkwardly settled in to the too, mocking her fascination over showing me the new “metro” ridiculously small seats, I finally ask my mother the burning (basically a slower MRT) and the latest malls. Funnily enough I question at the tip of my tongue; whether I am supposed to be a am more interested in the old-fashioned trains, here. Life in India Singaporean or an Indian. is simply unimaginable without trains – their old rusted cabins, the She laughs and replies, “Indian, of course!” horrible smelling toilets and the rigid murky blue beds that swing “But I was born in Singapore, and I study here.” whenever the train moves. “It doesn’t matter. You’re still a citizen of India. It’s right I hate to admit it, for it is so clichéd, but all the travel there on your passport” shows are right; I feel like I belong here, my home country. It is I look at my black passport (not blue, like the Singapore interesting; the word Singapore sounds somewhat like Bangalore one), nod and turn back to the oval plane window. – yet they are completely different. I hum a little tune happily as I bustle around my aunt’s *** house, absent mindedly adjusting things here and there, enjoying the smell of tamarind and cumin wafting in from the kitchen. I It’s been four days since I reached Bangalore, the city my smile at my cousin as she enters the house, back from college. She mother’s siblings live in, and the sad fact that I am to leave my smirks at me and interrupts my song, asking me what I’m cousins here and return to Singapore in a couple of days plagues humming. me. Bangalore is brilliant – the weather is simply darling and the I think about it and realise that all this time I’ve been place is a sight in itself. Every day, I play badminton with my subconsciously humming “Home” by Dick Lee. All the hype cousins in the open green lawn – it is much different here. In about Singapore’s National Day last week must be setting me off, Singapore, we play at a clean, polished badminton court in our I realise. Suddenly, it all seems rather out of place, me in India, condominium, where there are brand new rackets and shuttlecocks my supposed home country, singing about Singapore? to be rented for $1 and $0.50 respectively. It doesn’t seem right, and I explain this to my cousin, Here, I play barefoot with my cousins out in the wet grass, distressed and afraid that I am betraying my own country. She with nothing but an imaginary net, a shuttlecock that looks like a gives me a furtive look and tells me to think nothing of it. bird that got dipped in olive oil and then rolled in flour, the cold “Come on, Appy, you’ve lived there all your life, you’re Bangalore air and the sound of Indian Carnatic music. We go practically Singaporean!” she says. shopping on the shadiest streets, buying cheap, hand-made goods I do not know how to take this – should I be hurt that she off make shift shops while pushing past thousands of people and doesn’t consider me worthy of being Indian or accepting that I eating hot evening snacks made by yellow-toothed men in dhotis. might as well be Singaporean? 248 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 249
*** Later, as I am leaving the party, a friend of my cousin’s asks me casually, “So which do you like more? India or Later, my other older cousin invites me over to her house Singapore?” for a little party. I dress in my best T-shirt (incidentally, it has the It is standard, but the question hits me hard and I am words, “I love SG”on it) and some jeans and head off in an auto to unable to answer. her place. Snazzy Bollywood music blares as I enter, and I laugh “I like both equally, I guess” I say sheepishly, figuring that at the sheer “Indian-ness” of it. I hug my cousin and make my being politically correct is the best way to go about it. way into the crowd, bobbing my head to the music and taking in But inside, I don’t yet have the answer. the smell of fresh samosas, my favorite Indian snack, a spicier I ponder this question for the next few days, until it is version of the curry puff we get at Old Chang Kee’s. finally time for us to board the flight back home. As I approach I enjoy myself for an hour when suddenly, the room is the immigrations counter, I am not surprised to find the officer completely silent and I nudge my cousin to ask her what is going there asking me the same question, “Where are you from?” on, but she ignores me and looks straight ahead at the television, “Singa – uh, Indi –uh Singapore. Or India?” I say as is everyone else. nervously, spewing out the dilemma that has been tucked in my Royal music plays, and then everyone in the room is mind for the past few days. singing some song in a language I can’t make out – either Hindi or She smiles at me in a motherly way, and says, “How about Tamil. Confused, I watch the television. A scene of an orange, both Singapore and India?” and sends me off with my passport. white and green flag with a circle in the middle billowing against It sinks in after a while and I grin in wonder. I rather like the wind is shown. Then, it strikes me. Today is August 15th – the that answer. Indian Independence Day. I feel like smacking myself. Here I am in India, my home country, wearing an “I love SG” T-shirt, standing silently through the national anthem on Independence Day. I feel like such a traitor. I don’t even know my own country’s national anthem. Suddenly, something my History teacher said in class comes to my mind; I feel stateless. I have no patriotic connection to either Singapore or India. Before I have any more time to mentally berate myself, the pleasant and (I am ashamed to admit) foreign song ends, and cheers burst out. I look at my cousin in wonder. “Sorry I didn’t tell you. I thought you’d feel awkward to come,” she says honestly. “Not at all,” I reply. In their minds, I am Singaporean. 250 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 251
Clara Ong Wei Ling been crying for her, she was not sure. And no matter how much she begged Friday, the girl would never tell her how. Well, will Ephemeral you always be here when I want you to be? She would ask, and Friday would never ever answer. It was no use, the girl was as She could still see, as she weaved among the crowds, lines fleeting as the wind and it would do no good, it never did. of black tape. Thick, harsh tape that was always black, that always And she only had the other people for company. Of course, made her stumble and trip, tape that made a perfect square all there was the omnipresent black tape that the others could not see. around her. She tried sidestepping it, or skipping over it like a They were not blind, she knew, but they had already retreated silly child would do at a game of hopscotch, or simply stretching from the tape, and they had forgotten. And she would watch them her long legs and trying to cross over it. and there would be a man who would love Beethoven – there The tape was too much for her to overcome though, and always was – or a woman that collected sculptures or the little boy she always had to step back into the square, defeated. She could that could see all the shades of grey clearly, see them as clearly as see the other people, they streamed past her endlessly, and she she could. wondered if they too had their own tape. And Friday would speak up and snarl at her for being a It was during times like these when the girl called Friday fool and she would feel in her stomach, a feeling akin to acid would speak up. “You’ll never get past the tape if you do it like eating away at her flesh that Friday was slipping further away that. Don’t you know?” The girl named Friday would say from her. impatiently. “Don’t you know? Once you go out of the box, you can’t And she would plead with Friday to tell her, please, how ever go back in.” The girl would say. was she supposed to do it? The box around her was too hard, too But she still scratched at the tape anyway. And she could thick; it would never let her get past it. And Friday would lapse see the man who loved Beethoven or even the boy who could see back into her silences, mysteriously disappearing. the shades of grey, she could see that they had forgotten about the And she would peer out, past the lines of black tape, and tape, and they stepped all over the boxes that had been so clearly watch the other people, who could not hear Friday, and they did laid out and measured as precisely as any architect could ever not know about the tape or else they would have tried to rescue draw. And she tried to forget about the tape too, but it was always her. there with the lines as thick as the moustaches of the old men she She could never tell when the people around her could see used to read about in History textbooks. her, see her as she saw them. She had tried to call out to them but The worst part was that the only name she could ever the tape moved when she moved and stopped when she stopped remember was Friday, and the girl called Friday refused to let her and it would never allow her to move past it. Like a giant organ, it use it any more. She could sense it slipping away from her, faster was one with her and she was inside it, pulsing and swaying than sand falls down in an hourglass. erratically. The place where she was, it was slowly becoming in tune And during those times, she could sense that the girl she with her, and she could feel every turn and tremor as it slowly knew only by Friday was silently laughing at her or it could have 252 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 253 revolved. And soon too, the girl she knew only as Friday was Clara Ong Wei Ling seeping into her starving soul, and becoming in tune with her. The only name she ever remembered was Friday. The Birth Of Venus And the woman who collected sculptures, or the boy who could see the monochrome sky; they could see her now, and they She tried remembering. She searched the empty recesses of watched as she tried to cross the borders of the tape, her feet her mind, devoid of any emotion. Her fingers grazed the hem of faltering. She tried calling out to the girl called Friday but she her polyester uniform, a white and grey monstrosity that received no answer. enveloped her daily, a dry scratchy cage of cloth that had long ago The other people; they merely stared blankly at her, as she been welded onto her skin, leaving marks impossible to scratch tried to peel off the tape. They had forgotten and she knew they out. would never remember. The monochrome sky, the dusty ground Letting her fingers drift up, she picked up the carton of and the tilting sways of the world surrounded her, thicker than the milk and scanned it in. heavy black lines that had begun to snake around her body like a Beep. “Nine seventy-five please.” She whispered hoarsely. personal labyrinth. Beep. “Three forty-five please.” She continued. When she was satiated, she slowly stepped out, and she Her eyes caught sight of the clear box, her mind knew she could never go back again. scrambling to fit the image within her lost memories, to make “What day is it today?” She asked the people who had some sense of it. Nestled inside was a perfect quivering rectangle forgotten what it was like. in all the colours of the rainbow. A kueh lapis. She chuckled, a “Friday, of course.” ghost of a smile on her pale lips. Now she remembered how her She stared up at the grey sky contemplatively. She never grandmamma used to peel of layer after layer and feed it to her. could get used to Fridays. Every layer was as vibrant and colourful as the next. Its texture, full and satisfyingly soft always reminded her of a voluptuous well tended woman. When she was young, when she had been too young to let the boring monotony of life gnaw at her innocence and too old to let herself be overtaken by the childish ignorance that consumed her peers, she had let herself get carried away. Venus. She remembered more now. Her name was Venus. She had been named after the Goddess of love and passion, the epitome of the virile young woman. The woman her grandmamma would never be. Her grandmother had said to her while she was being fed, “Come my young Venus, someday you will let yourself be coloured richly like this kueh lapis did.” And she did not question 254 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 255 it. She wanted to be coloured richly, as wondrously as a Botticelli intricately that both had developed a sense of intuition on the painting, full of elegant undulating lines and organic shapes. Her other. grandmother had adored Botticelli, particularly the Birth of Back when she used to sit on the plastic yellow stools in Venus. She loved the painting too. It had satisfied her fanciful the kitchen and trace out the outlines of the cracked tiles with pleasures, filled her with its luxurious feminity. cheap white chalk that her grandmamma had salvaged from her She dug her fingernails into her palm and snickered weekly trips into the city. mirthlessly. Venus. It no longer seemed endearing, but more like She used to trace out the worn lines on the floor, her mockery, a cruel joke fashioned to pin her against the wall and stubby fingernails scratching against the cracks as her slap her in the face with the brutal realisation that she was a grandmother scrubbed the stove laboriously. She’d rub her hands nothing but a robot, stuck in mortal Hell and condemned to scan against the cool damp ground and lean her round head against the and count, scan and count, scan and count. larder doors, her cheeks brushing against the hollow wood as she She could still recall how she had gotten here. Like almost nodded off to sleep, too tired to get up and curl up on the thin every destination, she had first thought it a wonderful chance. Her mattress that her grandmother would lay out for her in the small first real job. She was grown up now! Wasn’t she? She was living room. independent now! She could do whatever she liked. She had just Her eyes would slowly drift shut as she heard her crossed her first stepping stone into becoming a woman! Was she grandmamma hum a soft rhythm, as her ears picked up the soft not? Never mind that she would only be given mindless tasks to murmur of the prayer being uttered. do, ill-fitting rags to wear, or that she would be forced to stand Beep. “Sixteen fifty-five, please.” under the harsh fluorescent lights and serve a bunch of tired, jaded She stretched out her sandpapery fingers, her skin citizens who were intent on venting their day’s frustration on the stretched taut over the pale bones and clasped the wad of soggy new young cashier who accidentally counted out the wrong notes. She opened the till and carefully separated the notes and change. placed them gently into each compartment, much like how a Never mind. mother would put a baby into a cradle. Everything They had been the only place willing to hire an uneducated compartmentalised. Different sections for different notes. It was girl aged sixteen. Ever since, she had been sucked into the endless like her life now. Work, home, nothing. Mechanically, she whirlpool of retail monotony. repeated the procedure over and over. There seemed to be no end Scan. Beep. “Five ninety please.” to the number of customers. Scan. Beep. Everything neatly boxed What would her grandmamma say, when she saw her up and separated. Venus here? She thought more and the memories flowed back into The name tag was another thing that repulsed her. Pinned her like liquid. to her chest, the letters of her name, that whimsical term of It would have been less draining if the world was as endearment, all neatly boxed up in a precise, square font, and set colourful to her now as it had been last time. equal millimeters apart. They stood like steadfast little soldiers Back then, when her grandmother was still alive and the about to head into war. She longed to rip it from her blouse. She world only consisted of the two of them, their lives intertwined so hated name tags. 256 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 257
She could still remember when The Manager had handed requested, she had made sure an engraving of the goddess Venus her the uniform. had been included on the tomb. At least her grandmamma would “Standard Operating Procedure, you know.” He had be able to prance on unafraid wherever she was. She could not drawled in delight when he saw her revolted expression. “Really, imagine she would be that fortunate. you should be lucky we’re not making you pay for the uniform!” Scan. Beep. “Twenty-two thirty-five please.” Cackling, he had thrust the bundle of fabric towards her. She had to cross an alley to get home, and it was a good She had seen the rooms hidden at the back of the five minutes of being haunted by the scraping rustling sounds of supermarket. Boxes and boxes and boxes of uniforms, all stacked rats and the sight of their beady red eyes leering maliciously at her on top of one another. Brown square solid walls of Hell, that held as she hurried home. her in and forced her to adhere to Standard Operating Procedure… “Standard Operating Procedure, you know.” She could “Standard Operating Procedure you know.” The dark have sworn she heard a rat squeak, its pale pointed tail lashing gleaming eyes of The Manager glinted and burned, reflecting her violently against the fungus-infected walls as it scuttled towards silent seething fury. her. Scan. Beep. She was lost, lost in the whirl of the blinking She was starting to feel conflicted. It was the last stretch of lights of the supermarket signs, the damp streets of The City, and road that led to her apartment that made her feel that way. There the rat-like contortions of the Manager. Wandering The City in was a playground located there. In the white ethereal illumination her polyester uniform, the bones of the grieving sticking out and of the moon, she could dimly make out the markings of countless poking her with sharp ferocity as she tried to play hopscotch with hopscotch games. Bracing herself, she whipped the pebble the cracked pavement tiles, her mind forming a network of lines forward. She stretched out one long limb and inclined herself traced out in cheap white chalk on the grey concrete. forward. Jerkily, she skipped from one square to the next. The She wondered if people ever found their way back. She white chalk markings gleamed in the half-light. saw the moths flitting their murky brown wings against the grimy She was a woman, but now, she looked like a child once glass of the street lamps. Attracted to light, to beauty. She loved more, caught up in the giddy exhilaration of childish playfulness. watching those ephemeral insects, captured by the illuminated She was a foolish child, attracted to the freedom and beauty of bars of the lamp and transfixed by the brilliance. youthful ignorance, and not content with the Standard Operating Foolish creatures, but at least they had a taste of the Procedure. She was no longer clad in her constraining garments, glorious light that illuminated them and turned them from plain she was clothed in heavenly raiment. insects into majestic butterflies temporarily, before they got fried She was Venus again, she was living in the painting. into a crisp by the heat of the lamp. She could hardly say the same Paintings were eternal, but Grandmamma was not. Venus would for herself. live on as divine as ever, but she would not. Like the moths, she She always passed by the Church of St. Joseph’s on her gorged herself once more on the taste of beauty, before losing way home. Her grandmamma had been buried there, in the herself in the whirling tempest of her mortal Hell, before cemetery at the back. She often went there to pray, a bunch of shrivelling up into her bare vulnerable body that had been stripped wilted violets clutched in her arms. As her grandmamma had 258 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 259 of its glory and its brief moments of elation. Grandmamma would Darryl Ong Ming En be proud of her. That much she could say for herself. At least she had Glass Of Water allowed herself a brief fleeting taste of pleasure; her poor grandmamma had never done so. I am a monster to them. I finally did the killing, and now I Her uniform and name tag had been cast off and lay in a am here. heap on the ground, like limp rag dolls abandoned and helpless. I used to be someone beautiful, a person who had flowing The birth of Venus had begun. hair down to her shoulders and long eyelashes. I still remember Scan. Beep. “No, I’m sorry, we don’t stock the colourful that day, when he stroked my hair lovingly, cupped my face in his kueh lapis anymore.” hands, and said: “I love you.” I looked into his eyes. “I love you too.” They are gone. The beauty, the hair, the love. Now I am someone whom they say will not exit this place. They talk to me of how I have betrayed myself, how I am the monster. I cannot remember the reasons why I am not a monster. I only remember a yellow ball that was always overhead. It's not here anymore. Here, there are voices. Voices that come every night and mock me, though here there is no day. There was once a different age, a time when buildings shone with splendour, when I was outside the buildings, not inside them. But I cannot remember anything else. All I remember is a small smiling face, and the man. And there was something else, something transparent, but still there. A glass of water. I married the man. And to pay me back for all my love he came back every night, wielding the broken bottles. When it grew dark he would slash and spill blood all over the walls – my blood. It would ooze out from those slits, and splash patterns all over the walls. The boy would hide in his room, crying for me. “Please don't...” He would plead. So, I treated the man well. For one week I greeted him with coffee whenever he returned home. I smiled at him and bore his beatings with a happy face. I told him that I understood his 260 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 261 troubles, understood his need to slash my body. But what did I I went to fetch the drink happily, though in earlier times I care? I had faced him for years, but I only did that for a week. I might have been happy just to fetch the drink and not the pill. But could control my anger. In those six days before the deed I happy I was all the same, as I filled the glass with water and thought long and hard every night. I cried long and hard, for I did dropped the pill in. The pill sank into the water with a splash. It not know why I deserved such a fate. I never shouted at him, began to dissolve and was soon concealed by the water. never wounded him, never even spilt his drink once. But now we “Darling, come and get your water!” I said brightly, hated each other, only showing those fake smiles whenever we waiting for my hated husband to return. met because of our fear for each other. What I always wanted to His footsteps grew louder as he approached the kitchen. do was to spit a line of saliva out from those tightened lips, to My heart began to beat louder as well. Without a word, he show my contempt and hatred of him. grabbed the glass and left. The last time I would see his body But he loved the child, though I do not know why. Though moving, I thought happily. he hated me, he loved him. He smiled at him all the time, smiles Dizzy with delight, I waited for the sound of the man's full of the love which he had shown me before. He bought the body slumping to the floor. First came the glug of water rushing child drinks and brought him to everywhere he wanted to go. down a throat, followed by the ping of glass being set down. Like There was nothing that he would not do for the child. But he did a dancer behind the curtain I waited, with hope in my heart that everything that the boy did not want. He struck me every night, things would go right, but with fear in my head telling me that all and in doing so tortured the child too. I could not allow him to do was wrong. The curtain opened without warning – a dull thud. As so, for the child was only that – a boy, weak in mind and body. I soon as I heard the sound, the horn of surrender, I dashed out into decided to slay the man. the living room in ecstasy. I danced about the dining table, and I treated him well during that last week, knowing that it leapt over the table and over the body. I wanted the world to know would be his last. For the week before that I plotted against him. I that I had freed the boy from the man's chains. The body lay on chose a pill to kill him, and a glass of water to hide it. It was the ground lifelessly, unmoving. It lay there dead, in solemn perfectly planned – one to kill and one to conceal! There was finality. I could not wait to tell the boy. nothing that could have gone wrong. I waited for the next four But it was not the man's body; it was too small. It was the days, looking for an opportunity to strike. There were moments body of a child, the person to whom he had passed the glass of when I nearly got him, when he announced his thirst and then – water. but then, proceeded to fetch water by himself. But on the seventh And that was when the voices started. day, my patience was rewarded – the man yelled at me to get a drink of water. I could not fail – the chance was just too good. The man approached me with the same hatred in his eyes that I knew must have been present in mine. “A cup of water,” he demanded. “Sure, darling,” I replied, maintaining politeness. 262 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 263
Darryl Ong Ming En None of their works ever came close to his. After all, the Painter was not born with eyes like theirs – he was born with eyes just The Painter like the birds’. He saw colours that ordinary men could not. “Why should I?” He muttered. “Why should they see?” Here, in the sleepy village of Pentrevstok, the children still The Painter stared down at the little town, so tiny in the forest, tell the legend of the Painter. Every winter, when the nights grow vulnerable and insignificant. He returned to his hut, filled with the long and nothing is left for them to do, the children sit in a circle disappointment and frustration that had plagued him for twenty around the storyteller and listen with widened eyes and dropped lonely years. Only the birds could share the paintings with him. jaws as the wizened old man brings to life the story of the Painter. The Painter tossed in bed that night. Why should he go “A long time ago…” back into the town? What would they do with the most beautiful Up on the peaks surrounding Pentrevstok, where the air is paintings in the world? Finally, he sat up, hair frazzled by the thin and the aurorae stunning in their brilliance, The Painter sat constant tossing. Twenty years had been too much for him. behind his easel, with the wild landscape of Siberia spread out Without pausing to catch more sleep, he went straight to his before him like one giant piece of canvas. The snowy cliffs of the preparations – for the trip he would take down to the town. mountain rose up by his sides, framing the Painter and his easel In the grey of the breaking dawn, the Painter carried his against the black crags of the peak. The birds perched themselves paintings down into the town and placed them together with many on the top of his hut and admired his work. Long had he lived like other artworks in the town square. Come evening, the auction this, alone in the mountains, painting works that no other human would begin, with the artworks being offered to the various art had ever seen. dealers around. He turned back, and scanned the collection of “Come, let’s go in for the night,” he told the birds in his artworks in the square, bemused. There he was, the greatest low tone. Trekking up a narrow mountain trail, he came to his painter in the world, vying for attention with backyard artists with home, a stone hut built underneath a large ledge. Turning away mediocre paintings. from the hut, his eyes lingered over Pentrevstok. The town’s fires The Painter returned at dusk for the auction. There were and candles burned bright in the grey of dusk. seats provided in the square, and he seated himself in the back “How would you like it, little bird, if I were to go down corner of the square, hidden in the long shadows of the houses and show them these works?” He questioned the bird nesting in ringing the square. his palm. It stared at him with quizzical eyes, before leaving to “Any offers for this wonderful depiction of Pentrevstok by perch on the rafters of the stone hut. Artyom Kalinsky?” Lots of offers came in, for the painting of “Should they see these magnificent paintings?” He said in Pentrevstok in winter. It sold for one thousand rubles. All the the frosty air. other paintings passed by, with not one capturing the Painter’s “Would they simply grab them and try to buy them from attention. All of them were ordinary paintings of scenery and me?” He thought. No doubt his paintings were better than all people, but none had that explosiveness that his paintings had. As others. Michelangelo and Da Vinci would never even have dreamt such, by the time his paintings were brought up, the Painter was of such works, overwhelming in their vibrance and vividness. 264 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 265 nearly asleep. The sight of the familiar drawls of green, purple and Darryl Ong Ming En black jolted him out of a sleepy wakefulness. “This… starts at ten rubles?” The dealer said uncertainly. Outflown He was obviously bemused, but looked unsure whether to laugh or to cry. Mutterings began to erupt all around the audience, as many I shivered as my plane left the ground. The night was dark, jabbed fingers toward the painting. Some were laughing, but some but there was a bright moon. were annoyed and unhappy. The squadron flew in silence as the greens of Singapore “Who is this painter making a fool out of us?” The man shot past under the planes. The island was blacked out – all lights next to the Painter muttered. were turned off at seven. Since the battleships Prince of Wales “It’s nothing but a mess of lines and scrawls!” exclaimed and Repulse were sunk, the Japanese had stepped up the night the villager in front of him. attacks, taunting the British by flaunting their Zeros in the skies of The dealer looked around the audience, seemingly Malaya. pleading for some show of support and enthusiasm from the We were heading into the unknown, the squadron knew crowd. After realising that he was not going to get a bid for this that. Though seasoned from a month of sorties into Malaya, the group of paintings, the dealer dragged them off the stage in apprehension could be felt over the silent radio. Tonight, we were disgust. flying against Saburo Kuwahara, the famed ace of aces. In Malaya At this, the Painter was incensed. Pulling his frame off the alone he had already shot down eleven planes. chair and stretching to his full height, he strode to the pedestal at My heart pounded faster as we neared the edge of Johor. the front of the square. Dozens of surprised gasps erupted from My palms grew sweaty and I gripped the throttle tighter. the audience. Here, in the art-obsessed Pentrevstok, interrupting Kuwahara was no stranger to me. Twice had I come back to the an art auction was considered beyond rude. two-man room at the aerodrome, only to find the other bunk But the Painter was not interested. Grabbing his paintings, empty throughout the night. It had been Kuwahara’s. he raised them onto one shoulder and stomped out of Pentrevstok The radio crackled, with the aerodrome alerting us to two without a look back. Many men got out of their seats to apprehend targets near Malacca. Immediately, the squadron commander him, but the look in the Painter’s eyes made them back off. ordered us to form up. Heading toward the direction of the peaks, the Painter left “Tiger six, your position.” Pentrevstok and never came back. That’s me, I thought, as I slipped into the formation. And, as always, the storyteller in Pentrevstok ended the “They don’t know that we’re here. Head to altitude and story of the Painter with a grin and a chuckle, telling the children descend on them.” to head home before the Painter caught them outside. But till now, The formation rose above the silhouettes. The two planes on a wintry night camping up in the peaks, one can always find a were simply circling above the ground, seeming to have no group of birds gathered inside a small stone hut with a ledge over purpose. it, staring down at the place where the Painter once worked his As we grew closer to the Zeros, I was gripped with craft. excitement. I leaned forward in my seat and edged the throttle 266 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 267 forward ever so slowly. At that moment, no thoughts about life or be the twelfth. Attempting to roll over Kuwahara, I pulled my death entered my head. Before an attack, the only thought is of trigger, trying to dent the ace’s plane. My gun turned up empty. glory. The hills hidden in darkness rolled away below us, I panicked, sweating all over my face and palms. I flew witnesses of the carnage about to happen. like a possessed man. Kuwahara never faltered, keeping his plane “Attack!” right behind mine. It seemed that he was enjoying watching me I yanked my plane down toward the Zeros. The squadron desperately try to outfly him, when he hardly had to break a sweat was descending onto the enemy like dive-bombers, nearly at right to keep me in his gun sight. I started to think of my family, of how angles. I edged the planes into my gunsight and fired for two they would survive the war without me to bring back food for seconds. The tracers lit the distance between my plane and the them every day. I thought of myself, and how sad it was that my Zeros. entire life, with all the hard work put into it, was going to end, up One of the Zero burst into flames right away. A parachute above the ground, probably in an explosion. I even thought of my opened up, like a giant mushroom. Two of the squadron’s pilots roommate, who would have to endure a night alone in the room, were chasing after the remaining Zero. I pulled my plane up, close wondering how long it would be before his bunk would be the to the ground now. However, as I scanned the skies around my empty one. plane, I caught sight of nearly ten silhouettes heading toward the Then I flew straight, not trying to outfly Kuwahara. I was melee from above. Nearly panicking, I pulled my plane into a roll, out of bullets, ideas and energy. Kuwahara knew that as well as I hoping to evade the bullets I knew would come. did. No doubt he must have driven countless pilots to my state. I No warning came over the radio from the commander. settled back into my seat, waiting for the torrent of bullets that Various pilots were shouting to each other warnings and Kuwahara would unleash with aplomb into my engine. It would directions. Diving close to the ground for protection, I noticed one be his twelfth skull, possibly the easiest one to date. Zero pull out of the melee and head directly for me, the easy But it didn’t come. I heard the fading away of the Zero’s target. engine, as Kuwahara pulled his plane up and flew away. Confused The Zero kept close to me, behind my tail. I double-rolled at first, I turned my plane to see if any friendly fighter had ripped and barrel-rolled, trying all manners of tricks to get the Zero off Kuwahara’s plane with his bullets. There wasn’t a sign of a my tail. It became hard to grimace as the muscles on my face were British plane. tugged at by gravity. Still the enemy pilot kept on my tail, I flew back to where the melee took place, rejoining my matching every turn, such that every time I came back the right squadron. All over the radio, congratulations were pouring in. I sat way up, he was always right behind me. As I rolled, trying to find there in silence, relieved and full of respect. I couldn’t fathom a way to get behind of the Zero, I unleashed bursts of rounds at why he did not, when he had easily done it so many times. him. I hoped for a lucky shot. Panic began to overtake me, as I Perhaps he had never killed a man who was so helpless and who blasted wildly at him with increasingly inaccurate tracers. was not a threat to him. Perhaps he just couldn’t bother. Flying It was then that I noticed that his plane was different from home that night, I knew that no matter his reasons, Kuwahara had the rest. Painted on the nose were eleven skulls, one for each of outflown all of us. the pilot’s kills in Malaya. I shuddered at the thought that I might 268 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 269
Tejala Rao Nicholas into his room. His room was a special place, which only friends got to step into. Gramophone Jason had dreaded being paired with Nicholas. The latter’s animosity towards him dated back to when Jason had told the “What is that?” Nicholas asked, his lip curling in distaste. teachers about Nicholas’s habit of extorting money from the He walked over to the machine and kicked at it. “It looks like juniors. something a blind man put together.” “Or we could work here?” Jason suggested, hating the way Jason gulped. He made a mental note not to invite anyone the statement had turned into a question on the way out of his from school home again, if that was how they would react when mouth. they saw the machine, or rather, the Embarrassment. “Whatever.” Nicholas slumped down onto the sofa. “It’s The Embarrassment sat in its “place of honour” as his your house.” mum liked to deem it – right in the middle of the living room. To Jason hurried over to his room to grab his work-screen. get to anywhere in the house from the corridor outside, you had to He returned to the living room, to see Nicholas placing a record go past it. onto the gramophone. “Well, what is it?” Nicholas snapped at Jason. “For crying “Hey, what the h*ll are you doing?” he shouted. Then he out loud!” realised who he was shouting at and tried to backtrack quickly. “I “It’s a gra-mo-phone.” Jason said carefully, sounding out mean, you can’t just put any record on. You don’t know what can the last word. break it. Some of them don’t work, some of them only record, and “A gramophone?” Nicholas took a few steps back and some are blank” studied the Embarrassment. He made a sound of disbelief. “God, “You seem to care a lot about this machine. And it’s not it looks so heavy. And it actually sold well?” like it’s worth any money either.” Nicholas’s voice was “Yeah, that’s what Dad says. He can’t believe it either.” contemptuous. Acting so concerned about such old things was Jason shrugged, trying to pretend that it didn’t mean anything to simply Not Done. You were supposed to only look at them with him. pity that these were all that the people in the old days had and oh, “Where’d you get it?” Nicholas was examining the weren’t they so deprived. Embarrassment closely. “Well, my mother won’t like it to get broken,” Jason said “My mom bought it at a yard sale.” cautiously. “It’s complete rubbish. What did your dad say?” “Your father?” Nicholas had paused with his hand still Jason hesitated. “Um…” holding the record mere inches from the gramophone. “Fine then, don’t tell me.” Nicholas turned away from the Jason hesitated. He thought of his father, with his gramophone, abruptly losing interest. “Now can we get on with patronizing smile when his mother brought the gramophone home. the project? I really have other things I need to be doing.” Let her be, Jason. Everyone has these urges. She’ll snap out of it. Jason nodded and was about to gesture to his room when When she gets tired of it and throws it away, you can bring your his instincts screamed at him that he absolutely could not let friends over. Except that his mother didn’t seem to be tiring of it 270 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 271 yet. She was always bringing home new records to play, buying Jason felt tempted to tell Nicholas to mind his own them from the antique shop around the corner. His father simply business, but reconsidered. Nicholas was taller and stronger than smiled. him and could easily beat him in a fight or beat an answer out of Although once, Jason’s father had drunkenly declared to him if he remained quiet. So instead he said rather unwillingly, the house at large, I must have been half out of my mind when I let “He goes to his club.” you bring that thing home. It’s practically a curse now. I can’t “So he doesn’t protest at all? Don’t tell me your father’s even invite anyone home for dinner without them leaving one of those men who let their wives have control over wondering exactly what kind of a woman I married. Some day, everything. They let their wives take over every little thing. And I’m going to smash it to pieces. Jason’s mother had heard him and all they do later is whine and complain.” Nicholas rolled his eyes spent the entire night in her room. Jason thought he could hear as he spoke. sobbing through the walls. “Come on, your father’s really like that, isn’t he? I can see “He wouldn’t be as upset about it as my mother. But he’d it on your face.” Nicholas returned to his seat and leaned back in still be upset.” Jason said unwillingly. Although, truth be told, his it. “The question is: why?” He was talking more to himself now. father would probably be glad if the gramophone disappeared. “Do you want to start working on the project now?” Jason “Why? It’s not like it’s worth much money anyway.” ventured, trying to change the subject. Nicholas was smart enough Nicholas tapped the speaker of the gramophone. “And they’ll just to quickly come to the truth. And he could see from the look in have to throw it away. It’s not like you can find anyone to fix it.” Nicholas’s eyes that he was very nearly there. Something in He placed the record on the gramophone and started to play it. A Nicholas’s brown eyes shifted. He had come to the truth. Jason woman’s warbling voice echoed for a few seconds, surrounded by steeled himself for the worst. static. Then, mercifully, there was silence. “The money, right?” Nicholas’s voice was softer than the “It’s the principle of the thing,” Jason protested. “My rough, boisterous voice he used in school. “She’s the one with all mother doesn’t like me breaking things.” the money. Your father’s only staying because of the money. The “And your father supports her? But can’t he see that this,” minute he leaves or protests, she cuts him off entirely. That’s it, Nicolas gestured at the gramophone, “is completely useless?” right?” “I think so,” Jason said as neutrally as he could manage. “Yes,” Jason said, before he could stop himself. “That’s it. “He sometimes says things along that line.” That’s what he said.” “Well, if I could, I wouldn’t let my mother buy stuff like “He told you that?” Nicholas’s voice had returned to its this,” Nicholas said in a superior tone of voice. “It’s complete original state and he sounded amazed. junk and you waste so much money trying to keep it working. “Yes.” There was a crackle of static from the gramophone Don’t you have a regular music player?” and it jolted Jason to his senses. “I mean, he was kind of drunk “No.” Jason felt embarrassed admitting this. when he said that so he probably wasn’t thinking very clearly.” “Oh God.” Contempt practically dripped off Nicholas’s “Oh.” There was a note of triumphant satisfaction in voice, like molasses. Jason thought he could detect pity. “How Nicholas’s voice and Jason could almost hear what he was does your father live through this?” thinking. Well, isn’t this something to tell everyone at school? 272 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 273
“I see.” Nicholas didn’t say anything more. “Let’s start The door opened. A slim lady with a lively, intelligent face working then.” came through. “On what?” “Jason?” she called out. “It’s Mummy here. I’ve bought a Nicholas looked at him as if he was an idiot. “Are you a present for your father’s birthday. Do you want to help me wrap goldfish? Let’s start getting to work on the project. What else?” it?” He stood up abruptly. “Let’s work at my house. This place smells Click. The record finally settled on playing the last funny.” The look on his face said, Do what I want or I tell conversation that had been recorded on it. everyone. After the record had stopped playing, there was silence. What choice did he have? Jason nodded. “Yes. I’ll just get Then, a loud “Oh!” and a sudden stifled sob. There was the sound a bag to put my stuff in.” of the door slamming and running feet. Then, once again, silence. In a few minutes, he was back in the living room. Nicholas shook his head. “You’re so slow. Come on.” He led the way out of the house and Jason followed. He glanced back towards the living room once. The gramophone was silent. He shut the door quietly behind him. The record was still playing.
***
The record continued playing for another fifteen minutes, but only silence poured from the speaker of the gramophone. The shadows in the room lengthened as afternoon melted into evening. The record stopped for a few seconds before playing again. A woman’s voice echoed from the speaker, her words covered in static. Then silence. Then, there was a click as the gramophone reached the most recent recording. “He told you that?” “Yes. I mean, he was kind of drunk when he said that so he probably wasn’t thinking very clearly.” Click. The record was nearing the end of its days now. It was skipping wildly all over the place. Incoherent snatches of other songs came through. Click. 274 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 275
Tejala Rao still unsteady. The unnatural pauses and hesitations mark her out as a foreigner. Haunted “What voices?” She ignores him. “I don’t want to talk anymore.” Her voice She’s in the room before he is and it throws him off is bitter. “Can we stop?” slightly. He’d have liked to sit alone for a moment in the office to compose himself before inviting her in. *** “You’re early,” he says, sitting down opposite her on the sofa. At the next few meetings, she simply sits and reads or “You’re late,” she answers, looking down at her cupped looks around his office. She always positions herself so that her hands lying in her lap. Her long, dark hair falls down around her eyes are hidden. Occasionally, they talk. Mainly about the weather face, covering most of it from view. or the scenery. Ice-breaker topics. When he tries to bring the “They’ve been telling me that you’ve had trouble conversation around to the topic of her feet (still bound in adjusting?” He leaves the question hanging in the air. bandages), something in her bearing changes and she becomes “Yes.” Her voice is soft and slightly musical. less approachable, less there. “So what is the trouble?” He knows, of course. He simply After a few months, she makes a tentative stab at the state wants to hear it in her own words. of affairs in her country. “How many people were killed?” “They made me wear shoes.” A shudder passes through He raises his eyebrows. “Why?” her body. “I didn’t want to.” “I’m just curious. If you cannot find it out then never He glances down at her feet before he can stop himself. mind.” She returns to her book. They’re wrapped in bandages, stained with the dirt of the floors. “Why not?” *** “I cannot concentrate if I wear shoes.” She states it unemotionally, as if stating a fact. Not many of the refugees do “Who’s that?” She picks up the framed photo on his desk. that. Their statements come hesitantly, tinged with He looks up, hoping to catch a glimpse of her eyes but it’s too embarrassment. “Not even paper sandals. I can only wear late. bandages.” “My parents.” “Isn’t it painful?” “Your mother is very pretty. You inherited most of your “No, not really. It’s better this way.” looks from her.” She rubs a hand over the glass, as if cleaning “What do you mean?” He leans forward, willing her to away a stain. look up. “That’s what most people say. Although I always thought I “I mean that having my feet bleed is better than having to looked more like my father.” He gathers up his courage. “What listen to all those voices in my head.” Her grasp of the language is about your parents?” 276 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 277
“I lost them when I was five.” Her voice is soft. She looks He shakes his head. “I really don’t.” It’s true. He’s seen about seventeen or eighteen now. He can’t imagine what it’s like much worse than a pair of oddly-coloured eyes. Besides, the to have grown up without parents for twelve years. He feels a colour isn’t that bad. In fact, it actually suits her. pang of sympathy for her. “Not many people do.” “Do you want to talk about them?” He decides to press on. “So who gave you those eyes? She shakes her head. “No, never again. They are not my Because I’ve never seen eyes like that before.” parents anymore.” She places the photo back on his desk. “The dead.” Something in her voice dissuades him from enquiring further. “Your parents?” “No, the dead.” She speaks slowly and clearly. “Everyone *** else in my family has brown eyes.” “Your parents aren’t dead?” It’s a surprise to him. At their next meeting, he passes her a sheet of paper. “You “No, they are alive. In their village, I think. I was only were asking about the number of dead people, right? Here are the there until I was five, so I don’t know.” numbers.” “Why did you leave?” She looks over the paper. Her breathing quickens. Then, a “I didn’t leave. I was sent away.” Abruptly, something in tension that he didn’t even know was in her body seeps out and her seems to shut off. The conversation is over. she slumps down slightly in her seat. “Thank you.” He thinks he hears relief in her tone. *** “It’s important to you?” “Yes, very important.” For the first time, she looks up It’s a few more months of silence from her before she from her hands and into his eyes. Her eyes are a dark green, starts to talk. By then, the hot weather has become a distant flecked with grey and looking as if a fire has been lit behind them. memory, replaced by incessant rain. Automatically, he gasps with shock. She instantly ducks “They snatched me from my bed in the night.” She looks her head down. “I’m sorry! I should not have done that.” Her from the window at her hands. “I woke up only when I was breathing comes out in quick gasps. outside the village. They tied me up and threw me into the river. A “No, it’s all right,” he manages. fisherman pulled me out later.” Her voice is soft, but steady. “I should go!” She tries to get up, but she’s been sitting for “Why?” He leans forward, looking directly into her eyes. too long and her legs have become numb. She collapses back onto “They thought I was a witch. That I could talk to the the sofa and curses in a language he’s sure is her native language. dead.” “No, stay. It was simply a bit startling, that’s all.” He grabs “Why would they think that?” her wrist without thinking. She freezes and her gaze travels to his “I don’t know.” She shrugs. “I was only five. Maybe hand. He lets go quickly. Her wrist is oddly cool in this heat. because I kept losing my concentration too many times to be She looks directly at him, into his eyes. “You really do not natural.” mind?” 278 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 279
He remembers what she said on their first meeting. “Is that Tng Hui En Faith why you walk barefoot? To keep your concentration.” “The pain helps to keep me focused. It helps block out the Down The Aisle voices.” “The voices of the dead?” He almost can’t believe this. Any moment now, He will snatch her away, somehow, and However, he’s heard the stories about her country. About how murder her for leaving Him. He always keeps his word. reality doesn’t really exist. “I don’t know. They’re just voices.” She shuts her eyes. “I Adam takes her arm just as God Bless the Broken Road had to do it while I was there. And then I think it became a habit fills the sanctuary. They flutter into the aisle, the hundred gathered after I came here.” scramble to their feet. “The dead gave you those eyes.” He realises what she Near the front, a cell-phone vibrates, its accompanying actually meant that day. ring vulgar in the presence of the wedding anthem. Darting eyes “Yes.” She looks completely defeated. “I need to go now.” sweep the room for the source. Jessie’s gaze zeros in on a man “No, stay. I can help you.” He feels a quick rising up of with his back facing her, seated on the pew, like he never stood up panic within him. “Don’t leave!” to clap. “You wouldn’t. You’d never be able to understand.” And Ink-black hair, leather jacket. Was that the tattoo on the then she’s running, out of the office. nape of His neck? She thinks she smells alcohol, but it must be an illusion. *** Jessie stumbles, Adam steadies her. The man turns, and relief floods like rainwater into her She doesn’t show up for their next meeting. Or the one heart’s canal. Not Him. after that. She never shows up, but he keeps waiting. The crowd shushes the guy with the cell-phone, who flips He reads up on her country and learns about one popular it open and bolts for the door. It slams shut behind him with a belief: the dead are not truly able to pass on until they have click of what sounds like finality. stopped being talked about. They can and will have their revenge on anyone who binds them to this world. *** Still, he keeps hoping and waiting. Click. It swung shut, a note of finality. He won again. Gulping back tears, she stood there, rapping her knuckles against the door of the drawbridge. “Don’t be mad, please, I’m sorry,” Jessie pleaded, “Please… it’s Christmas.” The mall had breathed life into the season. Winter-born creatures spiraling within musical globes, crackling trays of 280 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 281 cinnamon meringues and powdered marshmallows bobbing in hot The breath against her ear feels like a butterfly. chocolate; they worked their magic behind frosted glass, atop “Dad,” Jessie weakly acknowledges. She has spaced out velvet sashes, quantum lights twinkling overhead. for too long. It would have softened even scrooges, but not Him, who Adam clutches her hand, guides her forward, just like he was upset, for she had broken his rule of dressing decently. did when she was little. He is a good father. Her candy-cane striped dress came with a V-neck, but it My heart aches. was not that revealing. He had asked her, steely, if she was trying Jessie follows, but her legs do not feel like her own. Fog to draw attention to her breasts, if He was not enough for her, if from the dry ice curlicue towards her; the white wisps are snarling she wanted to runaway with another man. memories. She can almost hear his voice… A passing group of guys chose the wrong moment to laugh at her cute costume, to wink at her. *** Point proven, He stormed into one of the many life-sized plastic gingerbread castles and raised the Styrofoam bridge, “You are mine, these are mine,” He grabbed fistfuls of her drawing it shut. hair, working his lips down her neck. She was going to knock again, when the drawbridge fell, His lips tasted sickly with lingering alcohol. Spicy vodka, revealing his mask of calm. He was going to “deal with her” in the He had retrieved from the fridge and drowned once they returned. car park, but it was swarming with people, so he hauled her into He said there were ocean gyres tearing him apart inside. the car. Realising where this was headed, she fumbled with the He wanted the drunken haze, He wanted Jessie’s comfort, Jessie’s door handle. scent, Jessie’s – Locked. Choke. She pleaded, but he was unrelentingly silent. Jessie heaved He was embracing her too fervently. as he swerved left then right, His head twitching, fingers “Stop, please stop,” Jessie begged. thrumming on the wheel. Like quicksilver, his mood danced to another tune. “Jake,” Jessie whispered. “Why? You love that man at the mall, don’t you? You’re He glanced at the rearview mirror, cocked his head. “Slut,” going to run away with him. I can see it in your eyes. You think He mouthed. you can escape me.” “Jake, the truck!” Her fingers dug into the leather seat, and He smashed the bottle of sloshing vodka onto the ground, she threw up in his precious Porsche convertible, just as it dived to shattering it into a thousand winking mirrors. Cut her feet, cut His the left, narrowly evading The End by a hairsbreadth. He let out a feet. Her constricted pain sliced the air in screams. torrent of curses. “You’re a slut,” His words were drills, boring holes into “I’m going to teach you a lesson.” her mind, “I’m going to kill you.” Then – A blinding white, and somewhere far, far away, *** sirens were wailing. 282 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 283
*** The guy with the cell-phone returns, hastily inching into one of the pews upfront. His elbow brushes against a woman, and She blinks, twice. The fog is gone. she drops her packet of alcohol wipes. Jessie reaches the end of the aisle before she realises that Adam flings his arms wide and positions himself in front of she had been holding her breath. a blanched Jessie. So she had detected right, there was indeed Why are the walls so white? Her gown, the crucifix on the alcohol in the room, just not the kind she had been expecting. wall, the boutonniere in Dominic’s lapel, why is everything so “Sorry,” the cell-phone man mumbles. white? Her eyes hurt. Dominic is next to her in a flash, steering her away from Dominic’s fingers feels like mittens – So warm. Her heart the pungent smell, squeezing her fingers reassuringly. skips a beat. The corners of my lips curl up with approval. She’s wondering: Do I need you? Do I need you? She turns to the pulpit. “I do,” Jessica answers with absolute conviction. *** A sharp intake of breath from the front row is cut off by a thundering applause, as their lips interlock. You. She’d loved you. Where I stand, the celestial voices of the angels and their Fourteen years ago, they were counting the stars in accompanying harps fill the air. Up in heaven, my eyes brim with heavenward from their wall, sharing a tub of vanilla ice cream. tears of joy for my daughter’s newfound bliss. Jacob reached out to snatch the scoop from Jessie, whining that it was unfair; she already had two big mouthfuls. She smacked his hand away, but he caught it and pulled her towards him. His hand was cool from holding the tub for too long. Their lips closed the gap between. Jessie remembered licking her lips afterward. They broke away after a long moment, and gazed towards the night sky. “What now, fireworks?” Little Jessie quipped, enchanted, as he rested his head against her shoulder.
***
“Jessica?” I watch as the priest knits his brows. She takes an involuntary step back, and the sanctuary explodes in hushed whispers. What is she doing? Just two more words and all suspense would end. 284 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 285
Tng Hui En Faith Barreling closer, it swings one shapeless arm, and suddenly the sky is weeping with spiky, ice pellets. Where they Snow Ghosts cut, a trail of rubies gleam. Then its foot comes down hard. The plain breaks up into “I will be right back.” an endless sea of ice floes. Father straightens out his uniform, flips the flashlight over I fall. in his hand and plants a dry kiss on my forehead. Just like that, he is gone, leaving the scent of sundried cloth in his wake. *** Not long after, I hear the grating of wheels against the marble floorboard. The nurse enters to turn down the glare of the I am back in the bleak, white dimension, more breathless lights. I want to tell her to stay, but the tubes down in my throat than ever. For a long time, I think about the two fountains, the are rubbery, copper-flavored gags. eerie sense of déjà vu I seem unable to shrug off, and Death in In the beginning, the fans hum unhurriedly, as to the general. shallow flow of my breaths. I am awake, but not really. I cannot picture myself lost in nothingness forever. Everything is dove-white in this dimension beyond the pain of The blanket must have been kicked away while I was in consciousness. Somehow in between shafts of weary thoughts, I the other world. My toes are freezing. flounder, sickly and unwillingly, into its folds. Crunch. Fever tunnels into my heart, fast. With renewed trepidation, I struggle against the heavy lids of my eyes. I know *** that it is nearing. Icicles coat my feet with bone chilling pricks, but they would not budge. In my dream, I am standing in an icy wasteland, covered in The machines I am teetered to whir awake with neon a cloak of soft snow. Out in the distance there is the crystalline colours. My fists find themselves full of sheets. The sounds of the fountain, spraying showers of snowlight and shimmering hope – universe meld together to create a new frequency. It drowns out The Elixir of Life. And further behind it is its counterpart, an icy the taptaptap of footsteps running at breakneck. geyser of black. I shudder, and not just because of the cold. I should get moving, then. *** Crunch. It is like someone had turned up the volume of my brother munching on butter cookies - those with jam blobs in their I find myself weaving through fields of crystal patches, the middles. Eternities have passed since I last saw him. frost giant hot on my heels. Very soon, all of my strength is When I turn, however, it is not my brother, but a looming drained. I seek shelter in a limestone cave, chilled by the presence frost giant, advancing towards me. The pulsing in my throat of snow. quickens, but I stay firm. After all, this is a dream, is it not? “Drink this,” A voice commands, “It has rejuvenating qualities.” 286 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 287
Startled, I turn to come face-to-face with an unearthly girl, *** dressed in glass. She holds out a goblet of crushed roséquartz. Bowing, I accept the offering. “Save her,” Father orders. The doctor is silent. He has already explained, a thousand *** times over. “I have just lost my wife. I cannot lose my daughter too,” My left eye is pried open before my right, then thrust into He speaks quietly – Too calmly, “Her feet, why are they black? golden light. Fix it. Fix it now.” With the infusion pump, they fill me with blood. I am not “The infection has taken root in her entire body. There is given a choice. For each treatment, each blood pack, and even this nothing we can do. I am s-” bed I am laying on, they will burden Father with their cost. He “Can she hear me?” never used to have to work night shifts as a security guard. “I believe so.” The room is inviolably silent. And then Fate speaks. “Get out.” “She cannot be saved. Contact the family.” A gust of wind simmers the tension in the room when the medical team exits. *** Father presses his lips against my throbbing head. The pins and needles in it seem to subside. I want to bury myself in his I hear it first, the plopping of tears. Resting on the seabed, arms, comfort him, blink – anything that will show that I am still submerged from the chest down, is the great frost giant. With each here, listening, because I can taste, I can feel the streams of salt glittering, inky drop that falls from its eyes, the water level rises. ending on his lips. Positioned so vulnerably, I must admit, it does look In my dimension, I draw out the teardrop and send it to familiar. him. An unrecognisable force of nature lulls me forward. Death begins counting, but She would not decide for me. Hungrily, I tread across the floating ice, skipping over narrow He will. gaps, until I am right in its view. “Okay. I will let you go,” Father breathes. By then, the smell of sundried cloth is overwhelming. A Where I am, I close my eyes and wait for the dream. bead of saltwater glides onto my open palm and hardens. I pocket it. *** “Father?” My voice emerges in sing-song. “Don’t go,” it pleads. It seems like years have flitted by in the other world since I His words echo a million times. They coalesce into a had last visited. There is no longer any ice; a new sun has melted single supersonic note so powerful, this universe implodes, taking all to a majestic woodland. us with it. I stand before the crystal fountain of Life, but it is no longer my destiny. If I drink from it, I will lie in a hospital bed, 288 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 289 stuck in an empty void, for all of eternity. As for Death, perhaps it Tng Hui En Faith is just another journey, one in which, if I wait long enough, would reunite me with my parents again. Flawless I run the extra mile toward Hope. I feel almost gratuitous, allowing them to look. Their eyes spiral in jade ripple pools, devouring my high cheekbones, my stick-thin waist, taking in my advanced-classes’ textbooks, shelved in color-code with luminous tabs teething the pages. When I pass, my fingers brush lightly over my name on the Honor Plague. I flash them a smile so wide, I hope that they are blinded. I give my locker door a shoulder-nudge so it opens wider, and reach out to count the sheaf of rainbow envelopes deposited into my locker this morning. Sure enough, her gaunt face stares back at me, accusing eyes and all. Her mouth is sewn shut with threads, but I can hear her humming Over the Rainbow, that stupid song from The Wizard of Oz. Our childhood. What the h*ll. I retrieve my letters and slam the locker door. Just four party invitations and one congratulatory note from the school alumni – not good enough for my usual perfect morning, but the girls’ eyes aren’t wavering. I slip the invites into my file. The disposal bin would have to wait longer for my contribution today. I turn to flash the girls – whose coarse-hands and crooked skirts were painfully apparent – another smile, before walking into the arms of my perfect boyfriend, Landon. The puddle at their feet resembles drool. From my peripheral vision, I catch her moping around before the bell rings, her insect-like nose buried in The Tempest. Her threaded lips are still pursed in a humming effort. I turn. 290 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 291
*** There’s pounding on the door, followed almost immediately by an ear-splitting crash. We jump apart. The lights I decide to show up. Zach was on Landon’s team, after all. come on. Plus points for Zach’s parties since they usually have tequila shots “What the h*ll?” Landon shouts, except that it comes from served in chilled glasses. Couple that with techno beats blasting near the door. from the stereo, and there’s no chance she would show up at all. I whip off the blindfold. “How did you get there so fast?” Not in this playground with an overflow of temptations. My hyenas stand behind Landon, triumphant grins on their faces. I steer clear of the buffet table. Hyena Lindsey’s got her arms folded. “There she is,” she sneers, “I’m feeling a little woozy,” I announce to no one in “with Zach.” particular. Zach? My head swivels to my right. Zach (?) backs away. My hyenic friends giggle even though I didn’t say “What the h*ll is going on?” I demand. anything remotely funny. A perfect example of why I would never “You tell me,” Landon yells back. drink that much. My head spins with realisation. I had been tricked. The Too many calories per glass, anyway. room feels about a hundred degrees icier as I realise what I’m Someone nips at my ear. “Pardon my late arrival,” A going to do. What I’ve got to do. husky voice slurs, “You’re hard to find.” The last of the tension Because I’d rather die than admit I made a mistake. bubbles away as a pair of arms slide around my waist from I look Landon dead in the eye. No turning back now. behind. “What? You never said I couldn’t make out with one of your “You’re tipsy too,” I observe. friends.” “Follow me,” He whips a blindfold over my eyes. My Zach blinks. chest surges with infuriation. A map of rage unfurls over Landon’s features. He takes a He must have mouthed something to the hyenas, because tentative step towards me. they do their evil-hyena-laugh-thing and let him haul me off. Lindsey shakes her head. “Don’t. She’s not worth it,” She This better be as good as last week’s diamond earrings. says pretentiously. The hyena pack whisks him away. The closet creaks open. She holds my gaze with rheumy *** eyes – my eyes. When she presses it into my hands, I see that her wrists are scabbed and caked with dried blood. “So, what’s my surprise?” The first bite hurts, but it numbs soon after. Deep, deeper. I can feel him breaking into a grin. “This.” This was how she did it. Of course. I am ecstatic as I plunge it Deepest. I finished up what she He must have took Brad’s or Brett’s or whatever his didn’t. What she should have, two years ago. player-friend’s-name-is’s advice because he was more lips and We share a mutual silence, a mute and a muted. less slob this time. Still, I’m annoyed that he makes me work for The world spins precariously on the edge of the universe every surprise. before tipping over. 292 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 293
*** good sign. To prove her point, she pulls out her copy of The Tempest from her book bag. Wrapped, I note approvingly. I feel like gravel being raked. I decide to throw her a bone, and open my mouth for the Their eyes are like forked tongues snaking in then out of first time in three months. my hollow curves, searching and begging for a flaw. I can feel “Mine, too,” I answer. their want masking their fear. They are all unsettled by the From my peripheral vision, her lips crack a toothy smile. thought of living inside a stick like I am. A stick which might The black threads weaved into her lips snap and fall to the ground. snap anytime. “Mine, three,” She mouths from afar. Her cheeks blossom The hallways know my secrets. Sometimes the whispers with color. She blows me a kiss goodbye and disappears for what are really loud, and I catch words like psychopath. I knew would be a long time. someone at my new school would find out eventually, but I hadn’t imagined it would be this quick. So, it wasn’t my time to go, the night I tried to follow in her footsteps. I thought that my sister knew what she was doing, the night she killed herself and didn’t take me with her. She was always in control, starving herself and then working out on the treadmill for hours, till she realised she couldn’t make herself small enough to simply cease to exist. She easily had everything, but everything lost her just as easily, to her definition of perfection – surpassing our expectations. We helped her die.
***
One of them steps forward. She eyes the hardcover in my hand – The Tempest, mind you – and asks me if it is The Tempest. Wow. Get out. The title’s clearly on the spine, next to her name. I nod, anyway. “It’s my favorite play. From Shakespeare, I mean,” She grins crookedly, “I’m Anna, by the way.” I eye her warily, trying to figure out what her status and game is. She doesn’t look or talk like a hyena, which is probably a 294 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 295
Austin Zheng Zeyuan Area 92 was one of the many containment facilities that now littered the country. It was enclosed by a towering concrete Encirclement wall and an electric fence, with a strict curfew imposed after 8 p.m., and imprisoned criminals from the nearby towns. Such The man's screams ascended another octave as a bullet criminals ranged from serial killers to blonde, blue-eyed, pale- shattered the last of his limb joints. The assassin crouched and cut skinned teenage girls who prevented military policemen from his victim's vocal chords, reducing the noise to a bloody gurgle. A beating defenseless orphans. Nevertheless, the chaotic layout of passerby spoke from the shadows. the former slum ensured that there were certain crannies that “Princess Lilette has been found.” remained hidden to the soldiers. It was in one such place – an The man thrashed as his ears were severed, and more abandoned thieves' hideout – where Lilette first met Scuro, and it blood spurted from his mouth and neck. was there that she went to now. Scuro turned to her as she “She's at Area 92. She's blond with blue eyes and pale struggled through the passageway, stumbling into a small clearing skin, 14 years old, 1.6m tall, athletic, lively, sociable and that was concealed between two oddly-shaped buildings. rebellious. Her attempts at covering her tracks, while valiant, are “You're growing too big to fit through,” he observed. amateurish. It is only a matter of time before they find her as “I'm not that big. You're just small for a boy of your age. well.” No one would ever guess that you're already twelve. I wish I could The assassin doodled on the man's face with his knife. “So slip into here as easily as you do. Perhaps I could climb down I have to capture her? That's boring.” from above?” Lilette said. “It is,” the passerby replied, and the assassin looked up. “You'll be shot.” “Which is why that is of secondary importance. She will be bait. “I'll probably be shot anyway.” Lilette said. “The military And when they come, you will dispose of them.” is after me. I have to escape.” The assassin smiled and twisted the knife into the man's “Do you think you can survive?” brain. Lilette shivered involuntarily. The tenth victim had been murdered only yesterday. She had seen the corpse with her own *** eyes – seen the unnatural positions of its limbs, the scattered remains of its internal organs, the violent streaks of red on the It had been six months since the military overthrew the surrounding walls, and above all the sheer horror on the corpse's monarchy, reigning in its stead. The princess, however, had contorted face, its mouth open in an eternal scream. The guards, managed to escape in the chaos. The story of her survival was the civilians whispered, had identified and eliminated possible leaked and circulated throughout the country, exaggerated with troublemakers before anyone knew what was going on. each retelling. She became a figurehead for those who decided to She smiled shakily. “One of the soldiers is on my side. I've stand against the dictatorship, an underground movement called known him since I was a child. He tipped me off, and promised the Rebellion, dedicated to the restoration of the old order. that he would help me to get away.” 296 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 297
“Are you talking about the one whom you happened to Lilette eventually inched her way to the meeting place, meet two weeks ago? The one named Gale?” spotting Gale after a few moments. Though his face was “It's Willis Gale.” shadowed, his silhouette, framed by the dim light of his lantern, Amidst the prolonged silence, Scuro absentmindedly was unmistakable. She sprinted over to him. picked something from the ground and started toying with it. “Will! What's the escape plan?” Lilette leaned in. “Oh! It's a butterfly!” “It's quite simple. We'll transport you back to the capital, He tore one of the insect's wings out. show the civilians that we've captured you, and throw you into the “Stop it!” dungeons of Area 0. You'll be perfect bait for the Rebels.” “Why?” he asked, crushing the pieces into dust. Lilette stared at him and stepped back. She could see his “It's really beautiful! And it helps flowers reproduce−” face clearly now; he was grinning savagely, the shadows sickly “That's why it's such a despicable insect,” Scuro replied, spread throughout his visage, such that she seemed to be looking ripping another of its wings. “Pretending to help others, deceiving at a horrifyingly unreal mask − them with illusory friendships, breeding them for its offspring to They converged on her before she could even think of devour as food –” fleeing, twisting her arms behind her. Lilette opened her mouth to “Look,” he continued, shredding the last of the butterfly's scream, but Gale smashed his baton against her head, and she wings. “It's nothing more than a worm.” crumpled to the floor. And he slashed it apart. “I've received some information an hour ago,” Gale said. “The Rebels have suddenly attacked our posts in the nearby *** towns. We'll transport the girl when that problem has been resolved. Until then, imprison her in a maximum-security cell.” Night. The shadows flickered with the feeble flames of the street *** lanterns, surrounding and devouring her, morphing into a thousand faceless grotesques, into the frame of a soldier − Lilette awoke groggily as a pebble struck her shoulder. Lilette held her breath and flattened her body against the Another hit her head, and she jerked upright to see Scuro carrying wall. But her heart continued to beat – continued to crash against a handful of stones. “Scuro! How did you manage to get in?” her ribs over and over again, screaming to be let out, shrieking so “... I have my ways,” he replied, producing a bottle from loud that the entire camp could surely hear it − under his sleeve. “Drink this. It's your favourite – apple cider. I A second passed. Then another. Lilette opened her eyes. stole it from the officers' compound.” Nothing. “You could have been killed!” Lilette said, rushing to the She allowed herself to have the luxury of sighing. Every bars. “Why did you risk your life just for that?” shadow was the figure of a guard, every noise the crack of a boot “It's the only thing I can do for you now.” against the ground. But she could not let these illusions distract her; letting her focus slip now would be suicide. 298 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 299
Lilette hesitated, then nodded, tilting the bottle towards her “We have taken enough liberties here,” the passerby said, mouth. She closed her eyes, savouring the sweet taste of the cider, glancing at his watch. “The Rebellion's work is far from done.” letting it slosh around in her mouth before swallowing it. The shadows swallowed them, and they were gone. “Thank you, Scuro,” she smiled, before stumbling and collapsing onto her bed. It felt warm and soft now, and soon pretty dreams drifted into her thoughts, reducing the nightmare of reality into the shadow of a memory. Her eyelids were heavy, but her body felt weightless, and she slowly slipped into a wonderfully deep sleep.
***
A passerby leaned against the outer wall of the passageway Lilette had struggled through only a few hours earlier. He idly noted, among other obscure things, the muffled thump of dirt on dirt. Neither he nor the boy who eased out of the passageway seemed remotely surprised to see each other. “You actually buried her,” the passerby observed. “She was the purest human I had ever met,” Scuro replied. “Too pure to survive in this world.” “Was that why you killed her?” “The vet once told me that he killed the animals he couldn't save to end their suffering. He told me that it was better for them to sleep in peace.” “Mmm. I suppose this is quite a problem for the orthodox members of the Rebellion. But,” the passerby smiled. “We aren't anywhere near being orthodox, are we?” “I saw your handiwork,” he continued. “Your viciousness was positively frightening. One soldier was apparently forced to eat his own flesh and had virtually all his skin ripped away before being burned to death. Nevertheless, do not forget that you are a mere tool. Your sole purpose is to kill with absolute efficiency.” A pause. “And efficiency alone.” 300 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 301
Austin Zheng Zeyuan mind is filled with cotton which has absorbed all your cerebrospinal fluids and left your brain to rot. But you know you The Importance of Youryour Audience cannot afford to sleep in class. You got 25% on a test where the class average was 80%. It might have had something to do with It is 2am, that time of the night when everything should the sleepless nights you had prior to that test, spent working on a stop, even those things that you like to think are functioning 24/7, social studies project, and a history essay before that. And so your like the cars on the road, the MRT trains and your neighbours' thoughts turn to self-pity and you start thinking about how mouths. Only the chirping of unnamed insects in a wondrous difficult your life is and how overbearing the education system is, chorus that no one is around to appreciate should remind you that and above all how very tired you are. the world is alive in the slumber of men. But there is another There are prefects in your class who get back home at noise, one that drowns out the chorus of the insects. It is your 11pm. There are people who train five times a week for their playing on the keyboard, and as you do so with alternating extracurricular competitions. There are people taking a third jerkiness and fluency words appear and erase themselves on the language and fretting about their examinations. Compared to screen. Bit by bit, the script for your literature presentation them, you are relatively free. Know that you chose to be unfolds before you. perfectionist, despite you being imperfect and the world telling You have a burning passion for literature, and that is why you so. Know that your predicament was a direct result of your you are working so hard, trying to get a perfect mark for your conscious decisions, not your obligations. You are privileged to be assignment. able to make such a choice. You have no right to complain. You yawn and know that you have passed that stage of Focus on Math. tiredness where you feel abnormally awake, which you had been You start using your recess time to eat instead of doing relying on for inspiration. As if on cue, your mother, who was work, because you know that you cannot last for the rest of the sleeping on the sofa beside you, stirs and stares at the clock, day in your current condition without sustenance. You know your before turning around and hissing at you to sleep. You want to tell limits. The food doesn't clear your mind, but it does help you to her to go back to sleep and continue doing your work, but you keep your eyes open and copy down whatever important know that your productivity will decrease sharply. You are a information the teacher provides, robotically. The last period of pragmatic person. You reluctantly shut the computer down, switch the day is literature and you wish fervently that it will end, so that off the lights and go to your room. When you close your room you can go home to complete your assignment. door, you see your mother going to hers. You hate school because it reduces the time available for There is a reason why your desktop is in the living room. you to do schoolwork. Eight hours later, you are in a math lesson, and while you It wasn't always like this. had somehow managed to pull through the first few lessons of the Finally, school is over and you go home and continue day, you are defenseless before the soporific powers of the Math working on your project. Your group members ask if you need teacher's voice. Your head hurts and you can't think, like your help with the script, concerned about your silence on the issue and its progress. You tell them that there's not much to do, that you'll 302 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 303 be able to handle it. They smile and thank you, unconvinced. Soon listen to the presentation after yours and finds that it is interesting it is late into the night and your mother, who had stayed up to prod and informative. you to go to bed when she deemed it too late, has nodded off on You sleep earlier that night, just a little earlier, for you the sofa. have a mountain of homework that you had neglected to complete 2am comes and goes and she turns in her sleep, and you when doing your assignment. look at her, afraid that she would wake up and force you to stop You relax in the classroom during recess, half-asleep, and working. You see the dark shadows under her eyes, the white you listen to your classmates talk about their friends' schools' cracks on her lips and the silver hair amongst the black, but you having a Be Yourself Day and a No Shoes Day, and lament about don't notice them and sigh with relief as she remains asleep. You how there is no equivalent in their school. You watch your other turn back to the computer. White letters on black keys. Black classmates chase each other around the classroom, armed with words on a white background. brooms and rubber bands and scrunched paper balls, screaming It is 4am when you close your eyes, and when your alarm like primary school students, and you envy them. goes off you feel like you have merely blinked for the first time in It is literature lesson, and your teacher calls each group days. But your heart feels lighter than it has in days, for you have aside to discuss their presentation and tell them their marks, and finished the script and cobbled together a set of PowerPoint slides. you admire his efficiency in grading your presentations. Your It is 5000 words long, including citations, and you know that it is group is called and you walk over to the teacher, trembling in as detailed as a script meant for a 15-minute presentation can anticipation. reasonably be. Your confidence fades as you see the solemn look on your The trouble is that your literature teacher was absolutely teacher's face, and crumbles as he lists the flaws in your serious when he said that the presentation was only supposed to be presentation. Lack of elaboration on how the chosen text 15 minutes long. correlates with literary theories. Lack of depth when discussing And so you don't hear the presentations before yours as literary genres. His concerns were valid and seem obvious; how your pen flies across the script, slashing the words that you have did you fail to notice them? He pauses and concludes. spent nights typing. You find it unexpectedly simple to delete the You got 20 out of 30 marks. first thousand words. Soon a quarter of your script is gone but a There are people who invest much more time and energy quarter more needs to be deleted, and it is your group's turn to into their studies than you and still fail, because they had present. You brief your group members to speak quickly. insufficient exposure to the subject when they were younger. Disregard salutations and transitions. When it is your turn to There are people who struggle with their schoolwork and do their speak, your words are machine-gun fire, and you ignore the very best, and still fail because they have cancer. Your efforts are straining of your audience to comprehend them before they are nothing compared to theirs. Who are you to feel disappointed? replaced by another salvo less than a second later. You Who are you to feel shocked? Who are you to determine that this miraculously manage to cover your entire script, and you are is a low mark? certain that you will score at least 80% for the assignment. You But still. How…? 304 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 305
The teacher continues. “Ultimately, your script was fine. Miriam Cheong Gek Lui But your presentation was too rushed. It was almost incomprehensible. You didn't consider your audience at all.” She Swears It’s Allegorical Ah. So that's why. If you ask me to name three things that don’t exist in this You had forgotten about that most important question. world, it would be unicorns, Santa Claus and women’s shoes in Who were you doing this for? size 11. Thank goodness I’m not somebody who cares much about footwear anyway, or the shoemakers would have been reduced to a sea of flames by my one-man yeti-woman-hybrid revolution. Not to say that the lack of pretty shoes that don’t snap my feet in half isn’t a problem for me, however. Because I am doomed to wear nothing but flip-flops and sandals, I have to clip my toenails often. It’s not something I enjoy doing, mostly because the times I do, there will be that one nail that will say in its wordless, snarky tongue, “Too late sucker, I’m already ingrown.” Men get cheap, silly, somehow empowering urban legends about the directly proportional relationship between their foot size and apparent manliness that make them proud to have big feet. You’d think women would be blessed with something similar. Not that I care, really. When shoes don’t mean anything to you, society can’t do much to make you angry about having oversized feet. I don’t care about fashion at all. My sister, at the age of ten, was complaining about mismatching outfits. I’ve turned sixteen and I’ve never uttered such words. But for some reason, everyone around me seems to be bent on putting a pair of pretty shoes onto my feet. A classmate once came up to me and asked what my best pair of shoes was. My answer? My school shoes. They were the only shoes I had, and more importantly, the only shoes I needed. The look she shot me wasn’t exactly one of approval. “So how much are you willing to spend on a pair of shoes?” “But I don’t think I really need…” “How much?” 306 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 307
“Uh…Twenty bucks?” Some people see fashion as a way of expressing Apparently spending twenty dollars on shoes is like themselves. I always thought my voice loud enough, my words thinking four and four make ten. At least, that’s what her glare strong enough to do that without having to step into pretty clothes. told me. I wouldn’t know since I was never vaccinated for the I tell myself the shoes don’t matter, the shirts don’t matter, the terrible fashion sense virus for some reason or another. shorts and skirts and lacy lingerie don’t matter and I believe “Do you have around sixty dollars to spare?” myself. Then why is it that when someone asks for my opinion of “Yeah, but I’ve been thinking of spending it on…” fashion, my lips break into a grimace and not an apathetic “eh?” I bit my lip. I didn’t think she wanted to know that I I ask myself this, and the looks I get from my frumpy way preferred spending my money on video games and food. of dress are enough for me to shut up. To keep the deepest Especially the food part. thoughts in my head zipped up and locked away. My voice “Great!” She said as she disappeared from class into the doesn’t speak as loud as the cheap plain t-shirt I wear it seems. toilets. “I’ll see you soon and we can go shoe shopping!” In the end, what I do is make a joke. I say something so Luckily for me, she wasn’t an organised person. We never over the top it can’t be taken seriously. Where the punchline set a date and the topic never sprung up again. I’m not sure where speaks louder than any angry scream, and the resulting laughter the sixty dollars went in the end. Either into my savings or into a dries away any despondent tear. Maybe there’s a metaphor in my video game or into expensive ice-cream with the cookie dough jokes somewhere. But I have to be funny. It’s all I know how to chunks that I really like. I’m betting my money on the ice-cream. do. The only solution I know that makes the world seem less Then again, if I did spend on the ice-cream I wouldn’t have any cutting. cash left. One could say that from the day I was born, I was destined to never care about what kind of shoes landed on my feet, if any. If I could, I’d have my bare feet kiss the ground every day. But the asphalt on Sunday mornings is so hot, flip-flops will have to do. Maybe if my feet were dainty and pretty I’d be thinking different things. But they’re not. They’re boulder-shaped, much like the rest of me, actually. Clothing lines stock for people, not potato-filled sacks. Which is quite understandable. Potato-filled sacks don’t normally wear clothes, so I wonder why people keep trying to fit something onto me, shaking their head in sympathy at my empty wardrobe. “I get most of my clothes from Forever 21. You?” “I have no idea. My mother buys them for me, just so I have something to cover up.” Oops, not the correct response, I would think. 308 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 309
Kelly Chng Wei Ni “Why are you screaming?” He cuts off the scream and looks around wildly for the In Between Here and Tomorrow speaker, but as before complete darkness surrounds him. “I – Where am I?” he asks in return, all too conscious of his raw throat The very last thing he remembers is the world exploding in and raspy voice. a burst of colour, accompanied by the strained cry of several There is a slight pause. “There are many names for where erhus. Since then, he has been lying face-down on the floor, his you are now, but none are of importance. If you close your eyes limbs splayed awkwardly and his head tilted to the right. now and stop thinking, you will forget that you have ever stepped He blinks once, twice, trying to adjust his eyes to his dark foot into this place.” surroundings. However, the darkness never actually goes away; The speaker’s soft voice faintly reminds him of his mother rather, it greedily licks at the outline of his body (the only thing he whispering reassurances to him after a nightmare when he was a can actually see), threatening to swallow him up whole. child and out of habit, he does as he is told. However, when he Shaking his head, he stands up and takes a while to get opens his eyes, his surroundings are still painted black. used to the sensation of seemingly floating in thin air, for the floor “Why didn’t it work? I did as you said!” Panicked, he is invisible below him. No matter where he turns to, the darkness raises his voice as he tries to grapple with the situation. I’m in an is seamless and complete. It strikes him with a finality that there is unknown place, following instructions from some unknown pers- no exit in his immediate vicinity. “… I don’t know,” she replies, a hint of confusion in her With that in mind, he tentatively takes a step forward. He tone. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.” half expects the floor to give way, or his foot to get sucked into it Hearing that she is as baffled as he is, he calms down a like quicksand. After freezing in place for half a minute, his fear little. “All right then. Maybe you could start off with telling me of the mysterious floor graduates to a reckless desperation and he your name and where on earth we are?” starts to sprint until he is gasping for breath, muscles burning like “This place is known by many names and yet none. As for they are on fire. It feels like an eternity later when he stops me, I have no name, but for simplicity’s sake… you may call me running, but even so his surroundings look exactly the same as Giselle, and you may know this place as dreamtime.” Giselle they did before. sighs audibly, though he suspects that he heard amusement in her He bends over, trying to catch his breath. There is voice before. something deeply wrong with wherever he is. As soon as he “Giselle?” The incredulity is plain in his voice. “As in the realises that, the ominous feeling that has been gnawing at the ballet Giselle?” edges of his consciousness suddenly weighs down on him, forcing She laughs. “Oh, is that what it is? I wouldn’t know. You him to his knees. Pulling himself together in a crouching position, were thinking about it, so I plucked the name off the top of your he places his hands over his ears and begins to scream. head.” “Wait, how do you know what I’m th- okay, never mind *** that. You say we’re in some ‘dreamtime’?” He sweeps his gaze around. “Seems awfully depressing to me. How do I get out?” 310 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 311
“There is only one way out, and you have tried it. I you feel not real? Yet again, we are ‘manifestations’ of your honestly do not know any other ways out.” Her sincerity is thoughts and dreams, so maybe we are not real. But at the same obvious in her voice, so he drops the subject and changes tack. time, everything you feel now is real.” “Well then, perhaps I have to try later. In the meantime, He tries to wrap his head around her logic, which seems to maybe you’ll like to explain how you can read my mind?” dance around him in circles, eluding his total and complete Her laugh fills the space around them. “Perhaps it is comprehension. because I am you, but at the same time I am not you.” “In here you’re free to don your dance shoes and dance. “… I don’t understand.” Go ahead! What are you waiting for?” A pair of pointe shoes “Think about it. You, who have always wanted to be a appears suddenly before him. They are a complete replica of the dancer but changed your dance shoes for someone else’s dream pair he lost when his father found out his passion for dancing and for you to wield a stethoscope like a weapon. You, who wanted to in a complete rage, cut up and threw away. He traces them watch the performances of Giselle in January, only to find out that carefully with his fingers, quietly noting how the jagged cut lines someone else had ripped up your tickets to stop you from going. are represented by raised patterns, like scars on an abused body. You, who would rather love freely than not love at all, but act in Silently, he puts them on and does up the ribbons, knotting accordance to someone else’s wishes instead. Who are you, them at the back of his calves and tucking the loose ends in. When really?” he is done, he experiments with a few jumps and twists, but stops His eyebrows furrow together as he ponders her question suddenly. and clues. “If you are me but not me at the same time, then you “Why?” Giselle asks, a tone of bewilderment creeping into are... a manifestation of my thoughts? That would explain how her voice. “What’s wrong?” you know so much about me, anyway.” “They… they don’t feel right.” He bends down and unties She laughs again in a manner oddly reminiscent of the the laces. Maybe it would be better to dance barefoot. laughter that once filled his house, the same house that is now He stands up straight and stretches, before lurching silent as the grave. “You could put it that way.” himself into a simple dance routine. For all its simplicity, “And this place... dreamtime? Is it a manifestation of my however, it feels as though power courses through his each and dream?” every move, filling him with a new spirit and banishing the old, “You could see it that way, yes. But why the constant broken one that followed someone else’s dream. referral of me and dreamtime as ‘manifestations’? For all you He continues dancing, power and grace mixed know, we could be very, very real.” inexplicably into each move he makes. Giddy with the joy of “But you are all part of my subconscious, right? How can dancing without restraint, he dances the fouette unthinkingly, you be real?” spinning fiercely on his left leg as his right leg whips in and out “Well,” she starts, “who determines what’s real and what’s with each rotation. It occurs to him at some point that the fouette not? Does this world not feel real to you? Just now, when you should be done with dance shoes on, but even so he continues to were running, did your muscles not burn? Did you not feel tired? spin faster and faster, till the whole world explodes once again in If you bite your lip now, it will bleed. Are the blood and the pain a burst of colour. 312 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 313
*** though he has committed suicide, though the case itself is unusual; you see, the skin of his feet has been peeled off entirely, and- ” The piercing shrill of sirens cutting through the still night “He what? Murdered someone, did h- oh.” She falls to the air jolts Nya Lin out of her sleep. What was it this time? Perhaps floor, hard. “Why? Why would he? Oh, my sweet sweet baby…” those teenage gangsters were downstairs like always and set the huge green dustbin on fire again while drunk with their own *** idiocy. She takes a moment to mentally scold the useless youths in her head before turning over and returning to sleep. Some distance away from the policeman and the distraught It seems only a few minutes later that her doorbell rings, Nya Lin is the room of Nya Lin’s son. Behind the slightly ajar although by now the morning sun shines brightly into her house. door lies a room that is extremely neat till it appears to be more of For a while, she contemplates ignoring the visitor and going back a hotel suite, untouched by life for more than a few days at a time. to bed, but her mystery visitor rings the doorbell again. Cursing all On the rosewood desk is a pair of old dance shoes, with jagged the inconsiderate people in the world, she drags her feet out of bed tears carefully sewn back into place. Taped to them is a slip of and towards the main door. paper with a single line neatly printed on it. Grudgingly, she opens the heavy wooden door by a crack I’m sorry I couldn’t be who you wanted me to be. and peers out. A young policeman (around thirty-eight years old, give or take, she guesses) stands outside with a serious expression on his face. “Excuse me, ma’am, but may I come in? It concerns your son.” “What did he get up to now? That useless idiot. Was he with the gangsters downstairs, drinking and smoking and paying no heed to his bleak future?” She curses under her breath and unlocks the gate. “Well come on in then!” The policeman toes off his shiny black shoes and steps inside. “Ma’am, when was the last time you saw your son?” “What?” She snaps. “Last night. I was tired, so I didn’t realise that he snuck out, that useless brat. Why, he-” The policeman tries to ask Nya Lin more questions, but she continues to rant about her useless offspring, and how she should have disowned him long ago when her husband said so. He scratches the back of his head a little (a bad habit that appeared whenever he was nervous) before interrupting her rant. “I’m sorry to inform you of this so early in the morning, ma’am, but last night your son was found dead. It appears as 314 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 315
Crystal Lua Xin YiLi The pair of shoes next to me today is bright – a garish turquoise that stands out amidst the black dots. They belong to a Life Insurance woman dressed in her Sunday best, perfectly-coiffed hair, perfectly-arranged cheongsam and turquoise nail polish to boot. The first time I went overseas, my father brought me to the The makeup caked on her skin is a tad overdone, and I wonder if temple before we left. He handed me a folded two-dollar note and perhaps this is the highlight of her week. She presses her forehead I dutifully squashed it into the already overflowing charity box, into the red fibers of the carpet, prayer beads hard against her turning around to have my shirt stamped with a square red symbol murmuring lips. that looked more danger magnet than protection. It must have Another man – pressed suit and stiff tie, this time – studies worked, though – that trip was as uneventful as it was wooden sticks scattered in front of him and drops his shoulders in unmemorable. – relief? Disappointment? He touches his forehead to the carpet Ten years down the road I walk into the temple again and with a muffled thunk. this time it’s a ten-dollar note instead, because the price of For most part the carpet feels soft beneath me, but I scuff insurance increases with age. It hasn’t changed much. It still my knees as I stand. occupies the same unwavering spot upon Waterloo Street, and When we leave the temple, a chrysanthemum is proffered people still flood in and out as though the ancient, ornate red by a young boy begging me to buy it, his coin pouch and high building is the hottest new thing. pleading voice just as much a permanent fixture as the temple is. The bray of touting and droning prayers drowns out all As a child I frequented the temple too – but all I can remember opportunity for conversation. Then again, there isn’t much was clasping joss sticks, trying to raise them as high as I could conversation in temples, really, just snippets of rapid-fire into the tiny patches of sky between jostling people, and thinking Hokkien, “So-and-so’s wife died a week ago.” that if the wisps of smoke could somehow find their way into the “…how old?” blue spaces, they’d be lifted all the way up. “86.” Today I try not to raise them too high – the ashes fall too A pause. easily, and they always sting. “Matter of time anyway,” and that was it.
***
One thing I always found peculiar about that temple was the rows and rows of footwear strewn all around the edges of the carpet. When I was younger I used to peek up from behind my clasped hands and try to match the little black border of shoes to the kneeling people, surrounded by wisps of smoke as insubstantial as their dreams. 316 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 317
Mock Yong-Jie Aidan He spoke first. “Private,” he asked slowly “do you think anyone will 1945, Away Across The Sea remember us for what we’ve done?” There was no answer forthcoming from my lips and I I remember it clearly now, 1945, just after we had cleared rolled the cigarette in between my fingers for a while. another Japanese island and fought our way up and across their “We will be, of course. One day there’ll be museums with deadly beaches. It wasn’t a big island, just large enough for us to our names on the lists. Somewhere.” have taken it in a week of bloody fighting. The bodies had been I couldn’t say so for sure, but for a while now I had been cleared now. I could see the fires burning in the distance, down wondering what font they might choose for my name when they the beach, the pyres already alight and blazing into the evening put it up on the long lists that decorated the inner halls of sky, fast turning to dusk. museums. I turned away, having spent enough time mourning for He sighed. “It’s been a long day. I never figured we’d fallen comrades. There had been no mountains on this island, just make it this far.” hills, mounds of sand high enough so that we could not fire from “Aye” I agreed. It had been vicious. From the moment the the boats to strike the top of them, deadly little things. There were doors dropped it had been massacre. A dozen men from our boat no trees either, and that had made staying alive all the more had fallen by the time we had hit the beach. impossible. “It’s a miracle we’re still here.” I mused, watching the I spied a figure perched upon one of the mounds, twinkling lights dancing on the ocean before us. silhouetted by the violent orange of sunset blazing in the distant We listened to the sound of the ocean pulling in and out horizon. My boots crunched upon the loose sand, leaving imprints over the sand, indecisive. deep enough to expose the bloodied grains beneath. I made my “Private,” he said again, “what are we doing here?” way to the top of the mound, following the winding paths that had “We’re fighting for the freedom of our country and been beaten in by days of wear. Private McAllen sat watching just others.” I answered without thinking. off the tip, a cigarette dangling between his bony fingers. He turned slowly to face me, his face still smooth below It wasn’t till the day before that we had met, aboard one of the layer of grit and mud, his eyes still soft with youth. the landing ships bound for this nameless Japanese islands. He “Why are you here?” he pressed. and I, both from small seaside towns in California, with families I could find no answer that would satisfy him. He watched far behind and little waiting for us beyond. me for a while, then turned back to face the sea and stubbed out I sat next to him, and asked him for a light. his cigarette. We sat there for a long moment, both of us alternating “I don’t know what I’m doing here.” The words were soft heavy chugs of smoke. The waves in the distance glittered as they and quickly taken by the gentle breeze that played across our swirled endlessly. It reminded me of home, of months spent faces. surfing and singing on the beaches, waiting for something, “But before I die, I want people to know I was here.” anything to take me. I did not have to wait long. 318 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 319
He silently drew his camera from his bag, it was a sturdy It was the silhouette of a soldier sitting on the edge of a little thing that he had bought just before leaving home. I watched mound, backlit by the dying lights of a Pacific day, the sea a him fiddle with it for a time and then point it out to sea. The sparkling collection of diamonds, a cigarette burning in the hand. shutter sounded. It was a decent photograph, one that might have made it to “Don’t move,” he said. the front page of a newspaper (as it eventually did). Yet for the He got up and I heard him walk a few feet behind me, entire length of the service, I wondered if I should tell the family boots crunching in the dirt. There was silence for a while, then the that the nameless soldier sitting by the sea was not the one they ‘click’ of the camera sounded again. He kept the camera and sat thought it would be. beside me once more. As the service wound to an end and the keening notes of a We stayed on that hilltop for a long while more, watching bugle resounded in the air, I took up my coat, said my goodbyes as the colours faded from gold to purple to black and as night and began to make away. began to fall the two of us made our way down from the mound It had occurred to me that it didn’t matter who it had been, and started back for camp. neither did anyone care for where it was taken. For a long time I forgot about those two images quickly as months of now and a long time more Private McAllen and all the other men fighting grew on and the war showed no signs of ending. There in the war were just nameless soldiers away across the sea, names were a hundred more beaches to take and each one was a struggle painted in resplendent gold upon cold museum walls. for survival. After that week I never saw Private McAllen ever again. It was not until the spring of ’96, when I made it back home, did I see those images again.
***
Private McAllen’s service was a small one, held atop a cliff overlooking the bay. He had been killed a week before the war had ended. At his funeral, there had been a large showcase of the images that he had taken throughout the war. Many of them featured him and some other soldiers smiling by a fire or something of the like. There were a few strange ones, like the one where he sat proudly atop a tree that was no less than 15 feet tall. Yet the one that the family had chosen to sit at the foot of the coffin was not one of him in uniform, neither was it one where he was smiling and so full of life. ENGLISH PLAY 323
Lim Ye Jun
The Corpse
Characters: BOB LARRY AMELIA THE CORPSE
ACT 1 SCENE 1 Stage is dark except for a spotlight in the form of a lamppost shining down on a man in a brown coat sitting on a bench, with his hat over his face, seemingly asleep. Bob is sitting on the left of the bench and Larry on the right. They talk in almost whispers.
BOB I mean, but if they were real, living breathing people, they would probably know that they were you know, following someone else’s directions, right? LARRY Can’t be so sure about that. I mean, the plot is their reality right? When God or whoever’s up there started this universe with “once upon a time”, nobody actually suspected that anything was wrong. It’s just…your reality? BOB You have a point there. So you’re saying the Cat in the Hat wouldn’t find anything slightly off when he sees the green eggs and ham? LARRY And the Queen of Hearts wouldn’t actually know that slaughtering the masses would just result in revolt. My point exactly. BOB Well, sure I guess that would work, but wouldn’t the reader not understand this new reality, with all its weird creatures and 324 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 325
behaviour? Their voices raise a notch to normal conversational volume. LARRY What, you mean relating to the reader? BOB Yeah, I mean, you have to have a shred of BOB So the problem really isn’t his being here, nor reality in the unreal right? For the reader to is it him per se– understand it. LARRY But rather him, being. LARRY You’re probably right. The right amount of BOB I do say the only solution to this problem reality. would be somewhat morbid. BOB The magic number. LARRY Messy. (trying to outdo each other) LARRY The golden ratio. BOB Malicious. BOB Such that the reader understands the text – LARRY Macabre. LARRY But at the same time, appreciates the (Beat) imaginary. BOB (dismissively) Nah, you couldn’t. BOB & (together) Exactly. LARRY (mocking) You wouldn’t. LARRY BOB (judgmental) You shouldn’t. LARRY (defensive) I didn’t! They attempt to smile at each other but the unconscious man is (Beat) in the way. They are speaking slightly louder now that they are BOB (accusatory) You would have. a little irritated by the man. They oscillate front and back to LARRY (retaliating) You would have! catch a glimpse of each other’s knowing smiles. They try to smile at each other knowingly and amicably again BOB (exasperated) Of all places. but are still blocked by the man. LARRY Of all times. BOB He had to choose to sleep here. LARRY And at this moment. BOB & (together) We really should have. (Beat) LARRY BOB God, this is getting on my nerves. Beat. LARRY What, this guy? Or the fact that he’s here? BOB Well…both actually. Much as I’d like to blame The sleeper shifts in his sleep, and grunts a bit. him, I’d have to blame his being here as well, I suppose. BOB (whispering) You think he heard us? LARRY And much as I’d blame his being here, it Larry shrugs. wouldn’t be an issue if he hadn’t BEEN in the BOB Maybe he knows we were planning to– first place. LARRY Joking about killing him, you mean. Beat. 326 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 327
BOB Uh…yeah. Ha ha…ha. (chokes out some to the people living in that reality. laughter) Joking. BOB (slowly, as if coming to grasp the concept) LARRY Yeah I mean realistically we’d never pull it off. Only…reality might not be true. BOB Oh, we’d pull it off all right, it’s just whether LARRY Yes! And the truth might not be real. we’d pull it off and LIVE. BOB (visibly distressed) Oh my… LARRY (as if he finally understands) Oh yeah. LARRY (dismissively) Ah relax. Reality’s far too boring BOB I mean, it’s almost as if Death catches up with to be taken seriously anyway. you isn’t it? LARRY Well I guess taking someone’s life must have Bob stops, looking at Larry in a rather amused manner. Larry consequences. stops and stands up and poses dramatically with one leg on the BOB Sort of a trade off really. You kill at the cost of right armrest. They speak over the unconscious man, who has being killed. seemingly dozed off while sitting in the centre of the bench. LARRY Eye for an eye. BOB Tooth for a tooth. LARRY All the world’s a stage, and all men and women BOB & (together) Life for a life. merely players! LARRY BOB Well the world should have gotten better actors Beat. and scriptwriters. BOB But really, we shouldn’t. Both chuckle. LARRY What, “really” as in realistically? LARRY: And hark! What have we here? (Glancing at BOB Yes, Larry, realistically. the unconscious man) O monstrous beast! How LARRY Who’s to say this reality isn’t as skewed as all like a swine he lies! (Overemphasised hand the others? gestures toward the man) BOB Wait, what? Both burst out laughing. LARRY (explanatory) How do you know ham and eggs BOB (continuing where LARRY left off) Grim death, really aren’t green? how foul and loathsome is thine image! (Hand BOB Of course they aren’t green! Because they on chest, other hand outstretched as though he don’t look like that in – were in a play) LARRY In the real world? BOB Yes, thank you. His outstretched hand accidentally knocks the man, and he LARRY But every other character lives out his, her or slumps over on Larry. They laugh some more and Larry pushes its life on that premise, when actually an the man to Bob. They commence to push the body back and invisible hand is moving the entire plot. forth, and finally resort to using all their strength to push, BOB What, so reality isn’t real? causing the body to be positioned to the centre of the bench, LARRY No! That would be stupid. All realities are real with both men pushing the body toward each other. Until they 328 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 329 suddenly stop, the corpse is at the centre of the bench again, LARRY Oh my god, what the h*ll, man! He’s been slouching. dead, DEAD here for God know how long. BOB No, he was breathing when we sat down! BOB Wow, talk about a deep sleeper. LARRY You sure? LARRY (puzzled) Funny. He’s still asleep. BOB I mean, you saw him move too, right? LARRY Yeah, but he can’t possibly just DIE like that Both stare at the unconscious man. right? Like, how the hell did he even? BOB I don’t KNOW. BOB He looks almost…kinda…dead. Beat. BOB Larry, you think…you think we killed him? Both close in and scrutinize the man. Larry ventures a poke. LARRY We didn’t kill him Bob! Since when do people The man doesn’t respond. Bob ventures a poke. The man still die when two other people sit next to him?! We doesn’t respond. couldn’t possibly have! BOB But he DID die an instant ago. WE were the LARRY Could he really be…? only ones here. LARRY What we killed him with our presence?! The unconscious man slides against Bob. Bob and looks at BOB I don’t know? Possibly? Larry. Their faces slowly change to express the gradual LARRY Just because we discussed it doesn’t mean we realisation. did it! We didn’t lift a finger! BOB Didn’t lift a finger?! You shoved the man Both take a moment realise the man actually is dead. Then they around like he was a rag doll! both recoil at the same time, vigorously wiping the hand they LARRY You did too! used to touch the corpse on their shirts. Beat. BOB Well okay, there is a chance that we killed him, Bob pushes the corpse such that it slides over and leans on right? Larry. LARRY Yes, but there is a chance for us to spontaneously combust as well. Just because BOB & (together)AHHH! it’s a possibility doesn’t make it our fault, LARRY BOB. BOB But when all other possibilities are almost Larry shoves it over to Bob. Bob shoves it to Larry. Larry then impossible, us killing him would be the most pushes it such that it slouches over itself in the centre of the likely occurrence. bench, and then vigorously wipes his hands. Both begin to talk LARRY Are you kidding me?! (emphasising every in loud, startled voices. Almost exclaiming. word) We. Didn’t. Kill. Him. 330 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 331
BOB Look, technically we already killed him by Look, I frankly don’t care if we killed him or contemplating to do so. Murdering him in our not. Even if we did, I can’t and won’t possibly heads is already sort of almost the same thing. convince myself that I killed him. We’re just LARRY But we wouldn’t! sitting here. I have a clear conscience. His BOB (correcting) No, we wouldn’t have. death might have something to do with me, but LARRY We didn’t! it's not my fault. Neither is it yours, BOB (correcting) No, we shouldn’t have. understand? LARRY I would never… LARRY Still. BOB Oh I think you would. BOB Still what?! Beat. LARRY We could have killed him. LARRY Well, you could’ve killed him too. Beat. BOB Yeah? Then what about you saying “we didn’t LARRY Well at least he’s lucky. Slipping away without kill him” so suddenly huh? a sound. As if nothing happened. LARRY I could have killed him if the situation called BOB Nothing happened, Larry for it. LARRY How could he have died if nothing happened? BOB Anyone can kill anybody if the g*dd*mn BOB Lots of people die without explanation, but situation calls for it, don’t be stupid. hey, do you see the cops getting all worked up Beat. about it? Or the media? Unless there’s a story LARRY What if we did kill him? to dig up, most of these unexplained deaths just BOB Didn’t you just say – remain what they are: unexplained. Soon, even LARRY I know what I said, but what if. What if he died the officers get bored and file these deaths because of us? Something we did, or something away in the archives for people with a stronger we said but we just don’t know it? sense of either justice or curiosity to dig up. BOB Well, what if? Most people die without cause because the LARRY We’d be murderers, Bob. Murderers! I don’t living are way too busy for the business of the want any blood on my hands thank you. dead. Fact of life, Larry. Get it in your head. BOB Don’t be daft. If we weren’t possibly aware of LARRY So nobody cares? what we did, there’s no evidence to suggest we BOB They care when they smell money. Or when actually killed him! they smell foul play. LARRY Us being here the instant he died is evidence. LARRY Should we care? BOB No, Larry, it’s not. Us being here the instant he BOB I don’t care if we care or not. Flip a coin or died could be a coincidence. something. LARRY Could be? LARRY Does not caring if we care actually count as not BOB Jesus, Larry you’re such a paranoid prick. caring? 332 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 333
BOB Well, maybe. In that case I’m normal. Larry whips out his phone and calls Amelia. LARRY It’s normal to not care about the dead? BOB No, it’s normal to let sleeping, well, in this LARRY (takes a deep breath) Hello? Amelia? Yeah, it’s case, dead, dogs lie. me. Yes, I know you told me never to call you LARRY But what about when you die? Would you again. No, I don’t want to get back together. care? No…NO! Look, me and my friend just found a BOB I’ll be too busy dying to care. corpse in the park, okay? I figured you could LARRY Well then, should I care when you die? do whatever cops do when people find dead BOB You jolly well should. bodies. No we didn’t kill him! Okay, maybe we LARRY Maybe I’ll be to busy living to care. did. No, stop shouting! I’m not sure okay? (Both laugh) What do you mean I haven’t changed? This is BOB So what should we do now? not about me! It’s about the corpse! I told you, LARRY I’ve got a friend in the police force. I’ll ring her we didn’t kill him! He just sort of…passed on. up and maybe she can help determine his What? Oh come on. I’m not drunk. No. Look, identity. just come over to the park to check okay? Yeah BOB What? And then what? Wade through 2 months we’re in the park. Sure, sure, we’ll wait. Sure. worth of paperwork? No way. As witnesses? Hmm… LARRY Wait, what? You’re not calling the police because you’re afraid of the paperwork? Bob gestures large hand signals and mouths “no”. BOB It may be valiant and all calling the cops and reporting a murder but being a hero will cost LARRY Will there be a lot of paperwork? What? I’ll you months of paperwork trust me, I had a have to fill in a what? Okay, then what? friend who actually found a corpse, didn’t call, A…wha—why? No, I don’t see the point of and got about just fine. LARRY Wait, which friend? Bob winks and smiles at the audience knowingly. He mouths “I BOB Uh…you? told you” to Larry. Larry waves him off dismissively. LARRY I’m not going to leave the body here just so you can avoid signing some papers Bob. LARRY Uh… then not really. I didn’t witness the BOB Fine. Then you call. crime. I just found the corpse. I have nothing to LARRY Fine. do with it. Yeah. Sure. BOB But when the cops come I’m just a normal passerby. I’m not involved in anything. Larry hangs up. LARRY (under his breath) Touche. LARRY G*d, you were right. Paperwork really is a 334 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 335
nightmare. BOB & (together) Yes. BOB I usually am (smugly). LARRY AMELIA How is that even… Both of them then sit next to the corpse. Bob to its left, Larry to LARRY We’re not too sure too. its right. BOB I mean, we can’t even decide if we killed him or not. BOB So tell me more about this ex-girlfriend. Emily, ARNOLD Well if you did, you’d be in big trouble. I trust was it? you know the sentences for murder. LARRY Amelia. Boy, she was a handful from the start. LARRY Look officer uh (checks nametag) Arnold, we BOB Wait…what did you say she worked as again? didn’t kill the man. In fact we were just sitting beside him. That’s all. Nothing happened. Bob is now looking to the left of the stage. AMELIA We get that a lot from murderers. “Nothing happened”. LARRY Oh her job? Police officer. I have no idea why LARRY (slightly irritated) Well it’s because nothing the hell the authorities would trust that woman really happened! with a freakin’ gun— ARNOLD Calm down, sir. LARRY Which part of it can’t you understand? We Larry looks left now too. didn’t kill the man! BOB We could have, but we don’t know. LARRY Speak of the devil… LARRY Exactly!
Enter Amelia, Larry’s ex-girlfriend and her accompanying Amelia and Arnold are unconvinced. officer, Arnold. They enter from stage left and are greeted by the bench with Bob, the corpse and Larry. ARNOLD This just doesn’t make sense. BOB Officer, I know this doesn’t make sense but it’s ARNOLD Good evening, gentlemen. What seems to be really what happened. Reality often doesn’t the problem? make sense anyway, officer. BOB We uh…found the dead body. ARNOLD Yeah well we’re going to need evidence. AMELIA What do you mean by “found it”? Was the man Enough to prove you two are innocent. But in dead when you saw him? the meantime you guys will have to come with LARRY No, not really. He was asleep. us to the station. ARNOLD Wait. So he was asleep before you two arrived LARRY Oh come on! and after a while he died? AMELIA (to Arnold) I’ll take care of the questioning. I know them better anyway. But we’ve still got 336 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 337
to make the report so could you go back and LARRY Yes – get all the paperwork done? I’ll stay here and BOB What the h – look for evidence and question the witnesses. LARRY (frustrated) CLEO WAS HER CAT, BOB. BOB Oh. Arnold grunts at the word “paperwork”. Bob and Larry cast LARRY Bob, Amelia. (gestures to Bob toward Amelia) knowing glances at each other. Woman, Bob. (gestures to Amelia toward Bob)
ARNOLD Sure okay. (both Larry and Bob let out a sigh Amelia merely grunts in recognition, still writing. of relief) If anything crops up call me on the radio. BOB (under his breath) nice to meet you too. AMELIA Sure, thanks. AMELIA (straightening up, trying to look professional) Okay, Larry, how did he die? I’m gonna need Exit Arnold from stage left. Bob, Larry and the corpse are still details for the autopsy and whatnot. on the bench. Amelia is on the left of the bench. LARRY That’s what you should be telling me right? I mean, you’re the police officer! Whip out your AMELIA (sigh) What did you do this time? (she is visibly fingerprint scanner or something. tired from a day’s work) AMELIA & (together) This isn’t CSI Miami, Larry. LARRY Nothing, I swear! We just found him like that. BOB You were the first to pop into my mind cause you’re a cop. They glance at each other suddenly, with interest. AMELIA Yeah well, thanks a lot Larry. Thanks for all the shit you put into my life. Okay, look, let’s AMELIA Well, the last time you told me you “found” just get this over and done with. (She takes out Cleo dead it turns out you were the one who a notepad to record down evidence) accidentally stepped on her head while she was LARRY Oh come on. I didn’t kill the man! I FOUND asleep. HIM. Does that mean anything to you? BOB No, no. I can testify, he didn’t murder anyone. AMELIA (patronising) Oh sure. Just like the time you Not directly, at least. “found” (does the quotation gesture with fingers, mockingly) Cleo dead in the bathroom. Larry looks at Bob appreciatively. (clicks pen) BOB Wait, you found a corpse before? LARRY Thank yo— AMELIA I can’t take your word for it. You’re his friend, While the two men say this Amelia starts scribbling in her of course you’ll vouch for him. notepad. BOB No, really. 338 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 339
AMELIA Still. ticking at that exact moment? LARRY Look, woman, I really didn’t do anything. I LARRY I guess? initially wanted to just walk away but Bob here BOB Creepy. Let’s keep going. insisted on calling the cops. I mean, if anything Bob’s the one to trust here. Amelia takes out a lottery ticket. AMELIA Yeah, sure. If you didn’t do anything why were you so eager to get away? And the call could LARRY Aha! have been an alibi just to clear your names. So BOB (amused) Well I’ll be! convenient to just “find” (does the awkward LARRY What what? finger gesture thing again) a body. BOB This is a winning number! BOB Wow, now I know where you learnt to do that. LARRY No way…really?! LARRY Yeah, shut up. Okay fine. Fine. You know BOB Yeah! Heard it over the radio this morning! what? Let’s just search his pockets okay? Or LARRY We’re rich – check his wallet or something. He’s got to have some ID on him. Or at least something to Amelia snatches the ticket. identify him. BOB Great idea. AMELIA Can’t take that. It’s evidence. It’s coming with AMELIA Hmph. me. (places it in a Ziploc bag and keeps it) LARRY Ah well. Guess today really wasn’t his lucky They now turn their attention to the corpse. Amelia puts on day, huh? rubber gloves and goes through his pocket. She uses the pen BOB Yep. she scribbled notes with to pull out a pocket watch. Amelia then pulls out a talisman. BOB Hmm…weird. I thought these things went extinct. BOB Well this is rather strange. LARRY Family heirloom? AMELIA Bit of rubbish that’s all. (almost keeps it away BOB Maybe. Death is never late. Too bad he but Larry stops her.) couldn’t check how much time he had left. LARRY Wait stop. That’s mine! LARRY (contemplating) Time he had… wait…let me AMELIA What are you talking about? see that. (takes the pocket watch) This is LARRY No it’s mine! It’s my lucky talisman! just…(checks his own watch) this was before BOB Are you sure? we found out that he was dead. I think he died LARRY (takes it from her and examines it) When I was at this time. younger my mom gave it to me. Saying with BOB Wait what, you mean his clock literally stopped this I would fulfill my destiny or something. 340 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 341
AMELIA Oh please… LARRY It’s just some old paper, Bob. Big deal? LARRY No, it really works I swear. Job interviews, AMELIA Yeah, it’s probably just – getting girlfriends, choosing the right answers BOB (reading from script) Act one, Scene one… for exams, everything. As long as I wore it, I LARRY Bob! It’s just a script! felt lucky. I remember we got the talisman BOB (continues, unfazed in a stunned, monotonous from a strange man. He told us the incantation reading voice) BOB: I mean, but if they were was one that ensures one’s destiny is fulfilled. real, living breathing people, they would BOB Then how did it… probably know that they were you know, LARRY I have no idea. following someone else’s directions, right? LARRY: Can’t be so sure about that. I mean, Bob pulls out a folded stack of crumpled looking paper from the the plot is their reality right? When God or man’s pocket. He unfolds it. Amelia continues to look for other whoever’s up there started this universe with identification clues and Larry is fixated on her. “once upon a time” nobody actually suspected that anything was wrong. It’s just…your BOB Wait… what’s this? reality?
Bob starts reading the contents with his eyes. Moment of Amelia starts to laugh. silence on stage. AMELIA Yeah, very funny, Bob. BOB Guys… LARRY Aha! (pulls out a passport-sized photograph of Bob continues reading the play while Amelia says this while a woman) This looks like his… Larry pales and freezes.
Amelia leans in to see the picture. Lights start to dim, with Larry frozen and silent, Bob reading out the play in a monotonous voice, Amelia laughing. The BOB Guys… corpse falls to the left of the bench, and then off the bench. LARRY Oh shut up Bob, look, we’ve got a concrete Lights out when the corpse hits the ground. piece of identification of his famil – BOB GUYS! ACT 1 SCENE 2 Open with exactly the same setting as the end of Scene 1. Amelia Both Larry and Amelia stare at him in stunned silence. Bob is standing in front of the bench, Bob is standing near stage right, stands up and walks very slowly toward stage left. He then script in hand, and Larry is frozen in sitting position on the right paces, very slowly. side of the bench. The corpse is sprawled on the floor. 342 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 343
LARRY (tentatively) But…we can’t possibly be in a (begins walking) play. Can we? LARRY But what if it is? BOB (stops reading) I..I don’t know. AMELIA You guys are actually taking this seriously? Bob stops knocking and remains frozen in that position, Come on, it’s a coincidence. kneeling, ear to the ground. Amelia stops in her tracks. Beat. Bob reads the second page silently. AMELIA I…I don’t want to find out. BOB No it isn’t. See? It even has your entrance in BOB But you were the one that so confidently it. Tell me those weren’t the exact words you announced it can’t possibly be true. Go on. said. Keep walking. AMELIA N…No. (walks back to where she started) Bob walks over to Amelia, showing her the script. Horror What if I really do fall off the stage? dawns upon her face. BOB Don’t be ridiculous! You won’t! Have some faith! We are real, living people. AMELIA Wait, no this can’t be right. You guys pulled LARRY (visibly shaken) Let’s just say we were in a some prank right? I mean, we can’t play. It would have gone on for quite some possibly… time now. BOB, (together) Can we? (looks at audience while BOB Yes… LARRY & asking this question) LARRY And this conversation is getting kind of AMELIA boring. LARRY No… no. It can’t be. I mean, if this were BOB Yes…what are you driving at? actually a play, where is the audience? LARRY Remember the history of drama from AMELIA Come to think of it, we’re all facing one college? All we need now is a… direction… BOB, (together) Deus Ex Machina. BOB No, it can’t possibly be. What, the pavement LARRY & is the stage now? AMELIA
Bob kneels and places his ear to the ground and knocks. At this instant a wind kicks up and blows most of the play out of Bob’s hands to stage left. Bob is left with the last page. BOB Sounds pretty solid to me. (continues Silence ensues as they all stare at Bob’s hand, clutching the knocking) last page of the play. AMELIA Yeah, if this were a play I’d fall off the stage if I continued to walk in one direction. LARRY Is that…? 344 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 345
BOB The last page. LARRY Yeah. AMELIA How the story ends. BOB N…no. LARRY Read the f**king line, BOB! Bob walks slowly to the bench and sits on the left side. Amelia BOB No. settles in the middle, and Larry maintains his position on the LARRY BOB! JUST READ IT. right. They are all staring at the audience. They never shift their gaze away, eyes fixated on the audience. The corpse Bob takes out a lighter from his pocket and attempts to burn remains sprawled in front of the bench. it. Amelia snatches it from him. Trembling, she reads out the last line. Bob is frowning at her while Larry is frowning at AMELIA I…I don’t want to find out. Bob. BOB Me too. LARRY Me three. AMELIA (in a loud, clear voice) All but one die on stage. The sole survivor exits, stage left. Amelia begins to breakdown and cry. Lights fade out. Curtain falls.
LARRY (comforting) hey, hey, it’s okay. (cuddling Bob and Larry turn to fix their gazes upon the audience, her) Maybe it’s a happy play. Maybe it’s a Amelia too looks up at the audience. classic comedy that ends in marriage. Beat. AMELIA (amongst sobs) I don’t want to marry either Lights fade. of you. LARRY (looking at Bob) Well, we could always… ACT 1 SCENE 3 BOB Say it and I’ll break your neck. Everything is in the same position. Amelia is in the centre of the LARRY But it’s for – bench, flanked by Bob on the left and Larry on the right. She holds BOB Shut up, Larry. the last page of the play. The corpse is sprawled on the floor in front of them. Moment of silence. Amelia sobbing quietly in Larry’s arms and Bob holding the last page. AMELIA So only one of us makes it out alive? BOB Yes. BOB G*dd*mmit we can’t stay like this forever. AMELIA I…I don’t want to die. BOB That’s a stupid thing to say, right? Nobody Trembling, he holds up the paper to read. actually wants to die. Most of the time, when people die, it hits them when they least expect it. BOB There’s only one line. Death isn’t a f*ckin’ phone call. It’s a visit. And AMELIA (between sobs) Well, read it out! when it’s your time to go, it’s your time to go. 346 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 347
I personally don’t mind dying. I mean, I know I’ve Sure, you’ve just met Amelia but we’re all lived a pretty bang up life of bad decisions and I HUMANS. don’t want to be around when the consequences BOB I didn’t choose this. The author did. catch up to me. Like a hangover that you know is AMELIA Look, you know what, guys? We’re actually coming the next morning, but you don’t stop believing this bull crap. Let’s just all leave this because some stupid voice inside your head keeps f**king corpse and go to the pub for a drink eh? telling you to “keep going”. I live in the moment, LARRY Great idea. I’d really like to forget this night. and there are no consequences in that. An early BOB Fine. Let’s go. death means none of sticky problems like a mid- life crisis, or terminal disease or something. At They all get up, and make for stage right. Bob abruptly stops. least I get to die with a warning. Larry and Amelia are on the right side of the bench, and he on the LARRY Well it may be fine and dandy for you but I just left. Bob pulls out a gun and points it at stage right, toward Larry wanted to die for something a little, more, you and Amelia. know? I mean, like in a battlefield or something. You only die once, so why not make it count. I AMELIA What the h*ll? That’s my, how’d you…?! figured that I’d like to die trying to do something BOB You sure were right Larry. They must’ve been that can’t be done without dying. Perhaps pretty d*mn touched in the head to let this woman sacrificing your life for something you believe in. carry a gun. Or I don’t know, taking a bullet for a friend. Not LARRY Bob. Come on, it’s just a f**king play. It’s not our just by sitting on a bench. lives. We don’t have to live by these absurd rules. AMELIA I think you guys are just crazy. Who the hell wants We’re real people. Real people going for a drink. to die? I mean, you’ve got a whole life ahead of BOB Yeah I know. But what if? What if this whole you. Bob, you can turn things around, make your thing really was a play? The script doesn’t say all life something you’re proud of. Larry, continue three of us leave alive. living to find a good cause to die for. You guys LARRY So scr*w the bl**dy script! may be living to die but hey, yours truly is dying BOB I’m not about to take a chance. It’s either I die, or to live. you both die. I still want to live my life. And in (They all manage a feeble chuckle) case you haven’t noticed, I’m the one nearest to LARRY What the f**k Bob? And you wanted to keep it the left. from us? BOB I’m prepared to do what is necessary, Larry. Are Bob clicks the back of the revolver. Amelia starts crying as her you? knees go weak. Larry crouches over her protectively. LARRY What the h*ll does that mean?! I’m your friend! LARRY Bob, I swear to God if you kill her I’ll… 348 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 349
BOB You’ll what? You’ll what, Larry? I’m the one with Yustynn Panicker the gun. And I say you both die. LARRY Who the hell gives you the right to kill me. Or When Pigs Fly anyone else for that matter. BOB The play does. The writer does. The scene is set with the stage in two divisions. The upstage LARRY F**k that! Weren’t you the one acting all high and division has a spotlight focused on TIM, who is seated in a mighty talking about Justice and shit? Where is chair at a desk, on the phone. The downstage division is your Justice now? How the hell can you just do empty. REGINALD is offstage. this?! BOB Because in this world, the writer is God. God TIM But I love you! wants me to kill you both now. There’s no why, or JULIE And I love you. how. God doesn’t care about Justice, or Fairness. TIM That isn’t fair! You can’t say that and want to The writer wants me to do this. (shrugs) I just break up with me! have to do this. Nothing personal. (casually) JULIE Tim, I love you. I really, truly do. But this is just not working. We’ve talked about this, Amelia breaks free from Larry and tries to run away. Bob pulls haven’t we? It’s your job. the trigger and kills Amelia offstage. The “thump” of a corpse TIM Julie, please. Don’t do this. It’s the only one I hitting the ground is heard. could get. JULIE Tim, what do you want me to say? LARRY You f**king PSYCHO! TIM -Julie hang on. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’ll call you right back, as soon as I can! We’ll Larry lunges at Bob in a fit of rage, throwing them both offstage work this out. You’ll see. to stage left. Wrestling noises are heard. A gunshot is fired. The JULIE D*mm*t, Tim! This is exactly- “thump” of a corpse hitting the ground is heard. LIGHTS OFF on TIM puts down the phone. Beat. The phone this “thump”. CURTAIN. rings. Beat. TIM he picks it up. TIM Good day, sir. I’m Tim and I’m your AppleCare support assistant. May I start with your name, please? REGINALD Tim, huh? I like that name. My name’s Tim too. TIM Really? Well, small world. I’m Tim Sanders, then. REGINALD Me too. TIM Well...that’s quite a coincidence, sir. 350 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 351
REGINALD Isn’t it just? REGINALD walks off the stage in the direction opposite to TIM Yes. Well all right then, may I have your the one he came from, whistling tunelessly. He then returns iPhone’s serial number? carrying a huge plastic bag containing a pig, and runs back REGINALD Sure...just give me a second. I’m parking my to his original position offstage. A man shouts ‘Hey! He stole car. my pig! HE STOLE MY PIG! HE STOLE MY PIG!’. Sound TIM No worries, sir. effect of a car starting.
Tim parks his car and gets on to the stage at the downstage TIM Sir? Sir are you all right there? Sir? division. REGINALD (out of breath) Sorry about that. Just doing what had to be done, Tim. REGINALD All right, that’s done. TIM Sir, did you just steal a pig? TIM Great. So is this a follow up on a previous REGINALD Come now, Tim. What’s this call about? My issue with your iPhone? iPhone, or a pig which I may or may not have REGINALD Nope, my iPhone’s never had any prior stolen? issues. TIM Ah...very well, sir. Right you are. TIM Glad to hear it, sir. May I start with your REGINALD (to the pig, softer, with his mouth further iPhone’s serial num- away from the phone) Hey there, piggy. REGINALD -OH MY GOD! IT’S A PIG! There’s a good boy. That’s a good piggy. I’m Beat gonna call you Terrence. TIM I’m...I’m sorry, sir? TIM Sir? REGINALD A PIG, MAN! A REAL LIFE PIG! REGINALD Hmm? TIM Well, that’s quite fascinating, sir? TIM The iPhone serial number, sir? We really do REGINALD It is, isn’t it? I’ve always wanted one. You need it to proceed on. understand, Tim, don’t you? The desire a REGINALD Ah. Yes. Of course. Where did you say that man has for a pig? was again? TIM Ah...I can’t quite say I do, sir. Though I TIM Right, sir. Just go under settings. suppose pigs do have a certain majesty about REGINALD Yes. them. TIM And then general. REGINALD That they do, Tim, that they do. REGINALD Okay. TIM Well, sir, I really do need your iPhone’s serial TIM About. number to help you out here, so if you could REGINALD Yes, I’m there. Oh I see it. just give it to me. TIM Great. REGINALD Sure. Just a moment. REGINALD Yeah. You know Tim, you’re a really good teacher. 352 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 353
TIM Ah thank you, sir. I do try. So may I have REGINALD puts the phone down. Sound effect of car door your serial number? slamming. Tim walks purposefully to the other side of the REGINALD You know, you rather remind me of myself. stage, going offstage. REGINALD shouts incoherently at the TIM Very flattering, sir. But I really do need the driver. Sound effect of a punch. REGINALD starts wailing. serial number. Sound effect of car door slamming, and of a car driving off. REGINALD Iway onderway, oday ouyay eakspay ethay REGINALD goes back to his original side of the stage, off anguagelay ofway ethay ancientway andway stage. Then the sound effects of a car door closing, and then oblenay igspay? a car starting. TIM Sorry, sir? REGINALD Pig Latin, Tim. Do you speak it? REGINALD (sobbing) Hello? Tim? Are you there? TIM Ah, can’t say that I do, sir. TIM Yes sir...what seems to be the problem? REGINALD Well, I guess we’re not as much alike as I REGINALD He took-he-he took Terrence! though. TIM Sir, I’m sorry, but I really do not know TIM Tragic. Now, sir, really, I do need that serial what’s going on. number! REGINALD TERRENCE THE PIG! REGINALD Sure…..wait for it…..drumroll……it’s – TIM Right, sir. But I meant with your iPhone. I’m 5K123EN4B3Q. really not quite sure how to help you with TIM Yes, very amusing, sir. Alright...I’ve got a Terrence the Pig. I’m sure you understand. black 32GB iPhone 4S registered to a REGINALD HE TOOK TERRENCE! Reginald Hardy. TIM Yes sir, I’m sure he did. REGINALD Oh yes. I’ve changed my name. REGINALD Well I’m going to get Terrence back! TIM I see... So what appears to be the issue? TIM All right sir, that’s great, but I really do need Sound effect of car being rammed. to know what’s wrong with your iPhone. TIM Sir? Sir are you all right? REGINALD Oh, everything. REGINALD WHAT THE H*LL! No I am NOT all right! TIM Everything, sir? TIM Ah...what happened, sir? REGINALD Yes. Everything. The hardware, the software! REGINALD What happened? That a**hole behind me just The frontware, the backware! The first RAMMED MY CAR. camera, the second camera, the volume TIM Ah...that’s terrible sir. Really terrible. buttons, the accelerometer, the central REGINALD Yes it is. Don’t you worry, Tim. I won’t processor! EVERYTHING! stand for it. Just hold a minute. TIM Well...that’s quite a list. TIM Actually sir, I – REGINALD Yes. TIM Are you quite certain that all those things are faulty? 354 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 355
REGINALD Come on, Tim. references! Anyone in the world would be TIM All right, well, before we proceed further lucky to hire you! forward why don’t I give you a case number, TIM It’s just not safe, Julie. I’m just not sure I’d so that you can call back in the terribly get a job at all. unfortunate event that we get cut off? JULIE Take a risk! I believe in you! You can do it! REGINALD No need to be sarcastic. You should do it! Come on. For me. TIM No, no I’m quite serious, sir. It happens more TIM Julie, I’m really sorry, but I’ve got to get often than you would think. back to this call. I can’t keep a customer REGINALD Sure it does. waiting for too long. TIM Right. Well, you may want to note this down, JULIE Tim- sir. TIM hangs up on JULIE and returns to REGINALD Sure I might. REGINALD’s call. TIM Right...well, your case number is 204236148. REGINALD Who’s a good piggy? Who’s a good piggy? REGINALD Sure it is. Iway ovelay ouyay, Errencetay. TIM Yes, sir. Anyway, apologies for this sir, but I TIM So sorry about that, sir. need to put you on hold for a moment. REGINALD Otnay away oblempray, Imtay REGINALD Sure you do. TIM Sorry, sir? TIM Sir, I really do. My humblest apologies, I’ll REGINALD Pig Latin, Tim. Pig Latin. be right back. TIM Right. That’s great. Now, when you say that everything is wrong with your phone... TIM puts REGINALD on hold and calls JULIE. REGINALD I mean that I can’t find anything wrong with it. JULIE Hello? TIM (pause) I’m afraid I don’t quite understand, TIM Julie. Look, I’m sorry. sir. What seems to be the issue. JULIE Tim, that just isn’t enough. Not anymore. REGINALD Well I just told you the issue. I can’t find You know what you have to do. anything wrong with my phone. But that TIM I can’t, Julie! It’s the only job I have. I can’t can’t be right, right? There has to be just quit! something wrong with my phone. JULIE Honey, you’re spending too much time doing TIM Not necessarily. it. REGINALD Statistically though, what are the odds that TIM I don’t have a choice – what other job could I my phone is perfect? I refuse to fall into the possibly get? trap of believing that I’m that one special JULIE Lots! Lots of other jobs! You’ve got people case. Tim, It just hurts too much. You willing to vouch for you, Tim! You have understand, don’t you? 356 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 357
TIM Ah...I suppose so, sir. Though let me assure to be the matter? you, we do make quite a few iPhones with no REGINALD It’s just.....Terrence! defects whatsoever. In fact, the majority of- TIM Terrence the pig? REGINALD Oh, save it, Tim! There is something wrong REGINALD Yes! I know that in this world we are meant with my phone. You know it. I know it. Now to be brave, to mask our emotions and drudge let’s figure out what it is. on like nothing bothers us. But when you TIM Sir, I’m sorry, but I really can’t help you mentioned the quality of my Apple product! unless you know what’s wrong. In fact I’m Oh, Tim! My Terrence! My dear, sweet, going to have to close the case if there’s innocent Terrence was stolen from me! And I nothing- can’t figure out how to get him back! REGINALD Okay, how about this? We’ll start small. Beat. When I press the button on the top, the screen TIM Why are you doing this to me? goes blank? Is that supposed to happen? REGINALD Huh? Doing what? TIM Yes sir, it is. But- TIM Look, I’ve honestly got quite a lot of better REGINALD And when I press it again, the screen comes things to do than to indulge your prank. There back. Are you telling me that’s normal? is absolutely nothing wrong with your Really? iPhone, correct? TIM Yes sir, that’s exactly what it’s supposed to REGINALD Tim? Tim no! I’m not playing a prank at all! do. I’m just worried! REGINALD Oh, well all right then. Wow. TIM Right, sure. Well in any case, seeing as TIM Yes. there’s nothing wrong with your phone, I’m Beat. terribly sorry sir, but I’m going to have to end REGINALD Maybe I am the lucky one. this call right now. TIM It would appear so, sir. I’m going to have to REGINALD How do you know that? You can’t know that terminate this call now, but it was great for sure! talking to you, and I’m glad you’re satisfied TIM I’m sorry sir, but really, I’m only here to help with your Apple product. troubleshoot your iPhone. If you could give me a specific problem which is distressing REGINALD starts crying abruptly. you, we could work from there. Do you have one? TIM (shocked) Sir? Are you all right, sir? REGINALD Well okay. It’s probably nothing, but how REGINALD I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Tim, you shouldn’t have about this? When I press the volume button to hear this. with the plus sign, my volume goes down. TIM Right...well ah, there there, sir. What seems But that’s normal right? 358 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 359
TIM Ah, d*mm*t, that’s not normal at all. TIM Do you HONESTLY think that you’re the REGINALD It’s not! Thank God! only person who’s ever prank called me? TIM Right, this is great. REGINALD No, Tim, of course I didn’t-What? Wait. Tim REGINALD See how the universe has conspired, Tim, to this isn’t a prank call! keep our relationship intact! TIM Save it. TIM Yes, sir. I see. REGINALD It’s not! Beat. TIM I SAID SAVE IT! I’m not going to sit here TIM Well, sir, this might be a software issue. Have and listen to your nonsense. That is not what you tried restoring your iPhone? I’m paid to do! That is NOT MY PURPOSE REGINALD AHA! They look dangerous! IN LIFE! I’ve got a girlfriend who is one TIM Sir? HAIR away from breaking up with me REGINALD I think I’ve found a street gang. because I’m never home, doing extra shifts TIM A street gang, sir? for this crappy job, talking to jackasses like REGINALD Yes, a street gang. I’m gonna go and get YOU! Now if you don’t mind, I am going to Terrence back. put this phone down, get some coffee, and TIM Sir, are you telling me that you’re about to call my girlfriend. approach a street gang and ask them to help REGINALD Tim, I’m sorry. This isn’t a prank. I swear. you retrieve your pig? This is completely serious. Really. I’m just a REGINALD Ask? man who wants his pig back. That’s it. No Sound effect of a car door slamming. funny business. REGINALD Oh no, Tim. I’m not going to ask. I will unite TIM Sure! And pigs can fly! them under the vision of my cause. Every Beat man should have a pig, and no man should TIM I’m going to hang up now. steal another man’s claimed pig. REGINALD Tim. Don’t leave alone here. I might need Beat. your help to convince this street gang. They TIM Stop it. look pretty rough. Tim? Tim? REGINALD Sorry? TIM Goodbye, sir. TIM Stop it. Why are you doing this? And why are REGINALD Hello, Tim? TIM I NEED YOU! TIM, NO you doing this to me, in particular? I’ve had a DON’T LEAVE ME ALONE, PLEASE! crappy enough day. So why? And why me? REGINALD Sorry, Tim, I’m not following. TIM hangs up the phone. He relaxes in his seat. TIM WHY ME? Beat. TIM Bl**dy ridiculous. REGINALD (tentatively) Tim? Beat. 360 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 361
REGINALD walks purposefully on to the other side of TIM Hello, Julie? I love you. offstage. JULIE Tim, I’ve already told you, I- TIM No. Don’t say anything. Please. I’ll quit. I’ll REGINALD People of the world. Fair citizens of mother quit this crappy job if that’s what you want. I earth. Come and gather. Listen to my voice. will quit it right now, if that’s what you really Beat. want. If it’s you or the job, then quitting will be the easiest choice I’ve made in my entire TIM walks off to the side of the stage opposite REGINALD. life. But Julie, I want you to understand. The REGINALD begins speaking before TIM is off. reason I work so hard is you – I want to give you the best life I can, and this is the only REGINALD It is I! The truth seeker! The truth speaker! I, way I know for sure that I can provide for he who shall lead you to glory! you. JULIE Tim, I love you, I really do. It’s just that I Beat. Sound of coffee pouring from TIM’s can’t go on like this anymore. Your job just side. takes up too much time. We’re in a Beat. relationship. I deserve more. TIM I know. I know. I’ll quit, if that’s what you REGINALD Now my dear peers, as you may have want. There’s no point in me continuing the guessed, this is all about a pig. A sweet, job if it’ll cost me you. faultless pig who was unjustly pig-napped by Beat. an evil dictatorial traffic jammer. A pig who- JULIE All right. Keep the job. wait! Wait what are you all doing? Hey! Get TIM Really? Are you sure you want me to? back! WAIT! Because if you at all do not, we’ll find a way. JULIE No, you’re right. You’re only doing it Sound effect of punches and kicks, interspersed with because you love me. How could I possibly REGINALD protesting ‘Ow!’, ‘Stop it!’, ‘HEY!’, ‘I’m sorry, ask for any more from you? Or want to break I’M SORRY!’, or anything else that is appropriate. TIM up with you for loving me? comes back on stage with his coffee while this goes on. The TIM That’s great! That’s so great! Julie, I love you sound effects of REGINALD being beaten up continue for a so much! bit as TIM sips his coffee, thinking hard. They stop, then JULIE I love you too. Keep the job. lights go fully out on REGINALD’s segment of the stage. Beat. TIM calls JULIE on the phone. Lights out briefly on the whole stage. Then lights back on on both segments. It is the next day. The phone rings, and TIM answers it. REGINALD is still offstage. 362 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 363
TIM Good day, sir, great, happy day. I’m Tim and iPhone or not? I’m your AppleCare support assistant. May I REGINALD Yeah. I do. Do you want my old case start with your name, please? number? REGINALD Tim, don’t talk. TIM Yes. TIM Oh dear god it’s you. REGINALD 204236148. REGINALD Just listen. Please. TIM Great. Let’s get this over with. TIM What the h*ll is wrong with you? REGINALD I memorised it, you know. REGINALD Tim, I’ve done wrong by you. I have. By the TIM Good for you. stars in heaven and the earth and the moon I REGINALD I memorised it for you. have. Tim, I’ll be straight with you from now TIM Look, could we just get this over with? on, I swear. REGINALD Tim, please. Don’t be angry. You’re the best TIM Go away. friend I’ve ever had. Relationships like ours – REGINALD No, listen to me. My name’s not really Tim we have so few of them, we can’t afford to let Sanders – that’s your name. them sour. We can’t afford to squander our TIM Really? Well thank you for clearing that up. blessings, Tim. REGINALD It’s Reginald, okay? Reginald Hardy. But you TIM Just tell me what the problem with your can call me Reggie. iPhone is, sir. TIM Look, do you have a problem with your REGINALD It’s the volume button, like you said, Tim. iPhone or not? It’s not normal. REGINALD Tim, I swear I wasn’t pulling a prank on you- TIM The plus one? It makes your volume go TIM -Save it. down, yes? REGINALD No! Really! It’s just...I wanted to be a new REGINALD Yes. person, you know? Change my name, change TIM Try doing a software restore. Plug your my identity. And you just seemed so cool. iPhone in to your computer, and hit the TIM Don’t give me that. You barely know me. restore button when you’re under the iPhone REGINALD Hey man, you can tell straight away. tab on iTunes. If that doesn’t work, then Beat you’ll have to bring it in and we’ll give you a REGINALD Anyway, look, I’m sorry. And in case you’re new iPhone, free of charge. wondering, I got Terrence back. I got my pig REGINALD Okay, give me a while here. back. TIM Fine. TIM Great, I’m sure you got your imaginary piggy REGINALD So, Tim, while I’m getting this done... back. TIM Don’t talk. There’s no need to talk. REGINALD He’s not imaginary. But thank you, Tim. REGINALD No really, we’ve got to talk, Tim. It’s what TIM Look, sir, do you have an issue with your people do. So, how’s your sister? Last I hear 364 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 365
she just graduated from the University of REGINALD Well, actually Tim, I did the software restore Melbourne. That’s pretty impressive, man. already. I did it before calling. Beat. TIM And? TIM How did you know that? REGINALD And it worked. My iPhone’s fine now. REGINALD Ah come on, we’re friends. We tell each TIM Then why the h*ll did you call me? other everything. So how’s Julie? You still REGINALD Come on, Tim. You know why. haven’t introduced me to her. TIM THAT DOES IT! That’s IT! This is the TIM What the hell is going on? How do you know FINAL STRAW. these things? REGINALD Tim? I- REGINALD Hey, I’m sorry, Tim! I just, you know, TIM SHUT UP! wanted to bond with you over stuff. TIM How do you know all about my life? TELL TIM slams the phone down. The light on REGINALD’s ME! section goes off. TIM picks the phone back up and dials REGINALD Look, I’m sorry, all right. I googled. I found JULIE. your facebook. I checked twitter. You know, the usual. TIM Julie? Hi honey. I just finished with one of TIM You stalked me? the callers. Just thought I’d call and let you REGINALD Come on, when you put it that way that know – I think you’re right. I’m spending too sounds so melodramatic. much time here at Apple. I’m quitting. TIM What the h*ll is WRONG with you? Do not ever call this number again. I don’t care if Lights out immediately. your iPhone’s menu button isn’t working. I don’t care if your battery explodes. I don’t care! You have gone way over the line with this. Do NOT call back when I hang up. REGINALD But Tim, you’ve got to help me sort this issue out! It’s your job! Beat. TIM Fine. But once this is over, don’t you dare call back. REGINALD Deal. Beat. REGINALD Tim? TIM What? 366 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 367
Yustynn Panicker the first three months. SON Really? That's terrible. Escape From Mordor FATHER It really is. SON Just inhumane. Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring on TV. Sound from FATHER Yup. I'm telling you, son, appreciate what you've the ending is played. Son presses stop on the remote. FATHER got. Back during the first weekend of basic and SON sit in silence for a moment. training. Our country's going easy on your generation. FATHER That was good. SON Okay. SON Very, very good. FATHER Honestly, son. Look at what the government gave FATHER 208 minutes just wasn't long enough. you. A Friday night to have a Lord of the Rings SON It was epic. marathon with your old man. Be happy. FATHER That's why they call it an epic, son. SON Sure. Whatever. Beat. FATHER So, next part? Son about to press play, father stops him. SON Already got the disc ready. FATHER Wait! Son, I'm serious. I know it doesn't seem like Son gets up to put disc in. much when you compare it to the 2 years you're FATHER and SON watching giving to the army, but you've really got to enjoy these little things. They'll help you get through the SON This one's my favourite. army. FATHER Really? What about the Return of the King? Part SON Sure, Dad. 3 is best. FATHER Son, come on. Appreciate what the government's SON No Dad, the Two Towers is better. Return of the given you. King is just the final installment. You always SON The government hasn't given me anything, Dad. liked endings. FATHER Let me guess. It's because they're the ones who FATHER What can I say? I just like completion. were going to steal your time anyway, right? They can't give you back a weekend that's rightfully Son sits back down next to father. yours? I know, I've been through it too. SON No, that's not- FATHER. You know son, it's really lucky that you get to FATHER Believe me, I know. But you shouldn't think like leave camp so fast. that! This government has given you so much, SON Uh huh. son. So much. Your education has been FATHER In my time, they wouldn't let you out of NS for practically free, your medical bills have been 368 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 369
heavily subsidised. And the country itself! SON Dad. I am. It's just that the government didn't give Singapore is practically crime-free! this to me. SON Hey, careful there, Dad. Low crime doesn't mean FATHER Of course they did. no crime. SON No, they didn't. FATHER I'm being serious, son. Don't be sarcastic with me FATHER You're out here, aren't you? Not in camp. when I'm being serious. This is a great country. SON Yup. Do you really think it doesn't deserve two short FATHER And they're the ones who control that you're in years of your life? camp, right? SON Dad, honestly. It's okay. I don't care. About this issue. Really, I don't. I know the arguments for Son keeps silent. and against NS. I swear. I've heard them a million times. It's fine. It's really, really fine. I don't FATHER Then they gave this to you. They let you out. They particularly care either way. Let's just watch the gave this to you.. movie. Come on, Dad. Let's do this. For Frodo. SON No they didn't. Dad, honestly. They probably still FATHER So you really don't appreciate this weekend they think I'm in camp. gave you? FATHER They did! Haven't you been listening! What do SON Dad... you mean they – wait what? I don't understand. FATHER No, honestly. I don't get it. Are you not enjoying SON Well, I left camp early. yourself? Is that it? FATHER With whose permission? SON What? No! Come on, I'm been having the time of SON Nobody's. I just left. I wanted to watch The Lord my life over here. So let's just press play and get of the Rings with you. back to that time. FATHER WHAT? FATHER Come on, don't lie to me. If you're not enjoying SON What? this, then it's fine. We can stop watching. You can FATHER You just walked out of camp? go out with your friends, or whatever it is you SON Come on, Dad. One does not simply walk out of really want to do. camp. It's black gates are guarded by more than SON No, Dad, really! This is exactly what I want to do. just bald reluctant men. There is evil there that I swear. doesn't sleep. FATHER Yeah right. Your first day back from the army and FATHER What the hell is wrong with you? you want to spend it with your father. SON Well, okay. There isn't actually more than bald SON Dad I swear. This is what I want to do. reluctant men, but still, it wasn't easy. FATHER Then why don't you appreciate it?! FATHER You just left camp? Without permission?! SON I am appreciating it. SON Well, yeah. Can we get back to the movie now? FATHER Doesn't seem like it. FATHER WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU! 370 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 371
SON Come on, Dad. Do you see? This anger you feel, record forever. Is that what you want? Really? this rage? This is exactly why I didn't want to tell SON Dad, honestly. It's fine. They can whip me if they you in the first place. You're getting angry over want. Whatever. nothing. Really. Please don't. It's ridiculous. FATHER Whatever? FATHER GO BACK! SON Yeah. Whatever. They can't make me do hard SON What? labour though. FATHER GO BACK RIGHT NOW! FATHER Of course they can! SON Come on, Dad. One does not simply walk into SON No not really. If I refuse to do it, what're they camp. It's black gates are guarded by- gonna do, send me to the detention barracks? FATHER SHUT UP! SHUT UP! Son, do you know what FATHER Son... you've done? DO YOU? SON See Dad? I thought this through. SON I came home? FATHER You're throwing away your whole future in this FATHER YOU BROKE THE LAW! The army code! country! Something! SON What a shame. SON Come on, Dad. It's ridiculous anyway. FATHER NUS right down the drain. FATHER You shouldn't be here! You can't be here! SON Wow. That's as bad as when the fellowship SON Oh come on, they don't need me. Honestly. thought Gandalf died. They've got hundreds of thousands of people. FATHER Son! I've had it with this! Go back to camp right What difference am I gonna make? I'm just one now, or- person. SON Dad, look. I'm not quitting NS- FATHER That's not they point! You're not allowed to just FATHER You CAN'T- leave! SON I'm not. I just really wanted to spend time with SON Really? Dad, I'm 20 years old. I'm not a minor you, okay? Look, a friend of mine's father died a anymore. I'm allowed to buy alcohol and couple of days back. And it really got me cigarettes. I'm allowed to drive. Allowed to watch thinking, all right? The nation can do without me M18 movies. Heck, I'm even held entirely for one night, I'm sure. I just want to spend some responsible if I kill a man. How can I be time with you, Dad. I promise I'll go back to responsible enough to be held fully accountable camp after this. I'm sorry, okay? I just...I don't for a man's death, and not responsible enough to know. decide what I want to do with my Friday night? That just doesn't make sense. Beat FATHER Son, please. They will send you to the detention Father presses play. barracks. They will whip you. They will force you End. into hard labour. They will stain your permanent 372 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES English Play (Secondary School) 373
Tan Wei Ying Kate brother, I think. They were in a car accident. DYLAN Wow, you’re right. That is horrible. My The Death Code condolences. I should probably start working on a letter to them. (walks over to the desk and Lights fade in to show a room, quite obviously that of a young pauses, before continuing) Doesn’t explain man. Messy, with a couch in the middle. There’s a shelf at upper your reaction though. We haven’t met them in stage left, almost at the very front of the stage. There is a thick years. landing pad/mat on the ground right in front of the stage, DANNY There’s another thing, Dylan. Remember that preferably dark and unseen to the audience. A young man, maybe programme I was working on? 18 to 20, is sitting at a desk, facing stage left, typing on his laptop DYLAN (continues shuffling through papers on his when someone bursts in from backstage right, looking frantic and desk) Which one? anxious. DANNY The one you said was absurd and that I should stop wasting time on, and go apply for a DANNY Dylan, do you believe in fate? university instead. DYLAN (closes his laptop, turns to face Danny and DYLAN (looks up, laughing) That’s all of them. answers with a straight face) Why, thank you DANNY The dead people one. for knocking. Do come in. DYLAN (turns around to face Danny) Oh, that one. DANNY Do you believe in fate? Yeah, you’re right, that one probably takes the DYLAN Oh yes, I’ve been well too. Take a seat! hat for the most ridiculous. DANNY Answer the question! DANNY Dylan! I finished it. I finished it, and it works. DYLAN (Stands up and walks to a cup of water) Why? I tried it with all the famous dead people. DANNY Do you believe that your life is Albert Einstein. Hitler. Michael Jackson. It predetermined? works, Dylan, it works. DYLAN Well, no, but I actually meant ‘why’, as in DYLAN (shakes his head) That’s not a revolutionary ‘why the question’, not ‘rephrase the programme, Danny. It’s a programme that question’. takes the name you give it, googles the date DANNY (takes a deep breath, tries to calm down) and cause of death and then prints it out. Dylan, I- Dylan! (walks over to the couch and DANNY I tried it with Uncle Bill. It worked. Somehow, sits down, fidgeting) Come here. Sit down. I don’t think I can google Uncle’s Bill’s cause Listen to me. Something horrible happened. of death. DYLAN (walks over the couch and sits down) What? DYLAN The hospital that issued his death cert is online DANNY Leslie and Lily died. now. They probably have their records online. DYLAN What!? Which means that you just created a hacking DANNY Leslie. And Lily. Our cousins. Mum’s second programme. 374 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES English Play (Secondary School) 375
DANNY Dylan! The programme works. I tested it. On February 2012 2304 hours. Cause of death: someone alive. Car accident. That’s- that’s impossible. (looks DYLAN Who? up, then says in a very serious tone) Danny, DANNY (ignoring Dylan) Someone whom I knew very this is a sick joke. I’m disappointed in you. vaguely. I found mum’s address book. I found Honestly, joking about death- their names and birthdays. I keyed both in. DANNY It’s not a joke! Look at the details. Programme DYLAN (starts paying attention)What are you saying, search started: 18th February 2012 1632 hours. Danny? Programme results returned: 19th February DANNY (continues, distracted, as if he doesn’t hear 2114 hours. Dylan) I keyed it in, and it took a whole day to DYLAN So- process, I thought it wouldn’t work. And when DANNY (suddenly agitated, stands up) So I killed I saw what it printed out, I was sure that it had them! I entered their names, and two days later failed. they die! I killed them, I- DYLAN (insistent) Who was it, Danny? Say their DYLAN Shut up and think, Danny! If you believe that names, Danny. this programme really works, that your fate is DANNY That was two days ago. Then today, Mum told predetermined, then you didn’t kill them, you me the news. just happened to search their death…. Two DYLAN (slowly walks up to the couch) Danny? days before it happened. …Danny! DANNY But I- DANNY (takes out a sheet of paper and holds it to DYLAN Calm down, sit down, take ten deep breaths, Dylan) This was what the programme gave then talk to me. For someone usually so me. logical, the fact that you’re not making sense DYLAN (reading off the paper) L Goh. L Goh. (looks is scaring me. up) These aren’t them. Mum’s maiden DANNY (flops down on the couch, followed by Dylan. surname is Chan- He puts his head in his hands for a few DANNY Their mum remarried. They both took their seconds, before looking up, visibly more stepdad’s surname. Goh. calm.) Okay. Okay, okay, I’m okay. So I DYLAN Can’t be them. didn’t kill them. But the programme still DANNY My programme requires four things. Country works. Right? of residence, birthday, surname and initial of DYLAN (shakes his head) That’s impossible. first name. All four match. The probability of DANNY What? Why? it being someone else is literally impossible! DYLAN It’s just… ridiculous. (stands up and paces, as Just…just read on. if disturbed by the idea) Our lives are based on DYLAN (looks down again) Date of death, 21st our decisions. Every single decision we make 376 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES English Play (Secondary School) 377
changes everyone’s life. That’s no way to is screwed up and it’s kill or be killed clearly know what’s going to happen in the future. isn’t affecting your opinion of this situation. DANNY Then explain this! (holds out the sheet of (sits down again, fidgeting) There’s more, paper) Dyl. DYLAN A coincidence. It has to be. What, you think DYLAN Hmm? our every line, our every action is scripted? DANNY After Leslie and Lily’s results came back last Like a play? A television show! The lives of night, I thought there was a glitch. So, I was Dylan and Danny! Cue the theme song! Dylan curious, I, er, well, I put my name in. walks up to Danny. Dylan smiles. Dylan tells DYLAN (turns around suddenly) You what? Danny to stop talking and start thinking DANNY I put my name in. Let the system run. See logically. Cue audience laughter! what results I got. DANNY: (irritated by Dylan’s lack of seriousness) It’s DYLAN Why on Earth would you do that? No, not funny, Dylan! The programme works; that honestly, even if, and I’m making a huge can only mean that everything that we do, that assumption here, if everything is as you say we are, has already been decided. (stands up and your life is fixed and your programme again) When you have eliminated the works, why, pray tell, would you want to impossible, whatever remains, however know when and how you would die? improbable, must be the truth! DANNY I don’t know. Gives me something to live for? DYLAN You’re right! Predetermined fate: Impossible. DYLAN Right. Right! (sarcastically) Because What’s left? Coincidence! Improbable? Yes. knowledge of your death really gives you Truth? Also yes! something to live for! DANNY You’re just denying it because you’re such a DANNY So I can be prepared. I don’t wanna just go cynic, Dylan. God, sometimes I wonder how like that when I least expect it. I want to, you on Earth we’re even twins. know, have a will. Say my last words. Settle DYLAN Fraternal twins. Please don’t forget that. my bills. (walks back to his desk, before turning around DYLAN: And, you know, just asking, is ‘avoid death’ and saying) God forbid I even be such an written anywhere on that list? Like, if your unrealistic dreamer with no concrete goals or programme says ‘car accident’, stay at home. plans for the future. Oh whoops, sorry, I meant If it says ‘fatal food poisoning’, don’t eat. free-spirited liberal. Hah, that’s why you DANNY Hey, you said that in this hypothetical world, believe so much in your stupid programme. It everything was destined. You can’t change fits in with your world view. You’re just fate. If it’s going to happen, it’s going to biased. happen. And if I were to die by car accident, DANNY Yes, because your world view that everything I’d rather it be on the road than a truck 378 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES English Play (Secondary School) 379
crashing into the side of my house. Cause of death: Fell off the edge. DYLAN Remind me again, how are we even related, let DYLAN But, but that’s today. (checks watch) In fact, alone share the same DNA? it’s 6 minutes ago. Hah, told you it didn’t DANNY Fraternal twins don’t share DNA. work! Now will you just calm- DYLAN Details. DANNY No. No. I set it by my watch’s timing. And my DANNY Anyway, the system’s still running. And I’m watch is always ten minutes late. Which freaking out. Because now I know it works. means that in 4 minutes, I’m going to die. By And I’ll know when I’m going to die. And- falling off the edge. DYLAN Knew it! (points triumphantly at Danny) You DYLAN What’s the edge? don’t want to know it after all. Because DANNY I don’t know! knowing’s too scary. Just admit it. DYLAN You programmed this! DANNY It’s just… what if it says that I’m going to die DANNY The programme is beyond me. in a plane crash? That means I know that the DYLAN So you’re going to let a few lines of code- plane’s going to crash. So, do I just go on the DANNY A few hundred, actually- plane and let me and everyone else die, or DANNY Maybe that’s not what the edge means. warn the airline? DYLAN Well then, what does it mean, you tell me, you DYLAN I doubt they’d believe you, so that’s really a wrote the programme! I’m pretty sure it’s moot point. Besides, in a hypothetical pretty well established in this universe that universe, you can’t change fate, right? there isn’t an edge to the Earth, it’s round. Or DANNY Right, but what if knowing our fate makes us are you going back to the whole scripted thing change it? What happens then? again? Oh, this is a stage, if I keep walking, DYLAN You’ve defied the laws of the universe, and it I’m gonna fall off the edge! (walks right up to implodes. Obviously. Or kills you, either one. the very edge of stage in a mocking fashion) DANNY Very funny, Dylan. They laugh for a while, when suddenly his computer makes a DYLAN (turns around) You’re laughing! ‘ding’ noise and prints out a sheet of paper. DANNY Okay, okay, fine. Maybe I’m freaking out. Just a little bit. And maybe this programme is a DANNY (agitated again) Oh. No. No. No, it’s back, failure, like all my other projects. Dylan. The results. It came back. DYLAN Eh, being able to code is already an DYLAN Decision time. Do you really believe in your achievement. Don’t be so down on yourself. programme that much? So… coke, chips, telly? DANNY I- I have to know. I can’t stand not knowing. DANNY Yeah. Yeah, why not? (takes the paper and reads off it) D. Lee. Date DYLAN (walks over to the shelf) There was one tiny of death: 22nd February 2012 1847 hours. detail about your programme that could have 380 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES English Play (Secondary School) 381
been better though, and this is just because I’m Tan Wei Ying Kate a nitpicker and future lawyer. DANNY And what’s that? Rising Hope DYLAN You should input full names. Initials are always dangerous, because however unlikely, There is a front desk with a chair facing the audience, a side desk there’s always a chance that there’s someone with a few books on it and a bed, backstage left. There’s a table at out there with the same birthday and initials. the back with a coffee machine and another table next to it with a Imagine if the programme worked and jug of water. Other furnishings that would usually be found in a confused the initials with someone else! Hah! school hostel can be added, such as a bookshelf, if funds are (tries reaching for something on the top shelf) sufficient. DANNY True, I guess. DYLAN D*mmit, why did I put those chips up there? Actress begins, sitting down at the desk facing the audience and Hey, like us! Ever notice that? We have the writing on a pad of paper. same initials! DANNY (slowly, realising something)…Dylan. 1. DYLAN (still reaching) What? Thanks for your letter, Ma. I’m fine, really, you shouldn’t worry DANNY Dylan, come back here. so much. My studies have been great – I’m going to graduate in DYLAN (stops, turns around and looks back at Danny) just a month, can you imagine that? As to whether I want to Oh come on, what now? Was it the initials stay… I don’t know, Ma. I really don’t. Most of the other comment? I thought we were over this whole Singaporeans here are going to stay and get a job. But I don’t death thing! know, maybe it was the way I was raised, or just my idealistic DANNY (scared, shouting, standing up slowly) Dylan, ways of thinking, but the wide open green fields and the just come back. Dylan! refreshingly cold breeze (well, cold as compared to Singapore) DYLAN (tries to reach again) Oh shut it, I’ve almost just doesn’t feel like home to me. got the chips. I’m standing next to a wall. Just relax! 2. DANNY (starts walking slowly, unsurely towards After 4 years here, it should. But even now, while writing this Dylan) Dylan! letter, I look out the window, and I see (stands up slowly and DYLAN (jumps and grabs it) Got it! (He loses his leaves the table, moving stage right and looking out of an balance and wobbles dangerously as he lands imaginary window) – well, I see sky. Then I look down, because and-) I’m on the 5th storey of my dorm, and I see a bunch of my ang moh friends playing soccer, and you know what? I’d really prefer Lights black out suddenly, as Dylan screams and falls. seeing the boys from the HDB block illegally kicking a ball around the lifts and getting yelled out by the old uncle from the 382 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES English Play (Secondary School) 383
2nd floor. (laughs) Remember how I used to dream about head awkwardly before saying carefully)going steady. (rushes screaming out of the window and telling him to keep quiet now, as if to try and prove a point.) And Keith is (giggles some because I was studying? Well, that was nothing compared to the more, as if thinking of what she wanted to say, but then changing noise around here, but everyone seems to enjoy it. Those about to her words) an amazing guy, Ma, he’s polite and he’s filial and he graduate, those from my batch, are celebrating right now, yelling treats me so nicely and we’re quite in love. It’s not just a crush, I and screaming – I think I just saw one of them throw something swear, Ma. He’s (smiles and looks down at photo frame again)…. across the football field (incredulous laughing) and everyone’s perfect. The only problem is, he doesn’t want to move to having a great time, and they want to light a fire to burn their Singapore. He wants to stay in Australia and- can I blame him? textbooks, but here in Australia, there’s a [serious] law against it, This is where he grew up. And if I have to sacrifice that for a not like when we burn the papers to honour our ancestors back future with the man I love, is it really so bad? home. Pauses, sets photo frame down gently and walks back to the front Pauses, looks at the room around her, and then slowly sits back desk, scratching her arm awkwardly and rubbing her abdomen down again and continues writing. again a few times, before sitting down slowly.
3 5 I know, it sounds like I’m not happy here, but I am, Ma, you don’t Oh Ma, I know what you’d say already. You wouldn’t disagree need to worry. Oh, I can already see you frowning, but things are with your darling daughter, but you’d tell me not to do anything great. I might even graduate with honours if I did as well for my stupid and to think of my future. (laughs) You’ve said that phrase finals as I hope I did. Aren’t you proud of me, Ma? Remember so many times, I can hear your voice echoing in my head now! when you first told me that I should study medicine, seeing as I (Pauses, says seriously.) But you’re right. You always are. was so smart? I was merely in primary school then, but I remembered your words, and weren’t you right after all? Your But now, Ma, I’m all grown up. I’m an adult. I can make my own precious daughter is going to be a doctor, is going to save lives. decisions. And even if you’re right, I want, no, I need to rebel. (gets agitated, raises voice) And maybe, after years and years of Pauses again, walks to the desk on stage left, touching her hair you just controlling me and me being the perfect, the freaking, and rubbing her abdomen a few times. She picks up a large photo perfect little girl, I want to break free and find out who I actually frame which had previously been facing the audience, with a am? picture of a young couple in it. Stops suddenly, puts her head in her hands and takes deep 4 breaths, before looking up and continuing calmly on a completely Also, Ma, I’ve mentioned Keith before to you, haven’t I? (giggles different topic. a little) Yeah, Keith and I have been going out for about a year now, and we’ve been thinking about…(pauses, scratches back of 384 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES English Play (Secondary School) 385
6 just drop everything, rent a car and drive around America. To You remember when I was eight or nine, and people were setting enjoy my youth before it’s too late. But no, of course not. Because off sparklers on our void deck? I ran out of the door to go join my that isn’t part of the plan. The plan that was decided, decided for friends, but you yelled at me with the fierce look in your eyes that me even before I was ten. I was always supposed to grow up and I couldn’t ignore, and I slunk back as you lectured me about how take care of you and sis, and prove to Dad that, that we didn’t dangerous it was for me to run out like that without thinking, need him! But, but did anyone consider how I feel? How I am not without even putting on any shoes. a money machine for you to manipulate, not your fall-back plan, not- (By this time, she is almost yelling and she stops suddenly, as 7 if angry with herself for losing her temper again. She shakes her Funnily enough, it’s one of the moments of my childhood that I head, bites her lip and continues a little less calm than usual.) remember the most, Ma. (Laughs nostalgically) I thought that was the stupidest thing you could have lectured me about back then. Stands up again and talks as she slowly walks over to the coffee Putting on shoes… seriously? And I sulked as I put on my shoes machine at stage right. and ran downstairs, the quick mind of an eight-year-old forgetting the conversation almost immediately, but somehow, it got lodged 10 in my brain until now. I’m sorry, Ma. I’m sorry I lost my temper again. It’s the hormo- the…. The emotions. You know, teenage rebellion. You know me, Pauses, leans back in chair and looks up at the ceiling, thinking, Ma, always getting so angry. I should always just listen to you, then continues writing. shouldn’t I, since you’re always right. (By the time she finishes the sentence, there’s tinge of sarcasm in her voice. She’s getting 8 more and more agitated as she continues this letter, and more and Looking back, it was probably the best advice you ever gave me, more revealing.) Ma, to always be careful and think ahead. I look back a lot nowadays, missing the old days. I mean, my life is pretty much Reaches coffee machine and stops abruptly, shaking her head and planned out for me. (Starts talking a little faster, as if she was laughing, and heading for the jug of water instead, while used to saying this.) Once I get out of med school, I’ll intern for a continuing to talk. year or two, then specialise in whatever I want to (I haven’t decided yet) and tada! I’m a certified doctor! 11 I know you’re concerned that I’ve been stressed out for a while 9 recently, and you think that I’m going too far with Keith and all, (Talks faster and faster and sounds a little desperate.) By the time but we’re great, Ma. I’ll bring him to meet you one day. And I make a name for myself, I’ll be in my thirties. A little old, and recently, there’s been this hope within me. No matter what sometimes I wonder… wonder if there will ever be time to take a happens, this small hope just keeps growing every passing day, break. To go travel the world, discover rural China or old Britain, and I just know that everything is going to be all right. (She 386 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES English Play (Secondary School) 387 sounds almost mischievous as she says this, as if she’s taunting corridor barefoot, yelling to the world, not giving a hoot about her mum with some hidden truth, an inside joke.) what anyone thinks. Because Keith, and I and this hope, Ma? We’re going to be happy. Reaches for a jug of water and slowly pours a cup. Pauses, scribbles out that last part obviously and rips that page 12 out, before continuing on a fresh page. You see, Ma, even though it’s great to know what’s ahead of you, it’s also nice to take a risk every now and then. Run out that front 15 door without thinking, without looking and just feel the wind in You know what, Ma? I think I’ll stay in Australia for now, do my your hair, not caring if anyone’s looking behind you or if you first year residency at a local hospital that I have friends working have shoes upon your feet. You might not understand this, coming at. They’ll help me with my application. If I miss Singapore, I’ll from the background you did. I bet you’re frowning now and leave after my first year and come back. telling me not to waste my bright future by doing something stupid. But I promise I won’t do anything stupid. After all, you Nods, sure of her decision as she continues writing. taught me that. I don’t regret any of the decisions that I’ve made. 16 Takes a sip from the cup and walks back to the front desk slowly, I’m happy, Ma. And that’s all you need to know. I’ll write to you scratching her nose and rubbing her abdomen a few short times. soon again, and I promise to come back in about a year or so, when I get my first break from my internship. 13 And now, I never feel that I’m alone. No matter what Keith says, And frankly, Ma? Wearing shoes is overrated. or people say, or even you say, I’ll never have second thoughts about what I have chosen. (Same mischievous voice, before She stands up, folds the paper into half and puts it in an envelope, stopping and shaking her head, and correcting herself.) Medicine, sealing it close. She slowly walks over to the side desk and puts I mean. the envelope down, her other hand rubbing her abdomen gently, but more obviously now. With her hand still on her abdomen, Reaches table, sets cup down and continues scribbling away on mostly facing the audience, she looks down at her abdomen and the paper. whispers.
17 14 I know you’re in there, little Hope. And I love you. But, you know, this growing hope inside of me, Ma? It’s not going away. And one day, it’ll burst out for the world to see and Continues to gently rub abdomen as lights fade into blackout. that’s all that will matter to me. And I’ll be running down that 388 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES English Play (Secondary School) 389
Shayna Toh Tien Hsia JENNY I do, I really do! SAMMY We really should swap places, shouldn’t All The World’s A Stage we? I don’t care the slightest bit for this city, and I want more than anything to be The stage is divided into two – one half set in a coffee house along back home with everyone I know, instead a street in the evening, and another in a bedroom late at night. of sitting by myself in this darn coffee house, doing absolutely nothing. JENNY Hello? Sammy? Are you there? JENNY …And I really want out of this place. I’m SAMMY Jenny? Hey! Wait, whaa– what time is it still waiting for the day Mum and Dad over in Singapore now? would allow me to study theatre, instead JENNY Oh, 3AM, it’s nothing. of all the boring stuff you’ve got to learn SAMMY Nothing! Oh, I’m really sorry. I totally SAMMY (sarcastically) Thank you. I know what forgot the time difference. And you’re still you mean though, I don’t mind studying up— engineering, but it’s just that uni is so JENNY (yawning) I fell asleep at my computer. tough. Every moment I feel like giving SAMMY I bet you have an assignment due up— tomorrow? JENNY Don’t! Don’t you give on what you want! JENNY Yep. SAMMY I know, Jenny, everyone knows that. But SAMMY Ha! Typical! Always leaving things to the how much of what everyone says is true? last moment. Honestly, Jenny. How do How do I know after taking 4 years to you expect to get the marks? study this, I might actually succeed? I JENNY But I really hate math! really miss home and I just wish I could SAMMY You have to concentrate! You can’t do be at the mall now…Hey! Is it true that anything without focus, Jenny! Emmett got a girlfriend? JENNY Oh stop it! God! Don’t I know it! But it’s JENNY Yeah— not fair. I’m in the musical AND the play. SAMMY And Georgie got into trouble with the I have so much to catch up on, Sammy. police? SAMMY Well, you get yourself into this mess all JENNY Haha that’s true— the time. Every year. But will this singing SAMMY And Ashley— and acting also help you? JENNY Sammy! This isn’t going to help you! JENNY Don’t, Sammy. Don’t you think I know all SAMMY And what, memorizing the life story of this? every actor who has ever been in Les Mis SAMMY Well then you need to do well to come to is? (long pause) I’m sorry. London to study, don’t you know that? JENNY But you get what I mean, don’t you? If 390 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES English Play (Secondary School) 391
you really want to do engineering you going to scream about that too? have to really go for it! JENNY Oh my God, that can only mean you’re in SAMMY Thanks. And you’re supposed to be the the heart of London’s theatres aren’t you? little sister. Are you opposite the Queen’s Theatre! I JENNY Haha. Hey, hey, what time is it there now! know that place, hold on, let me get my SAMMY 7 PM. Google Earth to work…connecting…okay, JENNY 7 PM, yes, that’s right! Oh my God, all the done! shows are starting in just half an hour! SAMMY Oh no, is this the part where you become Ahh this is so exciting! Can you imagine absolutely insufferable about your you’re actually in the West End? In favourite shows? Singapore we have to wait ages for some JENNY All right, you’re along Shaftesbury show to come to town like for just a few Avenue, yes you are opposite the Queen’s weeks. Remember that time Les Theatre! And there are four theatres in a Miserables came and I went 3 times a row, aren’t there? Look down the street! week! I waited so long for that show, I What theatre do you see? couldn’t help it, I was so excited! You SAMMY The Gill…gill… know, I studied the programme and waited JENNY The Gielgud, I was right, you are on that and waited. How I wish I could watch it stretch! After the Gielgud, the Apollo and again…But you’re there – boom! It’s all Lyric, and I know that there are other there! Where exactly are you now? I want theatres around that area! Her Majesty’s a blow by blow, an on the spot report. with the Phantom is playing just around the SAMMY Um, I don’t know. I’m in some coffee corner, and so is the Lion in Winter, and… place. SAMMY I’m officially lost, would you get back to JENNY Where, where exactly? Oh SAMMY! sleep? You’re so, ugh! JENNY Hold on! Look out of the window! Do you SAMMY Hold on a second, (looking around to get see the Queen’s Theatre? her bearings) near the Piccadilly – SAMMY I see a freaky kid’s face plastered on a JENNY Piccadilly Circus! building and this bald dude waving some SAMMY Yeah, I think so. I don’t know really, I just flag… popped into the nearest food place I could JENNY That’s Les Miserables! With Cosette and find…Costa— Enjolras! Hmm, I think the Enjolras on the JENNY Costa Coffee? You’re at the Costa Coffee building is Edward Baruwa, who played in Piccadilly Circus? Enjolras in 2007, and then he played in SAMMY I’m eating an orange muffin now, are you Avenue Q in the Gielgud, right beside that, 392 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES English Play (Secondary School) 393
isn’t it cool! And then now he’s in the tour you been too much on your own? of Sister— SAMMY Seriously, stop! (She switches the phone off SAMMY And you rat on me for wanting to know speaker mode.) You think life’s just one about Ashley, really? big musical, don’t you? JENNY Shut up! You’re next to the Les Mis JENNY Well, more of a big adventure. Just…just theatre! I’d give anything to be there, it’s promise me you’ll do this one thing for me. so unfair, how can Mum and Dad just go SAMMY What? with you and leave me at home. It’s just JENNY If you see Carly Forest you’ll get her too much! It’s cruel! So unfair! autograph for me! And send her my love, SAMMY You think I’m having the time of my life, come on, please! don‘t you? Having to enroll in the SAMMY Who? And just how, am I supposed to go university, not knowing anybody. And the and get someone’s autograph like that? English…well they aren’t exactly the Aren’t they big celebrities or something? warmest and most inviting people, you JENNY They’re not…celebrities, but I imagine know. Mum and Dad will be leaving they must have fantastic lives…to be able tomorrow. I never felt so alone. to say that you were “Cosette in Les JENNY Where are they now? Miserables”! But she left at cast change in SAMMY Shopping. June, and I have no idea what she’s doing JENNY Oh. (pause) Look, you’ll be fine. It will all now! work out. I can feel it. SAMMY Probably off on some long vacation, celebrating… She starts to sing “In My Life” from Les Miserables. JENNY But what a fabulous life it’d be! Can you imagine, doing this for a living, as opposed How strange. This feeling that my life's to some stupid bank job? begun at last. This change… SAMMY I wouldn’t, for the life of me, sing opera on SAMMY Jenny! Cut it out! a stage every night…but that’s a pretty JENNY Can people really fall in love so fast? good career, I’d have to admit. SAMMY All right, you asked for it. JENNY I want to be able to do that someday! It’s really the best life ever! Imagine, every Sammy puts her on speak phone. At the same time a woman night, being part of a show, and— walks in, and looks amusedly at Sammy. Sammy laughs and SAMMY Oh God. I’m hanging up now. shrugs her shoulders, before the woman heads to the counter. JENNY Wait, no, Sammy, Sammy!
JENNY What's the matter with you, Cosette? Have The line goes dead. Jenny continues singing “In My Life”. 394 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES English Play (Secondary School) 395
JENNY (sung) So many things unclear…(spoken) so somewhere. If you’ve been out of the loop too many things unknown. long it gets worse, they don’t even bother considering you sometimes…And I need money That part of the stage darkens and that half of the stage is every month! replaced with an extended coffee house, with a cashier CASHIER Money? counter. Sammy walks towards the cashier counter. CARLY Well without a job I’m completely broke! I’m living with my parents again! CASHIER So one hot coffee, yeah? Right…and how are CASHIER I don’t know what to say. But I wish only the you, really? I haven’t seen you in ages! best for you. You really were amazing… you CARLY Since I left Les Mis…I think! I haven’t been here deserve something good. Oh, here’s your coffee! for a while, but now my friend is on, in Les Mis, And if you need anything… you can talk to me! and I promised I’d support…besides I’m kind of CARLY Thank you! See you soon then… curious to see how the show goes, too! CASHIER That’s lovely…and how have you been! What Carly walks away, and Sammy is about to take her order but are you doing now? stops. CARLY I’ve auditioned for many things, but I haven’t heard. It’s tough, it’s a dog eat dog world, SAMMY Cosette…since she’d left…could it be? (to really… herself) Oh God Jenny you owe me one. CASHIER But…is it really that bad? CARLY The auditions are really hard, you know…They Sammy walks towards Carly, who is at her table. make you go through rounds and rounds, and I got to the final rounds several times, where it’s SAMMY Sorry for asking, but…could you possibly be just down to eight of us…but I didn’t get it. And Carly Forest? It’s my sister who likes you, not the awful part is, if you don’t get it, you’d have me! I mean…she goes perfectly crazy about you to wait a whole year before that show is open for acting in that show… casting again… CARLY Les Miserables? CASHIER It’s that hard, huh? SAMMY Yes! …I assume you are? CARLY What isn’t? When you’re in a show it’s all good, CARLY Yes, I am!...Your sister? but now… SAMMY Um, the one…you heard singing out of a cell CASHIER Yeah I remember you when you first started this phone. She has the tendency to go mad about the show…You were so happy. But what are you show sometimes. But Jenny says you’re doing now? fantastic! CARLY I teach sometimes, but I think I need a role CARLY Well I hope so! Has Jenny seen the show before? SAMMY When it toured to Singapore, yes, although she 396 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES English Play (Secondary School) 397
claims the London one’s much better, though SAMMY So…no? she’s never seen it. She lives on the other side of CARLY When you’re in a show it’s all good, but the the world…well we all do, but I’m here for uni. transition periods like now are the hardest. Don’t Jenny’s determined to come here to study at the think I’m trying to discourage your sister, that’s musical theatre school… the last thing I want to do, but…there’s no job CARLY I remember I was wildly passionate about this at guarantee at all! her age too… SAMMY I never knew. I heard what you told the SAMMY But you’ve left the show right? cashier…I’m sorry, I couldn’t help it, and I never CARLY Yes, yes! A few months ago! realised there was so much hard work behind all SAMMY And how are you now? the bright lights. CARLY I’m really good! I’m…uh…taking a rest from CARLY But you know, these times are awful, but when shows at the moment, you know, so I can get you finally get a role in a show, you’ll back home before midnight every day! understand why you you’re willing to suffer for a SAMMY Haha…Jenny’s always wanted to do this. She’s bit. Being in a show is amazing, it’s just a lot of always saying that she’d much rather do this hard work…but when you finally get that role instead of a boring “bank job”… the reward makes everything worthwhile. CARLY A boring bank job? That’s funny… But yes, tell SAMMY So you’re still saying despite all the times where your sister to work really hard if she wants this! you have to pull through and work really hard, When we’re in a show, it’s really the time of our you should still hold on until you succeed? I’m lives and we’re just living the dream! asking on Jenny’s behalf, of course… SAMMY But… when you’re not? I mean…I’m really CARLY Definitely…although, I think working at a bank sorry but I couldn’t help overhearing you talking would’ve brought in a lot more money! Oh, look, to the cashier about getting another job? If I it’s 7:20, I’m sorry I have to go, it’s been lovely could ask, do you have anything new going on? talking to you! Because Jenny’s always talking about what you SAMMY Um, I’m sorry, but do you mind if I called Jenny should do next and she really wants to know… and you spoke to her for a bit? CARLY Well I’ve auditioned, but I haven’t gotten CARLY No, don’t tell Jenny this. I’m just telling you, anything yet…well to be fair I haven’t heard matter-of-factly, but if she loves theatre, and from them either, so I don’t know yet? acting so much please don’t try to discourage SAMMY She says you’re great, surely you must get her. Just be careful. something real soon! Oh, oh, is it true you have SAMMY No, no, but if you just said hi I’m sure it’d make this fabulous life on and off stage, like Jenny her life. proclaims? CARLY Well I haven’t had a job in four months… Sammy dials. 398 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES
SAMMY (to herself)…It’s going to be tough. It is, even for all the Cosettes of Les Miserables…
Jenny picks up at first ring.
JENNY Hello? SAMMY Hey, you wouldn’t believe it. Hold on.
Sammy passes the phone to Carly.
CARLY Is that Jenny? Hi, I’m Carly Forest, your sister was just telling me about— JENNY You’re Carly Forest? Oh my God you were the Cosette in Les Mis that was amazing I loved it so much you’re so good! What are you going to be CHINESE in next? POETRY The End AND PROSE Chinese Poetry (Secondary School) 401
外套 吳宇慈
复杂 犹如窒息的沉默 又像混乱的喧哗
一切的一切 挑战着视觉及感觉
渐渐地每个人都找到所谓的保护色 彷彿一件出门时搭上的外套
天冷的时候 它感觉安全 温厚
然而 酷热难耐 又挣扎着是否脱下
那件外衣是真的 必要吗?
402 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES Chinese Poetry (Secondary School) 403
当我们放下武裝 灰色地带 卸下防备 吳宇慈 脱下外套 世界是 我喜欢白色 不是更加纯真? 也不介意黑色 但在白色及黑色之间的灰 又或者百分之百的真实 它迷蒙的美 坦白的裸露 太令人窒息 令人却步 于是又狼狈地捡起地上的碎片 我喜欢晴天 收藏进心里面 也欣赏雨天 那种倾盆的大雨 外套是我 我不是外套 但那种若有似无的毛毛雨 我很希望它能从此 感觉很压抑 静静地躺在衣柜里 很不甘脆
世界残酷地现实 虚幻美丽地
挣扎着抽离 那份迷失
喜欢就是喜欢
讨厌就是讨厌
没有结果的迷宫中 404 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES Chinese Poetry (Secondary School) 405
暧昧 停滞 游走 光着脚 两颗 小心坠落 吳宇慈
好坏 对错 黑白 虚实 爱恨 三月 徘徊的那块灰色地带中 春天的宝宝 犹豫向前退后的我们 怯生生地摆着小脚 还是被胆怯裹足 被困 试探着一片嫩绿 在这里 第一只赤裸的脚尖 硬生生地坠落在 小草 慢吞吞地伸直腰 再在脆弱中倔強 起來
九月 晚风勾引着松垮的衣脚 夕阳下戴着斗笠的身影 摆脱鞋子 光着脚 沉浸柔软的田地 泥水洗去了束缚 环绕着滿溢的自然
406 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES Chinese Poetry (Secondary School) 407
十一月 追求 人山人海人潮 吳宇慈 地下铁诙谐地鄙视 衣衫褴褛 光着脚的他 留恋的纯真 踏着脚掌坚硬冰冷的残酷 漫画家交付给小叮当与百宝盒 射在心上行人空洞的嫌弃 双足在凹凸的地上被侵略 渴望着一份悸动 赤脚上的裂痕抹下绝望 于是神话中诞生了丘比特
奢求暮光永恒微耀 八月 相机被自作的聪明创造 夏天的尾巴 忠诚地追逐海洋的徘徊 不可能的一切 夕阳为大地投射巨大脚印 就让电影实现 青春的浪花 半百的岁月 沿着潮汐踏下成双的足跡 当梦想被现实俘虏 沒有尽头 向前携手 我们又在信仰中找庇护
不愿接受距离的阻挠
那回忆中布满残缺的遗憾
所以为永生不择手段
为了一刻更接近天堂的错觉 孩子们爱上了荡秋千 却发现坠落的一瞬间 反而离梦想更加遥远 408 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 409
光着脚丫 那时的日子是无忧无虑的。一整天的疯跑、嬉笑、打 王若霓 闹。田野，小路间总能找到三三两两的孩子，在看似单调乏 味的农田间找到非一般的乐趣。不仅是年纪小的，即使是十 想要光着脚丫在树上唱歌 五六岁的，也能打成一堆。口渴了就随便到哪个家喝口开 好多事物都被缩小了 水，吃点西瓜。只要踩在温柔的黄土上，我们便不会迷路。 心里不想放的 就去了 算了 那样的日子没过多久，我们一家便搬到了城里。我再也 让太阳把脸庞给晒得红彤彤 不敢光着脚丫，太阳下的水泥地是会灼伤孩子的，仿佛他们 ——郭静《在树上唱歌》 是外来的入侵者。附近有工厂，硬梆梆的路面总铺着一层 灰。入夜后的城市要么静得恐怖， 要么便浸泡在灯红酒绿 初听这首歌时，觉得清新悦耳，多听几遍后，心情也欢 中。夜里我总能透过窗子，感受着外面空气中冷漠的味道。 快起来，顿时有一种想脱掉鞋子，赤脚在绿荫小道上漫步的 渐渐长大了，一双脚匆匆忙忙穿梭在高楼大厦间，我彻 冲动。 底抛弃了光着脚丫的念头。在城市的喧嚣中忙忙碌碌，与一 新加坡的街道整洁，加上大树荫庇，赤脚走在上面是很 张张陌生的脸擦肩而过。我总没有安全感，仿佛会迷失在这 舒适的体验。阳光投下斑驳的影子，路面暖暖的，踩上去就 片陌生的土地上。虽然我已快成人，童年那种光着脚丫，嬉 像是与大地温柔的触碰。脚底的温度，将我的思绪拉回到十 笑打闹的情形不会再回来，然而在无形之中，我总能感受到 余年前。 在一个遥远的地方，有一片黄土在召唤我，等待我，有一天 那是我童年成长的地方。我对它的印象已模糊不清，只 累了，我终会回到它的怀抱。 记得夏日蒸汽中油画般轮廓清晰的黄土路面，冬日雾气中素 回过神来，耳机里依然播放着郭静的《在树上唱歌》。 描似的模糊素淡的木屋形状，黄昏时奔跑回家的孩子们乱蓬 我眼前明朗了许多，因为我明白，在一个遥远的地方，藏着 蓬的短发，和夜间路灯散发的暖黄光晕。小孩子总喜欢光着 我的根和与我血脉相连的泥土。 脚丫在农村的黄土地上东奔西跑。太阳把路面晒得滚烫，大 家因此走得飞快。泥土散发着清香，软软的，黏黏的，像母 亲的手一样柔软温和。累了便坐在绿荫下，草坪如地毯般柔 软。 410 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 411
母亲的幸福 那天我放假在家，母亲早早便出去工作了。才起床的我 王若霓 在床头无所事事，便随手在抽屉里翻着，想找点书看。摸索 中我发现了一本影集。它的纸已经泛黄了，呈现出落叶般枯 回忆中我记得许多次母亲难过的样子。比如说在抉择前 槁的颜色，我好奇地翻开了一页，顿时愣住了—— 的犹豫不定，神色恍惚，像是因为少了一个人拿主意，更像 那是父亲年轻时候的照片，身边站着比父亲高出一点的 迷失的小孩惊慌无助。有时在疲劳的工作后，她凝视着父亲 母亲，身着半透明的印花衬衫，头发用头绳整齐地揽起。母 旧时的照片，独自黯然神伤。我偶尔夜间醒来，看看身边的 亲靠在父亲身上，露出神气的笑容，父亲一脸严肃，却有着 母亲安详的睡态，宁静但却散发着令人心疼的寂寞。长大 莫名的亲和力。我微微震惊，仿佛内心最隐蔽处的记忆正等 了，我觉得自己仿佛越来越懂母亲，懂得她的孤单和无助。 待被唤起……没想到对我来说父亲的面容竟陌生如此，复杂 于是我开始劝母亲，我说：“妈妈，我想要个新爸 的情绪充斥着我的大脑，心中隐隐作痛。十个花开花落，母 爸。”妈妈一时间愣住了，然后神情无措又尴尬的支吾道： 亲变老了，父亲却被我忘了。 “这事儿你操什么心，不急不急。”我提的次数渐渐多了， 然而母亲没忘。一页一页泛黄的纸上，排列着一张一张 母亲却依然不为所动。每每问起她总是搪塞过去，总说工作 旧时的照片，他们出去旅游的，结婚的，搬家的……照片按 太忙，没时间想这方面的事。我看在眼中，疼在心里，爸爸 日期前后被精心排列了，旁边有一列一列娟秀的字体，旧时 去世那年妈妈还是年轻美丽的女人，现在却不一样了，岁月 写的，最近写的，密密麻麻地罗列着。到后半本的时候有了 的沧桑全写在她脸上。 我，于是一家变成了三口……再到后面的时候没了父亲，于 十年可以磨去一个女人的什么？是对于爱情的渴望，还 是一家又成了两口……翻到最后一页的时候，他们两张白底 是对于生活的激情？我愈发担心，妈妈年纪渐渐大了，我又 一寸身份证照整齐地排列在一起，这是他们的相册，仿佛陈 常年在外求学。一想到妈妈形单影只的日子，我便止不住的 旧，却依然崭新。 难过。母亲脸上的条条皱纹日渐加深，在我看来它们美得像 我久久说不出话来，怔怔出神，回过神来时，却已经泣 朵花，却又像许多刺，扎在心中最疼的地方。 不成声。无论是爱情也好，亲情也罢，父亲的位置，母亲始 在我的印象里，从父亲去世起，母亲心里便总有说不出 终留着。孤独也好，辛酸也罢，父亲的影子，永远是母亲前 的苦，决然与幸福无缘。然而，我错了。 进的动力。我愣了，又自嘲，母亲是幸福着的吗？ 412 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 413
母亲是幸福着的吧。那么朴素而辛苦地幸福着，孤单却 桥 执着地幸福着。我明白了，从前的母亲有父亲而幸福着，现 卢金瑶 在的母亲为有我而幸福着。而我，为有这样的母亲而无比幸 福着。 在我们的周遭一直存在着这么一个神奇的东西。它既为 我们提供方便，又充当着一道让人赏心悦目的风景线。在面 临悬崖绝壁时，我们盼望能借助它横跨天险；在面临急流险 滩时，我们渴望能借助它顺利到达彼岸。甚而至于，当我们 面临人生的失败却不得解脱时，当我们面临残酷的厄运驻足 不前时，我们更需要它在“山穷水尽疑无路”时，让我们看 到“柳暗花明又一村”的奇景。它，便是那再普通不过的 桥。 桥上是过不完的人，桥下是流不尽的水。你是否注意过 脚下的它？是否记得风吹雨打屹立不倒，为人们提供方便的 它？是否感谢用自己身躯为你铺路的它？对我而言，人生中 有着无数光辉伟大的“桥”。 母亲是生命中的第一座桥。从一个无人格，无情感的细 胞，到一个有人格，有情感的完整生命；母亲用她温暖的躯 体，滚烫的血液，充足的营养，为我们架起了一座“生命之 桥”。走过这座桥，就知晓了母亲的伟大；走过它，便通往 了一个生活的起点、人生的开端。 母亲又用她对我们无限的爱筑起了“保护之桥”。当我 们被人生的失败打得遍体鳞伤时，当我们面临生活中的挑战 疲惫不堪时，当我们厌倦了外面的红灯绿酒尔虞我诈时，它 将带你逃离复杂的世界，回到母亲的怀抱，婴儿时的简单。 414 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES 415
走过它，就有了感恩的心灵；走过它，便有了重新出发的勇 你自己也是一座“本我之桥”。那是一座独立的桥，一 气，顽强奋斗的意志。 座透析和反省自我的桥。人生的道路中，没有人可以陪伴我 父亲亦是桥，是一座孕育我们的“人格之桥”。从一个 们一辈子。父母终有一天会年华老去、老师只能陪伴你到校 裹着襁褓哭闹不停的婴儿，到一个有独特性格，独立思想的 园的门口为止；没有一辈子的朋友、也没有一辈子的敌人， 少年；父亲用他永远紧板着的脸，严厉简明的词句，甚至那 最终还是要靠自己，毕竟，世界上没有比自己更了解自己的 根又粗又长的藤条，为我们筑起了人生中不可缺少的一座 人。懂得反省自己，才能避免走弯路。走过它，就不会迷失 桥。走过它，就读懂了父亲的用心良苦；走过它，便明白了 自己；走过它，便学会了珍惜自己，活在当下。 人生中的道理，生命的真谛。 过桥的人，成千上万。踏过的桥，不胜枚举。人的一 老师为我们筑起了通往光明未来的“成功之桥”。这座 生必定会走过很多的桥。 桥带领着我们摆脱愚昧，指引着我们追逐梦想。从幼小的六 桥，是人生路途中难忘的风景线。 岁开始，我们便追随着老师一步一脚印地往前迈去。从最初 桥，是成长路途中的黄金之路！ 懵懵懂懂的幼儿，成为了一个怀着满腔抱负的少年；或许在 途中我们曾经跌倒，受伤了，痛了，想掉头放弃了… … 但这 座桥不断地激励着我们，说“成功就在彼岸啊！”就这样， 我们争先恐后的在桥梁上行走着。在相互超越的竞争环境 下，我们认识了自己，也找寻到了自己的理想。走过它，就 逃出了贫穷的轮回；走过它，便看到了前方的康庄大道、锦 绣前程。 朋友也为我们筑起了不可缺少的“友情大桥”。当你在 人生迷宫里失去了方向，当你在厄运面前自怨自艾，这座桥 会不断地给予我们希望，告诉你你并非孤军奋战。走过它， 就找到了将心比心的至交；走过它，便得到了人生最宝贵的 快乐。
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茉莉知我心 我坚信这天长地久心有灵犀坚不可摧的友情会持续到永 卢金瑶 恒，直到后来才发现在学术上，友亦是敌。 那时校内的奖学金名额只有一个，我俩前二甲中总有一 当我的鼻尖触碰到那轻柔的花瓣时，我清晰地闻到茉莉 个会欣喜若狂，一个会黯然落泪。家庭条件是最现实的逼 花淡淡的幽香。春姑娘伴着暖暖微风迈着轻盈的脚步回到了 迫，再加上父母的期望和自己的进取心… … 这个名额顿时成 大地；又到了百花齐放，姹紫嫣红的时节。我始终对茉莉情 了我的心肌血管，随着心脏跳动的每一下不停地催动我悬梁 有独钟。它的香气迷人却不张扬，它的美丽高雅却不高傲， 刺骨地猛啃书。我本想跟茉莉公平竞争，以实力去争取荣 它的色彩单一却不单调。我深深一呼吸……扑鼻的茉莉花香 誉。但直到年终考试前的模拟测试我才赫然发现，茉莉的身 袅袅升起，把我年少时的轻狂回忆如涟漪般晕开于脑海。我 影已经完完整整地覆盖了我的光芒。越接近考试，我的背影 陷入茫茫的沉思中… … 越小、越朦，直到彻底消失于奖学金榜上为止。我开始产生 * * * 像被抢了糖果的小孩似的不安；成绩的落差让自己有种驶于 三年前冬去春来的时候，我家前面的公园飘着一地的茉 高速公路上的失控感。 莉雅香；散落在枝头的浅白色随风飘舞。有这样一个女孩总 在自尊心和虚荣心的驱使下，我做出了既不可思议又不 是和我手拉手在公园里赏花、嬉戏。我们有着同样不起眼的 可理喻的举动——我居然把长年积累的信任廉价地卖给了我 容貌，同样沉默寡言的性格，同样天马行空的思想。犹记得 的好胜心！年终考试的早晨，我紧屏呼吸，紧闭双眼，用那 她只比我多了一双似要把花儿看透的眼睛，瞳孔美丽幽深包 颤抖的手把事先准备好的小抄纸条塞进了茉莉的笔盒。我默 容一切。很自然的，我们走到了一起。 默地呢喃道：“除了这个，我什么都能让给你……” 她是我的至交 ，江茉莉。 * * * 我们无时无刻不在一起。我们一起走过刮风下雨回家的 那天是我最后一次见到茉莉。 路，却开心地在雨中肆意奔跑。我们一起挨过老师严厉的苛 依稀记得她被老师怀疑作弊离开考场的那一刻，那双犀 责，却快乐地在教室门外罚站。我们一起度过考试之前失眠 利的眼睛怔怔地直视着我，看穿了我丑陋的内心。 的夜，却从没轻言放弃。我们无时无刻不在一起。 “我看错你了吗？” 她依然轻声细语，唯独这次异常冰 * * * 冷。 但有些事来得让人猝不及防。 418 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES Chinese Prose (CAP Alumnus) 419
我紧盯着自己的考卷，咬紧牙关握紧拳头努力上演什么 两颗心的距离 都没发生的模样。可心里排山倒海的情绪在歇斯底里地嘶吼 林瑶 着。“没！不是…” 我用余光看见了她在风中摇曳的泪水，仿佛像茉莉凋零 赤脚踩在沙滩上，你想起了谁？ 的花瓣一般脆弱。那泪水，在我心底点燃了一把冰冷的火 ——题记 焰，烧醒了我的内心。我倏然觉得这份友情对我重如山，深 他和她同班了两年。在中四毕业前，班主任要班里的每 如 海。那一刻，我只想紧紧攥着她的肩 膀 说 ： “ 对 不 位同学轮流对全班说些什么，就当作是最后的道别。 起！”，但脚跟却只能紧紧地钉在地上。 “发言顺序就按座号吧。1 号同学，你先开始。”话 从此，我的内心将永远存在着一个无底的黑洞；头顶上 落，12 号同学内心颤抖了一下。 再辉煌的金冠也无法照明内心的黑暗。 1 号，2 号，3 号，4 号……逐渐靠近的数字，打乱了 12 友情，如履薄冰。背叛，如梦初醒。 号同学的心跳，呼吸跟着乱了节奏。 * * * 是时候做个了结了，她想道。 那年花谢的季节是我最后一次见到茉莉，她的眼睛，她 11 号完毕坐下。12 号站起来。 独留的泪水。 深呼吸，面带微笑，12 号自信的对着全班大声说：“我 我们之间甚至连一句平淡的道别都没有。 会想念这个班里的每个人。特别是 25 号。” 友情，是两人根深的连系。背叛，是两人永远的隔阂。 “哇——”一阵兴奋的尖叫声掺杂着笑声响遍教室，惊 * * * 动了正在墙角午休的蜘蛛。当然，其中也不乏几位状况外的 心痛的伤口，缠着回忆的丝，纠结在最深处撕心裂肺的 同学问，25 号是谁？ 痛点。如今“昔时人已没，今日水犹寒”——一切都已物是 25 号就是某某某啊。 人非。再回首，也只留下依然鲜明的回忆和挥之不去的悔 下一秒钟，全班的目光齐刷刷的落在了他的身上。像所 恨。看着那又一园盛开的茉莉花，无法诉说的哀伤只能沉淀 有凑热闹的人一样，大家都屏住呼吸，眼露光芒，期待看到 在心里。我依旧只钟情茉莉。是否因为我还怀念那昔日的友 当事人接下来的反应。 谊？是否因为我还想拾起这局促的回忆？ 唯独 12 号没有朝他看。不是不想，而是不敢。 只有茉莉知我心。 420 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES Chinese Prose (CAP Alumnus) 421
班主任教学多年，首次看到有女生如此大胆的在全班， …… 甚至老师的面前向心仪的男生表白。激动之下，他从椅子上 “咦？新闻不是说得手足口症的舌头上会长东西，你怎 跳了起来。 么没事啊？ 他说：“我最喜欢听到这种心里话。不管是喜欢还是 “我没得手足口症啦，是我姐姐。我只是被隔离了几 爱，是友情还是爱情，在各自离开前能说出内心的话，是非 天。” 常难得的事，而且大家不觉得这样的场面很温馨吗？” 就是这样一段对话，开始了她对他长达两年的魂牵梦 老师的话，赢得一片掌声。喧闹中，12 号偷偷看了 25 号 萦，就像最近由小说翻拍成电影的《那些年，我们一起追的 一眼。 女孩》。它之所以得到如此热烈的反应，那是因为作者九把 他在低头微笑，略带羞涩。 刀写出了多数人对青春的感想并且勾起了大家对那段青葱岁 这时，有同学建议让 25 号也对 12 号说点什么。这个建 月的回忆。同样的，12 号同学也被这本书的故事情节征服 议引来热烈的反应，掌声再次响彻教室。 了。 突如其来的状况弄得 25 号有点不知所措。他惯性的用 当这部电影在本地上映之后，12 号同学特地交待 25 号 左手捂着半边脸，害羞得说不出话。 同学一定要去看这部电影。25 号不解的问：“为什么要去看 于是教室内安静了好几秒。 这部电影？” 接着，就在万众期待的灼热目光下， 25 号抬头看着 12 “因为你看了，就会知道我为什么这么喜欢你了。” 12 号的方向，用英文很诚恳地说：“她不错。是个好女孩。” 号给了答案，转身搭上了回国的飞机。这个不属于 12 号的国 就这样，故事停在这里，没了下文。 家，却因为有了这样一位男生，留住了她对青春最美的回 两年前与 25 号初次见面时的对话和场景，12 号记得特 忆。 别清楚。 一个月后。 “你就是那个迎新会没来的同学啊？” 12 号同学再次抵达新加坡。不久，她收到了 25 号同学 “对啊。” 送的一本书。书名是《那些年，我们一起追的女孩》。 “听说你得了手足口症哦？把舌头伸出来给我看下。” 书上说：“没有结果的爱情，只要开了花，颜色就是灿 “不要。” 烂的。见识了那道灿烂，我的青春，再也无悔。” “你给我看下嘛！” 422 EYE ON THE WORLD: BARING SOLES
的确。也只有当赤脚踩在柔软的沙滩上，才能感受到沙 滩最直接的回应。就像告白后的两颗心，其中一方也许还未 被感动，但是坦诚的面对，缩短了两颗心的距离。想到这 里，12 号同学微笑着闭上双眼，感受从脚底不断传来的温 暖，深深的呼吸着来自海滩的独特味道。诗人海子的诗句也 在脑中回响不断。 面朝大海，春暖花开。