The Catherine Lim Collection by Catherine Lim

gets married, she will have
only two children. Right, Mooi Lan?”
    She’s an idiot, thought Angela with
exasperation. If she’d told me earlier, I could have arranged for an abortion.
Now it’s too late.
    But compassion – compassion was her
overriding weakness, Angela told her friends. She loaded the miserable woman
with food – condensed milk, biscuits, fresh eggs.
    “Every day when you come, Mooi Lan will give
you a fresh egg which you will take directly, is that clear, Minah?” The
washerwoman cried softly. “You are very good to me, mem,” she said.
    “But you must help yourself too, Minah,”
said Angela, exasperation returning. “So no use thanking me unless you promise
that after the birth of this baby, you’ll let me take you for the operation. Is
that clear?”
    The washerwoman cried again and said with a
sob, “Sharifah.”
    “Now what’s she been up to?” asked Angela
severely. Sharifah was the eldest girl, aged 15. A pretty, well-formed girl. A
part-time maid-servant for two households.
    “Can she come and sleep in your house at
night?” asked Minah with a sob.
    “What are you talking about – can she come
and sleep here? Whatever do you mean?”
    “It’s her father. She’s afraid of him. And
I’m afraid. He’s okay when not drunk. But when he’s drunk, we’re afraid.
Sharifah’s very afraid of him.”
    “Oh my God,” said Angela. For days, the
plaintive Malay words ‘Takut-lah, mem, susah – takut!’ would ring in Angela’s
ears, a dreadful howl for help from dark depths.
    Oh, my God, she thought. “Minah,” she said
with great authority. “Don’t let her father get near her! Be vigilant, let me
know. If necessary, we’ll have to tell the police.”
    Poor child, she thought. She felt sick at
heart.
    “They’re all like that,” she told Mooi Lan
later. “You look at that miserable wife of Muniandy. Her husband beats her, and
she gets pregnant every year. They all sleep together in one smelly bedroom,
including the eldest son who’s 16, I think, and the eldest daughter who’s 15.
Like animals. One of these days we’re going to hear the same story. Poor
things. But what can we do for them? These low-class labourers are real
animals, brutes who get drunk, beat up their wives and then sleep with them.”
    Mooi Lan looked down, the heat of coy
embarrassment spreading on her face and neck. She giggled a little. “You are
only 18, Mooi Lan,” said Angela smiling. “You don’t know what happens among men
and women. But Mooi Lan, you’re not going to be like the miserable Aminah and
that Muniandy’s wife, when you get married. You know better, for I’ve told you
a lot of things. You’re going to marry better and have only two children.
You’re not going to be as stupid as Aminah or Muniandy’s wife, are you?”

Chapter 11
     
    Mark usually
met his English Language teacher in school on
Saturdays, to discuss and prepare for the National Speech contest. It was
months away, but the teacher, a very conscientious and committed man who also
happened to be very fond of Mark, felt that it was never too early to prepare
for a competition that would receive extensive coverage in the press and on
television and that would be graced by the presence of the Minister of
Education himself. Mark was the star student, the school pinned its hopes on
him, and he had never disappointed the school yet in the myriad inter-school
oratorical and essay-writing competitions carried on throughout the year. The
school grounds being used for the band practices that particular Saturday,
Angela suggested that Mark invite his teacher home for the discussions, to be
followed by lunch.
    The boy did not object to the suggestion and
Angela immediately flew into a whirl of activity, giving instructions to Mooi
Lan to prepare something really good and to get a flask of hot coffee ready,
while she herself would drive out to get some nonya kueh for tea, in case the
discussions went on till tea-time. Mooi