Aunty Lee's Deadly Specials (18 page)

“When you want me to come and pick you up, madam?”

“I will call for you. If I don’t call for you after one hour, then you come and wait
outside.”

“I keep the doors closed because I’m very afraid of dust,” Mrs. Doreen Choo explained
when Aunty Lee arrived at her apartment. She opened the front door herself. Aunty
Lee noticed a note of smug, querulous martyrdom women adopted when living with a man
they wanted to show off.

“I can’t get my new maid to come and open the door. She’s scared of the doorbell.
I thought it was a good idea to get a maid from Myanmar. If she doesn’t understand
the language here, she can’t have boyfriends and get pregnant and forfeit my deposit,
right? And she cannot run away because she won’t know where to go. At least that’s
what I thought. But this girl is so stupid she doesn’t understand anything I tell
her to do. I have to speak so slowly and repeat myself so many times and she still
doesn’t understand me. Sometimes I just want to throw something at her. But I have
to control myself, or afterward
kaypoh
neighbors will report me, and I’ll end up in the newspapers holding my handbag in
front of my face. I can’t even pronounce her name properly and I end up calling her
‘Girl’ and I feel like one of those slave owners!”

Aunty Lee could tell that Doreen Choo was feeling awkward.

“What is your name?” Aunty Lee asked the shy girl looking round the kitchen door.

“Madam, my name is Hae Mar Hinin Hnin Khine.”

“What name does your family call you at home?”

“At home they call me Daisy because I like to learn English.”

“Can we call you Daisy?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Rosie, you’re wonderful. I don’t know how you do it,” Doreen Choo said once the girl
had left them, taking the soup and sweets with her. Aunty Lee accepted the tribute
as her due and advanced into the apartment.

“Your apartment is beautiful,” Aunty Lee said. This at least was honest enough. It
was not necessary to add that she did not like it. The furniture was all of good quality
and all visible surfaces, including the artificial flowers, were dust-free. The apartment
was large but crowded. Aunty Lee knew the Choos had downsized from a huge east-coast
mansion when the children went away to university and it looked as though Doreen had
crammed as much into it as would fit.

“Your children don’t live here with you?”

“No. When my husband sold the old house he bought them one apartment each, and of
course there is space here for them if they want to stay here. But my son straightaway
went and sold his. He wants to live in some old rented shophouse. This narrow, narrow
space and three floors high. Cannot even put in a lift for me because it is conservation
property. What for? I ask him. There is so much room here. What does an old woman
like me needs so much room? But that one won’t listen. He says he needs his privacy.
What privacy? I asked him. I am his mother, okay. There is nothing about you I haven’t
seen, okay. But what to do. Sheng wants his independence. At least he comes back to
see me. The others all cannot be bothered. I have to find ways to look after myself
now. Cannot depend on them.”

Doreen’s vague garrulousness told Aunty Lee there was definitely something on her
mind she didn’t want to reveal but was dying to tell.

The Myanmar maid brought tea things. A very nice bone-china set with a pattern of
light yellow vine leaves over the white of the china and accented by gold filigree
highlights. Like Mrs. Choo herself, parts of the pattern and filigree had worn away
with time and there were nibbles around the edges of the saucers and rims of the cups.

“Very nice,” Aunty Lee said, thinking that one advantage of failing eyesight was that
one did not notice signs of decay.

“I got this set in England years ago. It is imperial bone china, you know. Can you
believe my children wanted me to sell it? This is something that should remain in
the family, don’t you think so? Young people these days don’t know how to appreciate
good things.”

“Your children don’t want to keep these in the family?”

“They don’t care for such things. Now all they want is nonbreakable, machine-washable
. . .”

“Young children,” Aunty Lee guessed. She had to get off the subject of Doreen’s children
and find a way to get invited to the prayer and healing session before Nina got there.

Mrs. Choo shook her head. “Noisy, stubborn children. They spoil them. It is my late
husband’s fault. He spoiled his daughters, now they are spoiling their own children.
From the time they were young I could see they were getting spoiled, now look at how
they are treating me. Their own mother and I am living here alone and nobody bothers
to drop in and see how I am.”

“Are they in Singapore?”

“Two of them. One of them went to America to study, next thing you know she got boyfriend,
got married, never came back. I warned him, I warned my husband, don’t let her go.
But that man never listened to me.”

Aunty Lee began to get an inkling of why Doreen Choo’s children never came by to visit
her.

“But at least you can get around on your own, right? And your eyes are still so good.
I have so much trouble seeing these days.” Aunty Lee blinked confusedly and almost
tipped her teacup off the edge of the table. Fortunately Doreen grabbed it in time.
And even more fortunately she leaned forward to whisper: “My eyes—same problem. I
had cataracts. That stupid family doctor never bothered to warn me this could happen.
I thought I was going blind, so what to do? Just pray and see what happens, right?
That fool doctor never told me anything. And those children of mine never even bother
to find out whether anything can be done. Finally I let Mabel drag me to one of her
meetings. Do you know about those meetings?” Doreen’s tone was cautious.

Aunty Lee leaned forward and whispered, “Never Say Die? The prayer and healing group?”

“Yes, exactly. You went also? What did you get done?”

Aunty Lee hesitated delicately. “I couldn’t make up my mind. Then—well, you know what
happened.”

Fortunately Doreen was a good jumper-to-conclusions. “Mabel died before you could
get it done. I really don’t know what those people are thinking. Everybody knows you
must have a succession plan. Even Lee Kuan Yew has a succession plan. But that woman
just goes and dies and leaves us all in the lurch. But don’t worry. Somebody is already
looking into it. As long as you are already on the list.”

Aunty Lee always tried to appear ignorant with people who wanted to share information.
To her this was only polite, like saying you were hungry to a hostess who you knew
had spent hours preparing a lavish meal for you. In both cases it took little effort
and usually made everyone happy. She looked blankly at Doreen now, and for added effect
almost knocked a plate off the table. Doreen Choo steadied it quickly.

“I don’t think I’m on the list. I couldn’t commit because—I still have so many questions
and Mabel . . .”

“Not to speak ill of the dead but poor Mabel was not a patient person. Don’t worry;
you can ask me anything you want. I decided to just take the plunge and take the leap
of faith, and look, I can see!”

“Exactly! Praying aside, are they real doctors or not? And somebody said they don’t
know whether they go and take parts from pigs and monkeys and transplant them inside
you!” Aunty Lee did not think anyone could take that seriously but Doreen smiled,
pleased.

“Of course not! Real people. And Chinese people some more! I asked!”

“How can you guarantee? Can you see the body first?”

“Why would you want to see a dead body? Rosie, believe me, you can trust them. They
give you a form to fill in, your lawyer can check for you first. On it it gives the
race and age of the donor and swears the donor is in good health. I got my Henry to
check all the medical details for me.”

Oops, thought Aunty Lee. In her school days that would have been called “a slip showing
more than your underwear.” Thanks to years of playing mah-jongg she knew to take a
noncommittal sip of tea as though she had not picked up anything. Doreen was staring
at her, watching for a response.

“It’s good you got a doctor to check for you,” Aunty Lee said, vaguely approving.
“Are they real doctors or not?”

“Of course they are proper doctors.” Doreen’s relief that Aunty Lee had not picked
up anything made her even more loquacious. “And Henry supervises everything. You wouldn’t
believe it to look at the man, but in the hospital world he is a big shot, okay. And
when he was in practice he said he made a point to only employ local doctors to work
for him. Those foreign grads, not so good. You know why they have to go away to study
medicine, right? Because they cannot get into medical school here. Then they come
back like so big-time like that. Does not mean they are smart, just means their parents
wasted money to send them overseas because they cannot get into university here!”

Aunty Lee remembered Henry Sung’s tremor. A rest tremor that disappeared with voluntary
movement. If he was in the early stages of Parkinson’s he might already have problems
with daily tasks such as writing and shaving, and having a young doctor around would
be a great help.

“It was one of Henry’s young doctors that took care of my eyes. Henry told him what
to do, like remote control like that.”

“Did you ask who the donor was?”

“I didn’t want to know. Must have been a car-accident victim or something. Henry said
it’s strictly confidential. I can quite understand that.” Doreen giggled girlishly.
“If I was selling off my relative’s body parts I would also want it to be confidential.
But why not? After all, they won’t be needing them anymore. And it must be very good
money for them, given how much they charge us!”

Of course Aunty Lee asked how much the eye operation had cost. The price was high
but Doreen said it was worth it. After all, she had been almost blind and depressed
and now she could see and had a life and a beau. How could you put a price on that?

“There’s something else I should tell you. I sent in a complaint about the hygiene
in your kitchen because Henry asked me to. I only did it to make him happy. He still
wants to believe it was food poisoning and he says he just wants to make sure nobody
else suffers. And anyway, he said if your kitchen is clean you got nothing to worry
about. Sorry, ah.”

“Don’t worry, one letter won’t matter so much.”

“That’s what Henry said. That’s why . . .” Doreen trailed off and stopped.

The beautiful but somewhat overcrowded living room looked out through glass sliding
doors onto a meticulously maintained patio surrounded by a border of bougainvillea.
Aunty Lee wondered how Henry Sung had broached the subject.
Doreen, I want you to write a letter complaining about the hygiene in your friend’s
café even though you’ve never been there
.

“Henry brought it up at the prayer and healing meeting actually. He asked all of us
to write and complain and to make sure we don’t mention that we know him or one anoother.
He even gave us sample letters to copy and a list of important people to send them
to. You know, same as the letters prayer groups must get together to write when the
government wants to support abortion or gays. But we could see it’s all part of his
healing process. Rosie, I’m so glad you understand. We have to stick together at times
like this. I mean everybody knows that Mabel killed herself even if nobody dares to
say it out loud. Poor Henry. Mabel only ever cared about her successful lawyer image
and her useless son. Mabel’s two loves. Both of them rotten at the core. And Sharon
is taking over things now. That girl is another one just like her mother. That one
is never going to find a husband, you watch and see.”

All this sounded incredible to Aunty Lee, who was beginning to despair of being able
to bring the conversation back to her Never Say Die invitation. It was seldom she
met someone who could outdo her in inconsequential talk. Fortunately the front door
opened as Doreen was going into the intricacies of what men really found attractive
in women of any age.

The doorbell had not rung so as not to scare the maid. Henry Sung must have his own
key, Aunty Lee thought as she watched him enter with all the assurance of familiarity.
He looked almost comically dismayed to see her and for a moment Aunty Lee thought
he was going to turn and leave. He took a half step backward and bumped into Sharon,
who was right behind him.

“I invited Henry and Sharon to stay here for a while,” Doreen explained. “Just till
things calm down at their place. Come sit down with us and have some tea. Sharon,
go and ask the girl to bring hot water and some more cups.”

Sharon left the room without answering.

“Too many policemen in the house,” Henry Sung grunted. He sat down next to Doreen
and helped himself to a drink out of her cup. “Sticking their noses into everything.
This is cold. Disgusting.”

“I told him he should leave somebody there to watch them. Don’t know what those policemen
may pinch. They don’t get paid very much, you know. I don’t know how Henry is going
to manage on his own. You know the servants all left? They went back to the agency
and refused to return to the house. Mabel was always hopeless at handling servants.”

“Poor Mabel,” Aunty Lee said, prompting social sighs of agreement from the other two.

“Those whom the gods love die young,” Doreen murmured.

“So sad, especially after I heard you put so much into renovating the house for Leonard
to move back.”

“The pool house was renovated to be Leonard’s bachelor pad for after he got better,”
Henry Sung said.

“It was equipped as an ICU for Len,” Sharon said at the same time, coming in with
an electric kettle, which she proceeded to plug into a wall socket. Doreen looked
disapproving but said nothing. Henry seemed oblivious, and Aunty Lee was sure Sharon
had hurried back to monitor what they were saying rather than for the tea.