Aunty Lee's Deadly Specials (23 page)

At the prayer and healing session that evening Aunty Lee remembered to say it was
her knees that were giving her trouble. It was a good choice; she saw other members
of the group nodding sympathetically. It appeared Mabel Sung had always led these
sessions and now no one seemed willing to take her place. Neither Sharon nor Henry
Sung was around. In the end the seven or eight “old fogies,” as they called themselves,
had a “moment of silence” for Mabel and sat down to sample Aunty Lee’s goodies.

Aunty Lee plonked herself next to Doreen and listened as she nattered on. Her chatter
was like the drizzle that the southeast monsoon winds brought to Singapore. There
was not enough rain to make you stay under shelter or even open an umbrella. The light
warm droplets were relentless but so small that you ended up damp rather than wet.
Folk wisdom said going out in this kind of rain made people get sick. Aunty Lee, though,
believed in vitamin C and germs rather than these superstitions. As Doreen’s stream
of words continued, Aunty Lee’s mind was starting to feel damp. She blinked and shook
her head slightly. Doreen paused and looked at her.

“My knees,” Aunty Lee said quickly. She changed her expression of polite interest
into an exaggerated wince and massaged her knees. Knees were a safe option. Older
people were always having problems with their knees, and since there was no practical
solution, people were always ready to offer their theories.

Doreen brightened immediately. “You never said you had knee problems!” Her memory,
thought Aunty Lee, needed as much help as her corneas.

“You know, with age . . .” Aunty Lee murmured vaguely. “I really don’t know what to
do.”

“Oh, I know, I know. People always tell you, eat this, eat that, don’t eat this, don’t
eat that. Or they tell you to exercise more or they tell you not to exercise at all.
I tell you all that is rubbish. You think of your car when there is a part that breaks
down. What do you do—you change the part, right? That is the only thing to do. This
may sound like science fiction, Rosie, but it’s not. I didn’t believe it myself until
Henry persuaded me to try it.”

“You had knee surgery?” Aunty Lee asked, really interested now. She could not recall
Doreen disappearing on a “spa retreat” that was the usual cover story for face-lifts
and chin tucks.

“Oh no. My knees are still okay, as long as I don’t walk too much or stand too long.
I’m not like you, Rosie. I don’t know where you get the energy to run around all day.
You should think about slowing down, you know. Men don’t like women who are always
running around nonstop. I know you’ll say you’re not interested in such things, that
it’s too late, but I tell you—as long as there’s life, there’s hope. Just the other
day I was saying to Henry—”

“Did Henry have knee surgery?” Aunty Lee tried to steer the conversation back onto
the course she wanted.

“Henry? What would he do that for? There’s nothing wrong with that man’s knees. He
can play golf all day, no problem. I keep telling him to use those little carts that
go around the green. Then I can go around with him and watch him play with his friends.
But Henry says he prefers to walk. He says it’s the only form of exercise he gets.
I mean, that’s fine with me. I’m not the sort of woman who has to stick close all
the time. Men don’t like that kind of woman. You may think you are being loving when
you want to spend time together but men see it as being stifled. That’s the word they
use, ‘stifled.’”

Doreen paused, perhaps remembering an unfortunate occasion.

“You were telling me something about knee surgery,” Aunty Lee said with a faint touch
of desperation.

“Was I? Oh yes. That’s right. The surgery. Sharon mentioned it to me the other day.
I had been talking to Mabel about it and Mabel must have talked to her. Not knees,
corneas.”

“Corneas?”

“You know, in your eyes. What you see with is your corneas. I was having so much trouble
with cataracts and everything. I had to go and get my cataracts taken out. So terrible
having such things growing in your eyes. Makes me think I’m really getting to be an
old woman!”

Doreen paused and laughed, giving Aunty Lee a chance to contradict her. Dutifully,
Aunty Lee fluttered in: “Doreen, who are you to talk about being an old woman! Don’t
talk nonsense. Look at you—you’re still young!”

“I wouldn’t have done the operation otherwise. Other parts not such a big deal. But
your eyes, you know . . . Anyway, since I was going to have the cataracts taken out,
I thought I might as well get the corneas put in, right? Only one operation, everything
done, right? Turns out I still cannot see perfectly. I thought I would be able to
see far far, read close close, but no. Still got to wear reading glasses. Thought
after all I paid, I would be able to get rid of wearing glasses forever! The operation
is not cheap, you know. Of course I complained. I may be getting old but don’t think
you can cheat me! Mabel just kept pretending not to hear me. I knew she was avoiding
me. But that Sharon is a nice girl. In fact she just came and asked me did I want
to go and do the operation again. She said since I was disappointed the first time
they would give me a discount. I told her that after they botched the first operation
they should do it for me this time for free!”

“Are you going to do the operation again?” Aunty Lee asked.

“That’s what Sharon asked. I said no. First time cost so much, I still cannot see
properly, why would I go through all that whole business again?”

Finally, as Aunty Lee was on the verge of giving up and going home, Henry Sung and
Sharon arrived, with Edmond Yong and GraceFaith in tow.

GraceFaith looked around the room and drifted to Aunty Lee’s side. “Your first time
here? I don’t believe you’ve met Edmond Yong? He was poor Leonard’s doctor.”

GraceFaith was wearing a silky black dress. Aunty Lee thought it was probably a mourning
tribute because GraceFaith did not look like the sort of girl to depend on a “little
black dress.” There were flashes of color as she walked. Under the black floating
skirt panels there was a bright orange underskirt. GraceFaith could keep up appearances
when she had to, but why bother, when there was no point in it?

“Oh yes, I’ve met him,” Aunty Lee said. Then she saw GraceFaith was not listening.

In fact GraceFaith was on edge and displeased about something. She was still efficiently
polite. After all, being nice to important old people was one of her greatest strengths
and had got her where she was. However once she had anchored herself by Aunty Lee,
she ignored her.

Fortunately Aunty Lee’s great strength was sniffing out notes that didn’t fit. Anyone
can say something tastes good but only an expert nose can tell you why. And that’s
the only sort of nose that is helpful when things go wrong. Aunty Lee could tell that
whatever GraceFaith felt was wrong was anchored in Dr. Yong and Sharon. The two spent
most of the evening moving among groups of people as though they were joint hosts.
Aunty Lee wondered which of them GraceFaith was jealous or suspicious of—or was it
both?

It looked as though it would be some time before they reached Aunty Lee. She heard
several mentions of the Bukit Timah Plaza clinic as several of the group members asked
where the new operating theater would be located. Apparently they were as in the dark
as Aunty Lee.

“We’ll let you know,” Sharon said several times. “We’re still trying to set things
up.”

Finally it was Aunty Lee’s turn. GraceFaith slipped away as Sharon and Dr. Yong approached
Aunty Lee. It was not out of love that GraceFaith was watching them, Aunty Lee thought.

“Doreen says you’re having trouble with your knees?” Sharon asked.

“Oh yes. You know how it is, getting old. Very good of you to carry on what your mother
started.”

Sharon smiled. “I’m just trying to continue what my mother did as she should have
wanted.” There was a note of sarcasm in her voice that Aunty Lee couldn’t understand.
Nor could she understand why Sharon was being so nice to Edmond Yong. The last time
she had seen them together, Sharon had seemed to despise the man. “I’m so sorry to
hear your shop’s been closed down.”

“You must understand the family is not blaming you for the tragedy,” Edmond Yong said.
“But naturally they want to move on and put it behind them as fast as possible. If
the police have to do a full investigation it is going to drag on and on . . . you
know how these things go. No matter how it turns out, it’s not going to bring poor
Mabel and Leonard back, right? And knowing Mabel, I’m sure we can all agree that she
would want us to carry on with what she started.”

He spoke with the condescending fake enthusiasm of someone accustomed to dealing with
stubborn preschoolers. The message conveyed was that as long as you did as you were
told, you would get candy and be allowed to play with the rest of the group.

Aunty Lee sensed Edmond Yong enjoyed feeling power over people She wondered what hold
he had over Sharon.

“Now that I can’t work, I might as well use the time to fix my knees. Can you help
me?” Aunty Lee asked.

“There is a procedure that should help you, if your problem is what I think it is
. . . knee pain when walking and standing for a while—”

“Knee pain all the time!” Aunty Lee interrupted. “Everybody says the only way is to
cut off my whole knee and put in some metal joint I don’t want. If I got robot knees
inside me, then every time I go to the airport the metal detectors beep-beep-beep
and they arrest me, then how?”

“It won’t be so invasive. Your pain is likely caused by a torn meniscus in your knee.
Think of the meniscus as a rubbery cushion that keeps your knee steady. As we grow
older the meniscus gets worn and tears easily when you walk or lift things, which
leaves the bones of your knee grinding against each other. What I can do is transplant
a donor meniscus onto each of your knees. It’s very safe, but it’s not cheap.”

“I got insurance.”

“I’m afraid you can’t use your insurance for this. It’s considered elective surgery,”
Dr. Yong explained. “But if you can afford to pay, I can guarantee you will find the
results satisfactory.”

“Well, health is the main thing, right?” Aunty Lee said. “But wait, one more thing.
Can I meet the person arranging the transplant? Just to be sure the donor is . . .”
She leaned closer and whispered, “Chinese.”

“No,” Sharon snapped. “You just have to trust us.”

Aunty Lee could tell that it was just to spite Sharon that Edmond Yong said, “I will
see what I can do. I will come round to your place to see you and discuss details,
okay?”

Aunty Lee did not miss the look he gave Sharon Sung.
Look how well I handled things,
it said. But Sharon did not see it. She was watching Aunty Lee and seemed to want
to say something.

“Yes?” Aunty Lee said hopefully.

Sharon just shook her head. She was not one to waste words. But Aunty Lee had not
given up hope of breaking through to her.

“Sharon doesn’t talk much,” Dr. Yong said. “Sharon’s the sort of lawyer that only
talks when she’s paid to talk, right?” He was teasing, maybe even flirting, but Aunty
Lee found it offensive. Sharon’s face closed up and she said nothing.

Aunty Lee liked Sharon and felt everyone was picking on her because she had not fallen
apart with grief after her mother and brother’s deaths.

“Sometimes the only way to survive a great shock is by giving your brain something
else to work on. Otherwise it just goes round and round—who you’ve lost, what you’ve
lost, and everything seems pointless. Much better to get on with work and keep yourself
busy.”

“Everything other than quantifiable, profitable work is pointless to Sharon,” Dr.
Yong said. “And she tries to turn everything into work.”

Dr. Yong reminded Aunty Lee of the Chinese gang she had helped foil. He thought he
could intimidate her because she was old and out of touch and frightened by all the
things that she did not understand. But like the Chinese gang members, he had underestimated
Aunty Lee.

“Thank you,” Aunty Lee said meekly. “Young people these days know how everything works.”

But it was old people who knew how to work the young people.

“Dr. Yong, ah, can I ask you who was that long-haired Chinese woman you were talking
to at the Sungs’ house that day?”

“That’s rubbish. I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dr. Yong said very quickly.

He was a bad liar and got angry too easily to succeed at anything, Aunty Lee thought.
Fortunately she was a very good liar. And she knew that sweetened coconut milk could
tone down the most fiery chilies.

“Old girlfriend, right? Don’t worry. I won’t say anything in front of your new girlfriend.”
She nudged him and tilted her head at Sharon.

Realization and relief and then his old smug look returned. He was flattered and grinned
at Aunty Lee. “Cannot kiss and tell, right?”

Sharon looked disgusted.

Aunty Lee knew she had to find out more about the long-haired Wen Ling.

Bukit Timah Plaza

Really good cooks probably have dishes that go wrong as often as anyone else. Great
cooks have twice as many because they are constantly experimenting with new ingredients
and new combinations. Aunty Lee believed she was a great cook, in life as well as
in the kitchen. When a dish came out wrong you knew that there was something wrong
either with the ingredients or with the way they had been put together. In life, it
was people and their personalities who were her ingredients.

Most people cook from set recipes, written down or not. Their dishes are prepared
the way their mothers and grandmothers or other cooking idols prepared them, using
ingredients as similar as possible.

Aunty Lee often did that too. After all, it was a certain way to get predictable results
with familiar dishes. But sometimes it was necessary to work with whatever ingredients
were available. In such a case you had to go through your fridge and freezer to examine
what you had on hand, what could be best put together to produce a dish at a moment’s
notice. And sometimes the result was culinary genius. Aunty Lee suspected that this
was how the dish that poisoned Mabel Sung and her son had come about.