The Catherine Lim Collection (44 page)

Mrs Esther Wong’s mother who came from a
village in northern China tells of the infant girl found half-buried in mud in
a rice field near the village, the umbilical cord still attached to its little
body, and of another allowed to live, but sold off as a slave girl at the age
of five.

“Ugh!” says Mrs Wong and her sensibilities
recoil in disgust at the barbarity of a tradition that she is glad has long
been left behind in the ancestral land and has no place in modern Singapore.
And she looks fondly at her baby daughter, asleep in a pink beribboned
bassinet, the combined gift of her colleagues at the office.

But Tradition cannot be repudiated long: the
desire in the bloodstream asserts itself when Mrs Wong goes into hospital a
second time to have a baby, and Mr Wong openly expresses his wish for a son,
and Mrs Wong’s mother-in-law-goes to the temple to make offerings to the temple
gods for a grandson.

It is a girl-child again. Thwarted desire
expresses itself fearsomely: Mr Wong, suddenly confronted by the prospect of
never having any heirs to carry on his name, takes off his glasses to wipe the
tears off his eyes in full view of the hospital staff, and the mother-in-law
who regularly makes a gift of a solid gold anklet to every newborn grandson and
only a little washed gold bracelet to every newborn granddaughter, decides that
even this small favour should be withdrawn, and therefore sends no present.

Mrs Esther Wong weeps in anger, and in anger
decides to have another baby, indeed to go on having babies till the longed-for
male child arrives.

“It’s not the stupid gold anklet; who cares
for that ugly thing which I shall never let my baby wear anyway?” she cries.
“It’s something else. I don’t know how to describe it, but it’s not going to
let me rest till I turn to the old one and say, “See, here’s your grandson! Now
are you satisfied?”

And that is why, when Mr Wong almost
tearfully says, “I want another child,” Mrs Wong replies with grim
determination, “Yes, I too want another child.”

The Concatenation has come, I think joyfully
– at last! And then what do I see? Mrs Esther Wong, in her cotton pyjamas and
freshly talcum for bed, takes out the prophylactics – hated things! – from the
bedside table drawer, and gives them to Mr Wong.

Tradition has been routed by Economics. If
Tradition is in the bloodstream of the Wings, Economics has entered the very
marrow of their bones.

For Mrs Wong’s calculator tells her that if
she dares to oppose the new population policy to ‘Stop at Two’, she stands to
lose thousands and thousands of dollars: she will have to pay higher
accouchement fees in hospital for the Third Child, she can claim no income tax
relief, she is not entitled to paid maternity leave. Mrs Wong’s fingers work
furiously at the calculator.

“So much money lost!” she gasps.

The Third Child is the national
arch-villain: in all the posters sprouting everywhere in the shopping centres,
in government buildings, at bus-stops, at the hawker centres – the Third Child
is depicted as the subverted of national progress and prosperity. He/She is
sternly excluded from the happy family pictures which show two children
laughing on the swing in the garden or paddling in the baby pool, watched by
contented parents. If the Third Child is included, it is only in the capacity
of trouble maker and cause of all the parental anxiety and domestic chaos. The
Third Child is the ultimate outcast: The stork cheerfully makes two trips but
folds up its wings and shakes its head in vigorous refusal of the third bundle.

“Such an expensive thing having a Third
Child,” cries Mrs Wong, “and what if it is a girl again?” She receives a book
from her sister who is living in the United States, a bestseller called
Choosing the Sex of Your Child – the Sure-fire Wads low Method, written by a Dr
Charles Wads low who claims 97 per cent success. My hopes hold: Suppose Science
comes to the help of Tradition to rout Economics and so save the Concatenation?

“What’s this?” exclaims Mrs Wong, reading
the newspaper. ‘More Disincentives to Curb Population Growth: Third Child
Unlikely to have Choice of More Popular Schools’, and she goes on to read about
the latest in a spate of frenetic attempts to get women to stop having more
than two babies. When the Third Child reaches school-going age, and is ready to
be registered in a school, he/she is automatically put in a category that
allows for admission to only those schools rejected by First and Second
Children.

This is the unkindest cut of all, for
parents will do anything – scheme, plot, bribe, go to incredible personal
sacrifices – to get their children into the best schools and so ensure academic
success.

When Mrs Wong cries out, “My God, this means
extra money spent in private tuition for the poor child trapped in a lousy
school with lousy teachers,” I know that Economics has won.

The years go by, Mrs Esther Wong and her
husband have put on weight, but have otherwise retained their youthful good
looks, and the two daughters are growing up into very pretty teenagers. And
then just as I am giving up hope of ever leaving the cosmic bleakness, the
second Concatenation of which I spoke earlier, begins to shape.

“You know,” says Mrs Wong to her husband,
“If we have a Third Child now, we will save about $4,000 in income tax.” She is
referring to the New Population Policy which wants women to have three – or
more, if they can afford. The old population policy has succeeded so well that
women are not only stopping at two, but refusing to marry and have any children
at all. The government studies the direful statistics, and frets fearfully: If
the trend continues, the pool of human resources will diminish to a point when
the wheels of industry could actually grind to a halt. The government is
galvanised into action.

Now it is the turn for the two-child family
to be cast into oblivion, and for the Third Child to take national centre
stage. The Third Child, a plump smiling baby, sits on the mother’s knee,
surrounded by the admiring looks of grandparents, parents and siblings. The
Third Child means money saved in income tax, the Third Child entitles the
mother to long-term paid maternity leave, the Third Child has first choice of
the more popular schools.

Mrs Wong’s calculator comes out again, and
she corrects her earlier estimate: it is a saving of not four but five thousand
a year in income tax.

“We’ll have the Third Child,” she says to
her husband. The lustre of the prospect of a male child has been somewhat
dimmed for him over the years as he watches his daughters grow up and excel in
school; otherwise, he is as enthusiastic as his wife about the Third Child.

“If I conceive now,” says Mrs Wong, and she
does a quick mental calculation, “our baby will be born in the Year of the
Dragon.”

Now no parental statement can be so charged with
emotion or hope, for the Dragon is the most illustrious and awesome of the
Twelve Animals of the Chinese almanac. Summoned to life by the gongs and drums
of the Lunar New Year, it comes streaming across the heavens, breathing fire,
its enormous splendid eyes ever alert, its body coil upon iridescent coil of
red and gold. A baby born during the twelve months of the Dragon’s reign will
partake of its virtues and be assured of prosperity throughout life. The Dragon
having a partiality for male children, all baby boys will be filled to
overflowing with its virtues and goodness’s. Their parents will invariably call
them ‘Leng’ or ‘Leong’ or ‘Loong’: dialectal variations do not matter and make
no difference to the Dragon’s bestowing of largesse.

“‘Kim Long’, that will be our baby son’s
name,” says Mrs Esther Wong enthusiastically. ‘Kim Long’ or ‘Golden Dragon’ is
the ultimate in Chinese male nomenclature. Mrs Wong is sure it will be a boy
because not one, but two temple mediums whom her mother consulted, have told
her so.

“‘Bogart Wong Kim Long’,” murmurs Mrs Wong,
for Humphrey Bogart is her favourite actor; she makes sure she does not miss
the reruns of his films on late-night TV.

The Concatenation is here at last, and this
time Economics, far from being opposed to Tradition, is working hand in hand
with it. Glorious moment of advent! Here I come! And then –

“It could be the black chicken soup that
your mother has been making me take,” says Mr Wong with a little nervous laugh.

“Nonsense, that’s supposed to make you
strong,” says Mrs Esther Wong rather sharply.

“Could it be the herbs she put in the black
chicken soup? I noticed she put a lot of herbs,” he says.

“Oh, don’t talk nonsense,” says Mrs Wong
impatiently, “Herbs never have that effect.” She sits up, suddenly recollecting
something: “Pork. You’ve been eating too much pork. I read an article in a
magazine that advised men to refrain from pork. It has this effect. Oh dear.”

She lies back and sighs.

“Maybe it’s just age,” says Mr Wong, a
little sheepishly, “I’m already 46, you know.”

“It must be the pork,” says Mrs Wong. “Yes,
now I remember clearly. The article was in a respectable medical magazine. I
will tell Mother not to buy any more pork when she goes to market.”

Mr Wong has fallen asleep, and is snoring
gently. Mrs Wong sighs again, turns over, and is soon asleep herself.

And I am infuriated.

The best combination ever to achieve the
Concatenation – Economics and Tradition – and who would think it could be
fouled up by Physiology?

“It is the
acme of my career
as a writer in Singapore,” says
Catherine Lim with profound gratitude, “to be chosen to represent Singapore at
the International Writers’ Conference in Oslo. Far more important than the joy
of meeting fellow writers from as far away as Peru, Paraguay, Paris and Papua
New Guinea, is the opportunity to project the image of Singapore as a country
with a distinct cultural identity of which it is so justifiably proud. I shall
therefore try my very utmost to do my country proud by presenting a story that
will enhance the very ... ” and here the writer casts about in her mind for an
original turn of phrase, “positive image that the world already has of us.”

Further dredging in the mine of her
vocabulary is necessary to throw up more glistening nuggets of laudation, and
by the time the writer has finished writing the reply to the Ministry of
Cultural Development, typed it and sealed it for posting, it is replete with
the most profuse thanks for the signal honour.

The writer spends the next month working on
the story to be presented. It is the most demanding task she has yet set
herself, but the result is something she is extremely satisfied with. She has
succeeded in writing the story that is uniquely Singaporean, the story against
which all future attempts at Singapore writing will be judged for inculcation
of national pride and fervour.

But some quarters are not pleased. The
writer receives letters, the tone of which ranges from mild admonition to
distinct displeasure.

The Unit for the Revitalisation of Mother
Tongues (URMT) writes:

Dear Catherine Lim,

We have read your story and are pleased to
note that all the characters speak Mandarin. This reflects well on the efforts
of URMT. However, we note that the parrot on Page 3 speaks dialect, i.e.
Hokkien. It is described as sitting in its cage in the sitting room squawking
Hokkien proverbs, idioms, and some obscenities. This may be construed as the
Xiu family being insincere in their efforts to speak Mandarin at all times,
secretly speaking their dialect at home; how otherwise could the bird have
picked up Hokkien? Therefore, we would be pleased if you could make the
necessary correction.

Catherine Lim replies:

Dear Sir,

I am in full agreement with you that the
reference to the parrot speaking Hokkien will give people the wrong impression
that dialect is still being spoken at home. I shall accordingly make the parrot
curse in Mandarin. There will be the consequent loss of colour and flavour, for
Hokkien curses cannot be matched in their virulence and power. But in the national
interest, this literary advantage will be willingly foregone.

The writer receives the following letter
from the Department for the Enhancement of True Asian Culture (DETAC)

Dear Catherine Lim,

We would like to draw your attention to a
certain detail in your story, of which you may not be aware. There is a vivid
description of a spittoon on Pages 11-13. Moreover, you describe, in equally
vivid detail, the early morning ablutions of the Old Patriarch, in which there
is much loud and laboured gathering of phlegm in the throat prior to emission
into the spittoon. We would like to suggest to you that the spittoon is not an
artefact that one would select for the projection of Asian cultural refinement.
Could you not think of some other artefact?’

Catherine Lim replies:

Dear Sir,

I’m sorry that you do not like the spittoon in
my story. I have to beg your understanding for its retention, as it is central
to the plot of the story. The removal of the spittoon, together with all the
activities of the Old Patriarch connected with it, will irreparably destroy the
unity of the story and cause it to lose its focus. I did indeed try to replace
the spittoon with the French commode, this being the only other portable
artefact I could think of (portability being an absolutely essential ingredient
in the plot), but I had to abandon the device, as I think the intrusion of a
foreign contraption would harm the Asianness of the story. Therefore I would be
most grateful if you would let me retain my spittoon.