The Oddfits (18 page)

The only thing that worried him was how his father was going to manage in his absence. Not physically—Ba was still strong, had friends, and with his own savings and income along with the money and investments Kay Huat had secretly set aside for his father, was well taken care of financially. But how would the disappearance of his son affect him? Kay Huat answered his own question: in the end, it would make Ba proud. After all, he was doing it for Ba as much as for himself (and Shwet Foo, of course). What had he said just a few minutes ago to Shwet Foo? What must be done, must be done.

Giving one final rinse and spit, he exited the toilet and strode back to the table where his friend was engrossed in rolling a little ball of earwax back and forth between his right thumb and forefinger. Kay Huat shook his head, much like an indulgent pet owner upon returning home to find his living room floor strewn with rubbish and a stinky dog wagging his tail happily in the midst of it all. Ah, little Shwet Foo. He didn’t know any better.

“Ready?” Kay Huat slapped his friend on the back, startling him. “Let’s go. I’ll drive you home.”

“No need. Can take bus, what.”

“No trouble, lah. I like driving at night.” Also, Kay Huat liked taking care of his friend in little ways. It gave him a nice, big-brotherly feeling.

“Good night, Uncle,” Murgatroyd said as they stopped at Seng Hong Low’s stall on the way out.

“Good night, Shwet Foo!” Hong Low gave the boy a parting affectionate hair ruffle.

“I’ll come right back to pick you up,” Kay Huat said, gently pressing his father’s shoulder in passing.

“Okay, Ah-Boy,” Hong Low replied. As he watched the pair walk out of the hawker centre, he couldn’t help thinking how, although he was proud of his son, he wished that he wasn’t quite so big-headed.

As they walked towards Kay Huat’s car, Kay Huat suddenly felt a slight chill, as if something had rushed by quickly, leaving a gust of wind in its wake. As he whipped his head around, he thought he saw some movement in the shadow of a tall tree on the side of the road.

“Oi, Shwet Foo. Did you see that?”

“See what?”

“Something in that tree.”

“Just a bird, lah.”

Not quite convinced, Kay Huat went over and examined the tree. He found nothing.
Strange
, he thought, and put it out of his mind.

It turned out that Murgatroyd had been right. It was nothing but a little bird. A little bird who, having obtained the information it needed, had stepped around the corner and made a call on its mobile phone. Around midnight, it winged its way to L’Abattoir
where, much to the manager’s absolute astonishment, Shakti Vithani had remained behind to close the restaurant for the second night in a row.

The little bird hadn’t managed to overhear everything that had passed between Kay Huat and Shwet Foo, but he told Shakti what he
had
heard.

“A Quest?” Shakti said to herself softly. “For the More Known World?” Shakti smiled. “Huh. For some reason, that sounds kind of familiar.” Shakti had indeed heard of the More Known World many years ago, during the failed publicity campaign Ann had mentioned to Murgatroyd. Something had aired briefly about it on TV, but Shakti had gotten bored and changed the channel. “A Quest,” she repeated again. “So that’s what Shwet Foo was on about last night.”

Behind his face cloth, the Duck Assassin yawned. He examined the tip of his sword. Hearing Shakti think aloud to herself wasn’t very interesting.

“Keep following him,” she told the Duck Assassin. “And report whatever you find. I want to know everything he does, everything he says, everything he
thinks
. Tell me all of it.”

The Duck Assassin gave a curt nod and, in the blink of an eye, was gone.

CHAPTER 16

Murgatroyd arrived home that night in a nervous sweat, anxious to find out how his mother and father had taken the news he had handed them that morning. He entered to find the flat dark and empty. His parents weren’t home.
Maybe they went out for dinner or a movie
, he thought to himself as he groped his way into the kitchen and turned on the light to make himself his bedtime cup of Milo. He wasn’t quite sure if he was relieved or disappointed. All throughout the car ride home, he had envisioned a variety of possible reactions his parents might have had to his impulsively written letter.

The most desirable scenario was the one where his loving mother and father, ecstatic over the good news, reprimanded him lightly for not informing them sooner and drove him themselves to the Bedok Jetty on Friday evening to give him a tearful yet joyful send-off. Unlikely, but hopefully not
too
far-fetched. Another scenario involved his parents being exceedingly unhappy about the whole affair until Ann unexpectedly showed up, sat them down, explained everything, and convinced them beyond a shadow of a doubt that the Quest was absolutely the most wonderful thing in the world that could happen to their only son.

The worst scenario involved finding out that his mother and father had secretly hated him since the day of his birth and wished to make his life miserable by preventing him from going on the Quest, thus dooming him to an unremarkable and mediocre existence. Thankfully, that was just downright preposterous.

A fourth scenario involved space aliens with big ray guns.

Surveying the empty kitchen, Murgatroyd decided that he was disappointed rather than relieved. The prospect of waiting until they came back home, or worse, until morning, for their response made him twice as jittery and three times as sick. Even the Milo wasn’t helping to calm his nerves. He needed to lie down. He stumbled into his darkened bedroom and lay down on the area of the floor where he usually slept. But something was wrong. It felt different and strange. Sort of spongy and too high up.

Murgatroyd realized that separating his body from his customary sleeping area on the ground was an entire bed.

With a great gasp, he leapt to his feet and turned on the light. There, in the middle of his room—taking up most of the room, in fact—was a queen-sized bed complete with sky-blue sheets and two tremendous, fluffy pillows. He couldn’t believe his eyes. Mouth agape, he circled it, prodding at the bedding, running his hands over the brass bed frame. He couldn’t believe his fingers. He sat down cautiously on the edge of the mattress and bounced himself a little on the springs. He couldn’t believe his buttocks. Finally, he lay down on his back, sinking into a softness that yielded under his weight so satisfyingly that it was almost unendurable. Tears streamed freely down either side of his face and made two salty, wet spots on his new covers right beside each ear. He was in heaven.

But why would his parents buy him a bed, after insisting for all these years that doing without a bed would be better for his spine? To be sure, he had yearned for a bed for as long as he could remember. As a small child, he had even kept a special scrapbook filled with advertisements for beds and mattresses that he had cut out from various magazines. In his spare time, he would flip through its pages, ogling the curvaceous craftsmanship of intricately wrought iron railings, and drooling over the inviting firmness of luxury orthopaedic mattresses with improved back support. And now! Now, he himself possessed a bed! A real bed of his very own! He raced to his bathroom to properly cleanse his body for this inaugural night of bliss.

Five minutes later, Murgatroyd woke to find himself sprawled in the bathtub naked. The showerhead above was turned on full blast and spraying him with water. He must have passed out from shock. For the first time since he could remember, the water was warm.

After his gloriously hot shower, Murgatroyd sat in his bed, back propped against the pillows, skin scented with lavender soap, cheeks flushed red, eyelids drooping with contentment. He was determined to stay awake until his parents came home, but he was overcome with drowsiness. Slowly but surely, he slid down further and further underneath the covers until he was sound asleep. That night he dreamed no dreams. And in the morning, when his mind returned to the world of the living, he had the sense of returning from a void in which he had rested unconscious and snug, enveloped in velvety darkness. He was almost afraid to open his eyes, lest he discover it all to be nothing but a dream, lest the pleasant springiness beneath his body give way to cold, unyielding imitation wood. Murgatroyd took a preliminary peek, and was greeted by the golden sheen of the railings at the foot of his bed.
His
bed. His very own bed. What time was it? It was 7:55! Why hadn’t his alarm clock rung? He had to make breakfast! He had no time to make breakfast! What could he make in a hurry? What was that sizzling sound coming from the kitchen? What was that delicious smell?

He hurried into the kitchen to find his father transferring slices of bacon from a frying pan onto a plate lined with paper towels. His mother stood near the sink, dicing red capsicum peppers into little cubes. They looked up at him in unison.

“Good morning, Murgatroyd,” said his mother.

“Good morning, Murgatroyd,” said his father.

Murgatroyd wondered if he was dreaming. “Erh. What are you doing?” he asked.

“We’re making breakfast, silly goose. What else?” Olivia replied.

“I hope bacon and omelette sounds all right,” James chimed in.

Olivia pointed her knife in his direction. “Since you’re leaving the day after tomorrow, we thought we’d spoil you a bit.”

“Not to mention celebrate the news, old chap! Going on a great Quest, eh? Doesn’t happen every day, does it now?”

“We’ll be making breakfast tomorrow and the next day as well. You just sleep in.”

“That’s right. Let your mum and me take care of everything. You need your rest.”

Murgatroyd’s vision became blurry. His father tore off a corner of oily paper towel from the bacon plate and handed it to him. Dabbing at his eyes, Murgatroyd sank into a chair. He was quite overcome. How could he begin to express everything he felt at that moment? He began with the obvious.

“You
. . .
you bought me a bed!”

“You noticed!” Olivia exclaimed.

“You fixed my hot water!”

“You noticed that too!” she exclaimed again. “Our dearest boy. Do you like them?”

“I do! I like them very much!” Murgatroyd affirmed. “Thank you.” He repeated his gratitude softly. “Thank you
. . .
thank you
. . .
thank you
. . .
”

Olivia put down the chopping knife and kissed her son’s forehead. “Think nothing of it. Special gifts for a special occasion. Our little boy is leaving in two days to go on a Quest to do
. . .
great things.”

Murgatroyd’s eyes widened. “That’s right! I’m leaving in two days! Isn’t it a waste to buy new things now? How much did it all cost? Can return the bed or not?”

“Don’t worry,” said James reassuringly. He sat down across from his son, and handed the spatula to Olivia so she could finish frying the omelette. “Like we said, it’s a special occasion.” He made as if to speak some more, but then closed his mouth. After some hesitation, he opened it again. “But there’s something else too—”

“James! Not now!” Olivia implored, looking in her husband’s direction.

“If not now, then when, Olivia?” James turned back to his son. He took a deep breath. “This isn’t easy news, son,” he said slowly.

“What is it?” Murgatroyd asked, a sense of dread creeping upon him. The happy expressions on his parents’ faces had disappeared. They looked anxious, distraught.

“Well. You remember Dr. Loy? My old racquetball partner at the club?”

Murgatroyd thought for a while, then nodded.

James went on. “I went to see Dr. Loy yesterday morning to ask his opinion about
. . .
” his voice trailed off. He swallowed hard and went on. “Well,
something
. And as it turns out
. . .
now you mustn’t take it too hard.”

“There’s still hope,” Olivia insisted, nudging at the edges of the uncooked omelette with the spatula. “Dr. Loy said that there’s still hope.”

Murgatroyd braced himself for the worst.

James heaved a sigh. “Dear boy. I have cancer.”

The world, so wonderful only a few seconds ago, fell apart.

“Cancer?” Murgatroyd repeated.

“Breast cancer, to be exact.”

“
Breast
cancer?”

“It’s very rare, but it does happen. That’s not all, though. Dr. Loy said that it’s very likely the cancer has spread.”

“Your father has to go for more tests,” Olivia added.

“After I take them, they’ll be able to give me a better estimate of how many weeks I may have left.”

“But he did say there was hope, James! Don’t forget, there’s still a sliver of ho—” Olivia’s words dissolved into gentle sobs. Wiping away her tears with her left hand, she hefted the frying pan up with her right and executed a perfect omelette flip.

“There, there, darling,” James said. “Stiff upper lip! You’re right. There
is
still hope. We’ll get through this. You’ll see.”

Murgatroyd stared dully into the distance. “Cancer
. . .
”

“You mustn’t let it bother you too much, Murgatroyd,” his father said. “After all, you have other things to think about. You have to go on that Quest.”

“Yes,” Olivia seconded. “You have to go on that Quest.”

“We’ll miss you terribly, though.”

“We would have missed you enough as it was.”

“But what with this whole ordeal
. . .
”

“But don’t worry about your father.”

“Yes. Your mother can take care of me just fine.”

“We’ll be perfectly all right. After all, you can’t let something like your father having cancer keep you from leaving us and doing that Quest thing. We won’t have it.”

“No, we won’t.” Despite his best effort to put on a brave front, James’s eyes sparkled with unshed tears. “Oh dear. I’m terribly happy about your Quest, but I
do
wish it had come at another time.”

“Now, James dear, don’t talk that way. That’s selfishness and self-pity talking. No more of that!” Motioning for Murgatroyd to go sit down, Olivia set the bacon and omelette on the dining table and began piling food onto her son’s plate. “Come now, Murgatroyd, you have to build up your strength in the next two days, don’t you?”

James made a great show of helping himself to a large portion of omelette and tucking in, but Murgatroyd noticed that his father was only feigning eating by shuffling the food around his plate with his fork. Murgatroyd didn’t feel very hungry either. The three of them sat, pretending to eat for what seemed like an eternity.

“Murgatroyd,” his father addressed him, his eyes on the cubes of capsicum he had arranged into a heap on one side of his plate. “Before you leave us to go on this Quest, I have something to ask of you.” James raised his eyes to meet his son’s. “Do you mind if I ask it?”

“Of course, Dad. What is it?”

“If I don’t make it
. . .
if we never see each other again
. . .
”

“Dad, don’t say such things! Of course we’ll see each other again!” Murgatroyd knew he was lying.

“Yes, yes. I’m
. . .
” James suppressed a quiver in his voice. “I’m sure we will. But if, by the
teeniest
,
tiniest
chance
we
don’t
, I want you to remember all the good times we shared. Like that blind man’s bluff game I used to play with you when you were little.”

Murgatroyd tried to remember. “The one where you would blindfold me and leave me in an unfamiliar place to see if I could find my way home?”

“And you always
did
, you wily little devil, you!” His father smiled and punched him playfully on the arm. Or at least, he had meant it to be playful, for it almost knocked Murgatroyd clean off his chair. “I want you to remember those kinds of things, and remember that I loved—” James corrected himself. “That I
love
you. I love you very much.”

Murgatroyd could restrain himself no longer. Quaking and blubbering and wailing as his parents had never seen before, he assaulted his father with a great hug. He buried his head into James’s right armpit. The tears and mucus flowed freely from his eyes and nose, making a large wet patch on his father’s shirt.

“There, there now!” exclaimed a somewhat-alarmed James as he tried to pry himself loose from his son’s embrace. “No need for this! No need for this! Let’s try to be calm about things!”

Insensible to his father’s struggles to extricate himself, Murgatroyd continued to wail and clutch at his father until, out of sheer fatigue, his hold began to loosen, allowing James to hastily push his grieving son away.

“Look at the time!” James cried. “Your mother and I have to be getting to work!”

Olivia leapt up. “We’d better get going!”