If I Could Tell You (8 page)

I sank my hands into the basin filled with water and vegetables that needed cleaning. I shook the dirt off the many leaves and tangled stalks, and told myself that it was alright. I can’t help her with her schoolwork, I thought, but I can feed my family. There was fish, thawing in a bowl, ready to be dressed up with mushrooms and ginger for steaming. There was
kangkong
, water spinach, that would go perfectly with dried shrimp paste. And soup made out of lotus root and chicken and herbs. Mei Ling, difficult at mealtimes, would touch her mouth to the fish and, with enough scolding, take a few stalks of
kangkong
. But the soup, she would drink. She would drown her rice with it and sip and chew and be full.

It was alright, I told myself, until I saw that they were still working when dinner was ready. I was warm from the kitchen, so I stood at the other end of the dining table, near the window, cooling my face and watching them.

No, no, that’s wrong, he said.

Huh? Mei Ling said, looking up at her father, who had already turned his face away to look for the evening newspaper among the pile of things on a chair.

Food’s getting cold, I said.

Mei Ling said, last one! Last question, Ma.

I brought everything out, the bowls and utensils and the pot of rice and dishes still steaming in their bowls and plates. I scooped rice into three bowls, set a pair of chopsticks firmly on top of each and still, they didn’t move.

Time to eat,
la
, I said.

Her father looked up. He said, okay, okay, time to eat. We’ll finish that later. Time to eat. He announced this, got up, and stood behind his usual seat, hands gripping the top of the chair and nodding slowly. As if he were the one who’d spent an hour in the kitchen, made all the food and was so proud of himself for cooking all of this.

I GOT used to this the way I got used to staying at home as a child, watching my siblings go off in the morning, dressed in their white and blue uniforms, and then come back home again, my brothers sweaty from playing after school, my sisters full of chatter from what they had learned and heard that day. My mother had decided early on to keep me at home to help out. Nothing would get done otherwise, she said. She taught me to cook so that the family would get fed while she and my father spent all their waking hours working at the sewing factory and helping out with my uncle’s food stall at night. I had to be home when my siblings finished class and needed lunch. And I had to be there to help them grow into their clothes year after year, altering the length and breadth of waistbands, hems, and cuffs of second and third-hand uniforms. While I sewed, my siblings would be at the table, heads over their books, sharing the single lamp.

I told myself that Mei Ling didn’t know, made myself believe it even after I told her off one afternoon for reading her storybook when she should be doing her homework. There was a pause before she replied, it’s a dictionary, ma, it explains words. I said nothing and walked out of the living room, clean laundry in my arms which I put in the dirty hamper and had to wash all over again.

WE go to the hawker centre for dinner some nights, walking the five minutes there. Just before the hawker centre, instead of the apartment buildings full of people eating and sleeping and living together, there would be the community centre. I would see women and men my age and older, going in, books in hand, or carrying large, awkward bags that looked like they were made to be filled with groceries or tools, anything but books. When we walked back home later, slower this time because of the food in our stomachs and our heavy feet, they would be sitting at tables in a lit-up room and I would hear the faint chant of whatever the man in front, their teacher, has made them recite from the chalkboard in front. I thought I might do it one day. When Mei Ling got older. When her father gets a regular job again, nine-to-five and with better money. When we can afford to get someone to help clean up the flat so I could have time to myself, I would do it. I told myself all of this, believing all of it, and none of it.

I brought it up a few times, when the girl was asleep and he was in his armchair in front of the TV. Waited for the break to come on before I said, you know, they have these adult courses nearby. I heard about them from the neighbour. English courses, and Chinese.

Each time, he grunted and said, sure, go if you want.

And each time, I said nothing and we went back to watching the news.

The morning after Ah Tee died, I was on my way back from the market when I bumped into the
ah por
from right above.

She started shaking her head immediately, saying, that poor man.

I nodded.

His mother was so nice. Passed away only a few months ago, and now this.

I know, I said, when are you moving,
ah por
?

Oh, next week, she said.

Do you need help? My brother has a truck, we can–

Oh, no need, no need. There are people coming by to help. Don’t worry.

I nodded. Then she said she had to go, she had to start collecting scraps before it got too warm.

After the old lady went on, I thought about how unfortunate the whole thing was. No one knew yet how it happened but it all seemed too familiar. It had happened before. Not here, but elsewhere, in many other places all over the island. It was terrible and unnecessary but I was grateful that he’d jumped from the other side of the building and not the front; Mei Ling didn’t have to walk past it when she came home that evening, didn’t even see the fuss with the police and reporters because it was raining so heavily that I could use the umbrella to shield all of it from view.

When I looked up from my feet, I saw that I was in front of the community centre. I slowed down for a look even though my shopping basket was full of the day’s shopping. It was crowded enough, with a group of retirees practicing their morning
taichi
in the shaded courtyard and a few domestic maids chatting near the gate. I’m going to take a look, I told myself, forgetting about the raw meat, the fruit crushing each other with their weight. It was cool inside with the air-conditioning and I went straight in, goaded by the comfort of being there, took out a paper handkerchief to dab at my forehead, damp from the walk. There was a Malay woman at the reception but she was on the phone so I pretended to be looking at the leaflets stacked on the shelves next to the counter, ran my hands over a row of them and just managed to stop the urge to rearrange a few sheets that stuck out. Then she hung up the phone and turned to me, saying something in English. I caught the word Auntie and Help, but I didn’t know what to say. Then I thought about saying something back in Malay, some words which I picked up from the neighbours when I was a child, living in the
kampung
. I used to speak it quite easily but I couldn’t think of a single word, standing there in front of her. Then I was shuffling backwards, wanting to go back out into the heat when she said, can I help you? In Mandarin this time. I felt my face flush with surprise, then I said, no, thank you. Um. Yes. I want to–

Yes, Auntie? she said. Her Mandarin was flawless and she was smiling so warmly I felt I should just go ahead, it wouldn’t hurt to let her tell me about the courses, would it.

So I said, could you tell me about the courses? The English courses? I’d like to–

I didn’t know what else to tell her because what else would a person want, signing up for an English course. I could have said that I want to learn English so I can understand what I’m looking at when my daughter shows me her books and homework. I want to be able to read signs and know where to go and how and not wander around blindly when I’m in a new place or have to ask strangers who are too much in a rush to help me. Know what it is I am actually looking at when I pick out a bottle of something new at the grocery store and the package doesn’t have a picture on it that shows just what is inside. There would be other things I could learn just from knowing how to read. I heard that there are countless things one can learn from books. Things to do with computers, things I couldn’t even think of. The most familiar of it would be cookbooks with food from other countries. Mrs Lim, who moved out a few weeks ago, used to give me recipes she took from books but now I have no one to read them and tell me how to make something new. I asked my husband once but he just laughed, called me
kampung
girl, and said, why bother? You can watch cooking shows from the TV and learn.

The woman watched me so intently, her eyes dark and bright, that I felt I had to look at something else. So I fixed my eyes on her
tudung
, her headscarf which was black with a silver and grey coloured pattern of flowers on it. I looked at it while she reached over the counter, drew out several pamphlets from the lot and put them in front of me, saying, this is for basic conversational English, this is for business, this is for grammar.

I squinted at them until she pushed one toward me. Maybe you would like to try this one first? The basic conversational? You need to fill in this form and then make the payment. It’s fifty dollars for twelve classes, she said.

I thought about the money I had in my purse. The few crumpled notes crammed together with a bunch of coins.

Maybe... I’ll go home and think about it, I said.

I folded the piece of paper away in my trouser pocket and made to go. But I stopped and said, your Mandarin’s so good. Where did you learn it?

She said, my neighbours taught me simple words when I was young. Then in primary school, I happened to be the only Malay girl so I took Mandarin classes along with the rest of my classmates. We speak Malay at home anyway and my parents thought it would be good for me.

She said this all and smiled. I nodded back at her. I went close, put the paper form back on the counter and said, could you help me? Help me fill this in?

ALL the way home I kept my hand in my pocket, held the folded pamphlet between my thumb and forefinger. The woman at the counter said I needed to bring pen and paper and that class started at seven-thirty next Wednesday and did I need help remembering? They had a text service to remind people on their mobile phones. I told her no, it was fine. I decided while making dinner that I would tell both of them at the same time, so I wouldn’t have to repeat myself. I would do it, I thought, as soon as he walked through the door. But when he got home, he disappeared into the bedroom and didn’t emerge until dinner was on the table. Even then, he didn’t look at me or Mei Ling as he sat down, said nothing as he ate, occupied the space and air with his silence, his eyes visible just from the top of the bowl, dark and unblinking. I couldn’t tell him. Not then.

Mei Ling looked at her father, then at me, then back again, as if trying to gauge if it was okay to speak. She decided that it was, then said, pa? using that voice which turned up at the end.

Her father didn’t look at her, only jerked his head a little to mean, yes?

Mei Ling put down her chopsticks, took a breath before she said, Alvin told me he heard his ma say that the man who died in our block, he jumped and killed himself. Is it true? He said he heard his ma talking about it. Why, pa? Why did he do that?

I reached over to rearrange the dishes of food, pushing the fried catfish, a favourite of his, closer to him.

The silence stretched on. I heard the neighbours come home, the click of her high heels, the metallic clanks as they undid the locks then bolted them shut again. Mei Ling picked up her chopsticks again and started chewing on them the way I did when I was nervous. All through this, he didn’t stop eating. Then came the delicate pings of chopsticks against porcelain, which meant that his bowl was getting empty.

He stood up and said, children shouldn’t ask so many questions.

Then he looked at me before going into the kitchen to wash his hands. I heard him spit and gargle at the sink, then the jingle of glass bottles as he opened the fridge and closed it again. When he came out, his face had softened. He patted Mei Ling on her head and told her, don’t think about such things. Finish your dinner.

He walked into the living room and put on the TV, louder than usual. All I could think to do was spoon more fried egg into her plate. Mei Ling looked at me as though she wanted to say something, and was weighing it against being reprimanded again. Then she just dropped her eyes and continued with her meal.

I didn’t leave the table when I was done. Just sat with her, putting more vegetables, more egg in her bowl until she said, I’m full, ma. Cannot eat anymore.

I told her to finish, there was just a little left. Then I waited for her to look at me before saying, you shouldn’t be talking to that boy, chit-chatting about nonsense things. School time is for learning.

Then I waited, swallowed, and said, don’t be like ma, okay? You go to school and you learn.

Mei Ling stopped chewing. She looked confused, as though she didn’t know if she was supposed to answer yes or silently take it in. She settled on nodding vaguely, then lowered her head to finish the rest of her meal.

THAT Wednesday evening, I left the house after telling my husband that my sister needed me to take care of her children that evening, she had to work late.

What about taking care of your own child, huh? he said. You don’t teach that child anything.

That was the last thing I heard as I left the house. I tried to think about other matters on the way there, focused on worrying about my husband finding out and looked around periodically to see if any neighbours were in sight as I walked into the community centre. It was brightly lit. There were a few boys playing basketball at the court by the side of the compound and the only sounds they made were the squeaks of their shoes and the irregular drumming of the ball on the ground. I had to ask the receptionist, a different one this time, where to go and when I was almost there, outside the room, I felt a flush of panic and started to feel inside my handbag, a brown, imitation leather one that I used mostly for formal occasions, even though I knew the pen and paper were there, I had put them in this morning, checked throughout the day as if they might have disappeared all on their own. I had brought all I needed, my hands had found them but still I kept rummaging blindly. From the doorway, I could see people already settled into their seats, looking around at the other students in the class. Everyone looked serious, ready for the lesson to start and there was someone at the whiteboard, writing up something in big letters — the teacher, I thought. The youngest in the room. He looked up then, his face pale and keen and said, basic English? It took me a second to find my voice. Yes, I said. And I nodded and walked in.