The Oddfits (25 page)

“So everything. Everything . . . sleeping on the floor . . . the salt . . . the games me and Dad used to play . . .” his voice gave out as, mentally, he penned an interminable list, a list with no end. The toilet incident at the YMCA. The food poisonings. The girls who never spoke to him again. The persistent, mysterious rash on his buttocks. The cheese problem in primary six. The terrible smell that lasted for three months. The haircut. The accident at the orthodontist. And how many more? Was it
all
of them? Where did it begin and where did it end? How had they done it all?

“We’re sorry, dear boy,” Olivia said. “We just can’t help it.”

With frightened eyes, they watched their son stand there for what seemed like an eternity, his scrawny body stretched out and suspended in the doorway like a delicate, trembling spider web. What could they have done differently? They couldn’t help it. He had to understand. They couldn’t love him. They could never love him.

Then, without a word, he went to his room. Half a minute later, he re-emerged, carrying a little plastic bag. He picked the phone receiver off the kitchen floor and dialled a number.

“Hello? I need a taxi. Goldenview Towers, 349 Stamford Lane. Going to Bedok Jetty, East Coast Park. Yes, I need it now. Okay. Thank you. Bye.”

“Murgatroyd, wait,” Olivia cried as he hung up the phone. “You can’t leave us.”

Standing in front of the door, he refused to look his mother or father in the eye. He stared determinedly at his feet, clenching his plastic bag in front of him with both hands. “Why not?”

“It’s true we don’t like you. But—”

James finished his wife’s sentence: “—we need you.”

Murgatroyd kept his eyes downcast. “You need me?”

James answered. “You’re the only reason for us.”

“‘For us’?” Murgatroyd asked. “What do you mean?”

James tried to explain. “Making your life . . .”

“. . .
a living hell,” Olivia finished, bluntly. “It’s the only thing keeping us together.”

James chimed in again. “It’s the only thing that keeps us happy.”

Murgatroyd didn’t speak.

Cautiously, James walked over and placed his hand on his son’s shoulder. Murgatroyd didn’t move away. James hesitated, then continued. “We . . . haven’t been good to you. We really tried, dear boy. We tried hard. But we couldn’t stop hating you. It was terrible for us.”

“Terrible . . .” Olivia murmured.

“Do you think we
wanted
to be like this? Do you think we
wanted
to hate our own child?” James gave his son’s shoulder an affectionate-like squeeze. “We can’t help who we are, Murgatroyd. But you—”

He searched for the right words to express what he truly felt. “But you’ve been good to us. More than good to us. You
loved
us, when you had no reason to. And . . . I know it’s true that we can never love you back—”

“We just
can’t
,” Olivia explained.

“But we appreciate it.” James nodded firmly to emphasize just how much he and his wife appreciated Murgatroyd’s love. “And we would appreciate it . . . appreciate it
very much
, if you stayed around. Even though we don’t deserve it.”

“Without you, we’ll fall apart.”

Still staring at the floor, Murgatroyd lifted his father’s hand from his shoulder, and held it in his own. James was right. He did love them. He loved them very much. Even after all that they’d done to him, he couldn’t help it, the anger and love and pain all tearing at his chest at once. It seemed ridiculous, but he didn’t want to hurt them, didn’t want to leave them alone, miserable, in the shambles of their love for each other.

He gave his father’s hand a short squeeze, and then he slipped his feet into his orange flip-flops and left.

CHAPTER 21

“Uncle, can drive faster, please?”

“Young man, I drive as fast as I can, okay?” the driver snapped. “You want to get speeding ticket, is it? Then how?”

Murgatroyd glanced nervously at his wristwatch. Six forty-five. They would make it just in time. To relieve his anxiety, he began to count the hairs sprouting from the shiny dome of the taxi driver’s head. After counting seven, he couldn’t contain himself anymore.

“Uncle, how much farther?”

“Don’t worry, lah. Not very far.”

Murgatroyd twiddled his thumbs. This time, the driver spoke.

“Eh, young man. How come your accent like local one?”

“I grew up here.”

The driver contemplated this.

“So . . . your mother local, is it?”

“Erh, no. I went to local school.”

“Ah. I see.” There was another pause, as the driver mulled over this additional piece of information. “So . . . your father local, is it?”

“No, no. They’re both from England.”

The driver took a few moments to digest this.

“Ah, I see. From England, is it? British, is it? You know something? Between you and me, you British, not so bad, lah.” Briefly checking over his shoulder before exiting the freeway, the driver continued. “What’s past is past, right or not? Now we’re independent, not colony anymore, can be friends, what!” The driver chuckled to himself. “Eh, you British, right? You like football? I’m
big
Manchester United fan. You British play damn good football, what!”

“Uncle, stop here! Stop here!”

“What, here?”

“Yeah. Right here.”

Murgatroyd hurriedly thrust three ten-dollar bills into the driver’s hands and opened the door.

“Wait, wait, young man! Got change one!”

“Can keep the change!”

“Wah! Cannot! Too much!”

But Murgatroyd was already sprinting across the grass in the direction of Bedok Jetty, the plastic bag in his right hand flapping against his leg. In the distance, beyond the paved pathways for bicyclists and joggers, beyond the stone picnic tables and benches, he could see the concrete jetty extending out into the ocean, lined on each side with bony, dark-skinned old men leaning against the railing, tugging their fishing lines hopefully and casting new ones out into the blue sea. Squinting ahead into the cloudy horizon of the sea, which was darkening with the setting sun, he thought he could make out the figure of a woman, standing quite still against the railings. He was almost there. He was almost ther—

“SHWET FOO!”

Murgatroyd only had time to register a violent blow to the right side of his body before he found himself sprawled on the grass. He opened his eyes in a daze. It was Kay Huat. And he was clutching at his T-shirt and barking something at him in a loud voice.

“Kay Huat? What are you doing here?”

“GET OUT OF HERE!”

“How did you know I was com—”

“RUN!”

“But—”

Confused still, Murgatroyd looked around to see what had thrown his friend into such a panic. His eyes came to rest on a knife, plunged point first into the ground just a few metres away. Its blade was still quivering.

“GO UNDER THE TABLE! UNDER THE TABLE!” Kay Huat ordered, picking Murgatroyd off the ground.

“Wha—?”

“GO! NOW! GO!”

As Murgatroyd scurried under a stone picnic table, Kay Huat yanked the knife out of the ground. “You want to kill my friend, is it?” he bellowed. Passing bicyclists and Rollerbladers stopped to gawk at the crazy young man: very handsome, but obviously crazy. He appeared to be addressing the cluster of palm trees that stood between him and the sea beyond. “Coward! Show yourself!”

A thin figure clad in black stepped out from behind one of the trees, an ugly gash across his lower face. The gash curled upwards into a smile.

Kay Huat remained undaunted. “You got a problem with my friend, is it? IS IT?”

In reply, the Duck Assassin reached behind his shoulder, unsheathed the sword slung across his back, and held it at the ready with both hands.

“You want him, hah? Hah?” Kay Huat gestured at his best friend, who watched wide-eyed from underneath the table. “COME GET HIM!”

Letting out a great yell, Kay Huat charged at his opponent. The Duck Assassin remained perfectly still. Kay Huat was almost upon him, his knife poised to impale the Duck Assassin in the stomach. Kay Huat braced his arms for the impact.

At the very last second, the Duck Assassin stepped aside, sending Kay Huat stumbling past him. Kay Huat regained his balance and spun around just in time to see the Duck Assassin’s sword come sweeping towards him to cut off his head. Kay Huat ducked, losing a few centimetres of hair to the flashing blade. Crouching close to the ground, Kay Huat attempted to stab the Assassin in the calf, only to have the knife kicked out of his hand. He yowled in pain as the foot came into contact with his fingers, then with his mouth, sending a bloody tooth flying onto the grass.

Dazed and desperate, Kay Huat hurled himself against the Assassin from behind, butting his head into the back of his legs. The Assassin stumbled forward, falling to his knees. Regaining control, the Duck Assassin arched his body backwards and brought his left elbow down sharply onto the nape of his opponent’s neck. With a cry of pain, Kay Huat fell onto his belly, releasing his hold on the Assassin, who sprang up and twisted round with the intent of plunging his sword into Kay Huat’s body, prostrate on the ground.

“KAY HUAT! WATCH OUT!”

Roused by his friend’s cry, Kay Huat mustered enough strength to flop to the left, the sword blade nicking his right arm as it plunged into the ground. Blood oozing from the wound, the weakened Kay Huat attempted to raise himself on his left arm. Over him stood the Duck Assassin, savouring his opponent’s pain.

Kay Huat grunted and lifted his face to squint at his foe, dark and faceless against the cool blue of the evening sky.

“You,” he gasped. “You leave Shwet Foo alone.”

The Duck Assassin smirked. In reply, he lifted his sword over his head to deliver the final blow.

And then, something hit the Duck Assassin with a light
pok
in his right armpit. He looked down. It was an orange rubber flip-flop followed by a thin little voice.

“Don’t you dare!”

The Duck Assassin lifted his head to look at the skinny, barefoot
ang moh
standing by the picnic table, wielding the other flip-flop in his hand as if he were going to squash the Assassin like a cockroach. It almost made the Assassin smile. Almost.

“That’s my best friend. Don’t you dare!” the
ang moh
repeated.

So it has courage after all
, the Assassin thought to himself. There was no more time for fun and games. The real job had been delayed long enough. He spat on Kay Huat’s face and turned his attention onto the
ang moh
, advancing towards him like a predator to its prey.

Kay Huat sat up weakly and watched as the Assassin approached Shwet Foo, who backed away with every step the Assassin took towards him.
I must save him
, he thought. To his complete surprise, another thought entered his head.
Why? Just let him die
. He shook his head vigorously, as if to shake the thought away. He made to stand up, but his body felt as heavy as a sack of lead. What was wrong?
Just let him die
. A sudden wave of apathy washed over him, as if some outside power were exerting some sort of pull on him, trying to prevent him from saving Shwet Foo. It was a strangely calming force.
He’s not one of us
, it seemed to be saying.
Not one of us at all. He must die.

“NO!” Kay Huat roared. Letting loose a low bellow, he drowned out the voice and staggered to his feet. It felt as if he were defying gravity. How long had it taken for him to stand up? It seemed like ages. He looked over to see the Assassin stepping closer and closer towards his friend, who was now motionless, paralyzed with fear. He wasn’t too late. He could still save Shwet Foo.

The Duck Assassin was now so near to the
ang moh
that he could see the arm holding the flip-flop aloft was trembling. The Duck Assassin was pleased. Quick as lightning, his left hand shot out and seized the
ang moh
by the neck, making his little blue eyes bulge in fear and pain.
Just like a duck
, he thought to himself. He grinned. At the sight of the cruel smile, the
ang moh
whimpered and tried desperately to free himself, slapping at the arm that held him prisoner. It was useless. He wasn’t strong enough.

The Duck Assassin spoke. It was a voice dry, harsh, and raspy from lack of use. “You think it’s so easy, is it? To escape your life?”

He strengthened his grip on Murgatroyd’s neck, lifting him off the ground a little so that he had to scrabble around on the tips of his toes, gasping for air. The Duck Assassin leaned his face close to Murgatroyd’s—so close that their foreheads were almost touching. “Guess what?” he whispered. The sword in his right hand swung up high, ready to make its descent. “It’s not so easy to escape after all.”

“NO!”

The Duck Assassin felt his feet flying out from under him. The force of whatever had barrelled into him caused him to lose his grip both of the
ang moh
and his sword. He flew sideways towards the table under which Murgatroyd had cowered only moments before. He flailed his arms but couldn’t stop. The side of his head met the cool, unyielding stone. Everything went black. Everything went quiet.

Murgatroyd ran over and struggled to lift Kay Huat off the Duck Assassin, who lay slumped atop one of the stone benches with his head on the table. It looked almost as if he had fallen asleep while picnicking, save for the small trickle of blood running down his forehead. Kay Huat had saved his friend’s life.

“Walau, Kay Huat! Are you okay?”

Kay Huat grunted and roared in pain as Murgatroyd’s hands pressed against his upper arm.

“Oops! Sorry!”

Shaking off his well-meaning friend with a shrug of his shoulder, Kay Huat got to his feet, only to collapse seconds later onto the grass. With a heave of his lungs, he spat out some blood.

Murgatroyd stared wide-eyed in appreciation and admiration at his friend. “Kay Huat,” he began, almost choking on his tears. “How did you know?”

“Know . . . know what?” Kay Huat gasped, still breathless from pain and exhaustion.

“That I was going on the Quest after all? Why else would you—” his voice trailed off. Lying about five metres away on the grass were two plastic bags. One was the one he had brought, containing his toothbrush and his pair of clean underwear. He walked over and peered into the other one—a toothbrush and a pair of grey Calvin Klein briefs.

Murgatroyd’s hands trembled slightly as he turned to his friend and held up the plastic bag that wasn’t his. “Kay Huat?”

Weak and in pain, Kay Huat could only meet his friend’s heartbroken gaze with fatigue. His mighty chest heaved a great sigh.

“Shwet Foo, I was only trying to protect you.”

Murgatroyd stared again at the contents of the plastic bag.

Kay Hat tried again. “Come on, Shwet Foo. Understand,
lah. You think you’re strong enough to go? Smart enough?”

Murgatroyd didn’t answer.

“Shwet Foo. You know
I’m speaking the truth, right? The Quest is too much for you.” Kay Huat added weakly, “Besides. I didn’t think you were going on the Quest. You said you weren’t going.”

Murgatroyd looked at Kay Huat, drenched in sweat, blood still trickling from the corners of his mouth and the wound on his arm. He didn’t feel shocked anymore, or even angry. Instead, he thought about what good friends they were. He even managed a faint smile. After he had picked up his plastic bag and retrieved his flip-flops, he shuffled over to his best friend.

“Goodbye, Kay Huat. I’ll miss you.”

“What?” Kay Huat sat up. “So that’s it? You’re just going to leave me now? I just saved your life! I protected you all those years! Don’t you remember how we first met? Does our friendship mean nothing?!”

“I’m sorry, Kay Huat.”

Murgatroyd turned away and began walking towards the jetty. With tremendous effort, Kay Huat got to his feet, grabbed his friend by the shoulder and spun him around.

“You can’t go, hear me? You can’t go! Why are you so stupid? The Quest is too much for you! Let me go! I’m the one who’s supposed to go!”

A woman’s voice interrupted them, clear and firm. “And who are you to decide who gets to go on the Quest?”

The two friends looked up. Walking towards them from the direction of the jetty was Ann. Her long green skirt billowed in the wind, and her emerald eye blazed bright in the light of the setting sun.

To their surprise, she walked right past them to the Duck Assassin, still lying prone and unconscious on the table. She examined the wound on his head.

“He’s alive,” she sighed with relief. “Good. We’ve just started keeping a file on him.”

“A file? What for?” Murgatroyd asked.

Ann turned to Murgatroyd, but didn’t answer the question. “Murgatroyd, are you ready to go? We’re late.”

“No, he’s not!” Kay Huat snarled. “He’ll never be ready. Why
him
? Look at him!” Kay Huat gave Murgatroyd a light push on the shoulder. It sent him tumbling to the ground. “Is this the one you chose? What about me? Look at me!”

Ann surveyed him with a scornful eye. “And what
about
you?”

“I was
born
to go on the Quest! It’s me you want! You made a mistake! Do you hear me? You made a mistake!”

Ann was silent, and Kay Huat too fell silent. “This isn’t a mistake,” she replied. She turned again to Murgatroyd, who had picked himself off the ground, and repeated her question. “Murgatroyd. Are you ready to go?”

“Yes,” Murgatroyd answered enthusiastically. “Yes, I am!”

“No! No, he’s not!” Kay Huat turned to Murgatroyd. “Shwet Foo, look at me.”

Murgatroyd looked at the ground.

“Shwet Foo,
look
at me.”

Murgatroyd finally raised his eyes to Kay Huat’s and saw that there were tears in his friend’s eyes. “Shwet Foo, I didn’t mean to hurt you. Look, I just saved your life! How could I ever want to hurt you?” Murgatroyd felt himself begin to cry.