As the old man sat by the window of his study, his mind cast back to his childhood. His fading eyebrows that were more grey than black knotted up his forehead, exacerbated the deep creases, the result of tortuous nights of money worries and unanswered desperate prayers during the tumultuous years when his retail shops closed one after another, after the franchise owners said lawsuits from landlords and suppliers were untenable to face and legally undefendable. As his dream of a franchise ‘empire’ collapsed, so did his own stores.
His childhood was nightmarish, the spartan meals and frequent rowdy quarrels between his parents haunted him for much of his youth. Their verbal fights were legendary in the neighbourhood that consisted of a row of shophouses along upper Penang Road. His father, debonair and well-dressed, attracted the ladies, according to his mother. She lacked education and therefore lacked the confidence and ability to ask for a divorce. He lacked education yet taught himself how to read and write and keep the books. Was he unfaithful or was she delusional and wrecked by insecurity and jealousy? Her cries of anguish and his cries of the tormented were to recur in all his boyhood nightmares.
They weren’t plebs by any means, but like most people in Penang, life for them was backward and harsh during and immediately after the war. By the time the old man was born, the Japanese had left and so had the British occupiers. He was born free but the frugal life they led did curtail much of his freedom. The beginning was humble but poverty was easily avoided if people were prepared to work hard.
Consumerism did not exist; electricity was affordable, thankfully due to the sparse availability of gadgets that required electrical power. His family got by simply with dim light globes absent of any lamp shades and a redifusion set that blared news and music all day. They kept some chooks but chicken essence for him was a once-in-a-lifetime luxury item to power his tired brain during the major exams in Form 5. The tropics had not warmed up yet, so ceilings were not fitted with fans then. Warm sticky nights weren’t a problem when there was the sea breeze to depend on to cool down their rooms.
His dad did what a dutiful son did, saving enough to send money back home twice a year. Home was always China to him, even after he had left Penang and spent his final nineteen years in Adelaide. In the 50s and 60s, each remittance to China was about $50, enough for his siblings to support their mother and squirrel away some savings. He continued to send money ‘home’ even after their mother passed away. Over the decades, his siblings bought a house and some gold from the funds he had repatriated. The unending stream of money to them ended when he discovered they had flaunted the seed capital he gave for them to open an optical store in Shaoxing. He had wanted them to start a franchise chain but whoever usurped the money had shorter term plans.
“Life is good today,” Heng Poe said to the old man, reminding him to stop complaining about his problems but to be grateful for all the problems he didn’t have. Heng Poe, a friend in Johor Bahru, often shared little gems of wisdom in their chats.
“I know, I know,” the old man replied with a prickly voice.
He disliked his friend for being wiser and smarter. Heng Poe retired some six months earlier, joining many of their friends in early retirement. The old man once boasted to his mother he would retire by 45; early retirement represented financial success and profligacy of resources and time because people could afford that. He just turned 65. With no imminent news of his retirement, by his own measure of success, he was already twenty years late.
He was supposed to leave for Giza this week for a once-in-a-lifetime cruise on the Nile. The troubles in Gaza put a stop to that. The troubles. That sounded so wrong and grossly inadequate. The poor wretched souls are being mercilessly massacred in Gaza in what is a collective retribution to the Palestinians for the Hamas atrocities against Israelis. The cycle of murder and vengeance will not end if one side will not allow the same freedom and legal rights to the other side. The troubles meant thousands of dead Palestinians, many of whom are children and many more wounded or dying without water, food and basic necessities. It isn’t a war between Israel and Hamas. The Hamas militants aren’t dying in big numbers.
“Yes, it’s a war between Israel and children,” the old man said to himself, creasing his forehead with yet deeper lines.
When peace was brokered between Iran and Saudi Arabia in March, the old man sighed loudly and said “Oh oh.” Without reason, he feared that something would trigger the Middle East to become embroiled in another major conflict. The dark states have always divided the Arab world to keep them fighting each other, ever since they found oil.
“I still wanted to go,” the old man said and paused before adding, “but they cancelled before I got a chance to voice my opinion.”
He was out-voted 3 to 1, so they didn’t need his decision when they cancelled their Egypt holiday. Like a kid, he just had to tag along whatever the (other) adults said. He left it unsaid about what a holiday meant. If you want comfort and safety, stay at home. A holiday should take you out of your comfort zone, introduce new experiences, excitement even, and foreign smells, tastes and feelings. A hint of danger thrilled him about Egypt. Giza and the Sinai desert beckoned, a mere three and a half hours away to the massacres in Gaza. It wasn’t to be, instead, his travelling companions had switched their destination to Milan – Lake Como the ultimate attraction – and a chance to savour how the A-list celebrities in haute couture enjoy their days. Milan is home to high street fashion brands like Gucci, Prada, and Dolce & Gabbana.
“Milan is so chic and classy I’m afraid I will be so under-dressed even at my best,” the old man said as he checked the dress code for places like La Scala and Ristorante Giacomo Milano, where Salvatore Ferragamo and Mick Jagger have been known to dine there.
They may have escaped the fire and the rockets in Gaza but news of heavy rains in Northern Italy meant that they may still yet have a memorable but uncomfortable holiday. Central Milan was flooded and Lake Como had broken its banks. It looked pretty obvious to the old man his chance to be a dashing James Bond was dashed at Villa Balbianello. There would be no kissing scene in the garden either, if they cancelled the boat ride to Bellagio.
“I’ve just booked to attend a ballet at the Teatro di San Carlo in Naples, the world’s oldest working opera house,” the old man said to Heng Poe.
“Home of the pizzas,” Heng Poe replied.
“No lah, they don’t make pizzas in theatres, it’s more dance and pizzazz,” the old man said to his wiser and smarter friend.
It dawned on him that he had come a long way from his childhood days of dim lights, the little need for electricity and the frequent hunger pangs, his bedtime companion. He looked up from his book and noticed how much life had transformed. The house was never silent anymore – the usage of electricity was quite ridiculous with noisy gadgets that caused the constant sounds of waterfall from the pond, the humming of the internet modem, the running water of the aquarium, the sudden knocking sounds from their fridge, the guttural voices of Taiwanese talk show hosts from his wife’s iPad, the music from the TV and recently, the bubbling sounds of the double boiler from which four bowls of pure essence would be produced from one whole free range chicken.
Urghhlings 