“Pansy Lim, I’ve never met a girl like you before. You have such a creative imagination. Most people tend to be so prosaic and boring…”
She was heartened. George’s affirmation of her wild imagination gave her a warm feeling. But she didn’t think she should tell him about Rama and Sita—yet.
“I’ll tell you another secret,” George continued. “I’ve always wanted to visit England, particularly the Lake District. I want to see the lakes—Buttermere, Grasmere, and of course, Windermere. Do you know that the bodies of water in the Lake District have names ending with the Old English word, mere, which means ‘water’, so we don’t really need to say Lake Windermere but just Windermere?”
So he was knowledgeable. And he knew his Wordsworth. Pansy’s jaw almost dropped. She was so delighted to find a kindred spirit that she did not get cross about his correcting her word usage. In fact, she found that she was—quite happy, really.
Chapter 5
“Bibik, can I take Pansy to see the parade at the Padang to celebrate Queen Elizabeth’s coronation?” George asked in Teochew with complete humility.
“Ya, Pansy told me you met. It’s not good lah, you two meeting without other adults around to supervise. Fortunately, she confessed as soon as she got home, how it was an accidental meeting, that the buffalo had driven you to the spot where she was. You know it’s not done for a young maiden to go out unchaperoned?” Kim Guek said, her voice stern. “Her reputation can be compromised and her marriage prospects ruined you know.”
“Yes, Bibik. I understand.” George said. “That’s why I came to introduce myself soon after my serendipitous meeting with Pansy. I want to show you I’m serious and wouldn’t want her to be compromised in any way.”
George knew he wanted to see Pansy again, knew he wanted much more actually, but he dared not voice his thoughts or feelings yet. Everything had seemed so sudden. But his certainty had amazed even himself.
“We’ve only just passed beyond the age of arranged marriages. We’ve not reached an era when our daughters can go out unaccompanied with a young man,” Kim Guek said firmly. “If you want to learn more about each other, you can come here. But you can’t take her out on her own. What do your parents think about this huh?”
“I haven’t spoken to them about Pansy yet. I wanted to know what Pansy thought first.”
“About what?” Pansy asked.
“Us lah,” said George.
They looked at each other. The something that had sparked between them needed no facile coyness. Pansy smiled, and George’s heart turned over. He could read her mind already! It was amazing how they had connected. He could not stop thinking of her since their encounter—the sense of her nearness, her voice, her face, had mesmerised him. At first light, he had cycled into their hidden village by the sea to look for her. It was less than a mile from where he lived, but it was a world apart. He crossed the wooden bridge on his bicycle and its wheels went geduh, geduh, geduh over each wooden hump. His nether regions were pummelled.
George was perplexed to see people standing on the exposed river bed of Sungei Bedok, where the tide was at its extreme low point. Some were squatting, others bent over as if they were digging and searching for things. Curlews and white egrets too were dipping and diving, occasionally soaring upwards with something between their beaks. But George rode on, cycling past corn fields, vegetable and poultry farms. He was momentarily hindered by a herd of cows languidly chewing the cud as they sauntered casually along the mud path, their tails flicking out at black flies. Every now and then, a cow would eject a warm pat onto the path and it would steam for a few seconds before the flies converged on it. The cows were accompanied by an Indian man, clad in an off-white singlet, a not-so-clean dhoti wrapped under and over his groin, wielding his rattan cane lightly to move the cows along. Later, George would learn that the man was Maniam who supplied the seaside villages with cow’s milk.
“Selamat pagi. Good morning,” George had smiled and said in Malay, the predominant language spoken in the rural kampongs. Knowing that the majority of his future patients would speak either Hokkien or Malay, George had learnt to speak both.
“Selamat pagi,” the Indian had responded, baring gaps in his front teeth, discoloured from chewing sireh.
As mud gave way to fine sand, George knew he could not be far from the hidden kampong. Pansy had described it to him with such visual clarity that when he caught his first sight of the village, it felt as if he had been there before. He hesitated momentarily, as he recalled his parents’ reminder and fear—that kampong folk could wield agricultural implements like changkols and parangs against strangers.
George rested his legs for a while, sat balanced on his bike as he took in the view of the cluster of attap-roofed houses perched on stilts, surrounded by an expanse of white sand beach, fringed by palm, sea fig and casuarina trees. Someone had fixed a swing to the upswept low branch of the banyan tree, and a child was swinging gently on it, with another pushing it. The houses, made from wood, fitted harmoniously into the natural landscape and had an aura of purity and innocence that the concrete houses on the hill where he lived did not have. There was a sense of tranquillity to see and hear the tide gently washing underneath the houses, in a steady rhythm of ebb and flow. The smell of salt and fish was in the air, not repugnant but engaging. The sea breeze brushed his hair off his perspiring forehead in an almost caressing gesture.
Birds flew about in cheerful gaiety. One was a stunning collared kingfisher with its curved beak, flapping its wings in a flurry of electric blue. Seeing it made George feel like
