“Sadly, Norman Warne died from leukaemia before the end of summer. She was devastated. The greatest love of her life had been snatched from her. That’s why I wanted us to get married straightaway, and not wait. It could have happened to either of us and I would have regretted it forever. We mustn’t let fear and prejudice stop us from doing things and living out our dreams.”
“I’m glad you were courageous for both of us, George…”
Pansy is swept up by the memory of George, and for a few moments, she forgets where she is. Theirs was not just a marriage, theirs was a beautiful friendship and a sustaining love. She recalls how he often made her laugh. He saw goodness in others; his parents’ attitude towards Pansy grieved him and it was not until the adult Anthony brought them together again that he spoke to them. He forgave, but never forgot how they cut him off because he would not give Pansy up. He proved he could be a doctor even without their support. Initially, Pansy did not want the rift and begged him to reconsider the loss of his family and inheritance, but he had been adamant. He gave up so much to be with her. She will never forget that. Scores of images of George come rushing in to assail Pansy’s mind, and she is suddenly overwhelmed.
“Grandma, are you all right?” Goldie asks.
“Mum, are you okay?” Emily says.
A visible change has come over her, making her family anxious. They see that her eyes had taken on a faraway look. Pansy had not realised that she has risen from her chair and has stood up abruptly, looking this way and that in confusion, around the restaurant, her face agitated.
“I think I’d better get going,” Pansy says, her voice tremulous. “George is all alone at home. I don’t like to stay away too long. I have to prepare his tea. I think I’ll bake him a nice pie…”
Chapter 8
“Your mother is definitely losing it,” says Emily. “Maybe we need to send her for more tests. At his deathbed, your father thought it might be some type of dementia—it might be Alzheimer’s. It may not be safe for her to live on her own. Maybe she needs to go into a nursing home…”
“No way,” Anthony says. “Mum loves her independence too much. She’ll suffocate in a nursing home…”
“Then what’s your suggestion ah? What if she does something stupid? Like not turning off the gas? Or not blowing out the candles she uses for meditation? What if she gets into her woolly state and crosses the road, thinking it’s a kampong road with no motorised traffic? I don’t think all that talk about the old kampong is doing her much good. She’s already acting confused, sometimes thinking that your father is still alive, like last month when we were at Flintstones…”
“You’re right, honey,” Anthony gives in yet again. “I’ll set up an appointment for her to see Dr Kwa. Maybe we can get a helper to go in every day to check on mum.”
“That’s going to cost money, you know…”
“You look lovely, grandma. What’s that lovely fragrance?” Goldie asks as Pansy gets into Anthony’s Mercedes Benz.
For her trip to visit her home of past times, Pansy had put on her sarong kebaya. It seems appropriate. Her granddaughter has arrived promptly at her condominium for their excursion. They have chosen a weekday when places won’t be overcrowded. Goldie has taken time off from work. She is still wearing a shirt and jeans, but the shirt is less mannish than before, printed with tiny hearts. She has not gelled her hair in rigid spikes, so it is softer around her tanned face. She can look really pretty if she allows herself to be so. There is something about the shape and angle of the face which reminds Pansy of someone. But she can’t remember who.
“I have to confess, I made a quick dash this morning to Geylang Serai wet market by taxi to buy it. It’s bunga rampay. Do you know what that is?”
“No,” says Goldie, pulling the car out to begin their journey.
“It’s a potpourri of fresh flowers. I used to put it together to sell to people. My mother, your Cho Cho, taught me how to select the right flowers and to get the right mix. Do you know it now costs $2 per packet? I used to sell it for 30 cents! I thought I might scatter it in the sea… near where our village used to be… for the villagers… and my… parents…” Pansy’s voice breaks a little, the memory of the last time she had scattered the flowers into the sea threatening to unsettle her. No matter how long ago a painful incident occurred, its memory doesn’t really go away, but lies buried, suddenly to surface at the slightest reminder or provocation. In Buddhism and yoga, this is called a klesha, an imprint that has settled in our psyche and cannot be eradicated until we learn to resolve its corresponding issues. Pansy wonders what other kleshas will surface on this trip.
“Thanks, grandma, for letting me come with you,” Goldie says. “I know it must be emotional, going back to where your village used to be. I’ll try not to intrude. You be quiet when you want to be. No need to talk all the time. I’ll understand.”
“You are such a sensitive soul,” Pansy says. “I knew that your hard exterior was all an act. Sometimes when we wear a protective casing, we’re also in danger of not letting kindness and love penetrate it. To be receptive to love, we have to open a window of vulnerability. You must learn to trust and to let yourself be who you are…”
“I know what you’re saying, grandma. That’s part of my problem,” says Goldie. “I’ve always been told I’m not good enough. Mum never lets me talk about what I
