Anthony is really surprised. Such a long speech coming from his mother, who, of late, hadn’t said much and had regularly entered into the world of the past to confuse people, dates and events. Dr Kwa said it was a natural regression of people suffering from Alzheimer’s but that it was also as likely for her to exhibit some moments of absolute clarity.
“I admire him a lot, mum,” says Anthony. “It’s good to know you and dad did not harbour a grudge against him. I know you moved out of the country because you were cheesed off.”
“Mr Lee was not perfect. He was human,” says Pansy. “If I was upset with you for something you did, it doesn’t mean I can’t see the good that you do. It doesn’t mean that I will stop loving you. But it doesn’t mean we can’t argue with you or have different opinions.
“All the time we were in England, we carried Singapore in our hearts and minds. Even if you are in a foreign land, the warp and weft of your nation is stitched forever in your psyche.”
At Hong Lim Park, the queue is very long for mourners to sign the condolence book and also to go up on stage to pay homage to Mr Lee’s giant-sized photo. But because Pansy is elderly, the officers there permit Anthony to help her jump the queue. There are thousands of floral bouquets already piling up, the people’s floral tribute to Mr Lee. Pansy bends down to place her dish of fragrant-smelling bunga rampay potpourri in front of Mr Lee’s photo and she genuflects several times.
“Rest in peace,” she whispers, bowing her head. “You deserve a rest after all the hard years you’ve put in. I hope you will be reunited happily with Mrs Lee as I hope to be reunited with George soon.”
The nation’s outpouring plumbs into the depth of Pansy’s pain. It appears that the sorrow had been lying in her all the time, only to be triggered off by the atmosphere of national grief.
All over the country, the queues are non-ending to sign the condolence books and to pay respect. At Parliament House, where Mr Lee is lying in state, the queue snakes round the back of the building, all along the side of Singapore River, up Cavenagh Bridge and down the other side of the river just so that people can pay a minute’s homage to him. The doors were supposed to shut at 8 pm on the first day but the queue was so long, the hours were extended to midnight. And when at midnight, the queue doubled, it was decided that the viewing would continue for twenty-four hours. People persistently turn up, non-stop. The queue had to be diverted via the Padang where barricaded aisles were set up so that there was no stampede and danger to those shuffling slowly towards Parliament House.
Portable toilets are placed along the paths in the queues as the queueing period extended. Volunteers distribute free drinks and snacks to those in the queues which at one point reach ten abreast. They give out umbrellas during the blazing heat in the day and for the rain in the evenings.
“This slight discomfort is nothing,” many of them say tearfully, “after what Mr Lee had done for all of us.”
“We are not oblivious to what Mr Lee had done,” they say.
The funeral procession is a live telecast showing Mr Lee’s casket passing various notable developments arising from his leadership, one of which is the Pinnacle, the pièce de résistance of his Public Housing scheme by which every ordinary Singaporean family can own a home, and another stop at the Corrupt Practices Investigation Bureau at Bukit Merah, the anti-corruption bureau he had set up.
Thousands line the streets to wait for Mr Lee’s casket to pass. The floral bouquets that had been laid at Parliament House are now tied to the central railings that divide the two-way road. As if weeping for the nation’s loss, the skies open with furious lashings of rain, yet the heavy downpour does not dissuade the people from remaining outdoors, some sheltering under umbrellas, others in plastic raincoats and still others, just allowing the rain to soak their skin. The 21-gun salute goes off as the cortege leaves Parliament House. As the cortege makes it way towards Shenton Way, there is a sail-past in the Marina Bay which is LKY’s latest achievement, having cleaned up Singapore River and created a new downtown area and financial district. The Singapore Air Force jets fly past the iconic Marina Bay Sands Hotel, the lotus-shaped ArtScience Museum and the humped backs of the Gardens by the Bays Conservatories.
Pansy sobs throughout most of the telecast. The others sitting with her at the nursing home sob too as they watch the proceedings, some more than others. No one is dry-eyed. But people are curious as to why Pansy seems to be so hugely affected, her eyes reddening and her nose swelling up as she uses up tissue after tissue.
“All week, we’ve had nothing but our own sadness that the crash of the Germanwings plane has been eclipsed,” remarks an elderly gentleman sitting beside Pansy.
“What plane crash?” Pansy asks in a thick voice.
“See what I mean?” the man says. “The plane crashed in the Alps in France on Tuesday. It is alleged that the co-pilot, Andreas Lubitz, did it on purpose. When the pilot left to go to the toilet, the co-pilot locked the cockpit door and didn’t allow the pilot back in. Apparently, the co-pilot was suffering from depression. He took 149 people down with him. Not one survived…”
“Every death is a tragedy for the loved one left behind,” Pansy says.
Chapter 14
The extreme sadness of the nation hangs like a pall in Pansy’s psyche.
