LOOK-SEE

This short story was published in the Warwick anthology, Broadcast 2 in November 2007. Have a read and give me your comments. It's part of a longer piece of work which I hope will be published some day.

Look-see

The house never felt like it was part of me. When I had grown up and we
had moved away from grandmother's, the house was filled with odd
characters, strangers whose lives had remained unfathomable until now.

There was this dark-eyed man with a long chin and a perpetually sulky
countenance. He often loitered in the house, standing behind the door
and staring out into the street, as if weighing in his mind the dangers
lurking on Club Street before sidling up from behind me and on to the
alleys. There was another face; one kind and vulnerable which belonged
to a plump, matronly woman. She looked like a trapped housewife, her
eyes puffy and bloodshot. This woman always seemed to be in the midst
of domestic chores, steadying herself on the stairs as she made her way
around the house with a basket or pail in hand. Another person who I
could not forget was a frumpy woman who was always seated next to
grandmother as she held court in the house to friends and neighbours.
At first, I mistook her for a relative but later found out that she was the
wife of one of the tenants whom mother had dismissed as someone who
was "slightly weaker up there”. No wonder she didn’t look quite right.
She had a patchy complexion and her skin looked as if it hadn’t been
scrubbed in a long time. She constantly had a look of indifference and
her eyes wandered all over the room as wisps of smoke hung in the air
like a veil.

There was something that was not quite right about the house too.
Weng came by the house yesterday. I had planned to see Dr Heng
but the appointment was cancelled as he was called away to an
emergency retinal operation. I was quite upset at first. I had
looked forward to seeing him. There had been no improvement in my
eyesight. Although it had not worsened, the dark blurry patch in my
lower right peripheral vision was still quite disconcerting. At times,
it felt as if that dark curtain was spreading. In the nights, it felt worse.
The doctors I had seen so far had said that I might have to get
accustomed to my newly blighted vision. But I had no plans to live
with an incomplete eyesight. It happened in the afternoon. Weng
was dressed differently. Gone were the jacket and trousers. In their
stead was a casual smart ensemble; a polo t-shirt and pants.

“No one was around so I helped myself in here,” he said.

“Are we expecting an inspection today?” I asked.

“Just a look-see.”

“Wasn’t my mother here a while ago?”

“I didn’t see her at all. I saw you at the meeting at number 76, didn’t I?”

“Yes. Did I stick out like a sore thumb?”

“The kids never usually turn up.”

“So you’re not looking for my mother?”

Weng looked at a piece of paper he had in his hand, lifted his glasses
slightly and strained his eyes for a better look.

“Ong Feng Yi?”

“My aunt’s out.”

“Won’t make a difference.” He then removed his glasses and looked up
at the ceiling. There were large cracks on the beams, which were
unlacquered. “You’ve got teak up there?”

“Sorry, I’m not quite sure.”

He glanced at me and looked away, and I caught a hint of a frown.

“Teak’s good but expensive. It's hard to find houses with teak. Only
those with money can afford it. It’s not as if everyone who has money
would want to anyway… It looks like teak,” he then pointed at the
beams.

He took a good hard look at me before looking around the room.

“This house creaks like hell, doesn’t it?”

“It can.”

“That’s the thing. Nobody can be bothered with floorboards.
Silly, isn’t it? They make time for the beams but not the floor boards.”

“Are you talking about fire hazards?”

“Yes. And termites. Remove a nail and the whole place will collapse.”

“Collapse?”

He had a look at mother’s make-shift bed under the stairs and
scribbled notes.

“My mother. She likes to sleep there,” I said.

“That hardly surprises me. There’s this crazy man who prefers to
sleep on the roof because he couldn’t stand the heat.” He turned to
me and scrutinised my face. “You’re visiting your mother?”

“I live here."

"She needs someone to be around the house?"

"No. I just got back from overseas.”

“I see. From?”

“England.”

“I’m sure there’s a certain charm to living in this house compared
to those in England, no?”

“Sometimes I wonder if I'm hearing things,” I confessed.

“You have the dua peh gong, don’t you?” Weng pointed to the altar
on which the deity sat. “He is the protector.”

“The dua peh gong’s been here for years…”

“Do you pray? Or are you Christian?” he asked.

“I prayed when I was younger. But I haven’t in a while.”

“Are you an atheist?” he looked at me with suspicion. “Atheists are
rare though.”

“I’m agnostic."

“You’re not sure if there’s a God? But how can you not be sure?
It will be difficult if you’re not decisive.”

“Being agnostic is also a choice,” I said, annoyed.

“Of course it is.” Weng noticed my displeasure and changed the
topic. “I used to live in a shophouse too. There were rats everywhere.
Goddamned rats. We don’t seem to be able to do anything about
them. They’d come at night and nibble at everything. We had
to store the food high up so that they could not reach it.
They’re bold all right. They’ll look at you right in the face.”

Weng turned his attention to the kitchen briefly before looking
up at the stairs.

He went up the stairs and the creaking began.

“Looks intact,” he said. He was quite nimble on the stairs.
“Most of the others have bits missing.”

“A house is a house.”

Weng looked at me, as if he could not understand what I
had said.

“Just a roof over your head,” I went on.

“How many generations of you have lived here?”

“My grandparents…maybe forty years.”

“That’s hardly long.”

“What’s considered long?” I asked.

“A hundred years. Good old tradition. That’s when a house is not just
a house.”

“So why are you involved in this kind of dirty work?”

Weng looked at me, slightly amused. “Ah, dirty work.”

He led the way up to the second floor and noticed the room on the
right; that forbidden and menacing world which I had glimpsed through
the keyhole as a child. Slivers of light escaped from the sides of the
window shutters near the door.

Weng tried to open the door.

“What is in here?”

“No idea.”

He looked incredulous.

“You’re telling me you’ve never been inside?”

“For as long as I can remember,” I said with a straight face.

Weng kneaded his brows. As he peered at the keyhole, his hand
clutching onto the door knob, he commented: “Your family’s got
a chest of gold inside?”

I could not tell if he was joking.

“What’s this all about?” It was Fengyi. She came up the stairs swiftly
and Weng straightened himself when he saw her.

“Weng was speculating how much treasure is tucked away in the
room,” I told her.

Fengyi did not look amused.

“There’s a ghost in that room,” she said.

“A ghost?” I muttered.

“Whose ghost?” Weng asked.

Fengyi shrugged her shoulders. “No idea.”

“You’re joking?” Weng said but when he saw how serious Fengyi
looked, he asked, "What happened?"

But Fengyi had something else on her mind. “Is this an inspection?”

“Evaluation would be more accurate.”

“Is there a need to?” she said.

“These houses are very old. It would make sense to.”

“To evaluate its market value?” I asked.

Fengyi frowned. “I thought the URA has no intention of selling
the house?”

“We won’t,” Weng said.

“Then why the need to evaluate?” Fengyi asked.

“Like I said, we just want to make sure that things are in order.”
Weng moved away from the door.

Fengyi took out a bunch of keys from her pocket, a thick set of
metal teeth. She ran her long fingers over them before picking out
one and unlocked the door. Then she put both her hands on the knob
and gave a nudge with her leg. The door opened. I was surprised
to see that it did not creak.

Weng quickly regained his interest in the room and looked inside.
I could not see much. It was too dark. But I could see faint light
on the other side of the room.

“Smells like something’s burning,” Weng looked at me. I could
hardly smell anything except for the stale air.

“The light’s coming from --” I asked.

“--next door,” Fengyi replied.

“Isn’t it empty?” Weng turned and asked Fengyi.

“Truth is, this room is locked because no one has lived here
in a long time.”

“How many smaller rooms are in here?” he asked. “Where are
the lights?” he groped for the switch on the wall inside.

“They were not repaired.”

“You don’t plan to do up the place?”

“Some of the wood has also gone very bad,” she added.

“Looks like I can’t assess the damage today. I’ll have to report it.
What’s upstairs?” he asked and stepped away from the room.

“Just our sleeping quarters,” Fengyi said.

“How many of you live upstairs?”

“Three."

“Does anyone in the house smoke?” Weng asked.

“Grandma used to smoke like a chimney,” I said and looked at Fengyi.

“No one,” she told Weng.

We went upstairs. Weng had a look at both our rooms and for the
first time, I saw Fengyi and Peng’s room. It was as austere as mine.
There was a dressing table and a low single bed. A rolled-up rattan
mat was tucked away on one side of the wall.

“You really should try the new beds. Some of them are not that soft,”
Weng told Fengyi.

“You prefer hard beds?” I asked Fengyi.

“The beds you young people prefer are too soft for our backs. Even
for your mother. Besides, it's too hot with mattresses,” she replied.

We quickly wound up our tour of the house and made our way down.

“I hope to take a look at that room again sometime,” Weng reminded
us.

Fengyi simply nodded.

“Let me reassure you that we won’t do anything unless it’s absolutely
necessary.

The URA adheres strictly to the 3R principle.”

“3R?” I asked.

“Maximum retention, sensitive restoration and careful repair. That is,
if all goes well and everyone decides to hand the houses over to us. By
the way, I’ve noticed that the urn in which you put your joss sticks for
the dua peh gong …” Weng was scrutinising the cantilevered altar.

“We consulted someone for it,” Fengyi said.

“It could be a serious fire hazard over there.”

Fengyi laughed nervously. “I can’t do anything about that.”

“I’m not suggesting that you remove it. Just move it elsewhere.”

“Altars cannot be moved once they’re set up.”

“The dua peh gong has to stay, I understand. But maybe over
there, in the kitchen under the cement roof. The URA takes
potential hazards seriously.”

Fengyi finally agreed to give it some thought.

“So what’s inside that the room?” I asked Fengyi.

“Nothing. Just rotten planks.”

*

Later that night, I was awakened by the creaking again. At first I
thought Fengyi or Peng was still up. But the house was in darkness
when I opened my eyes.

I got up, a little dazed and peeped outside. There was no one. I
walked to the stairs and looked down. I could hardly make out if
someone was on the ground level.

Was mother awake? The creaking then stopped. I sat down on the
sofa next to the stairs where the moonlight shone down from the skylight.

Then it started again. In the still of the night, it sounded like the
low-pitch buzz of a bee, droning in my head. I knew then that the
noise was not something I had imagined; it seemed to have come
from the floor below.

I tiptoed to the stairways and walked down. I was careful to be
as light as possible on my feet. I did not want to disturb Fengyi and
Peng, and I carefully watched my own footing on the stairs.

Then she came my way, unaware of my presence. When Fengyi realised
that it was me, she looked a little startled. When she looked away,
I knew she harboured a secret. She didn’t want to acknowledge my
presence. I felt as if she was wishing me away.

She said nothing, not a word. She glided past me and went up the
stairs. She was soon out of sight.

I must have stood there for some time, dazed. I had many
questions, no answers. I proceeded to make my way down and
along the corridor, the smell of smoke grew.

Cigarette smoke.

I reached the stairs and looked down. It was dark except for
the surreal glow of the vermillion bulbs that lit the Dua Peh
Gong’s altar. Mother was probably fast asleep, lost in her own
dreamland. I turned back, away from this futile journey and
tried to put behind me the ghosts of the house, and the echoes
of nocturnal sounds and smells; to find my way back home.

end

Copyright of Edmund Wee