Miss Seetoh in the World (21 page)

Kindness, not convertible into love, still
converted into an incredible amount of physical stress and personal sacrifice –
her colleagues and students in St Peter’s had expressed alarm at her loss of
weight, her loss of spirits. It gave her some satisfaction that the price she
was paying for her injustice to her husband was by no means small. She knew of
women who put their dying husbands in homes and hospices because they could no
longer cope with the terrible physical exertions of the caregiving.

It would be her own private purgatory, very
much like that awesome state of punishment with its cleansing flames, prior to
admission into heaven, by which she would have to fully discharge her debt to
her husband, down to the last farthing, before being allowed to enter a new
life of pure joy free from the treacherous pitfalls of love and marriage. In
bidding a final goodbye to him, she would also be walking away from that
institution for which she had been so woefully unqualified. If the fervent masses
and prayers offered by Father Rozario, by her mother and the church prayer
group, earned for Bernard’s soul immediate entry into heaven, she and her
husband would be entering their respective paradises at the same time.

The thought struck her with such force that
she paused in her marking of students’ scripts to dwell on it as Bernard lay in
fitful sleep beside her. Meeta and Winnie had told her of caregiving spouses
for whom the sense of relief when it was all over was in proportion to the
stress suffered. Winnie’s cousin who had cared for a particularly difficult
husband bedridden after a massive stroke, even described it as her hallelujah
moment. ‘I was almost ashamed I could feel such relief,’ she had said. ‘I went
on a cruise with my girlfriends, looked at the gulls circling in the sky and
said to them, ‘You know, I feel freer than you!’ ’

It was that perilous word again. Women from
time immemorial sought freedom in its every form, and if they won it through
the death of a spouse, felt guilty and were ashamed of having betrayed the
ideals of wifely duty that society had held up for them. Freedom stood opposed
to the sanctity of marriage and had become a bad word.

But the future, increasingly showing itself
in tantalising glimpses, would not be allowed to intrude upon the present. And
the greatest duty of the present was to allow her dying husband to go to his
death in the only way he wanted – to discharge upon her submissive head all the
years of grievances she had caused him. For him only this restoration of
equilibrium would bring peace to his tortured soul.

Dr Phang had an idea which she took up
eagerly, to allow for a bright spot in the terrible gloom of those days. It
would be Bernard’s birthday in a few days; if it happened to be one of the good
days when he could get up from bed, would he like a celebration lunch in a
private room of the Pavilion Hotel? It would be a short outing only, and
everything would be done for his convenience and comfort.

Maria said to Dr Phang, with the tears
coming into her eyes, which they did very frequently in those days, ‘Thank you
so much. Would you tell him, encourage him?’ and had to mention that on no
account must he give the impression that she had anything to do with the idea,
as that would only meet with opposition.

Dr Phang looked at her and said quietly, ‘I
understand.’ How much did he understand of the awful complexities of their
marriage? How much had Bernard told him?

She would be taking extended, no-pay leave
from school soon, to be on round-the-clock duty by her husband’s bed. It was
unfortunate that Bernard’s birthday coincided with the celebration of  Teachers’
Day in school, when she knewshe would be given a special award for her work in
the steady improvement of the English language examination grades over the
years. She would make known her wish to leave the celebration as soon as she
could to be in time for the all-important lunch at the Pavilion Hotel.

It would appear that the whole school was in
a conspiracy to be kind to her during this most difficult time in her life.
Even Teresa Pang came forward with a few kind words and offers to take over
some of her classes. At a time when she was anxious to quickly get done with
the various ceremonies of the festive day and rush home, everybody seemed to be
making demands on her time and attention. Brother Philip stopped her briefly as
she was hurrying along the corridor to say, ‘You may no longer believe in the
power of prayer, but I’m praying for you and your husband.’

She said, ‘But I do believe in the power of
kindness. So continue to pray for me, and thank you so much.’

‘Miss Seetoh, I want you to meet the most
important person in my life,’ said Maggie and she pushed forward a young girl
of about twelve. ‘This is my sister Angel. She is in Mansor Secondary School.
Today a holiday in her school, and I have brought her here so can introduce
you. Angel, this is Miss Seetoh, the most wonderful teacher in the world I tell
you about!’

Maggie slipped in and out of the many roles
she took upon herself; she was playing this one, of older sister or surrogate
mother, with greatest pride and enthusiasm, suddenly looking older than her
years.

The younger sister who was extremely pretty,
said shyly, ‘Hello, Miss Seetoh,’ and held out her hand.

‘I give her the name ‘Angel’; don’t you
think it suit her? Her old name ‘Ah Choo’ – yuks – so low-class and common; I
told my mother I want change it. Now her name, in school register, is ‘Angel’,’
cried Maggie, smoothing the girl’s hair with such a display of maternalistic
pride that Maria wondered, as she had wondered many times, about the home
background which the girl was so assiduously keeping hidden from her teachers
and classmates.

Maggie confided in hushed tones, ‘You know
what, Miss Seetoh, my little sister Angel, she’s very bright, only her English
not so good. I want to get her into St Peter’s Secondary School, so you can
teach her, Miss Seetoh. I will go to see the principal and the inspector of
schools at the ministry. Angel, she must go to the university. I not so good,
cannot study well, will go to work after GCE O Level, but Angel, she is very
intelligent girl, must go for further studies!’

The award-giving ceremony would start in
twenty minutes. Maggie suddenly took her by the hand and, followed by Angel,
dragged her into a small room sometimes used as a private study room by
students and teachers.

‘Maggie, what on earth –’ she began, noting
the girl’s look of eager intent and Angel’s excitement which she was trying to
suppress by pressing her mouth with both hands. Inside the room, she saw Mark
and Yen Ping, unlikely companions in any prank devised by Maggie and yet just
now looking as if they were close co-conspirators in some worthy plot.

Maggie said, ‘Miss Seetoh, today your
special day. We want to make you look beautiful when you go up to receive award
from the principal. You are already beautiful but we want to make you look like
film star!’

The purpose of the ambush into the private
study room was clear as soon as Maria saw, laid out on a table, an assortment
of make-up items. ‘Oh no,’ she said laughing, ‘you’re not going to put all that
stuff on my face!’

‘Please, Miss Seetoh,’ begged Yen Ping, and
Mark joined her in her entreaties.

It turned out that the idea, in the oddest
way, had originated with this shy, pale-faced girl who was far removed from the
world of make-up and glamour as the pig-tailed, jacket-wearing girls of Mao’s
Cultural Revolution must have been. It had come about in a roundabout way that
reflected how in a Christian school the ancient superstitions it sought to
eradicate were very much alive.

Yen Ping told Miss Seetoh that when she was
about fourteen, an aunt who worked in a beautician’s parlour and was involved
in various community activities, made her go on stage one evening to sing a
song with some other girls during the Festival of the Hungry Ghosts. The
transforming power of powder, lipstick and rouge extended to behaviour, and she
sang with unabashed ardour and thrilling confidence before a large crowd,
enjoying herself thoroughly. There was a picture of her at the event,
completely unrecognisable even to family.

‘You know what, Miss Seetoh,’ said Yen Ping,
her eyes shining with excitement. ‘The evil spirit could not recognise me
anymore and I was cured of my asthma!’

If there was any superstition that was the
most laughable, it was this belief that the evil spirits who roamed the earth
with malicious intent were so stupid that they could be deceived by the most
superficial of disguises. Mothers protected their precious male children by
giving them female names or making them wear earrings. There was a special evil
spirit who killed healthy, able-bodied men in their sleep; those wishing to be
left alone went to bed wearing their wives’ sarong, lipstick and nail polish.

Yen Ping said, ‘Miss Seetoh, you may not
believe this, but my mother took me to one doctor after another for my asthma,
but it was no use. Then after my aunt put make-up on my face that evening, my
asthma disappeared. She took me to a temple medium who told us that the ghost
who used to trouble me for years could no longer recognise me and left.’

Together with Mark, she came up with her
plan, ‘Miss Seetoh, if you put on make-up today – it is a special day of
spirits – the bad spirit causing all your misfortunes will go away and your
husband will be cured.’

Years later Maria would remember, how in her
little world of St Peter’s Secondary School, the Christian prayers of Brother
Philip and the ancient practices of Yen Ping’s ancestors, coming from opposite
directions, had merged into one large, warm, comforting power sustaining her in
her hour of need; for her, they would never clash but be perfectly harmonised
by their common intention of goodwill and kindness.

While it would have been easy to reject
Maggie’s aim to make her look like a film star, it would have been impossible
to disappoint the gentle Yen Ping who was looking at her in trembling
expectancy.

‘Alright,’ said Maria, and everyone yelled
with delight before Maggie took charge of the entire proceedings, and the rest
were contented to assist by following her instructions to do this or that –
stand watch at the door to see no one was spying, fan Miss Seetoh since it was
a hot morning, get ready comb, hairbrush, lipstick, eyeliner and a myriad
appurtenances that supposedly formed a woman’s survival kit in a world
dominated by men with an eye for beauty.

‘Would you please hurry, the ceremony will
start soon and then I have to be off!’ urged Maria, as Maggie worked furiously.
The girl never looked happier as her fingers worked expertly on her teacher’s
lips, cheeks, eyes, eyebrows, finally taking off the ponytail hairclip, and
letting the lush hair fall down to her shoulders. She had a special brush to
tease the hair into a riot of soft waves framing the face. With a dramatic bow,
she held up a mirror for Miss Seetoh to look at her new self.

Maria gasped. ‘Talk about evil spirits!’ she
said. ‘I don’t even recognise myself.’

Maggie said, ‘Never mind evil spirits. You
look like a film star!’ Angel, completely infected by her sister’s exuberance,
was clapping her hands in delight.

Mark said admiringly, ‘You know, Miss
Seetoh, you look like the actress Gong Li. Maybe even more beautiful.’

There were tears in Yen Ping’s eyes. As a final
touch, Maggie produced a beautiful, expensive silk scarf and draped it round
her neck. ‘Sorry I can’t give it to you, Miss Seetoh,’ she said, ‘but you keep
it as long as you like.’

If she did not have to rush away so soon,
she would have responded, with warmth and wit, to the students’ enthusiastic
reaction to her new appearance as she stood on stage in the school auditorium
and received the award, a wooden plaque with gold inscriptions, from the
principal. After the initial stunned silence, they broke into loud cheers and
scrambled to have a closer look at Miss Seetoh. A few of the more rowdy boys
let out wolf whistles. The principal managed to say, with great propriety, ‘You
see how they are all responding to your new look.’

She said, ‘It isn’t a new look that I’ll
wear to school everyday. Some crazy students gave me this makeover on a whim.’

The anxiety of wanting to be in time for the
lunch at the Pavilion Hotel, of wondering how her husband was taking all the
stress of the outing, and whether Dr Phang had ordered special food for him,
caused her to keep to herself, for the time being, yet another student howler
guaranteed to enliven life at St Peter’s. The class prefect, enjoined, with the
task of deciding on a suitable inscription for the plaque, had made the mistake
not only of taking up valuable space with the completely unnecessary mention of
the ornamental tablet itself, but of misspelling it, so that Miss Seetoh, for
being the best English language Teacher, was awarded, as a token of deep appreciation
by all her students, a ‘plague’. Maria was so amused she almost let out a
laugh. The mistake had gone unnoticed even by the teacher in charge of school
trophies and medals; held up high in the air by Miss Seetoh in acknowledgement,
it was probably unnoticed by everyone. She had only time to point to it
surreptitiously to Brother Philip, saw his face crease in a broad smile and
then rushed away.

There were deadlier demons than Yen Ping’s
evil spirits to vanquish; she had no idea how a student’s caring act of the
silly makeover could unleash a torrent of emotions that would end all hope of
anything like a peaceful closure for both herself and her husband.