Funerals are funny. You lay a man to rest and you want to put all your issues with him in a box and lay them to rest too. You want to, and it is a little like asking a jack-in-the-box not to jump. Days after my uncle’s death – and before his cremation – the jack-in-the-box jumped. Thumped us in the face.
It was Hari Raya Puasa, we were walking homewards from brunch and Fei had to ask, did Suk repay that loan to Biu Suk? I tried to put the lid on it – “he did, he did; Biu Suk said so one New Year” – but the lid refused to behave.
Fei: (Lifting the lid) He repaid everything?
Me: (Snapping the lid shut) He did, he did –
My mother: (Lifting) He didn’t –
Me: (Snapping) Didn’t he –
Back and forth we went till we found ourselves in a fight. I was bothered that my mother couldn’t forgive and forget; she was bothered that I was behaving like my father, that I was siding with my father and my uncle against her, that everyone was siding with everyone else against her. No one loved her and no one treasured her and no one sided with her. We got home and still she roared. “Nobody!”
Nobody? That was inaccurate, that was so inaccurate and now I was angry. (Trust me to go journo at the weirdest time.) Although she wasn’t all wrong about my father and me “breathing through the same nostril”, she was wrong about my brother. Fei, who has a telepathic bond with her. Who had been angrier at my uncle than I had been, on her behalf. Whose loyalty to her is never in question. “That isn’t right. Nobody isn’t right. Your son loves you. That isn’t nobody.”
“I know. Fei knows me best.”
“Good. So don’t say nobody!”
