The advocates devil, p.5
The Advocate's Devil, page 5
After spending half my life abroad, I finally came back to Singapore, a stranger in my home and homeland. Fortunately, Mr d’Almeida felt warmly enough about my late father to take me in sight unseen. No doubt Mak also worked on him quietly behind the scenes. She could, when she got going, be as inexorable as a steamroller; but he was too much of a gentleman to resent a mother’s importunity. Getting a place in chambers so quickly was a bit of luck. Though my trust fund saw me through school and university, there was precious little left by the time I graduated; certainly not enough for a family of seven, two servants and a dog to live on.
Uncle was brought up as a gentleman, and in those days this signified more than just a sign on a lavatory door. He had little time for financial affairs. He sold land when he needed a little extra spending money. Legal practice to him was the interlude between breakfast at the Turf Club and tea and tennis at the Recreation Club. By the time I got home, the residue of my uncle’s estate consisted of a few shares, an anaemic bank account and the family mansion — a crumbling warren thrown up at the turn of the century by a rubber baron, given as a wedding present by Grandfather (who got it cheap when the baron went bust).
The slide into genteel poverty was a common enough phenomenon among the Babas. Sometimes it was precipitated by a spendthrift wastrel son (a Baba black sheep, one might say). More often than not, the transition was so gradual as to be unnoticeable. One simply woke up one day to the realisation that one was poor. The three Settlements were full of old widows living among the faded remnants of bygone opulence. Such was the case with the Khoo widows, who lived down the hill from us.
KHOO GUAN KIM was a second-generation Baba whose father had struck it rich in rubber and tin. Khoo himself was more interested in the racetrack and probably wouldn’t have recognised a rubber tree even if he had walked into one in broad daylight. The Great Depression wiped him out, and he died shortly thereafter.
Khoo was unusual among the Babas in having two wives. A British judge had declared that the Chinese were inherently polygamous, and it was not uncommon among the non-Baba Chinese (China gerk or, more politely Sinkhek, as we called them) for a successful businessman to have several wives — they accumulated wives like they collected Rolls-Royces or objets d’art. As soon as they were rich enough, they sent back to China for a bride. The richer they were, the more they could afford.
But among the Babas monogamy was generally the rule, or at best, sequential matrimony if one had the opportunity (which was rare, as Nonyas generally outlived their husbands). The Baba bridegroom would not think of getting a China bride except as a last resort. The ideal was a Nonya from one of the old established families.
Nonyas were in short supply, so the bride’s family had much more influence than normal among the Chinese. In fact, in a reversal of the usual Chinese custom, the groom went to live with the bride’s family.
However, Mr Khoo had gone beyond the usual hunting grounds and his two wives were Peranakan Chinese from the Dutch East Indies. I think that they may have been distantly related. The story was that Khoo was offered them as a job lot and thought that the bargain was too good to miss.
Anyway, he set them up on separate floors of a terrace house in Buckley Road, the elder one on top and the younger one at the bottom. While their lord and master was alive, there was an armed truce between the two, breaking out sporadically into guerrilla warfare. It was only when Khoo died that open hostilities commenced. Like all Chinese, Baba or Sinkhek, he refused to contemplate the fact of his own mortality. Thus, when he finally snuffed it, there was no will. Sorting out an intestate’s estate is complicated enough when the beneficiaries are friendly; when there’s money around and two hostile claimants, the whole business turns labyrinthine. The same judge who decided that the Chinese were inherently polygamous also decided that all widows were equal (a notion unknown to Chinese law). This baleful precedent had been firmly established in the law reports since the end of the last century, and with the certitude that the law was on her side, neither of the Khoo widows would defer to the other on the question of letters of administration. The dispute dragged on and on for over half a decade, while the estate over which they wrangled dwindled away.
The two ladies were generally too refined to indulge in shouting matches or physical attacks. Warfare was psychological for the most part. Wife No 1 (I can’t remember her real name; we just referred to her as Mrs Khoo Besar) would get a sudden urge to tango just when Wife No 2 (Mrs Khoo Kechik) was about to sleep. In these old terrace houses, with their wooden floors, it sounded like a stampede of brontosauri. Kechik would respond by shaving Besar’s cactuses bald. Besar would get her own back by hanging out her washing to dry right over Kechik’s. And so it went on for years and years. The courts opened a special file for the complaints and private summonses of the Khoo widows.
I got involved because d’Almeida & d’Almeida represented Mrs Khoo Kechik in the matter of the estate. Actually, I was precipitated into the affair by a sudden escalation in hostilities. Mrs Khoo Besar had hung out her best kebaya to dry, draped on a bamboo pole projecting from her upstairs veranda in the normal fashion. Mrs Khoo Kechik had chosen that very day to offer prayers to the soul of their dear departed husband. She lit giant three-foot joss sticks, right under Besar’s washing. Her upstairs neighbour was incensed. They had words. Words led to blows, and blows led to the Police Courts.
Cuthbert d’Almeida appeared on Kechik’s behalf at the hearing of the private summons. Besar had taken out a summons against Kechik for criminal assault and Kechik had retaliated in kind. The Magistrate, a fresh-faced product of some minor provincial university, was clearly out of his depth when confronted by these two genteel old ladies who kept darting venomous glances at each other. He had a thick dossier in front of him, and seemed hardly to know where to begin. Evidently each Mrs Khoo had recited the entire life history of the other, with particulars of every iniquity, in her complaint. Having heard submissions by counsel for both parties, he decided that Mrs Khoo Kechik was more to blame in this instance and bound her over to keep the peace. The cross-summons was dismissed. The smirk on Besar’s face was most unladylike. No doubt they kept score.
Outside the court, Cuthbert explained to Kechik her precise situation.
“Well, Madam, I’m afraid that you are going to have to be civil to the other Mrs Khoo, whatever the provocation. The Magistrate has been very indulgent under the circumstances, and I fear that any further trouble may lead him to fine you. If you cannot pay, he would have no alternative but to incarcerate you.”
He mopped his glistening brow with a gigantic square of cotton. “We have finally got the High Court to order an equitable distribution of the estate in specie, and my learned friend Mr Lim and myself will be submitting a list of items belonging to the late lamented Mr Khoo to the judge next week. I anticipate that the matter will be disposed of finally within a fortnight, and I must emphasise that any further fracas will be detrimental to your interests.”
A look of puzzlement crossed the brow of his client. I stepped into the breach, translating Cuthbert’s peroration into Baba Malay.
“Bibik, you must not fight with the other Mrs Khoo again. Otherwise you may go to jail. The judge will divide your husband’s goods next week. You will get half and she will get the other half.” Kechik nodded comprehendingly.
Cuthbert beamed and sponged off another half pint of sweat. “Excellent, excellent, I am glad that you appreciate the situation. I am confident that the outcome will be satisfactory to both parties. Now, if you will excuse me, I must be off to my next appointment. Mr Chiang here will escort you to your abode.”
He turned to me and I signified my assent. With a slight bow to Kechik, he waddled off hurriedly into the crowd like the White Rabbit on his way to the Queen of Hearts’s tea party.
Normally, I would have walked or taken a trolley bus. However, I didn’t feel that it would be appropriate with Kechik in tow. She had the look of a lady, if you know what I mean. She wasn’t big — in contrast to the other Mrs Khoo, who was of Wagnerian proportions. On the contrary, it looked as if the next strong wind would carry her off.
Like all Nonyas she was carefully dressed in the usual sarong kebaya. The kerosang that fastened the front of her kebaya was not particularly ornate or expensive, unlike the baubles that bedecked the wives of many of the towkays. There were no rings or bangles or diamond brooches. She had, nevertheless, an air of gentleness and gentility. One would never have guessed that she had once throttled her upstairs neighbour’s chickens with her bare hands.
I hailed a cab and we bundled ourselves in. Halfway down North Bridge Road I suddenly remembered that I hadn’t had time to cash a cheque. I put my hand surreptitiously into my pocket. The only things I could feel were the customary ball of lint and a few square-shaped one-cent coins. I leaned over to Kechik.
“Bibik, I hope you do not mind if we drop in at my place for a short while. It is not far from your house. I must get a few things.”
She nodded, gently fanning herself with her fan and sniffing occasionally at a knot tied in her handkerchief, which she had doused with eau-de-cologne. I gave quick instructions to the cab driver.
Ten minutes later we pulled up under the porch of the family mansion. I bounded out, leaving Kechik in the cab. Taking the steps two at a time, I nearly collided into Mak, who was arranging orchids from the garden in a vase in the entrance foyer.
“Ayoh, why are you running around the house? Have you eaten?”
This last part was the standard greeting among the Chinese, Baba or Sinkhek. It probably reflects some racial memory of famine and deprivation over millennia. If Mak had her way, I would have been eating from sunrise to sunset.
I gave her a quick peck on the cheek. “Yes, Mak, I had tiffin in the office. I must get money to pay the taxi driver. Mrs Khoo is waiting for me.”
With that, I hurried up the stairs to my room.
“Mrs Khoo? What Mrs Khoo?” Mak shot after me as I disappeared up the landing. She went to the door. With an impatient clicking of her tongue, she sailed down the steps to the taxi.
Having retrieved my spare stash of cash from under the almeirah, I galloped down the stairs and out the door, just in time to see the taxi disappearing through the garden gate. Mak and Kechik were just proceeding to the door.
Mak shook her head at me disapprovingly. “Why are you like that? You should ask Mrs Khoo in.”
To Kechik she said, “Please excuse my Boy, Tachi. He may be a lawyer but he is a gobblock.” She wagged her finger at me in admonishment.
“He went to England, you know, to Cambridge,” she added with motherly pride.
The two ladies glided through the foyer and along the corridor out onto the back veranda. I hung around irresolutely, and then followed them.
Mak turned to me and whispered, “Boy, call Ah Sum to bring tea.”
Obediently I set off in search of Ah Sum, who as usual was pottering around behind the house in the kitchen garden.
Ah Sum was our amah and had been with us since a time beyond the memory of living man (or at any rate, beyond the memory of me and my cousins). She was in fact Grandfather’s servant and had joined his household as a girl of twelve, just before Queen Victoria’s Golden Jubilee. All her life she wore the standard white blouse and black pants of her calling. She doted on us children, and while the other servants dropped away one by one, she stayed on. There is no more faithful creature in the world than an old black-and-white amah.
Despite what must have been nearly a half century in the Straits, Ah Sum had contrived to pick up neither English nor Malay. Since I had no ability to speak any Chinese dialect whatever, our conversations generally were a pantomime of monosyllables and mime. However, she had been with us so long that she readily understood what I wanted.
I returned to find Mak, Kechik and my cousin June seated around the marble-topped table in the veranda. June was the youngest daughter of Uncle’s first wife. My uncle was a whimsical man. He had given his first daughter the conventional name of Gek Neo; but his subsequent children were called May and June. He continued the series with Mak — her daughters were Julie and Augusta respectively. It’s just as well that he didn’t have sons; Julius and Augustus are terrible names to inflict on small boys.
Kechik was telling Mak the story of her life. From the way the two Nonyas spoke one might have concluded that they had been friends all their lives, instead of having just met that very day. This is the way with Nonyas; there are so few of them that they feel a sense of sisterhood. Nothing gets them going more than a tale of woe regarding the shenanigans of their menfolk.
Kechik was just explaining that Khoo, though otherwise quite a good husband (as far as husbands go), couldn’t provide her with a child. Khoo had an eye for the horses, but fortunately not one for the ladies. Ah, how hard life was! Still, she was thankful for small blessings, she had her health and her house. Unfortunately, there was that perumpuan sial upstairs, who made life a trial. The iniquities of that woman! A long catalogue of sins followed. Mak listened sympathetically, clicking her tongue every now and then in commiseration.
I insinuated myself into an empty chair next to June, who was lapping it all up — much better than the radio. The next time she met her friends, she would have a whole lot of news for them. One made one’s own amusements in a sleepy town like Singapore, and disinterring long-buried skeletons was always guaranteed to command a rapt audience.
The tea came, together with Mak’s sireh box. The two ladies helped themselves to the betel nut paste and lime, while June and I poured ourselves a cup of tea.
Kechik had just finished explaining that the estate had been tied up since her husband’s death because of the lawyers, and darted me a reproachful glance, as if I had personally conspired for the last six years to keep her from her rightful inheritance. Mak and June turned to me too, and I felt compelled to defend my profession.
“It’s not as easy as it seems. Normally, when there are two widows and no children each would get half. The problem is that neither of the widows wants to let the other handle the estate alone, and obviously they won’t handle it together. So we have to be careful to be fair to both parties. Anyway, the estate was a mess, or so I’ve been told. It’s taken this long just to sort out what Mr Khoo owned and who his debtors and creditors are. The other Mrs Khoo’s lawyer is a very suspicious man and has queried everything we’ve proposed. But the good news is that we’ve just got a court order to divide the residue of the estate in specie, so things should be settled soon.”
“In specie?” queried June with a quizzical look. “You mean that one Mrs Khoo takes the dogs and the other one takes the cats?”
“No, silly,” I answered, “I mean that we divide up the estate 50-50, each widow taking half of the goods. This way we don’t have to sell the stuff. Mr Lim and Cuthbert will be going through whatever remains and making a list. The judge will then have a look at it and give his approval for the distribution.”
“How will he decide?” asked June.
“I heard that he’ll pronounce a Solomonic judgement and cut the baby in half. Whatever’s on the top floor goes to Mrs Khoo number one and whatever’s on the bottom floor goes to Mrs Khoo number two. Heaven knows, we’ve considered every other alternative to divide the estate equitably; this is the only one left.”
Mak had been tutored by American missionaries in her youth (an unusual state of affairs for a Nonya) and understood English quite well though she preferred not to speak it. Kechik, however, was completely lost during the exchange between June and me. She looked at me interrogatively. Explaining legal concepts in simple English is hard enough, but translating them into the Baba patois was completely beyond my ability. However, I did my best.
“The judge will divide your husband’s goods next week, Bibik. Mr Cuthbert and Mr Lim will write down what is in the house, and you will get what is in your part of the house and the other Mrs Khoo will take what is in her part.”
At this Kechik became agitated. “Not fair, not fair,” she said, dabbing at her eyes with her handkerchief.
The other Mrs Khoo (a pox on her) would be sure to take advantage, she said. She lived in the upper part of the house, which was bigger, and therefore had more of Khoo’s things. Their dear husband’s body wasn’t even cold yet when that woman started moving things to her part of the house. She took the most valuable items. She would hide them for certain before the list was made, if she hadn’t sold them already.
Kechik paused to blow her nose, and then continued with renewed vim and vigour. All her life the other Mrs Khoo had bullied her. She might be younger, but that didn’t give the other one the right to lord it over her. While her dear husband was alive, he made sure that she was treated properly. She was the husband’s favourite, but when he died (evil day!) that Shaitan showed her true character. That woman had even taken the expensive Chinese vase that her husband had given to her. It was the most valuable thing left, but beyond the money it was a gift from the dear departed to her personally. Now the perempuan sial would get it, because it was in her part of the house.
Mak patted her on her shoulder and muttered a few comforting words.
“My boy here will make sure that you are treated fairly.”
I nodded in agreement.
Kechik composed herself, thanked Mak for her kind hospitality and invited her to drop by at her place. A few more pleasantries were exchanged, and then Kechik indicated that she had to go.
I hurried out to dispatch Dollah the gardener to flag down a rickshaw.
The rickshaw took a good half hour to procure, as Dollah had to trot all the way down to the main road to get one. Eventually, the transportation was arranged, and Kechik rose to leave.
