Noon at Five O'Clock: The Short Stories of Arthur Yap

Soo Meng

29 Soo Meng11 1970 Every person in the neighbourhood knew that the Lims have three children. I am not sure why this was often mentioned in a manner that appeared to be like a verdict of some sort. Perhaps this was the problem: only two of the children are seen. Soo Eng and Soo Kong are often seen trotting alongside their mother on the way to the market and, like all other children who are too young to attend school, they are seen running about, in the field of the nearby church, running after the ice-cream man and mimicking his call, and generally running in and out of everyone’s endurance. And where, or who, was the third child? He’s such a baby, so small, not strong, and the doctor has advised against exerting the child: Mrs. Lim’s stock reply to any wellmeaning person who would ask. But three months, half a year, one year … was the child still such a tiny baby? not strong? Neighbours wondered and talked about it in between the intermittent conversations about their own children, recounting television programmes and topical subjects such as which diplomat has taken a holiday with which showgirl.12 Why was the child concealed? Could be a spastic case … and I said to her, just between the two of us, why don’t you take your baby out … fresh air has never been known to kill anybody…. You shouldn’t, that’s crude. But I really wonder … I remember saying to her once, no offence meant, my little boy’s just beginning to crawl, so why don’t you let him keep your baby company? For reasons of health, she says, but Ho! her other two kids tumble in and out of the house without so much as a sign of exhaustion.13 Last month, in the afternoon, a lorry ran over this child. At the time of this sad accident, Soo Meng, as was his name, was no longer a subject of speculation. The more kindly of the neighbours looked upon him instead as an object of pity. He was not, however, really 30 a r t h u r y a p such a baby anymore. He was slightly over five years old, a lovely child to look at and the slightly vacant look on his face made him different from many of the other children who are so quick to express their anger and happiness. Soo Meng was instead always even-tempered, even when being jostled about. He was born an idiot. And why not? It wasn’t his choice (etc.), that much is obvious. The main thing was that he didn’t look like one, not by a wide grin. He was liked by the other children and often police-and-thieved with them. How this happened was simple enough. Nobody lives, really, in houses that have ten courtyards and fifty rooms. The Lims live in the kind of house that most people live in: the sort that one would move out of when, plonk, comes a windfall; the sort that the poor would be very glad to move into. Clearly then, Soo Meng could not be concealed for an eternity. One neighbour knew, must have known, and then all the neighbours. Now that this dark secret was out it was of no more interest to them. But Soo Meng could not, of course, be forgotten; not, at least, taken for granted as other children could be. So Soo Meng had an ice-cream when Mrs. Ang bought icecream for her own kids. So he had some rambutans. So he had a wooden top. It was true that when Soo Meng looked at you like that, with a good-natured, slightly vacant look, how could any adult resist the strange impulse of not wanting to give him anything, the whole world—as an ice-cream cone? And also, how could the children prevent themselves from allowing him a bite off their cakes, to trot after them and to play with their toys? That was it. I think it is one of those circumstances which would have proved harmless enough, and mundane, if things had gone a certain direction. For one thing, once a person knew that Soo Meng was an idiot, that was it. No one could possibly sustain surprise, pity or interest for a long time. But it could last a few months, a few years perhaps. Soo Meng was one of those...