The Cult of Following, Book Two

  *

  Girlie had been listening out of sight, and when Norm quietly slipped away from the women as they continued to talk about the rights and wrongs of just about anything they could think of, he caught her. She startled, her eyes growing wide as she suddenly moved about, appearing pre-occupied with the polished wooden floor of the hallway.

  Norm reassured her. ‘Don’t worry. I won’t tell. It’s not easy for you, either. And congratulations on going home.’

  He went to the bathroom and when he returned found her waiting.

  ‘I would like to explain,’ she said.

  ‘No need.’

  ‘There is need.’

  Norm could see the women were still talking animatedly. He ran his hand across his hair.

  ‘Nice, your hair. Very white.’

  He smiled. ‘And it’s been that way for a very long time. Too long.’ Norm had greyed early.

  Girlie looked at the women and then to him, nervously.

  ‘Come on,’ he said, ‘let’s go into the kitchen. Then if they catch us you can pretend to be preparing me a glass of lemonade.’

  ‘I have no need to pretend,’ Girlie ventured, grinning. ‘I will make you one.’

  Her smile was confident. Norm had met enough maids in his time to know this sort of smile only appeared on the faces of those either free or nearly free of their labour.

  ‘I didn’t know she would be upset.’ Girlie said, accent gently twanging.

  As she prepared the ingredients, Girlie explained that she had not meant to offend Hester, but the time was right to go home. The bonus, a bundle of paper miracles that had landed in her lap, was a Godsend. It was enough to start a small business and plant the fields, and enough to help her eldest daughter who was newly pregnant. With profound regret, Girlie had missed the formative years of her children; she would not miss those of her grandchildren.

  Periodically she stopped speaking, seeming unsure if they should be talking this way, concerned, perhaps, for what Hester might say if they were discovered. Each time, Norm encouraged her to go on.

  What he learned, as Girlie cut and squeezed, was that Hester paid well. For the exceptional salary, assuming she would continue to pay such a rate, a replacement would easily be found, despite the long hours and servant-like commitment required.

  In bursts, Girlie seemed to find her stride. A long monologue ensued when she declared that for some, the job would seem like a dream compared to the life they currently led. She had friends living in the disastrous trap of no privacy, little food or sleep, cross words, threats; the hidden lot of many domestic workers across the world. Money was the snare; drawing girls in with the promise of a regular income, giving them the means to pay for schooling and healthcare back home. It was impossible for most to leave that kind of security; impossible, at least, once you grew used to the separation. Girlie said that she knew it was not this way in other places, those countries Hester and Trudy came from; that he, sir Norman, came from. She wondered what poor people did there, to get by? Maybe there were no poor people. But what she did know was that for her, the time had finally arrived for the impossible to become possible, and she could hardly sleep.

  She lingered after this. Drink made, Norm supposed she needed to go to another chore, but she was clearly reluctant.

  ‘I think you should feel very happy to be leaving, Girlie. You should be proud of the way you have run and cared for this household, and go home knowing you have earned it.’

  Girlie smiled. ‘Do you know Percy Field?’

  ‘You’ve met him?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why do you ask?’ Norm was intrigued.

  Girlie said that she knew of him through his helper, who often held court in Lucky Plaza, the shopping centre on Orchard Road that became a hub of Filipino activity on Sundays, the collective day off.

  ‘She will see an opportunity here, once I am gone. She is not a woman I would want to assist Hester in finding a new helper. Hester is very fond of Percy, and so I am worried that if she asks him…’

  Norm stopped her. ‘I wouldn’t worry. I think the last thing they would discuss is helpers.’ Norm could see the relief in Girlie’s face, and having folded and tidied a few tea towels, she made to leave the room.

  ‘There is one more thing,’ she said, ‘I have a niece who would like to work in Singapore.’

  From what she went on to explain, Norm knew the girl’s circumstances did not fit Hester’s ideal, since she was new to domestic service. Even so, he told Girlie to make sure she put her niece’s name forward as a possible replacement. Girlie had nothing to lose and everything to gain by ensuring a smooth transition.

  ‘Thank you, sir Norman,’ Girlie said.

  ‘It will be fine, one way or another,’ he replied.

  ‘I will feel relaxed about everything only when I am on the plane.’

  Norm could see that Girlie had faith in Hester, certain that her long term employer would not interfere in a way that would mean her contract would be continued against her wishes. But even so, he sympathised. She would not feel truly liberated from commitment until she handed in her paperwork at immigration, and was free to leave Singapore and servitude forever. Her heart no doubt soared at the thought of it.

  Norm resolved to mention Girlie’s niece, himself. As far as he could gather, the girl was a hard worker, and with Hester, hard work and an honest nature were the only requirements.

  As he returned to the group on the veranda, a sense of injustice struck him. Many years ago, Girlie had left her young family and arrived in Singapore bewildered and homesick, and now, after so long, it was her niece’s turn to become a provider. If she were a good worker, it would be the perfect way for Girlie to thank Hester for the long and plentiful years, but what a world in which to be trapped.

  ‘I was just talking to Girlie,’ Norm admitted, as he retook his seat, ‘I think she may have a solution for you.’

  ‘We’ve moved on, Norman,’ Hester said. ‘Tell me later.’

  ‘We’ve been discussing Percy,’ Meera smiled, ‘and when there might be another miracle.’

  Norm couldn’t think what to say, so he shrugged. He was very pleased they were talking about Percy, for it went someway to alleviate the crumb of sadness that had lodged in his heart since his friend had made himself unavailable again.

  Meera continued, ‘Trudy has been talking with some people from The Discussion Group. They were keen to know more about Percy. Perhaps if they could witness a miracle they might feel persuaded to join us?’

  ‘I am not sure requiring proof is much of a foundation for belief, Meera.’ Norm sipped his lemonade. ‘I’m not saying that wanting to see a miracle is wrong, but we can’t have people choosing to join us based solely on whether or not they’ve seen the evidence for themselves.’

  ‘Why not?’ she asked.

  ‘Not a single religion would remain intact if that were the fundamental requirement of belief.’

  ‘Yes, dear, think of the word faith,’ Hester added, waggling a finger at Meera.

  ‘And we can hardly book a miracle,’ Trudy observed.

  For a moment, the four remained in thought, and then Hester spoke.

  ‘We cannot pander to the whims of others. If they choose to believe in Percy as a Prophet then so be it, if not, it’s their loss. They’ll regret it, one day, I imagine. But while we cannot pander we can make him accessible, so others can make an informed choice. We should certainly have Percy move amongst the masses; if a miracle happens, then a miracle happens.’

  19. FOREVER YOUNG

  Percy, Phrike, Joyann and Meera were sitting in the outdoor seating area of the Tired Turtle. Light fading, the resident koel had ceased calling; the working day was done. Traffic was building up.

  ‘Why do you like this bar so much, Percy?’ Joyann asked. ‘I work only a few doors away, but I only come here when you ask me. I would never choose it.’

  ‘You’ve finished early today, Joyann?’ Meera
said.

  ‘Yes. I shall be going back in a moment. We have a stock take tonight; everybody attends. It’s quicker, though sometimes I think less people can make it smoother.’

  ‘In answer to your question,’ Percy said, ‘I like this bar because it’s unpretentious, and has a nice homely feel about it.’

  Joyann made a show of looking around. ‘Whose home, exactly?’

  ‘You’re missing the point,’ Phrike said, ‘and I think so is Perc. It’s relaxed, that’s all.’

  They all agreed that it did have an easy atmosphere, and Percy added that he enjoyed being able to watch the traffic go by. ‘It’s an advanced form of people watching,’ he said, thinking of the closed windows containing not only the cool conditioned air, but also something of the drivers’ identity. Occasionally someone would pass by with the windows wound down, but not often.

  Joyann chuckled, ‘Percy Field, what is so advanced about it?’

  ‘Don’t mock what you don’t understand, Joyann.’

  ‘Then explain,’ she said.

  ‘If you don’t know then I can’t teach you.’ Other than windows obscuring faces, Percy had no explanation. Earlier, he’d emailed his good friend Art, and was feeling upbeat, his mood leaning towards happiness. He’d been reminded of the things they’d enjoyed in England: beer, people watching, and being evasive when asked to clarify a statement made without foundation.

  ‘Cute dog,’ Meera said, as an English bull terrier walked by, wearing a candy pink dress and a glittery muzzle.

  ‘That’s advanced cute,’ Percy remarked.

  ‘Actually, I believe it is Muffin,’ Joyann said. ‘Hello,’ she called to the woman walking her. The woman smiled, but it was plain she did not recognise Joyann. The children, however, waved.

  ‘Don’t tell me you sold that stuff to them?’ Percy was appalled.

  ‘Supply and demand, Percy, supply and demand.’ Joyann smiled.

  Phrike stretched his huge frame, ‘Exactly. Another drink anyone?’

  ‘I’ll have some water, please,’ Meera said.

  ‘White wine for me, a small one, or I’ll be counting the paint pots twice.’

  ‘Beer please,’ Percy said.

  Phrike summoned the waitress, who took the order and went off.

  In the few minutes they had been talking, day had almost gone.

  Unnoticed by Percy, Meera coughed a little and shifted in her seat, before saying, ‘I hear there is an interesting exhibition at the Science Centre.’

  Percy wasn’t listening. He’d felt his phone vibrate in his pocket and was busy checking his emails. There was a reply from Art.

  Hi Fieldy,

  Not sure I correctly understood you. Recently, two girls, one old woman and a man who sounds softer than a cushion, chased you? And you’re still upset about it? Have I got that right? Only, when eight marauding teenagers came after us, because against my advice you told one of them to piss off after he tried to nick your pint, you thought it was quite amusing. As I recall, it was amusing mostly because we escaped intact. Did you not escape this time? Are you being held hostage again, and if so, why would that bother you? I refer to the Sandy Knickers incident, of course, when she locked you both inside her beach hut and hid the key where the sun don’t shine. I didn’t hear you complaining then, though I did hear a whole lot more. I’ve never been able to walk past a beach hut without feeling vaguely unwell since. Lucky for you, my garden shed doesn’t stir the same emotion. Only once did I think the memory was haunting me, but it was a hedgehog.

  I’d like to know what is going on, so feel free to give me an update. When I left you, Singapore appeared the model of sanity.

  In answer to your question, yes, the veg patch is great. The rotted manure I added last year has improved the soil no end. When you finally come back I’ll give you a tour.

  Have one on me at the Turtle. I’m off grocery shopping. Living the dream, mate, living the dream.

  Art.

  Eight teenagers, Percy thought. It was three.

  ‘Percy?’

  ‘Hmm?’

  ‘I was just telling the others about an exhibition at the Science Centre, and wondered if you would like to go?’

  Percy slipped his phone back inside his pocket. ‘Are your weird mates going?’ He hadn’t been especially pleased when Phrike turned up with Meera, but so far they’d all managed to quietly ignore what had happened on Sixth Avenue. Even so, he was not about to be lured into an ambush again.

  ‘I cannot determine who goes where, Percy. But I doubt they will be there, lah. And I won’t speak a word of it.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘It’s an exhibition of dead people,’ Meera smiled, ‘by that man. The one in the hat. He makes people plastic and then slices them up for display. Is he German?’ she asked Phrike.

  ‘Swiss, I think.’

  ‘Polish,’ Joyann corrected. ‘Raised in Germany.’

  ‘Like Norm,’ Meera said.

  ‘Is Norman Polish?’ Joyann questioned. ‘I do not think he is.’

  ‘No, he was raised in Germany,’ Percy said. ‘His parents were expats.’ He closed his mouth. He didn’t want to talk about Norm.

  ‘Anyway, this Polish German man, Geoff something, he has a show on and it sounds fascinating.’ Meera smiled, and looked beautiful.

  ‘Geoff!’ Percy scoffed. ‘He’s not called Geoff!’

  ‘No, but I cannot recall his name. It begins with G.’

  ‘Gunther Von Hagens.’ Joyann said. ‘I went to one of his exhibitions in New York. It was fascinating, as you say, Meera. The paper forms that were made available on exit particularly struck me. They were there should one wish to donate oneself. Had I been able to see into the future, I might have taken one, in Ethan’s name,’ her eyes twinkled. ‘I think he would look very good sliced up and made into a mobile. I could have hung him in the hallway, at Christmas.’

  Percy looked at her and gave a hint of a smile. Both women looked very beautiful in the muted light, but tonight he thought Joyann looked especially so. ‘Stocktaking?’ he said, ‘you look very made up for someone stocktaking.’

  ‘Do I?’

  ‘Yes,’ Meera agreed, ‘you do.’

  Joyann feigned horror, ‘So I normally look terrible?’

  Meera waved a hand, ‘Of course not. But you look as if you are going out, not going to work all night.’

  ‘I am not sure what you are implying, Meera and Percy,’ she looked to each in turn, ‘but I assure you that I am not going out tonight, any more than I am out now, of course. And I have no one to dress up for, if this is what you mean. I think some of us,’ she turned her focus solely to Percy, ‘are happiest alone at the moment, aren’t we?’

  Percy nodded. He did not want to think about what had happened with Verity in the Botanic Gardens, but he couldn’t escape it. First, there was the mention of Norm, and now of relationships. There was no relationship to worry about, of course; what had happened had been brief. Percy suspected himself of feeling guilty, and tried to push it away. Considering the circumstances of Norm and Verity’s marriage, why feel anything at all?

  Meera returned the conversation back to the exhibition. ‘So you’ll come, Percy, if I organise something? Maybe it could be an outing for The Discussion Group? Something to look at and then talk about afterwards?’

  ‘I don’t go anymore.’

  ‘You would if Joyann organised it, if it was like the meetings we used to have.’

  ‘Yes,’ Joyann said. ‘I think it would be worth doing, Percy, and if we can make it a weekday then Vlad the Impala will not be able to come. And if we could avoid inviting Hester and Norm…’ her voice trailed away, gaze falling upon Meera.

  ‘I will not speak of it,’ Meera assured.

  Phrike, who as usual had spent his time so far with little to say, spoke. ‘Why care if they go? You can’t exclude people because they make you uncomfortable. I’m not saying you should invite them, but really, Perc, do you need thes
e guys to make sure those other guys don’t go? That’s schoolyard stuff, mate.’ He rested his arms on the table, his great body khaki-clad as always. ‘I reckon the exhibition sounds great. Stop worrying about the small stuff.’

  ‘Small stuff?’ Joyann questioned. ‘Is it small stuff to be pursued through the streets, cornered against your will and harassed by four delusional people?’

  Percy noticed her line of sight was yo-yoing between Phrike and Meera. She was a tough woman, he recognised, stating the facts so plainly to the face of one of the guilty four.

  Meera continued to say nothing about the event. It was as if Joyann was not addressing her at all. She picked up her phone, and began fiddling.

  Phrike shrugged, ‘Hey, I am not trying to upset anyone. We all prefer an uncomplicated life, I get that. But why change what you do, or who you are, because of someone else? In the end it makes life harder, not easier.’

  Percy agreed. Since when did he care about other people and what they thought or did? Instantly, he resolved to revisit the person he more normally was, yet had somehow drifted away from: critical and cynical, but also simply not bothered by the opinions and actions of others. Sal didn’t count, of course. He felt himself relax, indulgently re-embracing this more familiar self. Away went the underlying tension he’d felt about running into them again, and away went the guilt regarding Verity.

  ‘Cheers,’ he said to Phrike. ‘You’re right.’

  The waitress brought the order, and Percy took his bottle and drank it down in one, immediately ordering another. Between them both, Art and Phrike had somehow managed to make him feel more like himself than he had in a while.

  20. UNTIL DEATH

  They were just passing two preserved ovum, when Percy muttered to himself, crossly.

  ‘And what is the matter now?’ Joyann asked.

  ‘Nothing.’

  Clearly there was something bothering him, but Joyann knew better than to pursue it. Besides, she was already enjoying herself and did not want the visit spoiled. She wandered away on her own, far enough not to hear anymore grumbling, and began inspecting a network of nerves, still forming the human shape. The room was dim, with each glass case carefully lit to highlight the fascinating dissection within.

  Before Meera had suggested coming, Joyann knew the exhibition was on. Even though she had enjoyed her New York experience, viewing it as the best exhibition she’d ever been to, it had not occurred to her to come again. The exhibits were different, so the experience itself was likely to offer some new insights into the biology of the human body, but she hadn’t even considered coming quite simply because she’d done something similar before. But why?

  Joyann had not yet fully answered this question, though she suspected it had something to do with being an orderly person, moving from one activity to the next, checking the tick box as she went. Whatever the reason, coming to Gunther’s latest show had given her new resolve. She must get out more, and instead of expecting others to invite her, she should start doing the inviting. Of course, she already arranged the occasional Discussion Group meeting, the sneaky daytime meets on the side, but that was easy because all was in place before her confidence had been shattered. No, from now on, she would make an effort. Whether this would include those people who had abandoned her in the gutter, fearful of contamination, was a matter for further consideration. She expected that it would not.

  Percy caught up, and joined Joyann in looking over the miles of intricate neural pathways so beautifully presented. Next to this exhibit, another display case contained a cadaver that had been relieved of everything but the now preserved capillaries, and so Joyann moved her interest. A quick glance to sample which exhibits lay ahead, revealed studies of veins and arteries, muscles and more.

  ‘They’re here, you know,’ he grouched.

  ‘Who?’ She did not want to talk to him if he was going to be miserable. But neither had she any wish to appear rude. No doubt he, like she, had spotted Norman, Hester and Trudy.

  ‘Sal and Ethan.’

  Instantly, a weight drew on her. So the day was spoiled anyway.

  ‘I saw them come in,’ he said, ‘I’m not sure where they are now.’

  ‘Well, I hope there are some donation forms available, on the way out.’ Joyann forced a smile.

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  She shook her head, dismissing him. He had not remembered what she had said in the bar and she was in no mood to remind him.

  ‘It’s a pain in the arse, knowing they might turn up everywhere I go. I mean, Jeez, I know Singapore is small, but it’s not that small. She looks a right tart.’

  ‘Percy. You have every right to be angry, but Sal never looks like a tart, as you say.’ Joyann had no clue as to why she was defending the woman who had destroyed her marriage. Maybe something of the sympathy drawn at the dog boutique remained. Or perhaps the urge to defend Percy’s wife was based solely on the injustice of his statement. Either way, she hated doing it. Again she wished Percy would go away and leave her in peace. Had he kept his own counsel – as she had kept hers regarding Hester et al – she would be contentedly perusing human remains, none the wiser.

  ‘Well, she never used to walk around with her tits hanging out, Joyann. In fact, let’s hope Geoff Von Hagan is here. He might make her an offer for them, right now. They’re prepped and ready to go.’

  Exasperation grew. So he had remembered Meera using the name Geoff, but not her quip about forms. ‘Hester is here,’ she said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘And Trudy and Norman.’

  ‘Fuck. Really?’

  Joyann walked off, determined to be alone. Percy did not follow. Instead he was craning to see who might be standing where.

  Soon, Joyann found herself browsing various joints that had become deformed through disease. It was impossible to contemplate it all properly, since she found her attention wandering off in search of Ethan. Thank goodness she had not brought Lucas. He was not at school. She had expected to bring him along, until he refused because of a long planned gaming session with a friend. All the progress made in accepting the break up might have been undone. Joyann was unconvinced by Sal’s implication that she and Ethan were both spending quality time with Lucas. Joyann had managed to ascertain that he’d only spoken with Sal three times. Naturally, this did not mean Sal wasn’t out and about with father and son, as she claimed, only that Lucas did not accept her.

  ‘Hello.’

  Suppressing a sigh, Joyann turned. ‘Norman. How are you? Enjoying the exhibition?’

  ‘I am. Very much.’ He grinned, white teeth bright in the subdued lighting. ‘Are you?’

  She smiled, weakly. ‘Yes, I am. Thank you. I have seen this man’s work before, many years ago, and it remains incredibly interesting to me. Did you see the ovum, at the entrance? And the newly fertilised egg? Incredible. So small, yet so intriguing. He is very clever. Very skilled.’

  ‘Yes I did. Amazing stuff.’

  Norm proceeded to talk excitedly about everything he had seen so far, and Joyann felt her own enthusiasm for the day revitalise as they began reviewing the exhibits together. She was very happy to discuss what they were looking at, having found Percy’s distraction into other matters not only upsetting, but deeply irritating.

  They were studying a burst stomach ulcer, when Percy caught up with them.

  ‘I’ve probably got one of those,’ he said, over Joyann’s shoulder.

  ‘Probably,’ she murmured.

  ‘Hello Percy,’ said Norm.

  Percy nodded his hello, silently.

  ‘Have you seen the slices of the brain with a tumour?’ Norm asked. ‘Or the one with dementia? So very sad.’

  ‘More sad than this?’ Percy questioned, pointing to the ulcer that according to the caption had been the cause of death.

  ‘I don’t know why, but yes, yes it is.’

  ‘Why? They all died.’

  Norm pondered briefly. ‘I guess it’s not about the end re
sult, Percy, more about getting there.’

  ‘Agonising pain versus…’

  Joyann cut in. ‘Shall we discuss morals, ethics and the perception of pain over a cup of coffee, afterwards? For now, we should look and absorb.’

  ‘I am looking and absorbing,’ Percy defended, ‘and so is Norm. We’re just knocking an idea around, aren’t we?’

  Only marginally less shocked by Percy’s defence of Norman than her own of Sal, Joyann said, ‘Maybe. You will not mind if I go off on my own for a while? This is a little slice of something extraordinary and I wish to enjoy it quietly.’

  ‘It’s quite a lot of slices of the extraordinary,’ Percy quipped, laughing softly.

  Joyann said she had come to be amazed, not amused, and left the two men to their banter. She allowed herself one backward glance. Why was Percy being so affable, suddenly? And with Norman? The two men looked to be good friends, each in their white shirts, Percy’s tee and Norman’s linen, long trousers the same shade of brown.

  Then she saw why. It was a show of indifference; he’d have made the best of it whomever he was standing next to. Sal was nearby, and she was watching him. He wanted to appear happy.

  Catching a glimpse of her errant husband as he hurried away, Joyann realised that Ethan must have seen her. Why were he and Sal not at work, she wondered? Why had they yet again turned up somewhere together, somewhere she was happily immersed in her own activities? He would have scuttled off even faster on Pulau Ubin, she mused, had he guessed his wife was watching him kissing another woman. That discussion had been had, and some. The memory of the scene no longer bothered her.

  The day was tainted, but not ruined, she determined. She would not permit either Percy’s manner or Ethan’s presence to spoil something good. Never again, she thought, frowning, would she allow any man to influence the way she felt, as these two men did.