The Cult of Following, Book One

  ‘And what did Percy say, Norman? Just as she was announcing all that.’ Joyann deftly opened a crab claw with minimal effort and mess, her face bearing an amused smirk.

  ‘He said,’ Norm swelled with pride, ‘“Here I am.”’

  ‘Correction, Percy actually said, “I am already here.”’

  Percy shrugged, and slugged his beer. ‘And?’

  Joyann poked him in the arm, ‘And… in other words, Percy, you announced yourself.’

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘As one of the Messengers she was asking about. At least, that is how it sounded.’

  ‘What a lot of bloody rubbish.’ He remembered their talk at Haw Par Villa, and added, ‘More bloody rubbish.’

  Joyann grinned and waggled a finger. ‘Not rubbish. It sounded that way.’

  ‘No it didn’t.’

  ‘Oh Percy, it did,’ she insisted.

  ‘It did,’ agreed Norm.

  ‘Bullshit. It didn’t,’ corrected Percy, once more. ‘But so what if it did?’

  Norm smiled, admiringly.

  ‘Jeez. Can’t a man have a fucking meal in peace?’ was all Percy could think to say.

  Joyann admonished him for his language, so Percy reminded her of a particular word she had used to describe her husband on the bumboat heading home from Pulau Ubin.

  ‘That was an emergency,’ she said, with a glint of humour in her brown eyes, a glimmer of a person Percy had rarely seen since that day. ‘Besides, you made me say it.’

  ‘And this is an emergency,’ Percy replied, seriously. ‘Because you’re just trying to stir things up.’

  ‘I am not!’ Joyann was aghast. ‘I know what I heard, and I know what others heard, that is all.’

  ‘Would you excuse me one moment?’ Norm said, rising from his seat. ‘I just need to have a word with someone.’ Percy followed Norm’s gaze, and saw he was looking at the table where Phrike and Meera were sitting.

  ‘Sure. Say hi from me,’ he said.

  ‘Me too,’ added Joyann. Once Norm had left, Joyann spoke confidentially. ‘Percy, I know we have joked about Norman and his reference to you being like the Son of God. But I think you should be careful. I think he is a vulnerable man who spends too much time in the company of other vulnerable people.’ Her eyes moved across to Norm, who was talking not with Meera and Phrike but the two women from Haw Par Villa. ‘I would hate to see him hurt. We both know it is not a nice feeling.’ On a small plate, Joyann offered Percy some claw meat she’d cracked, pointing out the mess he had made both of himself and the table. 

  Using chopsticks, he took it gratefully. Though short on crab skills, he’d become proficient in the use of chopsticks even before Singapore, because Sal had forced him to learn using peas. They had laughed a lot. She had, anyway.

  ‘He has no focus other than the dog, the group and you.’ She again looked across at Norm.

  ‘Verity?’

  Joyann puffed a little, as if blowing away the name. ‘Verity is something else entirely; I think she takes away some of his loneliness, yes, but adds to it also.’

  ‘Neutralising it.’

  ‘No. Emphasising it. But no one other than Norm can know for sure. No. As I said, there is Cocoa, the Discussion Group and you. And them.’ Her eyes were on the two women.

  ‘What’s wrong with them? Apart from being daft?’

  ‘Nothing. But they will not be helping ease the crush he has on you.’

  Percy sat back in his chair, a look of horror on his face. ‘Crush is rather an extreme term, don’t you think?’ He carefully laid down his chopsticks so they were not pointing at anyone. Sal had also taught him this, though he couldn’t recall the precise reason for it, whether it was simply rude – as if pointing a finger – or if it directed bad luck. He just knew not to do it, and not to leave them sticking out of his rice. Percy swallowed a mouthful of beer, forcing down more than was comfortable as if this in itself were a statement of some kind. ‘He’s the pain-in-the-arse-mate. Everyone has one.’

  ‘No they don’t. Maybe you should distance yourself from him.’

  ‘What? He’s a grown man. And a friend. Kind of.’

  ‘And I am his friend, Percy. Very definitely. I have a bad feeling, and I do not think it’s because of what I have been through lately. What we have been through. I cannot decide exactly what is worrying me, but there is something. I think you may even need to pretend you do not like him. Turn away from your friendship.’

  Percy was astonished to hear her talk this way. His amazement showed.

   ‘Yes, Percy, to protect Norman from himself. Strong feelings can become destructive.’

  He wanted to ask if she was suggesting Norm fancied him. Though he was not, nor ever had been, homophobic, the thought of saying the words aloud made Percy uncomfortable, as if giving the question a voice might make it true. The pause for thought displayed his unease.

  ‘You think I would worry about something so simple as one man desiring another?’ Joyann said, reading him. ‘I told you, it is more than that. He relies on you. He watches you, switches his seat to be next to you; follows you like a lamb. He knows you do not feel the same way, Percy, but he cannot stop himself. To be kind you should perhaps be cruel. As I said, it is up to you to turn away from your friendship.’

  ‘I have hardly turned towards it, have I? I mean, I never arrange to…’

  ‘Percy,’ Joyann interrupted. ‘I know. I understand. I am aware that sometimes you even say quite unkind things to him. But does that not tell you something about Norman? To help him, you will have to push him away. Somehow tell him you don’t want him around anymore. I don’t know exactly how, but...’

  ‘You mean lie?’

  ‘You would never lie, Percy?’

  He thought then how little she knew him, because what often made him seem so rude was exactly that, his unwillingness to lie. Percy could send someone away with a flea in their ear if he didn’t want them around, without so much as a second thought. But to turn someone away when he didn’t mean it was an alien concept.

  ‘And what about you, Percy? Do you have enough in your life, here in Singapore?’

  ‘What is this? One minute it’s me and Norm, the next minute it’s me and Singapore.’

  ‘I have said all I want to say on the subject of Norman Sullivan.’ Joyann prodded his arm gently. ‘You and Singapore are next on my schedule. Because what this is, is a friend concerned for you, Percy Field. Where Norman needs to lose focus you need to gain it. Maybe you should rise up and mutiny against these ladies and grow this Discussion Group your way.’

  ‘You don’t want it back?’

  ‘No I do not. It’s very far from something my grandmother or mother would have enjoyed. Come on, Percy, stand up and stop people like that one over there from ruining it,’ she sipped her water, ‘or you could find paid work?’

  ‘I don’t want either of those things right now, thank you, Mother.’

  Joyann laughed. ‘You may joke, but I have had much time to think and reflect lately, and I can see that we might all need a change if we are to move forward.’

  ‘Speak for yourself. Maybe I don’t want to move forward, in the way you mean. Maybe I am happy as I am.’

  ‘Maybe. And if that is the case then I am pleased for you. To be so happy so soon is good. Have you thought about leaving? About going home… to England? You really need to do something, I think, no matter how happy you claim to be.’ 

  A waitress gathered up small plates of shells and other waste, before laying down clean ones.

  ‘You trying to get rid of me, Joyann?’

  ‘Of course not. But it is not healthy to keep drifting. Just as I have been treated badly by Ethan, you have been badly treated by Sal, but that is not a reason to give up and do nothing. In fact, it is a reason to do the very opposite. Why do you think I am here tonight? We need to get on with life, you and I. Real life.’

  He could see that Joyann was no more convinced by her words t
han he was. The light in her eyes remained dimmed.

  ‘We should try,’ she continued. ‘Why should we suffer because of them?’

  Percy felt a twinge of something in his gut as Joyann spoke, a feeling about her, perhaps, but maybe something else. Had he caught Joyann’s unease? Whatever it was, it made his stomach feel decidedly uncomfortable.

  *

  Later that night in the taxi home, after Norm had been dropped off and with Joyann still at his side, Percy suspected with a degree of dismay that the feeling churning his stomach earlier on had not been uneasiness regarding Joyann, but wind. Wind at the very least. It was agonising holding onto that which sought release. Clearly chilli crab and he were not at one. Percy was not a man to release gas freely in public, especially in front of women, and more particularly in enclosed spaces, but out it slipped, silent and deadly. Within moments the taxi driver was muttering to himself in Hokkien. His eyes met Percy’s in the rear view mirror, and Percy thought there was something familiar in the narrowed expression.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Percy, embarrassed by the seepage, which, as it turned out, was moister than would be naturally bearable. Mortified, he smirked boyishly, never having learned another suitable reaction.

  Unaware of the watery nature of Percy’s mishap, and seeing only the apparent impish grin of amusement on the face of a sniggering oaf, Joyann frowned, fingers lightly covering her mouth and nose.

  The look cut deeply and hidden in the darkness Percy’s face flushed a little. But embarrassment moved swiftly to irritation, as Joyann added a loud tut to complete her display of displeasure. 

  Percy was feeling increasingly unwell. How dare she, he thought. How dare Joyann act so superior, when he felt so dreadful. And it was clear the night ahead would not be a good one. Typical woman, he thought dourly, thinking only of herself. He was tempted to allow a further explosion just to teach her a lesson, but the all seeing eyes of the taxi driver were fixed upon him in the rear view mirror, and his underpants were unbearably damp. There was no chance of making a further statement without risking complete shame.

  Joyann lowered the window and looked away, hissing something about men. Feeling let down, Percy allowed nature to take its course, believing he could successfully sift wind from slurry with a carefully managed sphincter. He was wrong. As his stomach churned and his legs began to tremble and feel weak, so the taxi driver pulled over and ejected Percy one mile from home. 

  The first huge drops of rain had just started falling, as he stood there and watched the red tail lights fade into the distance, a large stain covering his backside.

  Chapter 20

  THE GIFT

  It was a lousy walk. Percy was forced to resign himself to incontinence, while sheets of heavy rain poured relentlessly from above, sending the worst of it down his leg and into his shoes. Eventually, he removed his foul and sodden footwear and chucked it into the bushes, walking on barefoot through the torrent of water running across the pavement and into the road. It was better walking home in this, he decided, than on a dry night, when he knew the stifling air would have clung to him. It was refreshing to be so wet when feeling so rotten; the constant shower seemed to purge him, even if through it all the sour smell of his ailing body persisted.

  Periodically, he was forced to sit down, unable to go on whilst coping with the cramps gripping his gut. Several times he threw-up in the rushing gutter, the reddish concoction of crab and beer carried away on the flood. Deep down, Percy knew the meal he was choosing to blame was probably not the cause of it. It was too soon or too late for such a serious reaction. Sal – no longer ever referred to as Oracles – had kept him well informed of reaction times for various diseases, viral infections, food poisonings and allergic reactions, in her cheery chats over dinner. Again, he wondered if she had been trying to drive him away all along. He tried to remember what he had eaten earlier that day, and the day before, the evening before that. He couldn’t think. He just needed to get home. He’d learned to deal with upset stomachs, because for whatever reason they had become part of his life in recent years. But this was a whole new ballgame.

  After a stint of reasonable progress, Percy was forced down once more, close to the house but not near enough. Beneath the deluge, with thunder and lightning hammering, Percy’s bowels evacuated what was left while he crouched against a bush, watching taxis slowly crawl by, lights shimmering on the watery road surface. The most unpleasant part of it all was nearly over, he thought, hopefully, and with the end of his journey almost in sight, Percy roused himself to shuffle the remaining distance. He pondered the evening’s speaker and her stiff face; maybe a flake of that face had fallen into the chilli crab, Botox infecting them all with botulism. It wasn’t possible, he knew, but he liked the idea, which meant that already he was feeling marginally better.

  Once home, spasms fading almost as quickly as they had come, Percy flopped down on the step to his house, under the limited shelter of a concrete awning. What he felt being there was something close to euphoria. He meant to search his pockets for the house key, but instead found himself grabbing a couple of pool towels hung under the shelter days before, each as dry as they could ever be in the constant humidity and splashing rain. Feeling the awfulness was finally behind him, Percy succumbed to the cool of a rainy night as it soothed his feverishness and cleansed his soiled body. He wrapped one towel around himself as a blanket, and used the other for a pillow. 

  *

  The early morning broke to clear blue skies. Any coolness brought by the rain was already passing and the air was strikingly humid, foretelling of more storms before the day was through. 

  Percy woke up stiff, feeling as if he were hung-over, the sensation of a body having suffered a virulent attack still strongly apparent. He struggled to check his watch, noticing then that he was not alone. A boy was sitting on a step nearby, a small shadow, staring.

  ‘You drunk?’ the boy asked.

  ‘No.’ 

  ‘You look it.’

  ‘Well I’m not.’

  ‘Why did you sleep there, then?’

  Percy sat up, his painfully stiff shoulders causing him to regret the previous night’s decision to sleep out, ‘I wanted to.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Why do you want to know?’

  ‘’Cos.’

  ‘’Cos what?’

  ‘‘Cos I do.’ The boy stood up and moved closer.

  ‘I was ill, if you must know.’

  Appearing to accept this as sufficient explanation for a man sleeping outside his own house in the pouring rain, the boy asked, ‘You better?’

  ‘Nearly.’

  ‘I live in there,’ the boy pointed to his house, ‘with my dad. This is your house, isn’t it? I’ve seen you here before. Your wife left you didn’t she?’

  Percy drew a long breath, ‘She did.’

  ‘Are you sad about it?’

  ‘You ask a lot of questions.’

  The boy smiled, ‘I know.’ He moved to sit beside Percy. ‘You smell funny.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘You have lots of bites on your face, Mister,’ the child observed, ‘mossies probably. Maybe you have dengue fever?’

  ‘Shouldn’t you be at school or something?’ Percy tried to stand, wobbly at first.

  The boy leaned to one side, as if to make way. ‘Not yet. It’s too early.’

  ‘Asleep then?’

  The boy fell silent. His eyes conveyed a sadness that even a man like Percy could not miss. ‘I don’t sleep in. Not since my mum died.’

  ‘That’s terrible. I am sorry.’

  ‘S’okay.’

  Percy hung the two towels back where he’d found them, and flexed his arms.

  ‘You like the pool?’ the boy asked, pointing to the towels.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Percy. ‘Listen, it’s been nice to meet you, but I need to go in now. See you around.’

  ‘See you around,’ the boy repeated, as he returned to his own step and sat ba
ck down.

  *

  After the most cleansing shower he had ever had, Percy stretched out on his very comfortable bed wondering why he had not made the effort to get into it the night before, crisp, clean and the epitome of luxury. What had he been thinking? Folding an arm behind his head, he looked out at the trees. In the breathless air, every leaf was motionless as a snapshot. Skimming the blue sky beyond, he could see a Brahminy kite circling and drifting, searching for breakfast. Rush hour rumbled quietly, and school buses trundled up and down the road in front of the condo, collecting great numbers of children for the day of learning ahead. Percy’s stomach felt as if it had caved in, a sorry hollow rimmed by rib and pelvis. It was, he realised upon gently stroking it, as softly round as ever.

  Feeling vulnerable had brought with it reflection. Percy knew he could not go on wallowing in self-pity, half-hearted attempts at pulling himself together excusing him the trouble of making a genuine effort. So far, his pledges to move on were empty. Since Sal had gone, failure had been welcomed, and disappointment made an easy bedfellow.

  Perhaps Joyann was right, he mused, and he should go home to try and pick up his life in England; he was certainly not living the dream in Singapore. His heart sank at the thought of it. Life back there could never be a fresh start. It would be a nightmare, a worsening of his current habit of dwelling in the past, because in England he would have to try and start again in a familiar space without the person who had always filled that space, the person he hated but was struggling to free himself from. It couldn’t work, because he would only mooch around old haunts, wishing he were anywhere but there. And he could do that staying here. He was doing that here.

  Percy shifted deeper into the sheets, eyes fixed upon the outdoors. Last night he had reached a terrible low. What he had done was disgusting, but not, he decided, inexcusable. Part of him felt a sense of justification. Surely Joyann could have sympathised, surely she could have been more forgiving? Admittedly, she too had suffered, the wandering hands of her errant spouse tearing her life apart, but wasn’t she over it yet? Percy was baffled by her continued state of dejection, certain that her situation could not possibly be as bad as his. Women, he considered, were far better equipped to deal with rejection and deceit than men. That was the natural order of things. Wasn’t it?

  Choices for Percy in Singapore were limited. He had always known this, and relied upon it as another excuse to avoid accountability. He did not choose to leave England; it was not his fault he was unable to work; he had made sacrifices; he had given everything and in return been cruelly wounded. He, Percy Field, was an innocent victim. He pondered the absurdity of rejection by his own wife versus the growing adoration of Norm, and found the same conclusion rising up, a clear message expanding amongst the tangle. Quite simply, he could not go on this way.