The Cult of Following, Book One

  Percy went against his better judgement. ‘A what?’

  ‘An organic farm.’

  ‘No. The other thing you said.’

  ‘Aero. They grow stuff without dirt.’

  ‘Soil, you mean.’

  ‘Yes. Dirt.’

  ‘Hmm.’ 

  ‘It was rubbish. Really boring.’

  ‘Well thanks for sharing,’ Percy said. ‘Isn’t it your teatime?’ he asked, without opening his eyes.

  ‘The organic farm was better, because she kept asking us about our shit all the time.’

  ‘I know the feeling.’

  ‘“What do you do with your shit, huh? How many times everyday do you shit? Huh?” My teacher couldn’t stop her. But she couldn’t stop the film either.’

  Percy resisted asking what film? but resistance was futile.

  ‘The film was at the other farm we went to. At the end. It was about chickens. It said it is really important to keep chickens in small cages so they keep clean and can’t hurt themselves. They showed some on a beach, fighting, and said it was cruel to let them wander around.’

  Percy couldn’t help himself, ‘You’re kidding, right?’

  ‘No. Why?’

  ‘I thought you said it was rubbish; really boring?’

  ‘It was.’

  It was the boy’s battery farmed chickens that Percy was thinking of as he walked with Joyann; the caged chickens, and his increasingly chicken based diet. Mila seemed to have stopped making the Chinese and westernised food he enjoyed, and started on what he supposed was Filipino cuisine. Some kind of tomatoey, capsicum pepper and chicken thing was on repeat. He’d mistakenly said he liked it, and he had, that first time. She had grinned her terrifying grin and said it was food usually made for a celebration and something of a treat. The special occasion had not been as obvious as Mila mounding leftovers into an enormous plastic tub, a procedure that was as regular as the meal itself. Mila’s use of Sal’s housekeeping allowance was of little concern to Percy, but the soreness beneath his nipples was another matter. Were Singapore’s chickens pumped up and therefore plumped up with hormones? Bloody chickens, he thought. Like all birds, they were everywhere.

  In contrast, just as she loved orchids, Joyann loved birds, and so Percy was compelled to view all the exhibits, even hand feeding lorikeets in the Lory Loft, where he had grimaced stiffly causing Joyann to laugh. The multi-coloured birds seemed very happy sitting on his shoulder, sometimes nibbling his ear, even after the tub of soggy crackers had been eaten. He’d tried hard not to think about their sharp beaks; his mother had kept a blue budgie when he was a boy, and sitting on Percy’s head it had reached over and bitten his eyelid, drawing blood. Other than when the lorikeets landed on his sling, he’d resisted batting them away.

  Watching displays of performing macaws had made him feel equally grimfaced, though the chance to sit down decided him to take his hand from its raised position and put the folded sling in his pocket. Around him, everyone else cheered the spectacle, and Joyann remained happily absorbed in colourful tricks, ignoring Percy’s sourness. He knew that his view differed greatly from hers. Where he saw shoebills glaring over heavy beaks, she perceived only an awkward gentleness in their eyes. When to him, hornbills jumping and bobbing seemed idiotic, Joyann saw power and grace. Percy wouldn’t be swayed; ostrich eyes were filled with malice and birds of paradise deliberately hid. Not only had he experienced the savage behaviour of a budgerigar, he’d also seen how ungrateful birds could be. An elderly aunt lovingly kept a pair of zebra finches, and the only time Percy had visited her as an adult he’d accidentally let one out which promptly escaped through an open window; she’d had a stroke later that day. Birds equalled bad news. Birds, it seemed, might even equal the growing of breasts.

  After walking for what seemed to be an age, they came across the pelican enclosure, containing pelicans gathered from around the world. Dalmatian pelicans, White pelicans, Australian pelicans and others, living side by side, spending their days sitting on the shore of the man-made lake, or drifting together on its surface. Some chased each other, some preened chests awkwardly with enormous bills, and others dozed in the single tree available within flapping distance of clipped wings. Whatever they were doing, they existed together successfully in a reasonable sort of peace. 

  Percy took a more generous view of most waterfowl, compared to their terrestrial counterparts, and so he was quite content to stand with Joyann and watch the giant birds’ activities. Soon a welly-booted man arrived wheeling a trolley. Feeding time had come. For a couple of dollars, the few people gathered were offered pots of chopped fish to toss into waiting beaks. Naturally, Percy grumbled that guests were paying to feed what they had already paid to see, birds that must be fed anyway.

  ‘You wouldn’t go along to a prison and pay to go in so you could buy food to feed the inmates, Joyann.’

  To this she said nothing, but Percy noticed the smallest of frowns.

  A single unclipped pelican had flown in for the occasion. The man in wellington boots told them it was a native bird that had chosen to make the park its home, because it preferred the security of a daily meal to the challenge of going it alone. For this one bird, Percy felt a fleeting admiration. He and it were not so very different.

  With the empty trolley stashed to one side, the man moved along to a small amphitheatre, ready for his daily talk to the public. Joyann insisted on listening so Percy agreed to stay, though he did not register a single word. He was too busy thinking. Was he really like the native pelican? Did he have the choice to fly in and out? Because part of him suddenly wondered if he was more like the other pelicans, clipped and fed; fed by a keeper who no longer wanted him.

  *

  Leaving the park, Percy was quiet. Where had his independence gone? Had Sal taken it with her, when she had run off with Ethan? As a theory, he realised, it made no sense, but it touched on something.

  Joyann seemed to notice his mood. ‘You look tired often these days. I know some remedies that might help.’

  ‘Chinese medicine, I suppose. I’m not keen on any of that mumbo jumbo.’

  ‘Why do people hate taking advice so much, Percy? Why do you hate it so much? Hate new things so much?’ 

  ‘How do you know whether I like new things or not? And I don’t have to be interested in everything, Joyann, anymore than I have to take advice just because it’s offered.’

   ‘Advice should be taken graciously, Percy, as if it is a gift yet to be unwrapped. If, when open, you do not need it then no matter, it is the thought that counts.’

  ‘It’s more like a gift not wrapped in the first place, Joyann. And an offering not wanted, is better declined.’

  ‘But that is not how it should be treated! A well meant gift, this is what advice is, and how it should be viewed.’

   ‘And what if you tried to give me an armful of cobras? I think I’d be justified in telling you that I did not want them. No pretence required.’

  ‘You are being deliberately obtuse. And if I did have an armful of cobras, Percy, I would be dead, not standing there hoping to give them to you.’

  ‘Why, you allergic?’ 

  Joyann rolled her eyes. Percy had moaned about the boy next door many times.

  ‘I didn’t ask for advice,’ Percy insisted.

  ‘And when did you last ask for a present?’

  ‘Okay, Joyann. I get the graciously-accepted-gift-secretly-put-in-the-bin metaphor. Enough metaphors.’

  For a few moments she was quiet, but as they approached the taxi rank Joyann unexpectedly snapped. ‘You are a rude and unpleasant man, Percy!’

  ‘Joyann?’

  ‘Yes you are!’

  ‘What have I done?’

  ‘Nothing you don’t do every time I see you!’

  ‘Now calm down.’

  ‘Calm down? Why should I?’

  Percy couldn’t resist. ‘Perhaps you’ve taken too many of your herbs and potions?’

 
‘Dear God! I cannot bear to be with you another moment. You take the first taxi and I will take another!’

  ‘Joyann. What is it?’

  ‘No. I have had enough Percy. Nothing is good enough for you!’

  Percy was baffled.

  ‘Do not look at me like that! Half of the time you treat me like a child, and the other half you just moan and whine about everybody else, always as if I should agree with you. The rest of the time you are drunk.’

  Bystanders began to take an interest.

  Percy was itching to make another comment, to tell her that two halves made a whole not leaving space for anything else, but chose instead to try and reason in a less confrontational way. It was unsettling to see her so upset. ‘I don’t know what I have done to make you so angry with me. We’ve had a nice day, haven’t we? I was joking about the herbs. Maybe you are the one who is tired and should take some Chinese medicine. I’m serious.’

  Joyann was livid. ‘What you have done wrong is come to this country!’

  Barging past both him and the few ahead in the queue, Joyann threw herself into a taxi. It pulled away and then stopped abruptly. A window was let down and a small bundle ejected. ‘This,’ she cried, ‘is because of you! You should never have come!’

  Percy walked to the package in the road. He recognised the papers. Divorce. The same had also arrived for him.

  Exhausted, he returned to the entrance of the park and went into the café. There, he ordered four bottles of lager, scooped them up with his good arm and took them outside. His injured hand was throbbing after half a day of dangling, and so Percy raised it, pressing a cold bottle to the dressing. The uncomfortable sensation slowly ebbed away. The hand was an encumbrance, but could have been worse, he supposed, at least no tendons had been damaged. He looked forward to the stitches being taken out.

  Watching ducks drift on a small pond he thought about Sal, the house, his lack of prospects and money, the cost of taxis and attractions when there was nothing coming into the pot. He thought about the cost of alcohol in Singapore. He looked at the bottles. No matter, today it might take courage to go home to an empty house. He downed one. Only then did he think of Joyann. Confused by her inconsistent behaviour, his thoughts soon returned to the safety of satiated pelicans.

  Chapter 27

  THE PASSION OF NORM

  Norm took a moment to speak with God, and not for the first time lately had no sense of Him listening.

  The Discussion Group was meeting at Norm’s condo, around the pool. For once a comparatively small group, Norm felt able to cope with numbers and had booked a special party area for them to use. After spending a small fortune at Chilled Cupboard, the nearest supermarket, in order that he might provide an array of nibbles, some squash and a bottle of fizzy wine that wasn’t Verity’s, he had suddenly found himself standing and staring at what he had set up, rooted to the spot, wondering what on earth he was doing. Verity was away on business again. Norm had been guiltlessly pleased when she’d told him this. He wanted the meeting to be his, so he could talk with Percy freely and enjoy finding pleasure in his company. But suddenly he found himself feeling odd. 

  He again tried to move his thoughts to God, but they found a way back to Verity.

  When she had met Percy that first time, after the meeting in the park discussing Shakespeare, Norm had noticed a look pass over his wife’s face; an appreciation, perhaps, that this man might be her husband’s latest distraction. Mindful of her feelings, Norm had mentioned Percy on only a few occasions, mainly to highlight the coincidence of them both having breadwinning wives. Even so, he was sure she’d picked up on who Percy might be. After Percy and Joyann had gone home, Verity had poured a large glass of wine, and hefted herself onto a sturdy breakfast-bar stool, watching while the maid cleared up and Norm made himself a cup of herbal tea. Her mood was high, and she’d said that she found Joyann sophisticated and Percy amusing, particularly so after the storm broke and they were all forced to run for cover. He had grabbed a full plate of chicken wings whilst yelling, don’t worry, Vee, this one’s for you!

   In particular, Norm thought this moment seemed to please her very much.

  But the incident, or rather the recounting of it as he stood staring at his poolside preparations, had stirred something in Norm, an uneasiness he was struggling to define. Was it jealousy perhaps? Did he feel slighted by Verity’s obvious pleasure at Percy’s nickname for her, or was he envious that she enjoyed his irreverence, while he, Norm, would never have got away with such a remark; while he, boring old Norm, would not have thought of it? Or was it simply he felt he was being forced into sharing Percy with her? At least this occasion would see no sharing with her at all.

  As he stood motionless, listening to the sounds of the condo’s children echoing about, the flatness he had sensed coming settled on him. His thoughts once more turned to God, hoping for solace. Norm was not seeking sound reasoning or the perfect answer to resolve his anxiety, only a means to step away from it. But again, there came only silence.

   As he stood, so his back started to tingle, and an instant later he felt a warm hand upon his shoulder.

  ‘You okay mate?’

  Turning, Norm came face to face with Percy.

  ‘I was watching you from over there,’ Percy jerked the thumb of his now lightly bandaged hand to the main entrance to the condo, a little way off. ‘You looked like a statue!’ he smiled a small smile, before patting Norm hard on the back with his good hand and moving away to pick up an olive.

  Norm was speechless. It seemed to him that while feeling cast aside he’d been thrown into path of Percy. What did it mean? From habit and without the slightest thought for what he was doing, Norm clasped his hands together and mumbled a thank you. The lost look in his eye vanished.

  ‘I must be running late,’ he said, apologetically.

  ‘Not at all, Norm. I’m early, for once.’

  Norm smiled, unsure what to say next. He opted for nothing, and sat down. ‘Verity told me you’d hurt yourself,’ he said, eventually, gesturing to Percy’s hand. ‘Did you get my message?’

  ‘I did. Thanks. It’s just a scratch. She around?’ Percy enquired.

  ‘Away.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Jakarta. She’s back on Friday.’

  ‘Never been.’

  ‘Nor me.’

  ‘Do you ever travel with her?’

  Norm shook his head.

  ‘Nor me… with Sal, I mean. But then, I was never invited.’ Percy grabbed a handful of peanuts and dried anchovies and flopped onto the sofa. ‘So what’s the topic?’

  Norm rubbed his thighs nervously, ‘I thought we might challenge things a little.’ He pulled a face.

  ‘Oh?’ Percy stared. ‘You sure you’re okay? You look like someone stuffed a sausage roll up your backside.’

  Norm released a little whimper. He felt cornered. The topic he had chosen was one he’d thought of in a confident moment, and it no longer seemed appropriate. ‘Truth is, I haven’t come up with one. So I thought we might decide together, you know, have an opening discussion about what we’ll discuss…’

  Percy sucked air through his teeth. ‘Risky. We might spend the whole time talking about choosing a topic instead of talking about the topic itself.’

  ‘And would that be so bad?’ Norm felt easier. His idea to discuss being true to oneself would remain unheard. He’d begun reading up on the subject, in search of some settling words.

  ‘Hello!’ 

  Norm and Percy turned to see a small group walking towards them. Disappointed that his private audience with Percy had so quickly come to an end, Norm forced a smile onto his face and stood up. 

  ‘How are you?’ he said, to two women he liked very much because they listened to him, seeming to empathise with his view of things. Percy rarely spoke with either, he had noticed. ‘And hello to you all. Welcome,’ he said to the remaining faces that he did not know so well. ‘Please, find a seat. Help yourse
lves to anything you’d like.’ He counted heads. ‘Only one more to go.’

  ‘Joyann?’ Percy said.

  ‘Joyann.’ Norm confirmed.

  Norm felt much better than he had. Now, alongside the laughter of children playing in the pool was the hum of idle chatter. It made him feel warm inside, like he was loved. But then, without intention, his thoughts fell back to the moment before Percy arrived, when he had experienced what was becoming an increasingly frequent sense of abandonment. What did it mean, he wondered? As again, for a short moment, this flat feeling pressing upon him.

  Slowly, the members of the Discussion Group began to settle, some sitting next to the food so they could continue to eat with a mechanical motion, crisp-to mouth-crisp-to-mouth, each wafer of fried potato picked up before the last was swallowed. Others slouched in the softer furniture, fingers cradling large glasses of wine poured from bottles they or other members had brought along. It did not matter that it was early; since the first park meeting proposed by Phrike so they could all enjoy a glass or two, bringing a bottle had become a regular thing.

  ‘So,’ began Norm. ‘I have a confession to make. I haven’t thought of a topic.’

  A small ripple of surprise moved amongst the group.

  ‘I thought we might do it differently, and open it to the crowd, so to speak. Choose a topic now, I mean.’

  ‘How?’ asked one of the women he liked, an elderly dame who was filling her chair.

  ‘By… um… That’s the tricky part,’ he confessed. Thinking on his feet, Norm went on, ‘Suppose we narrow down the broader subjects first, by choosing from religion, politics and…’

  ‘…race.’ Percy finished. ‘Making up the three things we can’t actually talk about, Norm.’

  ‘Exactly, so we might discuss whether this law is fair or not.’

  ‘Norm, that would be politics,’ Percy pointed out. ‘It’s in our group rules. We can’t afford to ignore it. I don’t fancy a trip to the police station, thank you very much. Or a stint in Changi.’

  ‘Got it!’ announced the old woman, pushing herself a little more upright in her seat. ‘If we made groups of three, then we could do it.’

  ‘Tenuous,’ Percy remarked.

  ‘Then let’s not,’ Norm said. ‘And today breaking into groups so small seems wrong somehow. It was different in the park.’ He did not want to risk missing out on his hero.