The Cult of Following, Book One

  Theirs was a four-storey town house. In the centre, a single dogleg wooden staircase connected the floors, beginning at car park level in a basement room intended for live-in help. Here was also a bomb shelter that smelled so musty and damp Percy determined early on he’d rather take his chances above ground. The stairs passed up through an open-plan living space, to the third and fourth floors, each containing two bedrooms. But rather than provide an airy uplift that might freshen these spaces, the stairwell carried only sound. Also, without air-conditioning, moisture became trapped, the wooden treads turning green with mould if not regularly wiped down. Percy was grateful the open windows were all on the same level, for moving up or down more than one level at a time always made him sweaty.

  With everything in the house secured against the elements, a hot Percy returned to bed, where he propped up a pillow and picked up a book, nerves still jangling from the thunder, generally on edge waiting for the next bang. Sal wandered in and pushed back the gauzy curtains fully, so they could both watch the storm. 

  ‘Cosy... in a way.’ She smiled.

  Percy ignored her, choosing instead to rearrange his manhood in an effort to achieve optimum cooling from the fan, giving the area a quick rub to settle an itch.

  ‘The curtains are open, Percy. People can see you.’

  He barely shrugged, and carried on reading. A loud boom cracked overhead, supported now by the constant roar from the far edge of the storm, as it rolled in from Malaysia. Almost immediately a third, jarring crackle tore through the sky. Sal watched and listened, and as the storm slowly shifted position so the first heavy drops of rain began to fall. Before long, they needed to shout to be heard.

  ‘A flat roof?’ bellowed Percy, ‘I mean why, in a country like this? Who in their right mind would do it?’

  Sal’s grin widened. ‘You are such an old grump at times. It’s fantastic, so… so… I dunno… just loud. Like being in a tent. You must like the storms, just a bit? I love them.’

  Percy gave her a long look, and then allowed a small smile to occupy his mouth. ‘Maybe I do. Care to take advantage of the cooler air while it lasts?’ Three minutes should be enough, he thought, with a degree of regret.

  But Sal seemed not to hear.

  *

  In the morning, Percy glugged iced water whilst Sal sipped hot English breakfast tea, a drink that in the warm saturated atmosphere gave off no steam. He studied her, fascinated by her body’s complete denial of the heat enveloping them. Her face was calm and passive, bearing not a single bead of sweat, unlike Percy’s own, grizzled, phizog so liberally decorated with glassy drops. It was better than it had been, he conceded as he thought, better than the even sheet of moisture he had worn that very first week Sal forced him to survive beyond the cool sanctuary of the hotel.

  The day had broken much cooler than either had yet known it could be, but even so, the relief of a post-storm morning was disappearing. Rapidly building up was the standard stifling shroud that Percy often claimed justified his irritability.

  ‘Nice this morning. But getting hot again, isn’t it?’ remarked Sal, not raising her eyes from the newspaper but clearly sensing his attention.

  ‘That tea won’t help.’

  She laughed, ‘I suppose not.’ Her focus returned to the newspaper, her lips to the mug she cradled.

  ‘Anything interesting?’ Percy nodded at the paper.

  ‘Local paper. All good news.’ 

  The basement doorbell sounded and Percy stood up, drink in hand. As if the glass itself were just a physical manifestation of soggy air, loaded droplets of condensation dribbled and soaked his fingers, along with the front of his pale brown shorts.

  ‘Jesus! What is it with this place? Everything drips. It’s driving me mad. There is more water on the outside of this glass than in it. Maybe it has a hole in it? A crack?’

  ‘It’s condensation, Percy.’

  ‘I know what it is. Thank you. But in England all the liquid is inside the glass, which is far more civilised.’

  ‘Can liquid be civilised?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘My tea doesn’t drip,’ she replied. 

  Ignoring her, Percy went off to see who it was, and when he opened the door a security guard in a crisp white shirt and long black trousers grinned and nodded in greeting. The guard was clearly on business, and equally clear was the fact that he did not understand the sanctity of a Field Sunday morning, thought Percy.

  Percy felt uneasy living in close proximity to other people, and passing through a guarded barrier each time he came and went made him feel he had lost something of himself. He had not expected compound living to feel this way, though what he had expected was unclear to him. Reluctantly greeting gardeners, trying to ignore maintenance men, vaguely acknowledging neighbours, avoiding certain foreign workers as they loudly urged up phlegm to spit into the bushes – which he knew was illegal – all made him decidedly uncomfortable. And going anywhere before lunch where local people might greet him was an equally unnerving prospect, for he could not decide what to say when asked if he had his breakfast yet. What did it mean, have you had your breakfast yet? Surely they didn’t actually want to know? But today he would welcome the question, for today he felt able to provide a particularly comprehensive answer. The guard, however, stood in grinning silence.

  With difficulty Percy raised a reciprocal smile, ‘Good morning, can I help you?’

  ‘Good morning, Sir.’ The guard allowed his eyes to travel the length of Percy, and Percy noticed that his gaze hovered shamelessly over the dark marks of moisture on his shorts, observing and assessing. Shifting his eyes to meet Percy’s, bright white smile still firmly in place, the guard continued, ‘Sir, a neighbour see you naked.’ He laughed sheepishly and shook his head, ‘Cannot.’

  Percy stared. ‘Cannot what?’

  ‘Cannot be naked, sir. So sorry.’

  ‘My neighbour cannot be naked?’ Percy’s pale blue eyes became round.

  The guard laughed a little harder, ‘No, no. You. You cannot. Must cover up or close up,’ he imitated the shutting of curtains. ‘So sorry, lah.’

  ‘But why were they looking?’ Percy’s irritation sounded.

  The guard shook his head again, ‘Not me… Singapore law… lady complain.’ His expression altered to one of a man sharing a confidence. ‘Chinese lady...’ He screwed up his nose a little, shook his head dismissively, and waved a hand in the vague direction of the woman’s house. ‘And no touchy. Okay?’

  Percy was confused, ‘Not naked? In my own house?’

  ‘Cannot. Naked only if no one see. Up to you to not be seen. Next time she will report you to the police. So sorry, sir. Enjoy your day, lah.’

  The guard wandered off chuckling, and Percy returned to his wife.

  He guessed from the wide smile and tears that she had heard it all. ‘Can you believe it? Some peeping-tom violates me and then threatens to call the police.’ 

  ‘Nobody has violated you, Percy. I told you to cover up.’

  ‘You didn’t.’

  ‘I implied that you should.’ 

  ‘And what did he mean Chinese lady? Saying it that way. Bit racist isn’t it? I thought it was illegal here. I thought everything was illegal.’

  ‘Have you read none of the stuff I gave you, Percy, because you spend your whole time acting like you’ve landed on the moon. He wasn’t being racist, not really; at least, not like you think. I know that guard. He’s Singaporean, Indian-Singaporean. People here aren’t easily upset by what you and I might view as racism, because… well… because so many people have different backgrounds. Mixed backgrounds. They’re used to difference. You wouldn’t think anything of using the words African American, would you?’

  ‘You’re being patronising, Sal,’ he said. ‘To me and to them.’

  ‘I really don’t see how. I’m just trying to explain something to you. The fact is that it’s not the same here as it is at home; people don’t generally feel sensitive
, so naturally they aren’t inhibited when they speak. I expect your peeping-tom has her own views about him. And imagine what she thinks about Caucasian men now. She’s probably terrified, poor woman.’

  ‘Still sounds like racism to me.’

  ‘Maybe. But it is not the same as at home. I suppose what I am saying is that it’s not divisive. In fact, in some senses, it’s unifying. Think of all the celebrations they share.’

  Percy paused thoughtfully, before responding, ‘I suppose it must have been quite a shock, you know, a sight to behold and all that. A lot to take on, so to speak.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘That lady. What she saw.’

  ‘Really?’ Sal folded up the newspaper and sighed. ‘I feel like going out for breakfast. And you might want to change your shorts.’ She raised her eyebrows in warning, ‘And stop doing that chin-jutting-nodding-dog thing, you don’t look like a man with a big penis, just like a man acting as if he were one.’

  ‘Just because someone appreciates my attributes.’

  ‘She complained that you were naked, Percy, she didn’t report you because you own something dangerous that should be muzzled.’

  ‘Ah, but it made her think.’

  ‘Are you going to change, or do you want everyone thinking you peed yourself?’

  Percy began undoing his shorts as he went up the stairs, ‘I am telling you this from the start, Sal. If we’re going out then you can order. I can’t understand what anyone is saying. No one speaks proper English.’

  ‘That is a lie, Percy Field. And now who is being racist? Almost everyone you meet speaks English, it’s just a different accent, that’s all. Listen harder. You expect everyone to understand you, and I bet your accent makes it difficult for them.’

  ‘How can listening to a language enunciated as it should be, be difficult? It’s English Sal, and I am English. That makes anything I say correct.’

  ‘Apart from everything you just said, of course. And I don’t know about being English, but you certainly can be an ass. Hurry up. We can walk down.’

  ‘Walk? In this heat?’ Now changed, Percy zipped up as he descended the stairs.

  ‘It’s not that hot.’

  ‘Not to you maybe, but you’re not human. And it will be roasting by the time we come back.’

  ‘We can go swimming when we come back.’

  For Percy, the novelty of having an outdoor swimming pool often filled with bikini-clad women had not yet worn off. In fact, it was the one thing keeping him from becoming insane with heat exhaustion. And so he agreed to walk, feeling like the ever-busy Sal might be enjoying his company again.

  Chapter 4

  SLIPPERY FOUNDATION

  The dinner began as Percy expected, with unsettling greetings and forced interest, but it was soon clear they would be enjoying a good meal at what Sal had described as a fusion-Asian restaurant. Positioned overlooking the river at Boat Quay, which was once the busiest part of the old port of Singapore before reinvention as a place to relax, it held an easy atmosphere. Backed by brightly lit skyscrapers, ornate buildings and illuminated bridges, the vibrant wealth of the city was obvious, yet all cast a tranquil reflection upon the still black waters. The tropical night soothed the air with a balmy peacefulness, and even Percy was forced to agree it was a lovely place to be and the perfect time to be there. At first, he managed to avoid conversing with most guests, cocooned by the appearance of a man daydreaming. That was, until the illusion was breached. 

  A woman spoke to him, his immediate neighbour, and he was foolish enough to look at her and nod, though he didn’t know what it was he was agreeing with.

  This particular woman seemed determined to speak with him, and by excusing himself and heading to the bathroom, Percy expected the sparks of conversation to be stamped out. It was a tried and tested method of escape, allowing time for the offender to refocus and move on, or for the more persistent to draw their own conclusions as to why, each time they tried to be sociable, Percy ran away. She was just such a pushy woman.

  Sal was sitting at the other end of the long table, almost opposite, but too far away to understand what was happening. She was giving him concerned looks; presumably because it was the fourth time he had made the round trip. He nodded to her as he retook his seat, as if to convey that he was fine. He wasn’t fine, but she wouldn’t want to know that he’d prefer to leave; that he hated all this idle, mindless chatter with people he didn’t know.

  But yet again, Percy’s unwavering assailant failed to take the hint, having once more waited for his return so she could pick up where she had left off. An already primed Percy was ripe for explosion. Conversation with the likes of Art was one thing, enforced tittle-tattle with people less interesting than dead algae, quite another.

  ‘So, are you enjoying Singapore?’ asked the relentless neighbour, hair flowing, Maxi dress tight and low so her breasts were sufficiently bulging; blue eyes made up with sparkles, thick foundation slipping in the heat. ‘I always think of it as Asia for beginners,’ she continued, not waiting for Percy to answer. 

  It was not the first time she had said it. Aside from disturbing the pleasure of good food, it was this idea she was so keen to share that had Percy riled. He couldn’t go to the bathroom again; there was no point, evasion wasn’t working. Skin crawled beneath his shirt as the woman glanced about her. 

  ‘Don’t you think,’ she appealed, ‘that it is? Isn’t it? It’s Asia for beginners.’ 

  ‘I think,’ Percy said, without any hint of feeling, ‘that is a rather patronising view.’

  The neighbour was clearly shocked. Her painted mouth peeled open, while her eyes darted horrified looks at those listening. 

  ‘I think,’ Percy continued, ‘that Singapore might be better described as modern Asia, unless you are one of those fucking idiots who thinks that real Asia means third world. You know: poor. Asia is a fucking continent, not a social statement.’

  ‘I was merely making conversation, no need to be rude.’

  ‘I know, and clearly there is.’

  ‘Well really!’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Percy said, ‘you are one of those people that feels progression is not for everyone. Perhaps, you are one of those people who thinks the world is a show for us privileged few to enjoy, or pity, or enjoy pitying?’

  ‘Just who in the hell do you think you are?’

  Like the national grid, failing section by section, the table gradually fell into silence.

  ‘And, I imagine,’ continued Percy, irreverently veering off into deeper waters, ‘that someone like you would choose to leave those few undiscovered tribes in the Amazon to their own devices, should anyone happen across them. I mean, why disturb a natural way of life? Why expose the innocent to our corruption and greed? We could make a nice film about them, couldn’t we? They could be living museum pieces. I mean, offering modern medicine and technology would spoil things, don’t you think?’ He put a finger to his lips, ‘It could be our special secret. Shush. Don’t tell them. It’s the real South America, but it’s not for beginners.’

  ‘God! So rude!’

  Satisfied, Percy sipped his drink. 

  At first Sal had been smiling encouragingly, seeming pleased to see Percy engaged in what looked like conversation. But as it became clear to everyone that her husband was on the attack, a piercing glare was drilled his way. In that look was a combination, he knew, of embarrassment, crossness and disappointment. But Percy was unmoved. All could have been avoided had she not insisted he come. The mouthed statement never again, intended as a threat, was the only thing to cheer Percy up, as the event dragged on from one agonising minute to the next. 

  With the exception of the location, the entire evening would have continued to lumber on with Percy groaning under the burden of mind-numbing corporate conversation, materialism and one-upmanship, had Joyann Tan not been there. 

  She was sitting quietly, seeming to be outside of what in Percy’s view was a stereotypical interna
tional crowd. She clearly did not empathise with the rowdier nature of these other guests. Expats, Percy had already noticed, often demanded attention. 

  But after Percy’s outburst, she leaned across and quietly spoke to him. ‘I know you. You drink at The Bean almost everyday.’

  Percy took a moment to recognise her, ‘Breakfast. You eat breakfast there everyday… with two men.’ So she wasn’t an expat, which explained a lot.

  She laughed, ‘I do. My brother and an old friend of ours… a colleague… before work.’

  Joyann was small in stature. Even from a seated position it was clear she was barely five feet tall. Her skin was not pale, as so many people Percy had seen of Chinese origin, but evenly tanned and flawless. She smiled with her eyes as much as her mouth. Perhaps it was her gentle tone, or possibly the fact she made no reference to what had just occurred, but for once Percy was drawn in.

  ‘Work?’

  ‘We own a hardware store. One branch on Sixth Avenue just across the road from The Bean, another in Toa Payoh, level two of the plaza,’ her smile widened, ‘my name is Joyann. Joyann Tan. It is very nice to meet you.’ She put out a tiny hand.

  Percy liked the way Joyann said hardware, the way she made it sound like hat-ware. Her accent was one of the many differences he suddenly realised he was beginning to enjoy instead of resent, but he noted that tonight her speech pattern was more like his own, and not at all how it sounded at The Bean. He took it as a compliment, along with the proffered hand. In an instant, the many weeks of feeling alienated from life around him became nothing.

  ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Joyann. Percy Field.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you, Percy,’ she smiled. ‘Your wife tells me you are hoping to find a club to join.’

  ‘She did?’ Percy did his best not to sound cross, but couldn’t hide the horror he felt. 

  Joyann began apologising immediately. 

  ‘No. No, please don’t apologise. It is true… sort of,’ he scowled a little as he spoke, ‘when did you talk with my wife?’

  ‘In the bathroom.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘A little while ago.’

  ‘How do you know her?’

  ‘Actually, I do not know her, my husband does. We were washing our hands and talking. She’s very pretty, your wife.’