My mother was trying something unorthodox… (P2)

The story happened when I was 7 years old. The father of a classmate told my mother that he had a relative who could help…

Ms. Chin is walking back in the room as I move to the centre of the carpet. Still sitting on my knees. Behind me people murmur something about my skin. Mostly out of pity. They are saying how miserable I am, that “he” will definitely make it disappear, and that I need to be obedient so that I will be as normal as other children. Why do I feel so annoyed to know that someone is talking behind my back? Especially when they do not even bother to keep their voice low enough that I cannot hear. Literally.

She sits down between me and the altar. With her back turned to me, Ms. Chin closes her eyes and starts to strike the wooden tocsin again. After several phrases that I assume form the introduction to her prayers, she says my name, date of birth, and my family’s address. She is saying everything in that strange language again. I can hear every single word without understanding a thing.

Suddenly Ms. Chin turns her shoulder and looks at me. Her look is sharply fixed to my eyes. She begins talking with the extremely low voice that I heard earlier this morning.

- Why do you come here?

- My mother brought me here. She said that you could help.

- Do you know who I am?

- I don’t.

- I am uncle Ba. Do you believe that I can help?

- I do. (My mother told me that if I did not believe it would not work out.)

- Good. Now I am telling you that your father has a sibling that died when he was an infant.

The old woman interrupts the conversation to ask me if that was true. How on earth can I know?

- I don’t know - I answer quietly.

Ms. Chin, or right now I'd better call her Mr. Ba, continue by glaring at that woman for interrupting him.

- The place where you are currently residing is not on a peaceful land. There are too many vicious souls which are stirring you up, which is why they make their presence visible to you. - I believe she is referring to my skin - As your skin is black like a varan, you are forbidden to wear anything in the colour black. - She leans over to touch me on the forehead and behind the neck. Using only one finger.

She is pointing at a necklace that I am wearing. It is some cheap jewellery for children with a picture of Zhao Wei, a famous Chinese actress in a recent TV series, and the picture is secured by a thin black rope. I was ecstatic when my sister agreed to let me wear it last week. Everyone is looking at the direction of my neck. I remove the necklace and quietly put it in my pocket.

My mother arrives. She had closed her kiosk earlier this morning. Without looking up to see my mother, Ms Chin continues to talk to me in that deep voice of a man. My mother comes to sit next to me and gives a signal that now I can stop being on my knees and have a normal seat on the carpet. I feel totally relieved when she places one of my hands on hers. I have been trying to hold back my sobs since Ms. Chin started asking me questions that I did not know how to answer.

Ms. Chin continues to talk about the evil spirits surrounding our place, and at several points, she is correct. She accurately describes the small stagnant pond by the entrance of the communal collective houses where we live, and how Cham children often herd their cows and goats in our shared yard. My mother seems very persuaded, nodding firmly each time Ms. Chin says something correctly about our surroundings. Later, she also confirms that my dad had a younger brother who died in his very early life.

Since my mother’s arrival, I no longer feel responsible for all that is happening right here, right now, about me. All I want at the moment is to go home and sleep. Or at least to lie down for a bit. I tug on my mother’ sleeve to signal that I want to go home. She pats me, indicating that it will be over soon. Ms. Chin gives some more instructions on how to neutralise those spirits before she “gets going”. The scene I witnessed at the beginning reappears again. Ms Chin leaves the room while saying that she is exhausted now and that she will need some sleep. In her normal voice.

The old woman begins handing out fruits on the altar to those in the room. Everyone on the carpet rises to receive the fruits as a blessing of the ceremony before leaving. My mother and I linger, waiting for my father. As I watch my mother converse with that old woman, I realise that people fear my father, who is a policeman and does not endorse superstitious beliefs. My mother tries to soothe the woman by assuring her that, “He is unaware of what we are doing here”.

On the Honda Cub 75, my father brings us home. I am seated in the middle of my parents and overhear their conversation. Mostly my father listens and replies with something like “Yes just try it, better than do nothing”.  Eventually, my mother turns to me and asks, “Will you do as I say baby?”. I nod my head, not quite sure about what I am agreeing to do. The rest of the journey home is spent in silence. Each of my parents are chasing their own thoughts. I am really in need of some sleep.