Frog In The Well

[Won the 2007 Imprints Booksellers Fiction Prize - Flinders University, South Australia]

Remember Old Wang… No? Remember Three Prosperities? Ah, I thought so. Well, Old Wang was his father. He used to stay over there, that cement patch was where his old house was, and you can still see that old well that he dug; the one that has been covered and sealed, where your parents told you never to go.

You see, Old Wang had three sons. And he had a boast: that his three sons were his three prosperities. That was why he named his third and last son Three Prosperities, and that name was the poor boy’s curse. Old Wang never stopped boasting that with his three sons he would have the biggest farm in the kampong and retire to a life of ease. He did not know the immensity of heaven and earth, having such a high opinion of himself and his sons. The Gods, the Celestial King himself, punished him for his arrogance; they made sure not one of his sons attained a high status, a high position, or a good income. They grew up to be farmers, yes, but lazy ones, much to the aggravation of their father.

The two elder sons told the father that farming was too hard, they’d rather work in the factories where there was a regular income and they were paid better. That was the time when Singapore was industrialising and jobs in factories were plentiful. They left the farm and moved to the city and only came back for Chinese New Year. And every time they were back, they refused to help with the farm; they felt it was now beneath them. They forgot what it was that fed them.

So Old Wang’s hope now rested on the shoulders of his youngest son, Three Prosperities. Now Three Prosperities was a late child, his mother was nearly forty when he was born, and it was a difficult birth, the kampong’s midwife told me. He was born none too bright. He never got through primary school and he could barely read or write. He, with his round, goldfish eyes, his slow moronic ways, and always in dun-coloured shorts, frayed at the hems. Whatever he wore seemed to naturally fray at the hems. Whenever he left the house in the morning for the fields he donned the same dun-coloured jacket, frayed at every possible hem. The cloth buttons were there as a mere courtesy, because he never buttoned them, and went round with the two front panels flapping around his bare, puny chest.

The whole kampong, even the children, laughed at his slow, booming voice with the touch of gravel at the end of every utterance. They called him ‘dead devil Three Prosperities’, ‘stupid devil Three Prosperities’, never just his name, but always coupled with an insult.

You can imagine how not one girl in the kampong wanted to be near him, and it was not for want of trying on his part. When Three Prosperities was thirty-two, Old Wang couldn’t wait any longer; he got in touch with the matchmaker to find a suitable bride for his last son. He insisted she had to be a simple farm girl from China; he did not want any local girl who would be tempted by the city. He couldn’t stand his two daughters-in-law, who crinkled their noses whenever they visited the farm at Chinese New Year.

The matchmaker found a slave girl whose owners were determined to marry her off. She had come into the family at the age of ten, sold into bondage by her widowed mother. She was transported to Singapore in the company of an old woman. They had come steerage and her mistress had come to immigration to claim her as a niece. That girl put in eight years of service to the family and it was time to dispose of her again. It was the lot of her kind. It would not have done to keep her much longer. The master of the house might get lecherous, though he was normally an upright man. Alternatively, one of the young sons might take advantage of her, and the mistress of the house did not want trouble in that direction either.

The slave girl had never seen Three Prosperities, but she liked the sound of his name, so she said yes to the match. It would not have meant much if she had said no, only a few more lectures and scoldings until she consented. The matchmaker brought back the happy news to Old Wang, together with the girl’s horoscope to be compared with his son’s. That was when it was discovered that she was born in the Year of the Tiger, and in the night. No wonder her own mother didn’t want her! Night Tigers prowl and devour. She will surely devour your son, we warned Old Wang. But the old man was desperate for a grandson, and, as the matchmaker warned him, simple farm girls from China were now few and far between; the authorities had clamped down on the transporting of slave girls. So, against our better judgment, they went ahead with the wedding. It was a hurried affair. Nobody was going to spend much money on her, not her mistress and certainly not the old man, who by then had not the means.

What? What about boys born in the Year of the Tiger? Well, it is different for boys. Not that it is good, but the character of the tiger will be of use if he wants to go into business, or become a lawyer. Yes, that would be all right. But it is totally unbecoming for a girl, a calamity. She will devour her husband. Thus Night Tiger girls are bound for spinsterhood, or a man who is in no position to choose, like Three Prosperities. In my opinion, they should all be sent to a convent and become nuns, to atone for their inauspicious birth. Remember, all this has been ordained by the Celestial Gods.

Anyway, overwhelming revulsion was written all over the face of Tiger Wife, it seemed, when Three Prosperities parted her wedding veil. Imagine her shock when she took her first sight of the man who had become her husband: the big head; the bulging eyes; the body, which did not match the head, and he stood half a head shorter than she. How do I know all this? The matchmaker told me, she was there and she saw all that in Tiger Wife’s eyes.

Five long years the family waited for a grandchild, but none came. Meanwhile, Tiger Wife proved to be a model daughter-in-law. She cooked, worked the family’s little vegetable patch across the path, and kept the home scrupulously clean. And she kept to herself most of the time. Some in the kampong even envied Old Wang. But I told them not to be fooled; you never know when a tiger will strike, I warned.

In the sixth year of their marriage, Tiger Wife finally got pregnant, and the family rejoiced. From the way she walked and the slope of her stomach, they predicted a boy. I suspect they were hoping in earnest, as it was to be a birth in the Year of the Tiger. I knew it would happen: Tiger Wife gave birth to a girl at night, another night tiger.

We told Old Wang to put her up for adoption but the normally quiet Tiger Wife refused, and actually defied Old Wang’s wife, the mistress of the house. Tiger Wife also told her moron husband that he might not have it in him to produce another child. Three Prosperities begged his father and mother to allow the child to stay. They finally gave in. They did not want their son to give up this last proof of his manhood.

I warned Old Wang he was courting trouble, having this double calamity under his roof. Nothing good would come of it. Calamities would fall on your family in twos – in pairs – from now on, I warned him. And I was right!

Old Wang died of a mysterious illness two years later. His wife died the following year. Three Prosperities versus double calamities, under the same roof, and who won? It was not too late, I warned Three Prosperities; the child was still young and she could still be given to a convent. Or, if he was willing, my cousin and his wife, who had four sons, badly needed help with the housework, and I could have gotten him a good price for that tiger girl. But Tiger Wife did not want to hear any of it. That Tiger Wife caused his downfall. That is the problem with most women: they do not have the same respect for fate that men have.

After the funeral of their mother, the two useless elder sons wanted to sell the farm. But Tiger Wife was not willing. She had finally become mistress of her own household and she did not want to give that up. Three Prosperities went along with her and in the end they partitioned off the farm. The two elder sons sold off their portions, leaving only a small plot of land with the house and a little field for some vegetables and livestock. It was not enough to support a family, and Three Prosperities now had to cycle to the next kampong to work as a labourer on someone else’s farm.

I told him it might be wiser if he also sold out. Farming does not pay well anymore; move to the city where jobs are plentiful; I’ll give you a good price for your house and farm too, I told him. But Tiger Wife was still not willing. How can you call yourself a man when you are so afraid of your wife? Some women are naturally stubborn and, like a frog in a well, are not capable of seeing beyond their little world. Sometimes you have to slap some sense into them, to make them understand things, to help them see the bigger picture. But Three Prosperities was too far gone, too afraid of his wife, and he was too stupid to see it, or do anything about it.

Like I said, Tiger Wife became the young mistress of her own household, after Old Wang and his wife passed away. Maybe that was the problem: she was too young to be the mistress of a household. She was only about… twenty-seven? I was at least fifteen years older when I became mistress of my household. Yes! That was the problem: she was too young and had no understanding of the ways of the world, how things were done.

Their little house stood by the narrow track over there, overwhelmed and kept private by those two rambutan trees. She had also planted creepers along the wire netting fence, so that she need not see anybody, except when she came out to feed the pigs or work in the little vegetable plot on the other side of the track. The privacy of the house soon had its use.

Tiger Wife became very friendly with Kong, the local produce wholesaler. The vegetables she grew were puny. Nothing like the ones I grew, green and free of bugs. But she was paid at least ten cents more per Kati. There was something going on between the two of them, I just knew it. Her face lit up every time Kong appeared. They would stand there, talking and laughing. Sometimes, I even saw him going into the house, and she never once invited me into the house after Old Wang died. It was not my business but I just had to warn Three Prosperities and let him know what was happening so he could keep his house in order.

After that day, Three Prosperities stopped talking to me, and Tiger Wife acted as though I didn’t exist. Kong also stopped buying my vegetables and I had to go to the market myself to sell them. Word got back that they were calling me a meddling old hag. A good heart doesn’t guarantee rewards, does it?

I suffered in silence. I knew I would be vindicated one day. The Gods would not be so unjust. And it happened.

One day, Tiger Wife disappeared. Three Prosperities came home to find his meal uncooked and Tiger Wife and his daughter missing. The poor man stayed up the whole night waiting for her. He did not turn up for work the next day, and the day after that. Poor Three Prosperities spent his days after that cycling to all the nearby kampongs looking for Tiger Wife and his daughter. But they seemed to have disappeared from the face of the earth.

Strangely, Kong also stopped doing business with our kampong at the same time. I asked around, and found out he was from Malaysia. He stopped coming over the causeway to Singapore for business about the same time Tiger Wife disappeared. So figure it out for yourself.

What finally happened to Three Prosperities? One day, we found him in his own well, drowned. Why do you think nobody has used that well since? Why do you think it has been covered and sealed? Nobody wants that place now; it has been cursed by his unnatural death. Let’s not forget, his wife and daughter did not mourn and grieve for him at his funeral. How would his spirit ever be at peace? It would be forever coming back, hoping for some resolution. Ah, what a waste, it used to be the best plot of land in the kampong.

Tiger Wife and Tiger Daughter: double calamities! Calamities would befall the family in pairs; I warned but no one listened. The first time it happened, Old Wang and his wife died. The second time it happened, Three Prosperities lost first his dignity – his manhood – and then his life. The poor man was devoured twice! I just hope that Kong has more sense, and is more a man than Three Prosperities was.

What? Father Lee says Catholics shouldn’t believe in such superstitious nonsense? That once you’re a baptised Catholic, the true God will look after you? His arrogance will be his downfall too. Am I not also a baptised Catholic? Don’t you see me in church every Sunday? Remember, you’re also Chinese and the Chinese gods know that. Just because you discover a new god doesn’t mean you forget the ones that took care of you before. You might want to forget but they won’t! Remember that, young lady!