Singapore Noir

Cha-li thought of going to see the opposition MP, but changed her mind. She doubted that the old man, Chiam, could save the temple sitting on land slated for development. The temple was famous for its support of the opposition. Since the early 1980s, Kai-yeh had invoked the spirit of Lord Sun Wukong to help Chiam See Tong win in every general election, and Chiam’s success was credited to Lord Sun Wukong’s benevolence to the people of Potong Pasir. Cha-li smiled. So many stories had circulated to explain how Chiam, a humble lawyer with less-than-stellar school results, had held his own against the might of the PAP in general election after general election. No, the temple was doomed. The authorities would sooner bulldoze it to the ground than preserve it.

Cha-li parked her car and went into the temple, surprised to find Robina Lee among the women praying at the altar of the Monkey King.

“Good morning, Wong Sifu,” the women greeted her.

In their eyes, she would always be Sifu or Master Wong, who channeled the spirit of the Monkey King. That she was also a private investigator was irrelevant to them; it was just a job to fill her rice bowl. Periodically, Cha-li suffered pangs of unease. She was a fraud burdened by a sacred duty that had been imposed on her as a child. As the chosen one, selected by Kai-yeh, who had consulted the Monkey King’s spirit before anointing her as his successor, she had to serve in his absence. Years of performing the rituals, the chanting, and the comforting had won her scores of grateful devotees, women who respected and adored her. Some had even been her lovers when she was young, handsome, lonely, and pining for Rose.

“Good morning, Sifu!” the women called out to her again.

“Good morning, good morning!” she said, laughing as she opened the door to her office. Robina followed her inside and closed the door. She was wearing a dark pantsuit and sunglasses. When she took off her glasses, Cha-li saw the wretched look in her eyes. Her face was puffy, and there was a dark bruise on her right temple.

“Did your husband do this?”

Robina shook her head, and Cha-li didn’t press her.

“He slept in the baby’s room last night. He didn’t want me near him.” Robina’s voice was flat. “You must give me a ritual cleansing. Please.”

Shocked by the request, Cha-li tried to focus her attention on the case instead.

“I have checked out your husband’s new office in Shenton Way. His clients are all Indians. Rich fat cats who are buying up our luxury condos.”

“Robert is repulsed by the sight of me.”

“He’s running some kind of consultancy that includes real estate.”

“Help me, Wong Sifu,” Robina pleaded, kneeling suddenly.

“No, no, please. Please stand up.”

“Our little boy is only six months old. Robert owes people a lot of money. My father-in-law does not know it yet. I fear... I...”

“Wait, Robina. I know. I ran a check—”

“He’s bewitched. It’s that vixen. Please, Wong Sifu, help me. The family... the... the scandal will ruin his father. Please, Sifu!”

Cha-li sighed. She was hoping it wouldn’t lead to this. “Go into the prayer hall, Robina. I have to change.”

She did not move until the woman had left the room. Then she locked the door.

The anointed are never free. They must respond to the cries of the broken and lost — Kai-yeh had drilled this into her from a young age. They sought her, these broken hearts. She had tried to tell them that Lord Sun Wukong, the Monkey King, was a figment of an author’s imagination, but all to no avail. Besides, there were the women’s testimonies. Lord Sun Wukong answered my prayers, some claimed. He granted me a son, declared another. He made my husband stop seeing that woman and come back to me.

She sighed. The women’s beliefs had tinted their perceptions and shaped their universe; Lord Sun Wukong was the godly spirit who came to their aid. If she was tempted at times to tell them to pray to a rock, which would work just as well, she restrained herself. If praying had helped these women to sit still long enough for their problems to work themselves out, what right had she to destroy their faith in something higher than themselves? No bloody right at all! She yanked off her blue jeans and pulled on a pair of gold-colored silk pants. Then she took off her red checked blouse and slipped on a white silk shirt and the Monkey King’s bronze headband. She gazed at the woman in the mirror, dressed in silk pajamas.

Would her features turn simian when she was as old as Kai-yeh?