Singapore Noir

Mrs. Chan only quieted down when the elevator doors finally closed. (Though Natalia then received two text messages from Mrs. Chan telling her to air out the mattress and wash the curtains.)

Once their absence set in, Natalia sat on the couch, relieved but drained. That night, she slept with the door to her small room wide open. She had vivid dreams of water seeping all over the floor; the woman in red appeared next to her bed.

When the newspapers arrived the next morning, she looked for a report. The article occupied half a page.

The woman at the reservoir was named XueLing, a twenty-year-old Chinese girl who had arrived in Singapore two years earlier. She worked at a restaurant and had been missing for three days. There were few details about her — the press had not been able to find out the significance of her red dress, who she wanted revenge on. The rest of the article mentioned the other reservoir suicides, including one where only half the man’s body was found. Natalia had heard about the drownings before and the friends that she met on her day off enjoyed joking about it.

But this one struck home; the girl had come here with hope. Like Natalia, she wanted a better life. It was true that sometimes Natalia also considered suicide, but she knew she had to press on. If she died, her debts would simply be passed on to her family.

Four days after the Chans left, Natalia was still mired in housework. Even so, she relished the freedom of knowing that her every move wasn’t being watched. The incident at the reservoir was no longer in her mind. The splash was probably just a catfish in the reservoir making a jump. The man was just on an early-morning stroll.

When evening came, she decided to walk to the reservoir. The waters were once again peaceful. Gravel crunched under the feet of joggers. She walked down the slope near the water and sat down with a can of soya bean milk. It was warm, and the sky was thick with crayon-red bands. A crescent moon hung over the world.

Just as she was about to leave, a young man began walking right toward her. He wore a black T-shirt with faded jeans and his slightly tinted glasses partially masked his pockmarked face. She wondered if he was one of the locals who liked to pick up foreign girls.

“Hello,” he said, extending his hand even before he reached her. Though surprised, she took it. His handshake was practiced and firm. “Terrible thing that happened here, yah?”

“The drowning? Yah.” She was cautious. It was hard to remember when she last had a conversation with a local, instead of just replying to orders.

“So many... I think I’ve seen you here a few times before. Have you noticed anything strange?”

“No. It’s very peaceful here. Maybe those people who come here to kill themselves just want some peace as well,” she said.

“That’s a nice way to look at it. But not if you’re wearing red. She wanted revenge.”

They talked a bit more — she told him she was a maid and that even though her employers were away for two weeks, she cleaned every inch of the house each day. He introduced himself as Simon, a manager in a logistics company.

“I see. Hey, since you’re a maid, are you open to jobs outside of your place? How about you come clean my house for me? I had a cleaner but she hasn’t turned up and I’m bad with household tools. I destroyed a painting with a vacuum cleaner.”

Natalia didn’t find the joke funny, but she sensed an opportunity and laughed.

“I’ll pay well; maybe $500 for a day’s work? It’s embarrassingly dirty now. Those bloody midges on the windowsill... wipe them off once and they always come back.”

Five hundred was a lot of money; more than a month’s pay. With that kind of cash, Natalia could pay her agent back and still have money left to send home. She remembered what a friend once said: in Singapore you have to find what other people need, and grab every opportunity that comes along.

“Is the place big?”

“No. It’s a condo — you know how they are. So small. Two bedrooms.”

He sounded sincere so she agreed. She passed him her phone and he typed in his number and wrote his home address on the back of a business card.

“It’s good fortune that we met,” he said, waving goodbye before disappearing down the trail.

The next morning, Natalia packed up some rags and detergent. Simon’s condo was only about five stops away — on the bus, she kept a careful count of every stop.

His condominium building turned out to be flesh pink with green ionic pillars, reminding Natalia of a birthday cake melting in the sun. The Indian security guard eyed her suspiciously and told her to sign in, then didn’t let her up until Simon came to fetch her from the guard post.

This time, Simon looked businesslike, wearing a yellow long-sleeved shirt with black pants. Natalia showed him the detergent she brought and asked if it smelled okay. He said it was fine but that he had his own supplies. “I’m not that incompetent, you know.”