Singapore Noir

The apartment was oddly shaped, with triangular rooms. Porcelain statues of Chinese gods were the only decoration. Simon told her not to bother washing the large windows. “Don’t want an incident of you falling out,” he said, laughing as he brought out a green apron and latex gloves. “Don’t want you to get dirty.”

Natalia heard a radio blaring in Hokkien from one of the rooms.

“My father is inside,” Simon said, waving her over for a peek. An old man sat on a wheelchair facing the wall; heavy brown curtains covered two windows. “Don’t worry about him. He had a stroke so he doesn’t talk much. Don’t bother washing his room.” He closed the door, leaving it slightly ajar.

Simon handed her $250 in neatly folded bills and told her he would give her the rest that evening. As he left for work, he asked her to call him if she had any problems. She carefully stuffed the money in her small handbag the moment he left.

Natalia got to work right away, sweeping the floor. She thought she heard the old man grunt several times and rattle his wheelchair. Because his room door was ajar, she couldn’t help but feel as if she was being watched. This made her quicken her pace — perhaps his father was there to make sure she did a good job and didn’t run off with something valuable? She wanted the remaining $250 and wasn’t going to chance it. And so she scrubbed at the mold in the bathroom until her arms ached. When the lemony detergent started to make her gag, she tied a kerchief over her face. She heard the drone of Hokkien radio in the background wherever she went.

Simon messaged her at two, asking how it was going. When she replied that all was fine, he told her to stay for dinner. She hesitated a little, wondering if this was odd. But then she thought that perhaps she could suggest cleaning for him one Sunday a month; it seemed like he needed it and was generous. More money was always helpful.

By five she had finished with the master bedroom and kitchen. Outside, a storm had descended. It made the radio echo worse, and Natalia felt as if she were in a cave. She was taking a sip from the kitchen tap when she heard grunting from the old man’s room. She approached, gently knocking on the door. Simon’s father lifted his head to stare and grunt, then turned back to the radio.

She had not touched his room. But now she wondered if she should clean it. Maybe that would persuade Simon to ask her back.

So she put on her gloves and worked around him as best she could, opening the window slightly to air out the room’s staleness and the smell of urine coming from the bedsheets. Looking for fresh sheets in a drawer, she came across a crumpled green dress. She left it where it was; maybe Simon had a sister.

On the dresser, there was a black-and-white photo of a family; a couple with a boy who could only be Simon right in front of them. From the way they each held one of his shoulders, she could tell he had been the main focus of the parents. So much hope placed in him — did he manage to satisfy them?

Finally, she found a plain gray sheet and set to work on the bed. The old man’s wheelchair squeaked and his breathing became more pronounced.

The room was relatively clean but she decided to sweep and mop anyway. The old man was more mobile than she thought; he moved the wheelchair away when she needed to mop beneath him. There was an odd expression in his eyes as she got close — though she did not dare look directly at him.

When Simon returned, he was surprised she had cleaned his father’s room. “I thought I told you to leave him alone.”

“It’s okay, sir. I had time.”

She thought she detected a flash of anger in his face but his smile quickly returned. Why would he be angry? She regretted cleaning the room now. She thought he would be grateful, not mad.

Simon set out Styrofoam cartons of food on the table and opened them, showing her the duck rice he’d bought. Then he ran his thumb along the table’s wooden surface and examined it.

“Clean. Very clean,” he said. “I’ll give you the $250 after dinner.”

She had been hoping to leave quickly and felt uneasy, but said nothing. The smell of hot salty duck was making her hungry — the old man as well, as she heard him coming out of his room for dinner, his wheelchair sounding like metal spoons rubbing against each other.

Simon started to dish out the rice on plates that she had just washed. She took out spoons and forks and placed them on the table. She offered to help but he told her to sit down; there was an edge in his voice. He sat close to her and they faced his father, as if they were having a meeting.

“Why are you here, Natalia?” Simon asked.

“Here? In Singapore? To earn money,” she said, surprised at his question. She took a bite of the duck; the meat was soft and tender.

“How long have you been in Singapore? Does your employer treat you well?”