Maid In Singapore Read Free Page A

think it is. It was a genuine mistake, you have to
understand,’ he spoke, acting genuinely distraught.
    Yes, there were others
. . . in massage parlours and in the upstairs shacks of seedy bars.
There had to be. How else can a man embolden himself for enacting
rape on his employee, in her workplace?
    I was full of questions
filled with angst. ‘Who hinted it, she or you? How can you say
this is a mistake, so casually? Where did it begin? In our bedroom,
in the kitchen or in her room?’
    I dreaded option c,
since that meant he went to her.
    A mistak e is a loss of judgment like forgetting to slam the brakes before a
quick-turning traffic signal, or the errant swing on the squash
court. How can it include kneeling as if in front of God and gyrating
inside another person, strokes laid out in timely beats of audible
slaps?
    It is good that I saw
it, and heard the slaps of their hips; else, I would have unanswered
visions of imagination all my life.
    As regards my
questions, he deflected them well, underplaying the whole episode.
    Infidelity, one way or
the other, eventually surfaces. Or would his have gone unnoticed had
I not walked in on them? Were they going to continue having sex,
fantasies evolving, convoluting with time, behind my back?
    Me at the gym, is that
all that their planning demanded? Or, was it spontaneous lust, one
that does not need planning at all?
    Most cheating partners
have a common theme of self-justification: it is only a natural ac t . Isn’t natu r e the final explanation that all unacceptable events in our life settle
for, from a cancer-stricken patient to a whoring man? Both their
diseases are natural, aren’t they?
    At the agent’s
office, things fell apart.
    ‘Why do you want
to let Mary go? She has been with you for a few months now and you
liked her work,’ Ms Goh asked a valid question.
    She saw me shifting,
answering in meaningless drivel. She could probably sense the prick
that I felt behind my eyes. I was near tears.
    ‘Come, let us get
some coffee.’ She got up and I followed her. She left a soapy,
comforting trail in her wake.
    I made a sketchy
confession, leaving out the bits about the gun and the kneeling . . .
those were too debased to narrate, unnecessary. I was glad to share
and lightened up, even if it was only with the agent and even if it
was only in small part.
    ‘Ms Goh, you have
to help us get rid of her. Please can you send her back to her home
country immediately?’ I finally concluded, in tears.
    ‘ Aiy a ,
another one of those cases. I am really sorry to hear that.’ Ms
Goh sipped her coffee. I simply stared down at mine. ‘My advice
is for you to transfer her to another house in this city. Don’t
deport her. She may turn vindictive and concoct all sorts of stories
for the police,’ she continued.
    ‘What sort of
stories? What do you mean, police?’ I asked her.
    ‘Well, if she
makes claims of assault, or harassment or, worse still, rape, then
things will turn very ugly, very quickly. On the other hand, if she
simply wants to continue in another household and keep sending money
home, then the whole matter will get buried.’ Ms Goh reached
out and kept her hand on mine. ‘Let us be tactful and simply
transfer her within the city. She needs the money and I am quite
certain she will keep quiet as long as her livelihood is not
disrupted.’
    I teared freely, tissue
in hand.
    So I was to stay
behind, while she left for greener pastures. W a h ,
I thought in Hindi! We would stay back, picking up the pieces, while
she built a new life. Why could I not leave, making a new life? It
was because I did not earn, and depended on a judge to grant me the
custody of my son and my rightful share of our savings, which was of
course all the money.
    ‘Her mandatory
medical test was okay when she came in.’ Ms Goh looked up,
knowing she had brought up a topic that had not yet crossed my mind
    . . . sex and disease.
    Did he bother using any
protection when he ventured in? I