Old Uncle Seng and His Fat Boar

Old Uncle Seng, the elderly farmer was a familiar sight in our coffee shop. When he sat down at his corner marble table, the mute coffee boy would bring his regular black bitter coffee without sugar. For half an hour, while he sipped his black potion, puffed his homemade cigarette, his sad eyes would stare at images only he could see – some long-lost figures that flickered in the distance past, far beyond all the activities around him. He seldom talked and rarely smiled.Like a detached train carriage left behind, alone on the railway track while the rest of the train had long gone to the horizon, Uncle Seng was trapped in a forgotten time zone of yesteryear.

There were unverified rumours of his past. Some said that he was a Communist fighter during the Second World War. His family members were murdered one by one by the invading Japanese soldiers.And since then, he had become a recluse in the midst of crowds. Others indicated that he was actually a traitor who sold out all his Communist friends to the Japanese so as to save his life. Yet, another story that emerged was that he was a local spy for the British before the war. The rumour claimed that he spoke very good English even though no one in our coffee shop ever heard him speak it. The gossip that circulated was that Uncle Seng was captured and tortured by the Japanese after the British surrendered Singapore. His captors had flooded his body with water until he leaked like a punctured pig bladder. He escaped death and was released when one of his good friends, who was working as an interpreter for the Japanese secret police, bribed the officer-in-charge. Whatever the stories, only Uncle Seng knew the truth and he did not verify anything until the day he disappeared and never returned for his cup of black coffee.

I remember one grey morning, Uncle Seng was walking alone in the slight drizzle and behind him was his pet. He was not taking a stroll in the park with his dog. He was dragging a huge boar. Being very curious, I asked my father what this old man was doing with a fat pig. Dad said that they were working.

“Working?” I was so curious.

Dad affirmed his earlier statement, “That’s right… they are working.”.

I scratched my head, “You mean Uncle Seng is using the pig to plow his field?”

My father chuckled as we continued to look at the lonely figure and his boar merged and disappeared into the gray scenery.

I never got an answer from my father. It was only much later, after the disappearance of Uncle Seng, that Ah Seow, the Prawn Mee vendor told me what the boar was for. The old farmer was breeding pigs. One of his means of income was to take his boar to mate with sows that belonged to other farmers. He got paid for selling his boar’s semen.At that time, I thought to myself, “This guy is smart! He sells semen and he still have his prized pig left! If he were sell his pig for meat, then he has nothing… smart guy!”

It was after five days of not seeing Uncle Seng in the coffee shop that Tau Chiew, the owner of the coffee stall started to mention about him. Someone said that his small pig farm was dismantled and the land was used to widen a road. Nobody knew where he went. Uncle Seng and his boar just floated into mystery land and never to be seen or heard from again.

Now, I am as old as what Uncle Seng used to be. Maybe I can find a little corner in a neighbouring coffee shop, sip my black coffee… stare beyond the presence and travel all the way to my childhood where there was once an old man who walked in the rain with his big fat boar.

The Day Fishes Dropped From The Sky

It was a day when the dark clouds spread like a wrinkled blanket for as far as the eyes could see. The lunchtime crowd had gathered in our coffee shop. It was all hands on deck. I was dishing out rice while dad’s chopper was separating the chicken into neat pieces and placing them in many porcelain dishes.

Black Cat had arrived with his load of charcoal, in the midst of our busyness, and received a verbal lashing from my dad. The ever cheerful charcoal boy, with yellow teeth, was grinning through his darkened soot-filled face. He explained that he would be busy in the late afternoon and so he rushed the load to our stall so as to make sure that we have enough charcoal for our stoves.What a considerate lad, I thought. However, the orders were rushing in fast and every order was committed to memory.

With raised voice, Dad was directing our young stall-helper where to send the various dishes of chicken. The poor lad had to serve the food and collect the dishes too. Then he had to wipe the table clean for the next group of customers. My job was very easy. All I had to do was to scoop out the oily chicken rice and place it in either a dish or bowl. I gave a glance, once a while, so as to double check and see if all orders were filled.

Black Cat had stacked his load of charcoals neatly in the little cupboard beneath the satay grill. In the process, he had irritated our elderly helper, Kugong who was grilling some satays for the customers. Black Cat jumped back playfully when Kugong tried to hit him with the fan that he had in his hand. In those days, fans, made of palm leaves, were used to fan up the charcoal fire so as to increase the heat.

The sky continued to maintain its dark expression, impervious of all the activities and busyness in the coffee shop. Then strange things began to happen. Black Cat started screaming at the top of his voice, “fish! fish! fish!”

The crowd went into a deadly silence as everybody stared out at the street full of flipping and flopping small fishes. A miracle had happened – the heaven had rained down live fishes. In a flash, everybody was near the edge of the road as they marveled at the sight.

At that time, superstition was a strong part of our culture. An elderly aunty was giving a running commentary on how the angry thunder god was throwing fishes down because of certain disrespect that he had perceived coming from the human race. Others disagreed and felt that it was a good omen. The word, “fish” sounded like another word that depicted prosperity. They exclaimed that prosperity had come to Singapore or at least to Katong. Then a male customer, who seemed more educated than most people of that time, said that it was a water spout that sucked the fishes from the sea up into the sky. Then the fishes came down like rain. I observed that nobody believed his explanation but they did not want to challenge “an educated person”.

By that time, some people had stopped the traffic so that they could pick up those fishes. Black Cat was among these people and he was throwing fishes into his empty charcoal cane-basket. He most probably collected a dozen or so small fishes that looked like sardines. I was not so adventurous and so I just watched and laughed with the rest of the customers that had gathered to view the heavenly entertainment.

Anyway, the rain had come and the fishes had stopped falling. Soon, everybody was back to taking care of his or her own business. Dad got back to chopping chicken and I was back to scooping rice. Our workers got back to serving or grilling. The customers had returned to their tables and chasing away the flies that had visited their foods while they were watching falling fishes.

Black Cat had brought his fishes to back of the coffee shop. I could hear him trying to convince the deaf coffee boy to allow him to grill the fishes on the toasting rack. He did not succeed and so he placed his charcoal cane-basket full of fishes on his tricycle and rode off. As he paddled off, he was shouting, “Today, fishes dropped from the sky! Fishes dropped from the sky!”