Free If I Could Tell You by Lee-Jing Jing Page A

minutes there. Just before the hawker centre, instead of the apartment buildings full of people eating and sleeping and living together, there would be the community centre. I would see women and men my age and older, going in, books in hand, or carrying large, awkward bags that looked like they were made to be filled with groceries or tools, anything but books. When we walked back home later, slower this time because of the food in our stomachs and our heavy feet, they would be sitting at tables in a lit-up room and I would hear the faint chant of whatever the man in front, their teacher, has made them recite from the chalkboard in front. I thought I might do it one day. When Mei Ling got older. When her father gets a regular job again, nine-to-five and with better money. When we can afford to get someone to help clean up the flat so I could have time to myself, I would do it. I told myself all of this, believing all of it, and none of it.
    I brought it up a few times, when the girl was asleep and he was in his armchair in front of the TV. Waited for the break to come on before I said, you know, they have these adult courses nearby. I heard about them from the neighbour. English courses, and Chinese.
    Each time, he grunted and said, sure, go if you want.
    And each time, I said nothing and we went back to watching the news.
    The morning after Ah Tee died, I was on my way back from the market when I bumped into the
ah por
from right above.
    She started shaking her head immediately, saying, that poor man.
    I nodded.
    His mother was so nice. Passed away only a few months ago, and now this.
    I know, I said, when are you moving,
ah por
?
    Oh, next week, she said.
    Do you need help? My brother has a truck, we can–
    Oh, no need, no need. There are people coming by to help. Don’t worry.
    I nodded. Then she said she had to go, she had to start collecting scraps before it got too warm.
    After the old lady went on, I thought about how unfortunate the whole thing was. No one knew yet how it happened but it all seemed too familiar. It had happened before. Not here, but elsewhere, in many other places all over the island. It was terrible and unnecessary but I was grateful that he’d jumped from the other side of the building and not the front; Mei Ling didn’t have to walk past it when she came home that evening, didn’t even see the fuss with the police and reporters because it was raining so heavily that I could use the umbrella to shield all of it from view.
    When I looked up from my feet, I saw that I was in front of the community centre. I slowed down for a look even though my shopping basket was full of the day’s shopping. It was crowded enough, with a group of retirees practicing their morning
taichi
in the shaded courtyard and a few domestic maids chatting near the gate. I’m going to take a look, I told myself, forgetting about the raw meat, the fruit crushing each other with their weight. It was cool inside with the air-conditioning and I went straight in, goaded by the comfort of being there, took out a paper handkerchief to dab at my forehead, damp from the walk. There was a Malay woman at the reception but she was on the phone so I pretended to be looking at the leaflets stacked on the shelves next to the counter, ran my hands over a row of them and just managed to stop the urge to rearrange a few sheets that stuck out. Then she hung up the phone and turned to me, saying something in English. I caught the word Auntie and Help, but I didn’t know what to say. Then I thought about saying something back in Malay, some words which I picked up from the neighbours when I was a child, living in the
kampung
. I used to speak it quite easily but I couldn’t think of a single word, standing there in front of her. Then I was shuffling backwards, wanting to go back out into the heat when she said, can I help you? In Mandarin this time. I felt my face flush with surprise, then I said, no, thank you. Um. Yes. I want to–
    Yes,