Grandfather story - The Prequel

During Gongxi Gongxi, whilst in Gooly’s chor chor’s (great grandma) house, I spied with my eye a couple at the corner. Born curious, I had to ask who they were.

Papah: Dunnoh! My mom’s cousin kwa..

Sensing that his ancestry knowledge isn’t exactly vast, I asked my Mom- is- the- law. To my astonishment, that man is actually my MIL’s brother who was given away while still a baby. I am appalled that papah doesn’t know his family tree.

Hence, this and the next post will be on MY ancestors and relatives whom some have passed on, and many, not in talking terms with us. Gooly, know your roots! Don’t be like your father

Disclaimer: The earlier era stories were told by my father many years ago. I hope I remember them clearly. The later ones were also extracted from memories. I hope they aren’t biased.

Let’s start with my father’s side. (Hold it..heheh..this is really grandfather’s story..) My ancestors hail from Namua, a small village in Fujian province. My grandparents had 10 children; 3 of them dead when little. My father is the 8th child, the 3rd son, hence the nickname, Lausa/Lousum (Old Three). He also has another nickname, “Lompang” which is the cina-fied version of the Malay word “tumpang.’ My ahma didn’t have enough breast milk to feed, and being too poor to buy milk, my father had to ‘tumpang’ milk from his auntie’s bosoms.

I reckon my father didn’t have a happy childhood. My grandfather was an accountant, a chauvinist, a kiamsiap man, a selfish man.. I haven’t met him before. He died a few years before I was born (luckily!) From photographs, he always wore clean white shirts and iron-ed pants. I can see that he was dogmatic and authoritative.

My ahbu confirmed it! It seems that ahgong never wore his own shirts. Just like the emperors from Tang Dynasty and Ming, Qing and whatnots, his wife, daughters and slaughter in laws had to help him with the buttons while he stretched out his arms (macam crucified). Don’t ask me about the pants..Eewww! And his toenails were cut by others too.

He liked to holler too. When angered, which was often, he yelled “GO DIE!” to his children. Tsk tsk tsk..

When the children didn’t die, he got angrier and would whip them. He didn’t care if they were 12, 23, or 34. Apparently, my eldest uncle got the worst bouts of whipping. Even at his thirties, he was asked to kneel while being reprimanded.

Evidently, he didn’t care much for his children. To my father, a sip of milo from his father’s cup was a fancy and desirable wish. Asking for school fees and pocket money for food were the things he fretted. He soon quitted school because he got tired of ‘begging’. Who wouldn’t?

I remember vaguely, a photo of ah gong in a ribbon-cutting ceremony at our old house. Much later, I was told that he had paid quite a sum to a Malay folk for some ‘title’. It wasn’t Datuk, Tan Sri or Dato’. He was conned. What a sucker!

If I am not mistaken, my father along with his siblings moved about quite frequently due to ahgong’s unsuccessful business ventures, starting from Penang, Melaka, and then finally Petaling Jaya. They ran a provision shop and some other ‘lauyar’ business. But before that, he was an accountant.

When the Japanese army invaded Tanah Melayu, others avoided and fear them but not my Ahgong..No…No… he actually helped them with their account works. Traitor!

(Aiyo..Ah Gong, please don’t come find me tonight. I know I used many undesirable adjectives. *clasp hands*)

It was during that time that something peculiar and eerie happened. My father can still remember the ‘incident’ till this day, after 60 years…

It was said that they were all living in a Malay kampong in the early fifties. My 2nd uncle had for no apparent reason, pangsai-ed in one of the villagers’ pondok. Hmm.. I am not sure what they are called, but you know how the kampong houses are built on stilts? And under the house, there are chicken coops, and some believe, buried bones of the dead?

And so, when the villagers found out about the excrement, they were very disturbed and wanted to punish my uncle. The punishment must have been severe, for the family had to flee in the middle of the night to avoid it. Kancheong kancheong..

It seems a bomoh lent a helping hand. He told my grandma, “Your family will be dead if you fled like this. Let me help you. Stay with me for the night. But do not come out from your room, no matter what you hear, ada faham tak?” (Eh, Kisah Benar like that...)

The whole night, the bomoh chanted ayat ayat from scriptures. My father of course peeped through the door. He was getting bored when suddenly the bomoh brandished a long sword and poked it between the wood panels. It remained erected while he poured scoops of rice around it. With his own eyes, my father saw the rice disappeared one by one. Vanished into thin air. Gone with the wind. Ilek pochi! So David Copperfield, kan?

My father peed in his pants. When dawn broke, Encik David ushered my grandmother and her children into the horse (or was it cow? or was it kambing?) cart. Upon exiting the kampong, true enough, there were villagers waiting. They must have decided to build a security guard house to prevent the culprits from leaving the kampong.

The cart came to a halt. The children were scared. Pikpok pikpok, the hearts beat in unison, with the same rhythm. My father peed in his pants ( I know I would have!) They didn’t dare to move an inch, as if staying still would make them invisible. The villagers looked at them. But … lo and behold, could not see them. Yes, they were invisible indeed!

The cart throttled on. And thus another chapter of their lives began, in another village far, far away…

How? Can be made into a Holly-Bolly-Molly wood movie not? I am thinking, THE BOY WHO SHAT as the title..

Part two later.. Stay tuned.