THE CITIZEN

It’s 3am. The chk chk chk of a house lizard rings out in the bedroom, sounding out at irregular intervals, making it impossible for me to sleep. I try not to toss and turn in bed, lest I awaken Joanne sleeping peacefully by my side. With that, I find myself staring at the ceiling hoping that I get tired enough to disregard the lizard and enter dreamland through sheer exhaustion, or that the lizard decides to move somewhere else. 

I muse over Tan Vee Bun’s offer. He’s right, they are after me. I’ve seen them myself. The gang in the playground. The man with the cigarette burning green. The perpetual stench of shit in the flat. And of course, the incident just a few days ago where I found myself with an erection at a Jurong void deck to the audience of Makcik Tan Vee Bun, other aunties, and that policeman. 

Chk chk chk chk chk.

It suddenly begins to make sense. The policeman is working for the government, and he had wanted to capture my semen on that fateful day, before I was rescued by Tan Vee Bun and the Makciks, before I ejaculated away my value to the state. Tan Vee Bun had saved me.

The police’s presence, too, also adds up. They have surrounded both my place and Tan Vee Bun’s, hence his desperate gamble to corner me in both his own home. First as a Makcik, then as a caucasian Taxi Driver, even going so far as to assault me in public outside the McDonald’s near the Braddell MRT station. 

But why are they biding their time? They all know where we live; they can barge in at any point to whisk me away. We all know Joanne wouldn’t miss me...

Chk chk chk chk chk.

I turn to Joanne’s sleeping form. Even with her back to me, the light filtering through the curtains outlining her head, hair splayed out across the pillow, the iridescence of her skin outlining the gentle expansion and contraction of her ribcage. Must all great romances be like this? The constant cycle between violence, ambivalence and tenderness, a three-pronged spoked wheel of misfortune rotating ever slower by the year, to longer and longer periods of time till one day, like a sick lottery, it settles on one landing place for eternity.

Could it be that Joanne is my salvation? Could it be that the government does not want to wield the hammer of heartbreak on poor Joanne? And thus, is hesitating to commit to the act of making me disappear for her sake?

Following the lines of logic, that would mean the surveillance apparatus of the nanny state has concluded that Joanne, after all, still loves me. The wheel has not stopped rotating. I stand up and make my way to the living room, where my bag sits with Tan Vee Bun’s Nokia handphone. 

Chk chk chk chk chk.

I activate the phone and am greeted with 110 messages, each one of them consisting of only one thing -- my name. 110 messages that say “Li Jia Sen”, over and over and over again. The address book has only one entry, under my name, pointing to an unfamiliar number. I tip toe into the toilet and ring the number. Within two rings, someone picks up:

“Hello this is Li Jia Sen.”

“Uh, sorry to call so late….”

“Hello this is Li Jia Sen.”

“No, I’m Li Jia Sen.”

“No you’re not, I’m Li Jia Sen.”

“You don’t sound anything like -”

I pause and try a different tack. 

“Is this Tan Vee Bun?”

“No, this is Li Jia Sen. What do you want?”

“Someone left this phone with me, telling me to get in contact.”

“Yes, but I am Li Jia Sen.”

Losing my patience, I cut the call and walk out of the toilet. 

Chk chk chk chk chk.

Already agitated, I decide to search for the house lizard. I walk into my room and sit cross-legged at the foot of the bed. 

Back during my National Service days, there used to be this Warrant Officer who would love to go outfield, possibly because it allowed him to relive the days when Singapore was a real country. After setting up camp, he would walk to the nearest body of water to fish. 

One night, during guard duty in the evening, he called me and my buddy away from our patrols to accompany him as he fished. The activity brought out a softer side to his brusque demeanor. His voice would become musical as he talked to us about the finer points in fishing -- about the rhythm you can feel in the air and in the water; the night birds and crickets and the low silence of the water. He told us that if we listen hard enough, we can hear the fish talking amongst themselves, as they swim softly against the current, distracted by the commotion of the lure floating mid-water -- strange reflections glinting off unnatural vibrations. 

But all I heard that night was crickets, a droning monotony punctured by the chk chk chk of some lizard sitting in a tree. I wish I had listened harder. 

Chk chk chk chk chk.

I ascertain that the sound is coming from the corner closest to the bedroom door. I activate the phone, and slowly trace the angle from the floor to the ceiling. And then I see it -- the house lizard -- only it’s no normal house lizard. Under the blue glow of the Nokia phone, it’s clear that this lizard is chrome, reflecting the light from the phone in silver-blue sparkles. After a few seconds, the phone switches off and I’m shocked to see the lizard’s eyes glowing red. 

The lizards sounds out it’s call again -- CHK CHK CHK CHK CHK -- but this time, it’s clear that there is a robotic distortion to the sound. As if it’s being transmitted from a small speaker. It dawns on me that this is no lizard, it’s a surveillance device planted by the government in my home. In my home! I lift up my hand, grip the Nokia handphone, and smash the apparatus of the nanny state against the wall with a loud bang, waking up Joanne. 

“What is wrong with you?” she yells.

I whisper back, “It’s the house lizards. They’re spying on us. They’re using the lizards.”

“What?!” she says, “I don’t care. Whatever.”

How can I convince her of the truth? I look down at the corpse of the lizard, its innards splashed against the tiles and the back of the handphone. No sign of electronics anywhere. I remain silent. 

“Clean up the stupid lizard and go to sleep. It’s gross. We already have the Indian shitting outside the house and now I have to worry about you leaving rotting lizards all over the place.”

She flops back to bed and clearly mutters under her breath “crazy fucking moron”.

At least I got rid of the lizard, I think to myself as I throw the tissue papers holding its remains into the dustbin. 

Chk chk chk chk chk.

With a start, I spin around to the source of the new noise. It’s coming from the living room, on the couch, with a blue glow, where I had last left the Nokia handphone. 

Picking up the phone, I see a new message has come through, again from “Li Jia Sen”. It reads: “1pm TPY Seu Teck Sean Tong tomorrow Thursday 24/5”. 

The phone sounds out, again with the same house lizard sound. 

Chk chk chk chk chk.

Another message has come through, again from Li Jia Sen, again saying the exact same thing. 

Exasperated, I switch off the phone, throw it into my backpack, and crash into bed.