EH POH NIM

Bananas and fruitcakes

By LYDIA TEH

EH Poh Nim and her colleagues visited an old folks’ home in Petaling Jaya as part of their company’s community project.

Eh Poh Nim, Jane and Paul were grouped together. The first inmate they called on was a petite woman with grey hair tied up in a bun. When they came to her room to give her a gift pack of oats, milk powder and cream crackers, she pressed a key into Eh Poh Nim’s palm.

“Help me open the cupboard door,” she said in Cantonese.

Eh Poh Nim tried to insert the key into the keyhole of the plain wooden cupboard but it wouldn’t fit. Jane took the key from her and struggled with it too. Just then the home supervisor, Sheila, popped in.

“It’s all right, ladies. The door isn’t locked.” She tugged on the edge of the door and it opened. “Tai Cheh is always getting unsuspecting folks to unlock the door for her.”

“She’s as nutty as a fruitcake,” Paul said softly as they trooped out of Tai Cheh’s room.

“And quite harmless,” Sheila added.

“What’s that man doing?” Jane nudged her head across the hall towards an old man who seemed to be squiggling something in the air, arm raised high above his head.

“Is he off his chump too?” Paul asked.

Sheila snorted. “That Maniam is as crafty as they come. He’s pretending to write on a blackboard. Hand exercise, he calls it. He used to be a schoolteacher. Excuse me, I have to check on lunch in the kitchen. Do talk with the old folks, they’re always happy to have company.”

The room next to Tai Cheh’s was ajar. Jane knocked on the door before gently pushing it open. A thin woman was lying on a red-and-white plastic reclining chair.

“Hello, Aunty. How are you?” Eh Poh Nim said as she approached the woman and tried to shake hands with her.

The woman flinched and clutched her hands to her chest.

“Don’t touch me,” she snapped. “Got germs on your hands. Did you wash them?”

Eh Poh Nim said, “Er ... yes.”

Jane placed a gift pack on the single bed. “This is for you, Aunty.”

“Take it away from my bed. Don’t dirty it,” the old woman said.

“I put it on the floor, okay?” Jane moved the pack to the floor.

“She’s bananas,” Paul said when they exited the room. “Don’t tell me all the inmates here are off their rockers.”

Eh Poh Nim and Jane glared at him.

“Don’t be so unkind, Paul. They’re old and senile but that doesn’t mean they’re not right in the head,” Jane whispered fiercely.

“God, I hope I don’t lose my marbles when I get old,” Paul said.

“It would serve you right if you become mad as a hatter, you insensitive cad,” Eh Poh Nim said.

“Mad as a hatter?” Jane scratched her head.

“This expression has its origin in the hat-making business during the 19th century. At that time, mercury was used in making hats. The accumulation of mercury in the workers’ bodies caused them to suffer from symptoms such as loss of co-ordination, trembling, slurred speech and depression. That’s why mercury poisoning was known as the mad hatter’s syndrome,” Eh Poh Nim said.

“I’d rather be as mad as a March hare,” Paul said.

“It means the same thing,” Eh Poh Nim snapped.

“Ah, but then hares behave excitedly in March as it’s their mating season. That’s why I’d rather be mad as a March hare, know what I mean?” Paul winked.

“You’re off your trolley!”

“Who’s the insensitive one now?”

“Sssshhhh! Don’t argue so loudly!” Maniam the ex-school teacher called out from across the hall. “Not all of us here are hearing impaired, you know.”

Eh Poh Nim hurried over to give him a gift pack. “Sorry about that, uncle.”

“I heard you fellas talking about mad people. I know some crazy folks. Back in those days when I was a school teacher, there was this mother who always came to school to complain about something or other. Her son should get 100 marks for everything, he should be a prefect, he should’ve won the art and elocution contests and stuff like that. She drove me up the pole, I tell you.”

“I wouldn’t call her a basket case. That was plain kiasu, scared to lose out,” Paul butted in.

Maniam ignored him and continued, “And then there was this guy who was barking mad. Do you know where he lived?” He paused for effect. “In the roof of a bus stand. He had removed the ceiling tiles and placed a mattress on the beams of the roof. One day, I saw him climbing down stark naked. That chap had bats in the belfry, totally.”

At that moment, the tinkling of a bell sliced through the air.

“That’s the bell for lunch. Thank you, folks,” Maniam said as he bowed and shuffled off.

Eh Poh Nim and her colleagues made haste to distribute the gift packs to the other inmates who were hobbling to the kitchen.

Lydia Teh is the author of Honk! If You’re Malaysian and Life’s Like That – Scenes from Malaysian Life, available at good bookstores. Visit her blog at www.lydiateh.wordpress.com for more Eh Poh Nim stories.