During my years in Wellington, I often soliloquised about Ranjan’s life. Years later, when we had returned to Singapore, I felt the need to clear my mind. My occasional talks with Tay Fung-Shuo, which I had during my first period in Singapore, threw no light on the episodes respecting Ranjan. Tay had remained tight lipped and, as soon as decorum permitted, changed the subject, usually by leading the way to some newly discovered antique porcelain.
On those occasion, when I had been a guest in his shop, he was entitled to remain taciturn. But ever since his Harlequin Doppelgänger – Alfie – had urged me to write a candid account of Ranjan’s life, I had the right to have his comments on any issue respecting Ranjan’s life. One evening, when Pat was glued to a lengthy Chinese programme, I had the opportunity to discuss the issues with him.
Alfie welcomed me with his usual grin. It spread over his face as soon as the elegant porcelain figurine metamorphosed into my old friend, wearing his traditional silk suit.
“You not laugh my no hair, Mr. Mid-Yeast Tourist,” he teased. “Yours also gone long time ago!”
“Don’t rub it in, Mr. Tay,” I protested.
“Today me Alfie! Yes. Also in our language. Today you come ask about Ranjan, Lillo and Lydia. Is all your friends; and also me your friend. So today be formal silly!”
I was, of course, aware that the image displayed in front of my eyes was illusory. The real Alfie had been dead for years. I was conversing with some hidden corner in my own sub-conscious mind – a corner now imbued with Tay Fung-Shuo’s intellect. To me, though, the porcelain Doppelgänger was real.
“So why not clear my vision, Mr. Know All Alfie?”
“You ask question. When clear, I think answer.”
Step by step I raised my queries about Ranjan’s two romances. Lillo had been beautiful, presentable and madly in love with him. She would have been a good wife, an excellent hostess and a show piece. His society at home would have accepted her with open arms; and his career was paramount in her eyes. And all her money would have been at his disposal. Lydia, too, was beautiful and presentable; but she was not wealthy. In addition, her independent nature and gift of repartee could have put obstacles when he was winding his way through the corridors of power.
I had no doubt that Lillo would have been the more suitable spouse. Yet he had jilted her and, later on, wanted to tie the knot with Lydia. What had induced him to reach his two decisions?
“You ask before – in my shop. I not want to discuss because you and I, we talk art, porcelain, sometime history also literature. This, I think, is different problem. Is real life.”
“Is so; but, Alfie, art, history, literature is life.”
“Of people you not know. Ranjan, is friend. But, never mind, today we investigate. But first you tell me: you yourself, what you think is Lillo.”
“Beautiful and smart girl; princess!”
“You think you want her?”
“I think every man want … take out?”
“But marry – you think you want?”
“I not even dare ask! I not her class!”
“But if she ask?”
“Perhaps not, Alfie,” I admitted; “and – of course – she my friend’s girl.”
“But if not so; and if you know her well?”
At that point I saw light. Lillo was tantalising. Any normal man would dream about an affair with her. She was bound to keep his interest going. Apart from her good looks, she had personality. Men loved to watch her holding court. But would many of them take the next step and propose?
“Good marriage, what means” asked Alfie, who had been following my trend of thought.
“Companionship; understanding, same interests; and, of course, what we call chemistry?”
“But you think Lillo can give all to Ranjan?”
“Why not?” I prevaricated.
“But you yourself not sure if you want be lucky man? So why?”
“When I first see I admire; but then I see Lillo so dependent; want be part of everything – so is demanding perhaps is possessive, very possessive.”
“And Ranjan – is he independent man?”
“Is.”
“So perhaps he also afraid; and, you tell me, he make Lillo think one day he judge – aloof member of clan; not member of crowd.”
“And a politician must be – or pretend is – one of public.”
“So perhaps here problem. When Ranjan court Lillo, he give her wrong impression; and then is afraid tell truth. Also perhaps is afraid he lose independence; lose free choice.”
“So why not talk girl?”
“This cannot know. Perhaps he get ‘cold feet’; not want show own weakness or admit lie: who know? And is also possible Lillo demand too much attention; and Ranjan want freedom.”
“But why did he run away like that?” I reverted to plain English.
“Big boy great coward,” retorted Alfie. “Some great leaders fear wife and wife’s tongue; or fear tears?”
“And the money?”
“Greed,” summed up Alfie. “Not nice!”
“Why then did he propose to Lydia; she was far more independent than Lillo?”
“He was older and wiser by then.” Tay followed my lead into plain language. “And perhaps he sensed he could handle Lydia because she, too, was a Sinhalese.”
Alfie’s analysis provided a possible answer. One puzzle, though, remained. More than a year had passed between Ranjan’s desertion and my unexpected meeting with his discarded fiancée. Time was a great healer and Lillo was a beautiful, highly spirited girl. Initially, she had survived Ranjan’s defection. What had induced her to commit an act of folly months later?
“Perhaps was chance of see you?” ventured Alfie. “And then you not go visit her!”
“Surely not reason,” I protested. “You not think Lillo dream about Yokel like your good friend, Mr. Mid-Yeast Tourist!”
“Now, now, my friend,” Alfie chided. “You not Yokel; some girls, they like you; even if Lillo thinks you like brother!”
“So why she see me important?”
“You bring back loss of her hero; also perhaps you say something? And she think you want avoid more on issue.”
His words jolted my memory. Just before her new boyfriend – Joseph X – had burst in on us, Lillo had asked whether I thought Ranjan might eventually return to her. Unthinkingly, I had told her – plainly – that Ranjan was not one to retrace his steps. She must have concluded that I implied that hers was a case of spilt milk. My failure to call on her must have driven the message home. She gathered I wanted to avoid any further reference to the matter. My reaction to Joseph, too, was plain. Lillo must have gathered that I regarded him a nonentity. I made her focus on her loss and, unthinkingly, told her it was irrecoverable. Did she lose her remaining hope for a bright future? Was my encounter with her the unfortunate last straw?
“So now you understand, my friend” said Alfie.
“I am afraid I do; and you right!”
“Must be; if so you say,” he smirked.