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The Old Clock

      THE OLD CLOCK ( DIE ALTE UHR )   I           Nowadays, I can afford to get up at 8.45 a.m. Being fully retired, I no longer need to rise early to get to work on time – a ‘must’ in industrious and conscientious Singapore.   And I can indulge myself. After a quick shower and a hearty breakfast, I   sit   in an armchair, in my comfortable flat on the East Coast,   and admire my   porcelain mantel clock. As she is an antique, I no longer expect the clockwork to tell the time. The spring may snap and damage the case and the rich embellishments. But I derive real pleasure from contemplating her. The clock is crafted in an ornate Rococo style. At her centre is a round dial framed by delicate gilded detailing and Roman numerals, surrounded by lavish sculpted flowers in soft pastel shades of pink, blue, lavender, and cream. The white porcelain case curves gracefully, adorned with intricate...
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A Ritual Nightmare

  A RITUAL NIGHTMARE   I.               The episode   related here   began one bright day in 1962. Some six months earlier, I had taken up my post as Assistant Lecturer in Singapore’s Faculty of Law. My circle of friends was still narrow, comprising mainly lecturers of the English Literature Department. That morning, my head was still buzzing from a drinking bout of the previous evening. Allan had brought with him one bottle of Johnnie Walker Black label and another of fine French cognac. Looking apprehensively at my recent bank statement, I wondered whether I would be able to be equally magnanimous when it was my turn to supply the booze.              Then, to my utter surprise, the telephone rang. At first, I wanted to give it a miss. It was still early in the morning; I had not had my breakfast and craved to have my peace. Then, reluctantly,...
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