The Sprightly Nonagenarian
It is Festival season in Edinburgh. Tens of thousands of visitors have flocked in the city, from everywhere, many from abroad. The streets are crowded, buses cannot keep to their schedules, and most people react to the misery of long queues and delays cheerfully. I think there is the acceptance that if one wished to live in one of the most civilised cities in Europe, there must be a small price to pay. Coming out of the Assembly, where I had been to watch The Life and Times of Michael K, based on J.M.Coetzee’s novel, it was nearly 3.00 p.m. and I had not had lunch yet. So when I reached the bus stop just outside the Central Library, my heart sank when I saw a long queue waiting. I checked the electronic indicator, and was not surprised that it was not in operation, and therefore had no information about how long a wait there would be. An elderly lady, a sprightly nonagenarian, next to whom I found myself caught the little grimace I made, and nodded at me in sympathy, and I thought that to pass the time, one could indulge in a little conversation. You’ve been to a show, ma’am? I asked. Her eyes twinkled, as no doubt she too welcomed a chat to pass the time. No, she responded, but she was at the Usher Hall last night to catch that Korean orchestra playing Mozart. Was it good? I asked. It was superlative, she said, but had more to say.
‘I marvel at these people who are open to an alien culture and produce such excellent work,’ she said, ‘and ask myself, What do we know of Asian culture?’ Yes, I responded, the Koreans, like the Japanese and the Chinese, are excellent interpreters of Western classical music. Had I seen any good shows this year? She asked. I told her about Michael K, and added that I too had seen a delightful Korean opera, Trojan Woman, and said that it was one of the best shows that I had caught in the last few years.Yes, she said, they are a very cultured people. I then thought I should pay her a compliment.
‘I am surprised and pleased that you think so,’ I said.
‘But I was born in Penang,’ she blurted out, ‘my father was district officer in the thirties.’ And she told me that she had lived in Malaya until she was twelve, and then spent time in Jakarta as well. To my surprise she revealed that she used to be fluent in bahasa. My son was in Bogor for two or three years, I said, teaching TEFL. I had to add that my father too had spent time in Indonesia in the twenties.
Suddenly her eyes lit up again, and she said, ‘Oh I have to tell you this, it’s so marvellous.’ She had been shopping, and when it was time to pay, realised that she did not have her purse any more. She was upset and panicking, and to her amazement a young fellow came towards her brandishing her purse, which he had picked down the road. ‘Aren’t people marvellous?’ I had to tell her my own story of how, travelling from Lagos to Kontagora, a 15 hour journey I realised that I too had lost my purse.
‘I informed the driver, and he made an announcement, and someone stood up and walked towards me with my purse. Is it yours?’
‘So you must have travelled a fair bit too?’ I nodded, and told her that I came from Mauritius_’
That’s where the dodo came from?
The dodo and me, I added facetiously.
‘Oh,’ she asked suddenly, I know it’s a stupid question, but seeing you come from Mauritius, do you know dentist Chong Kwan? He used to be my dentist until last year when he sadly passed away.’ I had heard the name in Mauritius, and besides I remember my dentist brother talking about a dentist Chong Kwan. I figured out that her dentist Chong Kwan must have been the son of my brother’s colleague.
And I filled her in on what I had done since I came to the UK in 1959. Then a Number 27 bus appeared.
‘Now that I’ve been enjoying talking to you, I’d have been happy to wait some more,’ she said. Although I was quite hungry, I agreed with her.
‘Hope we can find seats together,’ she said, ‘because I’ve been enjoying our talk.’
Sadly, as the bus was fairly packed, she found a seat in front and I at the back. It seemed like an anti-climax, but two stops down her neighbour alighted, and I was able to move in with her. We continued together until Tollcross, where we both got out, she having decided to walk home, whilst I too tired to walk opted for another bus.
‘I’ll look out for you, and you do the same, we’re bound to meet again,’ she said cheerfully.
