DO YOU WANT ME TO BREAK YOUR BONES?
In Penang Free School, lessons did not necessarily end with the last bell at one thirty. On every Monday and Thursday, we had to go back at three o'clock in the afternoon for extra classes. After that we had compulsory extra-mural activities.
It took me more than half an hour to cycle back from school to home. After a nice, cool bath, and a leisurely lunch, I cycled to school again. Cycling along Dato Kramat Road in the direction from town to Green Lane in the hot afternoon, was moving into the piercing ray of the fiery sun. Each stroke of the peddle brought each stroke of the hot sunshine into your eyes. Nevertheless, I peddled along, but when I reached the school gate, I found a school prefect barring the way.
"What's your name, and your form? Now report at the Prefects' Room."
At the Prefects' Room near the school canteen, another prefect was taking down some particulars from other late-comers into a thick, ominous book. In Free School, the prefects were all powerful. It was they, not the teachers, who meted out punishment. On the whole, they were fair and highly responsible. In my long years at Free School, I hardly heard of any pupils complaining of victimization by any prefect.
"You're late, Kiew Kit. It's bad to be late; it's worse when it happens on your very first day in Free School."
That chap spoke perfect Queen's English. If I could remember correctly, his name was Teng Nam, the School Captain then, and a very successful doctor today. Despite our difference in age, we later became friends. I recall that one day, seeing a story book in his hand, I casually mentioned that I would like reading a book like that. Without any hesitation he offered to lend me the book. It was "The Black Beauty", a biography of a horse which I thoroughly enjoyed reading.
"Well, Kiew Kit, why are you late?" the prefect continued.
"Sorry sir ..."
"I'm sorry, but I'm not a sir. I'm a prefect. Anyway, why are you late?"
At that time I really could not tell the difference between a teacher and a prefect, especially prefects looked so tall to me, and were so smartly dressed in ties.
"If you could give me a good reason, I would let you free," he kindly prompted.
I could have cooked up a hundred excuses. Most easily, I could have said I had had a punctured tyre; but that was too common an excuse. More exotically, I could say my pet elephant just laid a golden egg, and I was so excited waiting for the egg to hatch that I lost trace of time. But I remembered what the headmaster had said in the morning about Frees being brave and true.
So I said, "Sorry, I have no good reason. As I've done wrong, I'm prepared to face punishment."
"You're very brave and truthful," he smiled. "For that I'll let you free."
When I went to my class, Mr Chin Hin was already teaching energetically. I thought he would give me a scolding for being late, but I was mistaken. He just waved me in, as I knocked on the door. He was so absorbed speaking to the class, that he did not even look at me.
"In the morning, you learn English," he said.
"The Queen's English, sir," some boys shouted excitedly.
"What?"
"Sir, we learn the Queen's English," the class responded.
"I don't care whether it's the Queen's English or the King's English, so long it's proper, grammatical English." Mr Chin held up his hands, trying to keep the exuberant class in check. "That's in the morning. But now, in our extra class, we'll learn extra English."
"What's extra English?" a few boys asked independently.
"Quiet, quiet!" He was starting to lose control of the class. He picked up one of his books and started banning the table with it. "Quiet, or I'll break your bones!"
"What is quiet?" "How to break your bones?"
More boys joined in the fun. Some were even standing up and waving their hands about.
Mr Chin became angry. He began hitting a few noisy boys with his book. However, he was considerate enough not to hit their heads; he hit them on their backs or shoulders. Mr Chin probably understood that owing to cultural reasons, most Chinese parents objected to their children being hit on the head. Or perhaps Mr Chin was worried that hitting the boys' head might result in some series injury. But each time he hit a boy, we were more concerned for the book, because it was becoming torn from hitting.
After the class became quieter, Mr Chin continued, "Extra English means literature. We're going to study literature. We're going to read some books. Here's Tom Brown's School Days," he showed us the tattered book in his hand.
"Here's King Solomon's Mines, and here's The Journey Begins." He exhibited the other two books.
"Now tell me," he asked the class, "what literature is."
As that was the first day of school and Mr Chin Hin had not learnt the boys' names, he pointed to a small, timid boy in front. "What is literature?" he demanded.
The timid boy was given a shock. "We read some books," he quickly said.
"Yes, we're going to read some books. But, what's literature? Tell me, tell me." He looked around for some bright faces.
Then he noticed a skinny boy giggling away at a corner. "Hei, you. What's literature?"
"King Solomon's Mines!" the skinny boy replied.
"That's not literature. Er, that's literature, but that's not what I mean by what is literature." We did not understand what he was saying.
"What is literature? Come on, tell me, tell me." Mr Chin Hin was determined to have a correct answer to his question.
Then he noticed me sitting quietly, trying to figure out what all this was about. He pointed an ominous finger at me. "What is literature? Tell me if you don't want me to break your bones."
"No, sir. I don't want you to break my bones."
The whole class roared with laughter as soon as this innocent sentence rolled out of my tongue, leaving me wondering why my classmates were laughing at what I felt was a sensible, logical answer. Worse still, some boys were indicating their fingers at me. Though they did not say it aloud, the way they laughed and their suggestive finger-pointing unmistakably told me what a foolish crown they thought I was. Mr Chin Hin could not be angry, because he was also laughing heartily with the class.
After a full minute had passed, after the last pealing of laughter had drifted away, Mr Chin Hin slowly said, "I didn't ask you whether you wanted me to break your bones. I asked you what literature was."
"Study books, sir," I quickly volunteered something, hoping that this would cover up my foolishness.
"That's right. Literature is the study of books." Our amused teacher looked satisfied.
LINKS