* * *
* Eaten during Chinese New Year in Singapore, yee sang, or “raw fish,” consists of a huge plate piled with raw fish, shredded pickled vegetables, and a variety of spices and sauces. On cue, the diners at the table stand and toss the ingredients in the air with their chopsticks while wishing each other prosperity and abundance. Known as the “prosperity toss,” the belief is that the higher you toss, the higher your fortunes will grow.
5
TYERSALL PARK
SINGAPORE, CHINESE NEW YEAR, MORNING
Three Mercedes S-Class sedans in the identical shade of iridium silver bearing license plate numbers TAN01, TAN02, and TAN03 idled in the morning traffic on their way to Tyersall Park. In the lead car, Lillian May Tan, matriarch of the family with the surname so unabashedly flaunted on its vehicles, peered out at the red-and-gold Chinese New Year decorations that assaulted every façade along Orchard Road. Every year, the decorations seemed to get more and more elaborate and less and less tasteful. “What in God’s name is that?”
Seated in the front passenger seat, Eric Tan studied the ten-story LED billboard flashing an epileptic-seizure-inducing animation and let out a chuckle. “Grandma, I think it’s supposed to be a red snake…entering some…um, golden tunnel.”
“It’s a curious-looking snake,” Eric’s new wife, Evie, commented in her high-pitched voice.
Lillian May refrained from mentioning what she thought the engorged creature with the flared head resembled, but it reminded her of something she had seen a long time ago when her late husband—bless his soul—took her to a most peculiar live show in Amsterdam. “We should have taken Clemenceau Avenue! Now we’re stuck in all this Orchard Road traffic,” Lillian May said, fretting.
“Aiyah, no matter which way we go, it’s going to be jammed up,” her daughter Geraldine said.
Beginning on the first day of the Chinese New Year, Singaporeans participate in a most unique ritual. All over the island, people frantically dash around to the homes of family and friends to offer New Year greetings, exchange ang pows,*1 and gobble down food. The first two days of the New Year are most crucial, and a strict protocol is observed as people arrange their visits in specific order of seniority—paying respects to the oldest, most esteemed (and usually richest) relatives first. Adult children not living at home are expected to visit their parents, younger siblings have to visit each of their older siblings in descending order of age, second cousins twice removed visit first cousins once removed, and after spending all day driving around the city paying tribute to the paternal side, they have to repeat the whole process the next day on the maternal side.*2 In large families the whole affair would often involve complicated Excel flow charts, ang pow tracking apps, and plenty of Russian vodka to dull the migraine-inducing confusion of it all.
The Tans prided themselves on always being the first to arrive at Tyersall Park on New Year’s Day. Even though these descendants of the nineteenth-century rubber tycoon Tan Wah Wee were third cousins to the Youngs and technically not supposed to be the first visitors, they had established a tradition of showing up promptly at 10:00 a.m. since the 1960s (mainly because Lillian May’s late husband did not want to miss out on rubbing shoulders with all the VVIPs who tended to show up early).
As the convoy of vehicles finally reached Tyersall Avenue and made its way up the private gravel road of the sprawling estate, Geraldine gave Evie a last-minute crash course on her new relatives. “Now, Evie, be sure to greet Su Yi in Hokkien like I instructed you, and don’t address her unless you are spoken to first.”
“Okay.” Evie nodded, gaping at the elegant colonnade of palm trees leading to the most majestic house she had ever seen, getting more nervous by the second.
“And just avoid making any eye contact with her Thai ladies-in-waiting. Great-auntie Su Yi always has these two maids standing by her side who will give you the evil eye,” Eric remarked.
“Oh God—”
“Aiyah, stop scaring the poor girl,” Lillian May scoffed. As the family emerged from their cars and prepared to enter the house, Geraldine whispered a final warning to her mother. “Remember…DO NOT bring up Nicky again. You almost caused Auntie Su Yi to have a stroke last year when you asked where he was.”
“What makes you think Nicky won’t be here this year?” Lillian May asked as she crouched down by the Mercedes’s side mirror to rearrange the elaborate wisps of hair cascading down her neck.
Geraldine glanced around quickly before continuing. “Aiyah, you don’t even know the latest! Monica Lee told me that her niece Parker Yeo heard the most sensational tidbit from Teddy Lim: Apparently, Nicky’s all set to marry that girl next month. Instead of a grand wedding here they are getting married in California on a beach! Can you imagine?”
“Hiyah—what a disgrace! Poor Su Yi. And poor Eleanor. What a loss of face—all her efforts to position Nicky as the most favored grandson have been dashed.”
“Remember, Mummy, um ngoi hoi seh, ah.*3 Don’t say anything!”
“Don’t worry, I won’t say a thing to Su Yi,” Lillian May promised. She was glad to be here at Tyersall Park at last, in this oasis of splendor far removed from the garish New Year kitsch that adorned the rest of the island. To Lillian, there was this sense of being in an enchanted time warp the moment she passed through the front door. It was a house that adhered only to the traditions decreed by its exacting chatelaine, transforming for the festive season in its own subtle ways. The white phalaenopsis orchids that usually greeted visitors on the ancient stone table in the foyer were replaced by a towering arrangement of pink peonies. Upstairs in the drawing room, a twenty-foot-long calligraphy scroll bearing a New Year poem by Xu Zhimo—composed in tribute to Su Yi’s late husband, Sir James Young—would be unfurled against the silver- and lapis-inlaid wall, and the white voile curtains that usually flapped against the veranda doors would be swapped for watered-silk panels in the palest shimmering rose.
In the sun-soaked conservatory, the New Year tea ritual was just beginning. Su Yi, resplendent in a high-necked turquoise silk charmeuse dress and a single opera-length strand of cultured pearls, sat on a cushioned wicker chair by the French doors with her trusty Thai lady’s maids standing solemnly behind her, while three of her middle-aged children stood in a row before her like school kids waiting to turn in their homework. Felicity and Victoria watched as their brother, Philip, ceremoniously offered the little teacup to his mother with both hands and formally offered wishes of good health and prosperity. After Su Yi took a sip of the oolong tea infused with dried red dates, it was Eleanor’s turn. As Eleanor began pouring the steaming liquid from the ornately carved Qing dragon teapot, the first guests of the morning could be heard arriving.
“Hiyah, those Tans come earlier and earlier every year!” Felicity said irritatedly.
Victoria shook her head in disapproval. “That Geraldine is always worried that she’ll mi
ss out on the food. She gets fatter and fatter every year—I’m scared to imagine what her triglyceride level must be.”
“Now, didn’t that good-for-nothing Eric Tan just marry some Indonesian girl? I wonder how dark she is going to be,” Felicity said.
“She’s Indonesian Chinese—her mother is one of the Liem sisters, so I bet you she will be fairer than all of us put together. Now don’t say a thing, but Cassandra warned me that Auntie Lillian May just got back from America and is sporting a new wig. She thinks it makes her look younger, but Cassandra thinks she looks like a pontianak,”*4 Victoria muttered.
“Goodness gracious!” Felicity giggled.
Just then, Lillian May breezed into the room, followed by a retinue of sons and daughters, assorted spouses, and grandchildren. The matriarch of the Tan family approached Su Yi, bowed ever so slightly, and offered the traditional New Year greeting: “Gong hei fat choy!”*5