Blogger worked as a tutor for most of his working life.
A week day, perhaps 6.45pm.
We were seated at my porch in Canning Garden, having an English lesson. It was evening, and wet. It had stopped raining but the roads were still slippery.
The screech of brakes made us all look up and look towards the main road.
I saw a man on his motorbike skidding to a stop. He fell from the motorbike, and the motorbike fell onto the road. Somehow, he had managed to avoid other vehicles.
My students and I rushed over, and so did others.
He kept trying to get up, but fell over each time. “Why can’t I get up?” he said.
I pointed to his leg and said, “Look at it. That’s why.”
He looked, and asked me, “Why is my foot pointing backwards?”
“Because it’s broken.”
We moved him to the grass beside the road, and someone pushed his motorbike to my house. It would be safe in the porch until his family came to take it away.
I brought him to the Ipoh General Hospital, called his home, waited for his younger brother to arrive, and returned home.
At about 9.30pm, a man came. With him was the younger brother.
He shouted furiously, “Why did you knock down my son?
I was puzzled. Huh? What was he talking about?
“No, he helped Big Brother,” the younger brother intervened.
The man was still angry, and then, I got angry.
“I helped your son. I took him to hospital. I allowed his motorbike to be kept safely here. But what did you accuse me of?”
He didn’t know what to say.
I knew what what to say.
“Please take the motorbike away. You might even accuse me of stealing it! Quickly, push it out. Now, go away!”
As soon as the motorbike was outside my compound, I shut the gate, locked it, and went back inside. Without a glance at them.
Ho sum, mo ho po.