The branches shook with a violent fervour, litter whizzed

about and here and there a loose window slammed shut. The

clothes fluttered violently, shuddering as the wind started up,

died down and then started up again. Bamboo poles rattled in

their sockets and here and there a loose towel sprang free,

fluttering away to get caught in the branches of the rain trees

below the block.

Weng Chai watched all this from his window, his view of

the world on a windy day. He expected more in a minute.

Faces appeared at the windows. Windows which had seemed

lifeless the whole day. Eager hands grabbed the poles and

brought them in - in great anticipation of a heavy downpour.

In his years of staying in flats, Weng Chai knew that

window activity reached its peak at odd times in the morning as

housewives struggled with the poles of washing to be dried and

at such times when the impending rain threatened to undo the

day's drying.

Yet, in some flats, the tell-tale signs showed. Here and

there the washing continued to flutter in the wind. A few of

these poles belonged to people who were prepared to gamble

against the wind, believers in the theory that a strong wind

doesn't always bring in the rain. They would no doubt make that

mad last- minute dash as the first drops of rain appeared. Others

were the overlords ( as he called them ) - the Masters Of All

They Surveyed. People who had invested in those magic poles that

retracted automatically when the first drops of rain appeared.

People of the New Technology. Selfish people; sometimes. One of

them lived above Weng Chai's flat and hung out dripping clothes-

confident and smug in his knowledge that his technology would

ensure his complete immunity to similar hanky-panky from units

above his.

Weng Chai harboured a deep grudge against him. On so many

occasions his mother had lamented how her nearly dry clothes were

made wet by the constant dripping from above but she made no

attempt to confront the culprit. Her nature was such. To live

and let live. Even when his father had been alive, she had been

the long suffering wife, bowing in to his whims and fancies and

even some of his unreasonable demands. This was the aspect of her

character he found a put-off at times.

But he had thought of many options to give back a little

inconvenience for the inconvenience caused. One good idea was to

squeeze a little super glue into the man's keyhole. That would

make him at least thirty dollars poorer. Not to mention the

hassle of getting a good locksmith to undo the damage. But a

nightmare had temporarily shelved the plan. The nightmare had

sent a chill down his spine.

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In the nightmare, he was busy squeezing glue into the keyhole

when the door suddenly flew open and a burly man dragged him into

the house. What followed was an Adrian Lim style horror ritual.

The ritual ended suddenly as it began as the burly man raised a

sword to slice his head into two. He had got up at this juncture

with his mother hovering over him.

He had also toyed with the idea of putting up a notice at

the lift landing accusing the resident of the flat above his of

total inconsideration. Very much like what the loan sharks did

from time to time with an errant debtor but the fear of being

caught and jailed for vandalism had finally buried this ambition.

A loud clap of thunder brought him back from his thoughts.

The wind was getting stronger now. Leaves were whizzing

around all over and a few windows on the lower floors were being

closed to prevent an invasion of dead leaves.

Yet, amidst all this, a few poles of washing would be left

to suffer the downpour- sagging the poles as the clothes absorbed

the rain water and burdened the poles. Weng Chai knew this lot.

They were the over-confident eager beavers who had left home,

banking on this one gamble that it wouldn't rain the whole day.

They would no doubt had put their blind faith in the previous

day's weather forecast. Coming home, they would eat humble pie.

Weng Chai wondered if burglars had ever put this knowledge

to good use. A pole of washing hanging out to wet itself in a

downpour was as tell-tale a sign as a door jammed with

accumulating newspapers.

That few minutes before the rain was about the only time

when window activity in all the flats peaked. Faces appeared at

windows that had been apparently lifeless a moment before and

eager hands grabbed out to bring the poles in. It was the best

time to identify the few people in the opposite block who had

remained faceless for the last few years. A fat Malay woman on

the second floor, third flat from the left, a skinny Chinese with

a balding head on the fourth floor, third flat from the right.

Weng Chai knew only a few of the residents in the opposite

block by face, and a very few by habit and inference.

One resident whom he knew well was "Bird-man". Weng Chai

found this name most apt for a man who spent practically the

whole day living up his obsession with the feathered flock."Bird-

man" had at least a dozen cages and he tended the birds the way

a woman tends her precious baby.

"Bird-man" spent a great deal of his mornings in the

kitchen. Though the kitchen was not visible clearly, the step-by-

step way in which the bird cages were hung out from the grilles

of the window left Weng Chai in no doubt that "Bird-man"gave his

birds an early morning bath before hanging them out to dry

themselves.

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In the evenings, "Bird-man" was always below the block, hanging

up the cages which he brought down onto the branches of the

smaller trees. He brought down only five cages every evening so

Weng Chai assumed that perhaps the birds were rostered out to

excursions on specific days of the week.

Weng Chai wondered if "Bird-man" was a bachelor or

divorced.

In all the years since he had spotted and tracked "Bird-

man", Weng Chai had never seen his wife or children. But this was

odd. "Bird-man" lived in what was clearly a four-roomed flat and

HDB rules were clearly spelt out on what singles could and could

not buy.

Weng Chai had finally settled to this conclusion that

"Bird-man" was divorced. He could imagine how many quarrels a

once happily married couple must have had over the birds.

"That's all you care about. Your birds," she must have

snapped as she left the house in a huff on many an occasion,"Your

silly, stinking birds".

"Bird-man" must have plodded on,resisting the many taunts

and insults his wife hurled on him. Plodded on till things came

to a head.

It must have been the grasshoppers in the refrigerator

that had brought things to a head. Imagine the shock the wife

got when, one morning, she dug deep into the refrigerator to take

out come chillies and came face to face with a plastic bag full

of hibernating grasshoppers meant for the birds. But no. That

would not be possible. Not possible for "Bird-man" to continue

hiding those creepy insects for so long without his wife's

knowledge.

Perhaps the revenge had led to the divorce. Bird-man's

wife, totally upset by his love for the birds could have released

one or two to spite him. Totally enraged that his prize-winning

mata-puteh had fled, he must have had a bitter argument, which

must have led to blows, which must have led to his wife storming

out of his home and life.

"Bird-man" never worked. He was home most mornings and

most afternoons. Weng Chai concluded that somewhere, someone was

posting him a pension monthly. He looked that age anyway.

"Bird-man" seldom left home on weekdays either. But come

Sunday "Bird-man" would patiently wait at the car-park for a

pick-up which showed up usually after eight in the morning. He

would load two or three of his cages behind to join the two or

three already loaded and the pick-up would drive out slowly from

the car-park. It wouldn't do to startle the birds.

Weng Chai never ever got to see the driver of the pick-

up. The man never came out. Or perhaps it was a woman. But

there was no doubt that he was a bird-lover like "Bird-man" and

their mutual love for birds had brought them together. He

wondered where they went.

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