The Gods Will Hear Us Eventually

By Jinny Koh

When 7-year-old Anna told a lie to get out of trouble, she didn’t expect her older sister to go missing. Faced with her mother’s wrath and riddled with guilt, Anna tries to make amends as she grapples with the aftermath of her actions.


Until her daughter’s body is found, Su Lai refuses to believe that she has simply disappeared. Turning to a medium as her obsession to find her daughter escalates, the family is sucked into a web of pain and deceit that forces them to confront their own measures of loss. A masterful debut by Jinny Koh, The Gods Will Hear Us Eventually boldly interrogates the extent of familial love and expectation while unravelling the complexities of hope and redemption.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ethos Books
• Release date: Jul 19, 2023
• ISBN: 9789811414947

Book preview

• Prologue

NAI NAI SWORE she once knew a girl who had a tree growing from her head.

I saw it with my own eyes. It was small, like a shrub, and on its branch hung one fat mangosteen.

Waving a palm fan in a slow and deliberate manner, Nai Nai looked regal as she reclined on the bed, her head propped up with two stiff pillows. The sweltering night was so hot that even the lizards that scurried along the common corridor sought coolness among potted plants, their wriggly tails disappearing behind the leaves. Crickets chirped in chorus, their dull buzz climbing higher and faster as if to beat the rising heat. Anna’s cotton singlet clung to her sticky back as she snuggled close to her grandmother, inhaling the familiar sweet scent of baby powder mixed with creamy Hazeline Snow. She loved this time of the night, when the rest of the family had retired to their bedrooms after dinner, leaving her alone with Nai Nai and her tales from the kampong, where people lived under zinc-roofs in wooden houses built on stilts, bathed with water drawn from wells, and raised chickens and ducks in their backyards. Anna had never experienced any of those things. The only buildings she knew were made of concrete; the water she drank flowed straight from the tap. But as much as the stories were fascinating—like how Nai Nai, together with her neighbours, had caught a three-metre long snake slithering across her front yard and then boiled it in a pot of soup—Anna had come to realise that many of them were mere myths and superstitions. If Nai Nai had spoken about this tree-growing business a couple of years ago, Anna might have believed her. But Anna was almost 7. A big girl now. So she said, Don’t bluff me, Nai Nai. Trees grow on the ground. Not on people’s heads.

Nai Nai laughed and sat up with a grunt, her head of short curls pressed flat on one side. Aiyoh! Listen to yourself! You think you know everything, huh? Accidents happen, you know. Why do you think Old Chan has that big bump at the back of his head?

Anna folded her arms, a shadow of uncertainty passed over her eyes. Old Chan was the fruit seller at the market who had a tumour. That was what her sister said. Could she be wrong?

You see, my friend here, she loved mangosteens, Nai Nai went on, watching Anna with a smile playing at the corner of her lips. Must have them every day or else she cannot sleep. Then one time, she ate too fast and swallowed a seed. Before she knew it, her hair turned into roots, and shoots and leaves sprouted—

Like this? Anna lifted her short hair up in the air, giggling as she imagined a tangle of scraggly roots hanging down her ears like thick ropes.

Orh! You think it’s funny! Nai Nai pinched Anna’s chubby cheek with a light hand. Well, just like you, everyone at the kampong laughed at her. They tore the leaves, cut the twigs, and threw stones at her whenever she walked by. In the end, her parents were so upset by the ruckus that they packed her clothes and sent her away.

Anna dropped her smile. Parents don’t leave their children. Not like that. I don’t believe you, Nai Nai.

Well, up to you, but you better be careful the next time you eat fruit. You never know what will happen. Before Anna could retort, Nai Nai prodded her along with the palm fan. Now go on, time to sleep. You have school tomorrow.

Anna squeezed her grandmother tight and then switched off the light. As she left the room, she glanced at Nai Nai’s willowy figure on the bed, her body shifting with the gentle rustle of leaves. Surely the girl with the mangosteen tree was just a myth, yet something about that story unsettled Anna, and it was only later that year did she fully grasp her grandmother’s words.

When she learnt that even myths can have a kernel of truth.

• Chapter 1

At six in the morning the neighbourhood roused itself like a dragon from deep slumber. Cars, engines groaning low, turned out of parking lots as if to make a subdued getaway, while motorcyclists roared off leaving puffs of smoke behind. All across Ang Mo Kio, numerous blocks of high-rise flats flickered to life under the blue, dusky sky, their cubic windows displaying the languid movements of the occupants like multiple scenes in a shadow play.

Legend has it that the town was named after Lady Windsor, British wife of a wealthy merchant who lived in Singapore during the ’20s. One day, her three children got lost in the woods and, chancing upon a wooden bridge, began to play. But an oncoming gush of water swept them away, leaving her two boys’ dead bodies a couple of miles from the crossing. Her daughter was never found. Wrecked with grief, Lady Windsor lived the rest of her days near the woods to keep her daughter’s spirit company, and even claimed to have heard her ghostly laughter. Locals who often spotted Lady Windsor knitting and reading by the bridge decided to name the area Ang Mo Kio, Caucasian Bridge in the Hokkien dialect.

But this happened many decades ago and hardly anyone remembers Lady Windsor anymore, much less mentions her. Instead, when folks think of Ang Mo Kio, a big, juicy tomato comes to mind—the image conjured from a double meaning of reading those homophonic words in Hokkien. The wooden bridge lay defunct as the rest of the town transformed into a thriving community after the People’s Action Party came into power. They scraped away the rubber plantations and farms, divided the sprawling land into avenues and streets in a grid-like fashion and built schools, libraries, cinemas, gardens and, most evidently, high-rise housing—HDB blocks, they called it—for the growing population. Families departed from their kampongs to live in these modern houses where, for the first time in their lives, they no longer needed to light kerosene lamps at night or take a dump in a pail outside their homes.

It was at one of these HDB blocks, on the fifth floor of Block 258 at Ang Mo Kio Avenue 4, that the Tan family could be found bustling around the house on the morning of February 19, 1996. Anna stood outside the front door and steadied a chair for her mother who, standing on it, draped a long scarlet banner proclaiming, HEALTH and HAPPINESS in big, gold Chinese characters.

That should do it, Su Lai said, slapping the dust from her hands. She climbed down the chair with caution, careful not to crumple her pink chiffon dress. It was a rare sight for Anna to see her mother dolled up with make-up, her black wavy hair straightened, a pearl earring studded on each lobe, but she knew that was because her mother loved the Chinese New Year and all that the season symbolised—new beginnings, blessings, family reunions. Every year, the family would soak in the festive atmosphere at Chinatown and scour the streets for the best New Year snacks. Since this was the Year of the Rat, a giant Mickey Mouse float carrying ballooned ingots had welcomed them at the entrance much to Anna’s delight. Red lanterns hung in zigzagged patterns across lampposts, and upbeat songs chanting Gong Xi! Gong Xi! blared from shop fronts jammed with customers browsing clothes and other knick-knacks. Anna had gripped Nai Nai’s hand, afraid to be separated by the roving crowd, while Su Lai nibbled her way through the food samples.

Those snacks—savoury pork jerky, crumbly peanut cookies, spicy shrimp paste rolls and, Anna’s favourite, sticky-sweet pineapple tarts—now sat brimming in transparent plastic containers on the coffee table, waiting to be partaken of. Anna snitched one tart when no one was looking and almost jumped when Nai Nai’s voice shot out from behind.

Nice or not? she asked, giving a little twirl in her new maroon cheongsam splayed with yellow flowers. Nai Nai, never one to leave the house without first putting on bright red lipstick, always made sure she looked presentable, especially on important occasions such as this. Last year, to celebrate turning sixty, she had, without informing anyone, went to a small neighbourhood shop to tattoo her thinning eyebrows at a discounted price. She came home with lopsided bluish-green ones and was grouchy for weeks after that.

Anna hugged her grandmother’s hips and pressed her cheeks against the smooth cotton. Very pretty, Nai Nai. In her eyes, her grandmother looked perfect. Those blue brows didn’t bother her. She thought they only made Nai Nai look more fun, like Sonic the Hedgehog. Anna wished she had blue brows too.

Nai Nai’s glowing smile broadened. Always so guai, so clever. Come, let me give you with an angpao. Angie ah! Come here!

From the other end of the living room, Anna heard the bedroom door swing open. All morning she had been helping their mother with the decorations while her sister hid in the room. Probably on the phone again, Anna thought. Lately, Angie had been spending all her free time chatting with her best friend Sarah. What used to be fun for the two sisters were no longer up to Angie’s standards. She even dismissed the toys they used to play with together, saying, Barbies are for babies. On top of that, when Anna entered primary school this year, Angie, who was in Primary Four, had told her not to go around telling classmates and teachers that they were sisters.

You wouldn’t want the teachers to start expecting the same standard from you as they do from me, Angie had said. This is for your own good. You’ll see.

But Anna didn’t see. She wasn’t even sure what Angie meant by the same standard, but Angie had refused to explain further. Annoyed, Anna had run to Nai Nai and complained that Angie was being mean, but Nai Nai simply said, Leave her alone. She’s growing up.

Aren’t I growing up, too? Anna wondered as she watched Angie trudge over, as if Nai Nai had interrupted some important business.

May the both of you be blessed with good health and studies this year, Nai Nai said, handing each of them a red packet. At the sight of her newfound fortune, Anna promptly forgot about her unhappiness with Angie. She was already thinking of which new Polly Pocket to get with her angpao money.

Aiyah! There you are! Su Lai hurried from the kitchen, arms bursting with soda cans. Don’t just stand there! Come, help me put these on the table!

Nai Nai shared with Anna a knowing glance before retreating to her bedroom. Everyone knew that Su Lai was always jumpy before visitors arrived. She had been fastidious throughout the week of spring cleaning: dusting the ceiling fans, mopping the floor twice a day, nagging at Anna and Angie to pack away their old books and toys. Even their father was not spared, tasked to clean out the dusty storeroom which almost triggered an asthma attack.

Anna figured her mother’s anxiety had something to do with the way Aunty Teresa and Aunty Laura had clucked their tongues and shook their heads the first time they visited. They had criticised the small rooms and thin walls with cracked paint, pointed out the lack of ventilation in the kitchen and the brown stains in the bathroom sink. Anna, noticing her parents’ uncomfortable silence, had scowled at her aunts from a distance. She didn’t understand why they were fussing over such tiny details. She liked her home. It held all the people and toys she loved. She shared a bedroom with Angie and, even though they often quarrelled over who messed up whose side of the room, she liked her sister’s company, especially on nights after Anna had watched shows that she shouldn’t be watching, like Ghostbusters and Swamp Thing. With a fearful heart in the dark, she would be comforted by her sister’s presence across the room. When they were younger, Angie would even allow Anna to crawl into her bed and sleep next to her. But not anymore.

The two sisters reached forward and grabbed the toppling Cokes and Sprites from Su Lai while orders spilt from her mouth like rulers rapping on a table:

Clear this away! Aunty Teresa and Uncle Jonathan will be here soon!

Aiyoh! Who put her dirty shoes here?

I need a cloth! Someone go get me a cloth!

Uh, I’ll go! Anna offered even though she didn’t know where her mother kept her rags. She sprinted away, eager to join Nai Nai in the sanctuary of her bedroom. She wished her father was at home to inject a sense of calm, but he was out driving his taxi. Festive seasons brought him the most customers.

Anna trooped across the living room, past a row of family portraits hanging on the wall, towards the smallest room in the house. Unlike the rest of them, Nai Nai slept alone. Anna’s grandfather had died many decades ago and Nai Nai often claimed that she was better off without him stealing her money to feed his gambling habit. Sometimes, Anna wondered what it would be like if she had the chance to know him.

As she rounded a corner, she almost tripped over something bulky and heavy. Glancing at the floor, she saw first the maroon cheongsam, then Nai Nai lying face down, her body crooked, one elbow twisted behind her.

Nai Nai!

Anna dropped to her knees and shook her grandmother’s shoulders. No response. With a grunt, she tried to turn her over, but the body was dead weight.

Oh no, oh no… Anna gasped. With clammy hands, she lifted Nai Nai’s head and saw that the once lively face was now motionless and hard with tension, as if she were trapped in a badly taken photograph: eyes half-open, bluish-green brows knotted in a frown, crimson lips twisted in a sneer. White sticky foam oozed from the sides of her mouth, wetting Anna’s fingers as she cradled her grandmother’s head and screamed.

• Chapter 2

THE A&E LOBBY was packed when Su Lai arrived in the ambulance. She watched without a word as the paramedics pulled Nai Nai out from the van and then wheeled her into a room, closing the door behind them. A nurse wearing a surgical mask asked Su Lai for information, information that she rattled off without thinking. Nai Nai’s birth date. Blood type. Allergies. Thank god she had lived with her mother-in-law long enough to know such details. Still, she needed Kim Meng here. He would know better. Where was he anyway? She adjusted her glasses and strained her neck towards the entrance and almost bumped into a lady hurrying past her. All around, people gathered themselves in small groups, either near the reception desk or by the rows of plastic chairs that sat squarely in the middle of the room. Their hushed chatter, too soft to be distinguishable, yet loud enough to disturb the silence, filled the room.

Su Lai found an empty seat next to a Chinese couple. The woman’s eyes were red-rimmed, staring without blinking at a Hepatitis B poster on the whitewashed wall. ARE YOU AT RISK? SERIOUS DISEASE and ASK YOUR DOCTOR jumped out in red and yellow. Indeed, sickness and death know no time or season, Su Lai thought, and wondered if the couple, too, were surprised to be waiting here on the first day of the Chinese New Year.

She remembered the first time she met Nai Nai over twenty years ago. After dating Kim Meng for six months, he had decided to bring her home on Nai Nai’s birthday. Juggling a basket of tropical fruits with one hand and straightening her floral skirt with the other, Su Lai had been nervous that Nai Nai wouldn’t like the present, or worse, her.

She knew how close Kim Meng was to his mother. Nai Nai had single-handedly raised him, sewing at a neighbourhood tailor shop during the day and washing dishes for hawkers at night. When Kim Meng was three years old, his father had fallen into a large drain and hammered his head at a wrong angle after one of his nightly drinking sessions at a nearby coffee shop. Oblivious to his surroundings in his drunken stupor, he didn’t even yelp or whimper. Only in the wee hours of the morning did a passerby spot his pale, skinny body tangled up on cold concrete. Kim Meng, with no memories of his father, had told this to Su Lai without any trace of sadness in his eyes. The good thing was he probably didn’t feel any pain, Kim Meng had said. Su Lai wondered if his father even knew he had died, if his soul could rest in peace. Her own mother once said that those who died suddenly, without knowing, ended up trapped on earth, their restless souls unable to enter the netherworld to be reincarnated. But Su Lai didn’t say that out loud. It had seemed insensitive to suggest that.

At the Oriental Shopping Centre, Su Lai had wanted to splurge on something expensive for Nai Nai’s birthday, like a watch or a brooch. But Kim Meng had insisted that Nai Nai would be uncomfortable with a costly gift. So, Su Lai spent the rest of the afternoon picking out the perfect fruit basket, asking him over and over again if Nai Nai preferred oranges to apples, mangoes to pears, lychees to grapes. By the time they arrived at his place, Su Lai’s hands were sweating so much that she was embarrassed to even hold his hand. Would Nai Nai find her pretty enough? Was her skirt too short? Should she try to make conversation? Or should she refrain from speaking too much? Which was more ladylike?

Su Lai soon realised that her worries were unfounded. Nai Nai turned out to be warm and talkative, her spritely laughter ringing loud and clear over the dinner table as she spooned food into Su Lai’s bowl of rice, urging her to eat more and not be shy. Even though it was a birthday dinner, the dishes, like the studio apartment, were sparse and simple: steamed egg, stir-fried cabbage with garlic, and two chicken drumsticks with oyster sauce—a rare treat in their home. Su Lai had refused the drumstick, not wanting to leave Nai Nai or Kim Meng with none, but Nai Nai had been insistent, and so she agreed to share a piece with Kim Meng.

Now, a pungent, antiseptic smell hung in the air and Su Lai’s mind returned to the hospital. She stood up and winced, pins and needles pricking her legs. Catching her reflection in a window, she felt silly to be all dressed up in a sombre place like this. She glanced at the couple again. The woman had dozed off with her mouth hanging open on the man’s scrawny shoulders. They must have been waiting for a long time, Su Lai thought.

Su! Kim Meng’s throaty voice rang across the room. She lifted her head and saw him jogging towards her, khaki pouch jiggling by his waist.

Finally! What took you so long?

Traffic very heavy lah. What happened? How come Mother suddenly collapsed?

She sighed. I’m also not sure… One moment I was tidying up the house, and then the next moment Anna was shouting for help. Su Lai recalled the look of terror on Anna’s face as she squatted beside her grandmother, and felt reassured of her decision to leave the children at home. There was no need to upset them further. Besides, they wouldn’t have been of help anyway, nor could she keep a watchful eye on them while handling Nai Nai’s hospitalisation.

So what did they say? Kim Meng said, looking over her shoulder.

Not much. All they said was that she had a stroke. Maybe a heart attack. Upon hearing that, Kim Meng’s eyes dulled with worry. She touched his arm that had gone rigid with tension, unsure of how else to make him feel better. Nai Nai, only in her sixties, had always been healthy and strong. Sure, she had mild cases of high blood pressure and high cholesterol, but who in their old age didn’t have those? Nai Nai could walk around the neighbourhood faster than Su Lai herself and often boasted of her ability to bargain louder than any aunty at the wet market. How could this have happened?

Kim Meng rubbed his eyes hard and looked around again. Where is she now?

With the doctors. They need you to sign some papers.

As they made their way to the information counter, Su Lai watched Kim Meng’s face ebb and flow with sadness, a level of sadness that she didn’t feel, and a speck of shame rested on her heart. At first, she, too, had been anxious about Nai Nai. But once the immediate danger of death had passed, new worries set in. Nai Nai would probably need medicine, physiotherapy and regular check-ups, the costs rapidly ratcheting up in Su Lai’s head. Could they afford them? Who was going to look after her when Su Lai and Kim Meng were at work? Would Nai Nai need help walking? Eating? It seemed wrong, almost unfilial, to be more concerned about money and conveniences over her mother-in-law’s well-being, but Su Lai couldn’t help herself. She had never taken care of a stroke patient before and didn’t know what it entailed. Even though she loved Nai Nai almost like her own mother (or even more, sometimes), the thought of having to discard Nai Nai’s faeces disgusted her. Would she have to wear adult diapers? Who would bathe her? Should it be Kim Meng because he was her son, or should the duty fall on Su Lai, the woman?

Su Lai fretted nonstop. Even as they stayed in the hospital and waited for Nai Nai to awake, even as she stood in line at the food court to buy dinner for the girls, even as she sat in Kim Meng’s taxi on the way home, she was mostly silent, her forehead creasing and unfolding with each new worry. She told herself that these were legitimate concerns, yet somewhere deep inside, she felt like the world’s most callous daughter-in-law.

The two sisters waited for news about Nai Nai. But save Su Lai’s one phone call telling them to stay