silvery hair and dark tan, Harry was a leonine presence at the head of the
table, and as always, Michael approached his father-in-law with no small amount of
trepidation. Harry handed him a large padded envelope. “Here’s my MacBook Air. There’s
something wrong with the Wi-Fi connection.”
“What exactly is the problem? Is it not finding the right networks, or are you having
log-in problems?” Michael asked.
Harry had already turned his attention back to the menu. “What? Oh, it just doesn’t
seem to work anywhere. You’re the one who set it up, and I haven’t changed any of
the settings. Thank you
so much
for taking a look at it. Felicity, did I have the rack of lamb here the last time?
Is this where they always overcook the meat?”
Michael dutifully took the laptop with him, and as he made his way back to his seat
at the other end of the table, Astrid’s eldest brother, Henry, grabbed him by his
jacket sleeve. “Hey, Mike, hate to bother you with this, but can you stop by the house
this weekend? There’s something wrong with Zachary’s Xbox. I hope you can fix it—it’s
too
mah fan
† to send it back to the factory in Japan for repair.”
“I might have to go away this weekend, but if not, I’ll try to stop by,” Michael said
flatly.
“Oh thank you, thank you,” Cathleen, Henry’s wife, cut in. “Zachary has been driving
us absolutely crazy without his Xbox.”
“Is Michael good with gadgets or something?” Mavis inquired.
“Oh, he’s an absolute
genius
, Mavis, a
genius
! He’s the perfect son-in-law to have around—he can fix anything!” Harry proclaimed.
Michael smiled uncomfortably as Mavis fixed her gaze on him. “Now why did I think
he was in the army?”
“Auntie Mavis, Michael used to work for the Ministry of Defense. He helped to program
all the high-tech weapon systems,” Astrid said.
“Yes, the fate of our country’s ballistics defense is in Michael’s hands. You know,
in case we get invaded by the two hundred and fifty million Muslims surrounding us
on all sides, we can put up a fight for about ten minutes,” Alexander chuckled.
Michael tried to hide his grimace and opened up his heavy leather-bound menu. This
month’s culinary theme was “Taste of the Amalfi,” and most of the dishes were in Italian.
Vongole
. That was clams, he knew. But what the heck was
Paccheri alla Ravello
, and would it have killed them to include an English translation? This was par for
the course at one of the island’s oldest sporting clubs, a place so pretentious and
buttoned-up in Edwardian-era tradition that women were not even allowed to
peek
into the Men’s Bar until 2007.
As a teenager, Michael had played soccer every week at the
Padang
, the immense green field in front of city hall that was used for all the national
parades, and he often stared curiously at the august Victorian structure at the eastern
edge of the
Padang
. From the goalie post, he could see the glittering chandeliers within, the silver-domed
dishes set on crisp white tablecloths, the waiters in their black tuxedo jackets scurrying
around. He would observe the important-looking people enjoying their dinners and wonder
who they were. He longed to walk into the club, just once, to be able to look at the
soccer field from the other side of those windows. On a dare, he had asked a couple
of his friends to sneak into the club with him. They would go one day before soccer,
when they were still dressed in their St. Andrew’s school uniforms. They could just
stroll in casually, as if they were members, and who would stop them from ordering
a drink at the bar? “Don’t even dream, Teo, don’t you know what this place is? It’s
the Colonial Club! You either have to be
ang mor
, or you have to be born into one of those ultrarich families to get inside,” one
of his buddies commented.
“Gordon and I sold our Pulau Club memberships because I
table, and as always, Michael approached his father-in-law with no small amount of
trepidation. Harry handed him a large padded envelope. “Here’s my MacBook Air. There’s
something wrong with the Wi-Fi connection.”
“What exactly is the problem? Is it not finding the right networks, or are you having
log-in problems?” Michael asked.
Harry had already turned his attention back to the menu. “What? Oh, it just doesn’t
seem to work anywhere. You’re the one who set it up, and I haven’t changed any of
the settings. Thank you
so much
for taking a look at it. Felicity, did I have the rack of lamb here the last time?
Is this where they always overcook the meat?”
Michael dutifully took the laptop with him, and as he made his way back to his seat
at the other end of the table, Astrid’s eldest brother, Henry, grabbed him by his
jacket sleeve. “Hey, Mike, hate to bother you with this, but can you stop by the house
this weekend? There’s something wrong with Zachary’s Xbox. I hope you can fix it—it’s
too
mah fan
† to send it back to the factory in Japan for repair.”
“I might have to go away this weekend, but if not, I’ll try to stop by,” Michael said
flatly.
“Oh thank you, thank you,” Cathleen, Henry’s wife, cut in. “Zachary has been driving
us absolutely crazy without his Xbox.”
“Is Michael good with gadgets or something?” Mavis inquired.
“Oh, he’s an absolute
genius
, Mavis, a
genius
! He’s the perfect son-in-law to have around—he can fix anything!” Harry proclaimed.
Michael smiled uncomfortably as Mavis fixed her gaze on him. “Now why did I think
he was in the army?”
“Auntie Mavis, Michael used to work for the Ministry of Defense. He helped to program
all the high-tech weapon systems,” Astrid said.
“Yes, the fate of our country’s ballistics defense is in Michael’s hands. You know,
in case we get invaded by the two hundred and fifty million Muslims surrounding us
on all sides, we can put up a fight for about ten minutes,” Alexander chuckled.
Michael tried to hide his grimace and opened up his heavy leather-bound menu. This
month’s culinary theme was “Taste of the Amalfi,” and most of the dishes were in Italian.
Vongole
. That was clams, he knew. But what the heck was
Paccheri alla Ravello
, and would it have killed them to include an English translation? This was par for
the course at one of the island’s oldest sporting clubs, a place so pretentious and
buttoned-up in Edwardian-era tradition that women were not even allowed to
peek
into the Men’s Bar until 2007.
As a teenager, Michael had played soccer every week at the
Padang
, the immense green field in front of city hall that was used for all the national
parades, and he often stared curiously at the august Victorian structure at the eastern
edge of the
Padang
. From the goalie post, he could see the glittering chandeliers within, the silver-domed
dishes set on crisp white tablecloths, the waiters in their black tuxedo jackets scurrying
around. He would observe the important-looking people enjoying their dinners and wonder
who they were. He longed to walk into the club, just once, to be able to look at the
soccer field from the other side of those windows. On a dare, he had asked a couple
of his friends to sneak into the club with him. They would go one day before soccer,
when they were still dressed in their St. Andrew’s school uniforms. They could just
stroll in casually, as if they were members, and who would stop them from ordering
a drink at the bar? “Don’t even dream, Teo, don’t you know what this place is? It’s
the Colonial Club! You either have to be
ang mor
, or you have to be born into one of those ultrarich families to get inside,” one
of his buddies commented.
“Gordon and I sold our Pulau Club memberships because I
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