Page 31 - 8 - Những Tâm Hồn Cao Thượng

Curiosity urging me, I edged my way into the spectator crowd on the sidewalk. The first thing I
saw was a bicycle tangled like a piece of modern sculpture. Loosened news papers caught by the
wind scattered across the street. Passers-by picked them up; others crushed them under-foot in their
eagerness to get closer to the scene. “God, please don’t let it be Uncle Li,” I prayed. Like a coward, I

retraced my steps into the coffee shop and sat down to view the frenzy through the door.

Police and ambulance sirens soon added to the hubbub. A young woman upheld like a rag doll

between two police-men entered the shop. It was the young woman who drove the black car! I
couldn’t believe it. The policemen gazed around the room imploringly. I gently took the girl’s arm and
guided her to my table. The policemen explained that witnesses said it was not her fault, for the old
man had lost control and swerved into her car. I further gathered that they could not locate his
relatives, but she’d agreed to pay hospital expenses.

The young woman signed a form the policemen put in front of her. They then disappeared into the
crowd, and I was left with the devastated woman. With trembling hands, she grasped the cup of
coffee. Closing her eyes, she drank deeply from its comforting warmth.

Only moments before, I had felt on the fringe of events like any other spectator. But with the
distraught young woman seated before me, I was drawn into the drama. Her face crumpling like a
child’s, she broke the silence, “I can’t understand how the accident happened. The bicycle struck the

car; it seemed to come from nowhere. Why did Uncle Li lose control?” Shaking her head, she
whispered through her tears, “How could this happen?”

Looking at me she implored, “Please, come with me to the hospital.” I agreed and rang the office
on my mobile phone to explain I’d be late. She kept speaking, “I have to see him. I just have to see
him and tell him how sorry I am.” I could understand that for peace of mind she needed to see him
comfortable, out of pain and alive.

She was not in a fit state to drive, so we took a taxi. It wove through the busy office traffic to the
Singapore General Hospital. During most of the ride, we sat locked in our own thoughts. I pondered
the morning’s events and realized I knew very little about the striking young woman, not even her
name! So I introduced myself and asked her name.

“My name’s Sarah Wong.”

“Do you have family, and is there someone I should call?”

“No, I was an orphan and brought up by a wealthy old lady. I call her Aunt.”

I learned her life had been secure with nothing disruptive or hurtful except for the void in her heart
because she’d never known her parents.

“My aunt is quite old, and I would not wish to distress her about the accident.” Sarah fingered the
little diamond cross in front. No doubt a gift from her aunt, a symbol of her love and generosity.

We eventually got to the hospital. Sarah was as nervous as I was - concerned at what had
happened to Uncle Li. We made inquiries and were told he was in the operating theatre. Our hushed