When I die, I hope to go to heaven – whatever the hell that is. – Philosopher, writer Ayn Rand

There is, apparently, a video game called Neighbour from Hell. 

I’m not particularly interested in video games, but it reminded me of a couple living next to us when we were living in Petaling Jaya a long time ago. It was the wife who converted the husband to religion: he’d never believed in hell until he married her. 

That, to be sure, is a joke but there was something about her that seemed off. I’d heard from my other neighbour that she’d been a teacher and one suspected that she’d have been a grim and stern one at best. Not nice, gracious, pleasant or cheerful. None of those adjectives came to mind. Instead, only the old G and S seemed apt. 

At the time, my wife was the administrative head of a regional plant quarantine centre in the Agriculture University in Serdang. As a result, she knew many of its scientists. Indeed, she shortly brought home a dwarf durian sapling that one scientist had promised great results in a short time.

She planted it in the backyard, and we all forgot about it. Subsequently, Becky went abroad to do her doctorate and took our daughter with her. 

With me in charge, the garden didn’t exactly flourish. But I could argue that my benign neglect forced it to evolve into a hardy, Darwinian refuge where only the fittest survived. The natural selection that followed ensured that all the orchids and most of the flowers Becky planted perished, but the trees survived including all four Ashoka pillars.  And, the dwarf durian tree which proved its resilience by spreading across the backyard pleasingly. 

Fast forward four years later and my family was back. While still not quite up one Sunday, we heard what sounded like the chopping of wood.

We ignored it – we didn’t have a gardener – but it persisted until an ominous silence fell. It was not quite eight in the morning.

After a while my wife roused herself. I only awoke when I heard her voice, raised in anger against old G and S. 

It was the first time I’d seen her publicly lose her temper.  

I rushed out to see the remains of the dwarf spread out all over our backyard. Such was my wife’s rage that not only were the ones responsible out and about, but other neighbours began congregating. Suddenly, we were the only show in town. 

Why, was my first question? Apparently, a small spar of a branch had jutted into said neighbour’s airspace from which, it was claimed, “it was raining ants.” 

So, she’d informed her gardener to climb our gate and cut down said tree. All three – GnS, husband and gardener – didn’t seem to think that it was not only weird but illegal to boot.  

The argument was attentively followed by Neighbour On The Right, a lawyer. He said I could sue for “trespass” and “breaking and entering.” Open and shut, quoth he.

His wife didn’t help matters.  She informed everyone that there had been a full moon the previous night. Then, nodding significantly in the direction of old GnS, she threw her head back and howled. 

It was deteriorating into a B-grade drama, so we just requested the offenders to clear up the mess which was considerable. 

But the gardener had fled at the first sign of trouble and the husband came over to do the needful.  

My wife had regretted her rage by then, and the poor guy was at least twenty years my senior. Sensing our capitulation, all the neighbours gloomily drifted off. At the very least, it boded well for the rest of their Sunday.  

I ended up carrying out the wood. It seemed like the Darwinian thing to do. 

ENDS