Hugh and his test subjects.
My son Hugh came home from school one day and said: “Dad, I need cockroaches for a science project.”
Upon hearing those words, I had a vision. In this vision, I saw myself scouring my kitchen and storeroom late into the night, an empty jar in one hand and torchlight in the other, probing into nooks and crannies for cockroaches.
I could see that it was not going to be easy catching cockroaches because the stinky critters are never there when you need them, so it would take a vast amount of patience and long, long hours of surveillance.
But, as a father who wants the best for his nine-year-old boy, and recognising that this could be the first step to a future career as a biologist for my son, I knew that sacrifices had to be made.
So, I turned to my maid: “Riyah, malam ini tolong tangkap lipas bagi budak.”
Of course I pitched in. I got her a glass jar. I also drilled holes into the lid to ensure that the cockroaches would not die gasping for air. That night I had a dream. I dreamt that my maid spent the whole night scouring the kitchen and storeroom, an empty jar in one hand and torchlight in the other, probing into nooks and crannies for stinky cockroaches.
I woke up the next morning to find two cockroaches in a jar. I was impressed. I asked my maid how long she took to round up two cockroaches.
“Sekejap saja,” she said. It turned out that she had tied a piece of bread with a raffia string, and lowered it into a drainage hole. And the stupid cockroaches took the bait. She then lifted the string and with the cockroaches still chomping on the bread, placed the whole lot into the jar, shook off the cockroaches, then closed the lid. I was doubly impressed.
After getting my boy to thank his kakak for doing the dirty work, I reminded him over and over again to release the cockroaches and discard the bottle once he was done. I didn’t want to see those cockroaches back at our house.
That Tuesday, when I picked him up after school, Hugh said: “Dad, the science experiment has been postponed to Thursday.”
“No problemo,” I said. “The cockroaches should be fine till Thursday.”
“Er, I threw away the cockroaches.”
“What? Why did you do that?”
“’Cos you said so.”
Right. Sometimes the boy takes my instructions too literally.
So looks like it’s Operasi Kechuak all over again. Incidentally, my Javanese maid refers to the cockroach as kechuak. That’s what they call them back in her kampung, she says. I told her that here, the Hokkien word for cockroach is also kechuak.
Back to Ops Kechuak II. Now that the maid has shown the way, Big Daddy knows what to do. But instead of dangling the bait on raffia string, I skewered the bread on the end of a wire and inserted it deep into cockroach country. The cockroaches fell for the same trick again. Into the jar they went.
There were two days to go before the experiment and my boy was worried that the cockroaches would not last that long.
Nonsense, I said. If cockroaches can survive on this Earth for 300 million years, they can survive till Thursday, I told him.
Hugh wasn’t taken in by my flawed logic. He snuck more bread into the jar, and also dribbled a bit of water into it. The result was a pulpy mess.
Thursday came and what do you know, the experiment was deferred to Friday. This time Hugh brought home the cockroaches. There was more of that wet stuff in the jar.
“What happened?” I asked him.
“My friend poured water into the bottle,” he said.
On Friday, the cockroaches were off to school again, knee-deep in Milo-brown gunk.
After school, I asked Hugh: “So, how did the experiment go?”
“Well, the teacher didn’t pick me. She used another boy’s cockroach,” he said.
“If I were your teacher, I wouldn’t pick your cockroach either. Yours were totally gross,” I laughed. “Let me guess, that boy’s bottle was dry, right?”
“Yeah.”
“So what did you do with your cockroach?”
“I poured it into the drain and threw away the bottle.”
“That’s my boy.”
To the maid’s relief, all Hugh needed for his next science project were green beans and cotton wool.
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