In one of my short stories in a collection which exuded much fun and hilarity (a marked departure from the usual bleak, melancholy stuff I write) there is the celebrated comedic character of the humsub. Now the humsub, a lecher through and through, is a figure of fun precisely because 1) his lechery is that harmless variety that does not go beyond fantasising about women, peeping at them bathing, attempting to chat them up, etc. 2) he always ends up the loser, that is, he is chased away by the irate bathing women, he falls down from the tree in which he has been hiding and disturbs a nest of angry wasps, he approaches a gorgeous-looking female, she turns out to be male, and he runs for his life, etc. In one of Chaucer’s bawdy tales, the serenaded woman opens the window and empties a urinal over his head.

In my story, the humsub discovers a convenient peeping hole in the wooden door of an outdoors bathroom, has his eye poked by the furious bather, but continues his humsub habits with the remaining good eye.

The laughability—and likeability—of the humsub probably goes beyond his harmlessness. As an enduring character in comedy, he provides relief in the treatment of a controversial subject throughout the ages and across all cultures—sex, with all that it implies of tensions, conflicts, taboos, violence. There is no tension in a humsub tale, because there is no exploitation of woman, no endorsement of male domination by a patriarchal tradition, no rape, no force, no unresolved social or moral issue. Also there is no female vengeance that results in serious mutilation or death (for instance, there could be no doing a Lorena Bobbitt on a humsub) In short, there is no cause for embarrassment, alarm, dismay, unease, anger or shock that tragic drama would elicit. There is only laughter, and, even better, a heightened sense of solidarity between the sexes who recognize that all are human, after all.

The humsub is the equivalent of the cartoon bad guy who goes after the good guy with an arsenal of swords, guns and explosives but whom we continue to indulge because in the end, no injuries are suffered, no blood is spilt, no life is lost. We laugh at him in the same way that children roar with merriment when Tom the big cat ends up in the trap set for him by the little mouse Jerry. And the best proof of the humsubs appeal is that we don’t want him to change, that is, to be transformed into a wholesome, well-behaved man, just as children would not want Tom to change from the rampaging bully he is, into a mild companion for Jerry. The humsub, in that sense, provides a kind of escapism.

The humsub is such an endearing figure that even the other names for him have a cutesy charm about them, such as chee koh peh and buaya. I am thinking in particular of the Hokkien gor kee chiew, meaning literally, ‘five chin hairs’. Now I am sure there is no connection whatsoever between a man’s amorous nature and the number of hairs on his chin, but the name was exactly what inspired a character in one of my novels, an Uncle Gor Kee Chiew who had three long black hairs hanging down from a large black mole on his chin (I had decided on the number three rather than five as being more distinctive if located on a mole). A break-out of the humsub urge, as, for instance, whenever he watched the pretty maidservants going about their work, would be unfailingly signaled by the action of a slow, languorous caressing of the three long hairs, which action would cause the maids to glare at him. ‘Phui!’ they would say, imitating the action of spitting, before turning their backs to him. But their scorn never discouraged him from his daily habit of taking his position at the top of the stairs to have the best view of them.

Uncle Gor Kee Chiew was only a minor character in the novel, based probably on the many humsubs I had observed in my childhood, but he has certainly become a favourite one.

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A continuing flow of little, readable pieces that will constitute what I feel is an important 'legacy of values' to leave behind. Read more about Vignettes...