If it were wild boar or deer then they might scatter blood or human hair to keep them away, but such things don’t deter a tiger. The gardener makes a little bow to the silent jungle and says something in Tamil.
“I asked him, Sir Tiger, please do not come back,” he says with a slight smile. Ren gazes at his dark, wrinkled face. He has no idea whether the gardener is really worried or if this is just one of those things that happens from time to time, like monsoons or floods. In his time with Dr. MacFarlane, they never had a tiger roam so close to the house despite all the old man’s ravings. Or perhaps, there were no marks outside because the tiger lived within. The image of Dr. MacFarlane’s white face, his left hand with its missing finger curled on the thin cotton blanket, swims before Ren’s eyes, and he blanches.
Ah Long catches his arm. “No need to be so frightened! Tigers range for miles, and it’s long gone by now.”
* * *
That evening, Ah Long informs William about their discovery in the halting English that he uses with his employer. It’s the second tiger pugmark discovered near the bungalow; the first one occurred around the time that poor woman died.
“So Tuan, you no go out alone at night,” Ah Long concludes.
A flicker passes over William’s face. “You too. And Ren, don’t wander around by yourself.”
Ren fetches a dish of fried ikan bilis, tiny little fish in spicy chili sambal. Serve from the left, remove plates from the right—that’s what Auntie Kwan taught him. The room is stuffy despite the open windows. The flowers that the gardener brought in—bird of paradises, canna lilies, thin woody branches of hibiscus—are stiff and look like funeral offerings. Ren’s skin is tight and shivery; his throat hurts. The pawprint in the garden is a gnawing worry.
“Not well?” William beckons Ren over and places the back of his hand against his forehead. It’s a large hand, professionally impersonal. “Hmm. Fever. Go and ask Ah Long for an aspirin and lie down.”
Ren hasn’t finished the dinner service or the washing up, but William has given him an order. He walks to the kitchen, and the old man, examining his pale face with concern, hands him an aspirin and tells him to go to bed.
Ren walks unsteadily out of the kitchen door, down the covered walkway to the servants’ quarters in the back. His face is burning, his legs rubbery. Growing up, Yi was always the sickly one; if there was flu or food poisoning, he was bound to get it before Ren. “I’m the warning system,” Yi had said, scrunching his face up in a smile. “I’ll go before you.” And in the end, he had.
Ren, shivering now in his narrow cot, pulls the thin cotton blanket over himself. Despite the warmth of the room, he’s freezing. His bones ache. Yet there’s a sense of peace, that lightheadedness that comes with being sick. He can’t think coherently about the tiger anymore.
And then he begins to dream.
* * *
It is the old dream, the one where Ren stands on a railway platform, only this time the train is stopped at the station. And Ren isn’t there. He’s on a little island—more like a sandbar—in the middle of a river, gazing at the train from across the water. Sunlight shines through the train’s empty windows. Where is Yi?
Ren walks from one end of the sandbar to the other, shading his eyes as he squints across the water. Then he sees him, scrambling and waving wildly on the opposite bank. He jigs from one foot to the other in a familiar manner. How could Ren have forgotten that jig?
“Yi!” he yells. The small figure on the other bank puts his hands around his mouth and calls back, but there’s no sound.
Why is there no sound? And then Ren realizes something else. Yi is so small. Not only due to the distance, but because he’s still eight years old, the age he died. It’s Ren who’s changed. But Yi looks so delighted to see him that there’s a lump of happiness in Ren’s throat.
Now Yi is pantomiming, How are you?
He points at himself and gives a thumbs-up. “YOU?”
Yi also gives a thumbs-up. Don’t worry.
About what? He must mean about the tiger and Dr. MacFarlane and all the deaths before and the ones to come. Of course Yi would know. He always knew everything that troubled Ren.
Ren calls back that he’s fine, he has a job and has also found the finger and is keeping it in a safe place. It’s difficult to mime all of this, but Yi seems to understand. Perhaps the sound works only one way, but Ren doesn’t want to waste his time with Yi figuring it out.
Time is running out.
Even as he thinks this, water laps his bare feet. Jumping back, Ren realizes that the sandbank is getting smaller, or perhaps it’s the water that’s rising.
“There’s a tiger in the garden,” he shouts across the water. “But don’t worry, I know what to do.”
Yi looks concerned.
“I’m going back to Kamunting after the party.”
Yi shakes his head.
“It’s all right, I have permission. Then I’ll do what Dr. MacFarlane told me to.”
Yi’s arms explode, pantomiming something complicated. The small face is tight with worry.
“I’m not frightened,” Ren says.
Ask the girl.
What girl? Ren can’t think of any girls or women except Auntie Kwan and she’s gone down south to Kuala Lumpur.
The water is rising, rippling translucently over the muddy sand. There’s something odd about it. It’s viscous, a little too thick, but clear enough that he can see every pebble and floating leaf. There are no tiny fish in the shallows. No crystalline shrimp, no water skaters. Nothing living.
“I’ll swim over to where you are,” calls Ren. “Just wait!”
He puts one foot in the water. It’s surprisingly cold and a swirling current tugs at his ankle. But the other bank isn’t too far.
No! Yi doesn’t want him to get in the water. Now he’s urgently signing him to stop.
Ren isn’t a fast swimmer, but he’s confident he can dog-paddle far enough. He stands ankle-deep in the shallows. It’s freezing. He’s never felt cold like this. Dr. MacFarlane once borrowed a large, expensive-looking book of fairy tales when he was teaching Ren to read, and Ren had pored over the beautiful illustrations of snow and ice and the kind of gloomy weather that Dr. MacFarlane said was so common in Scotland. Dreich, he’d called it. There was a story about a little girl who sold matches, and the last picture showed her lying in the snow. Her eyes were closed, but she was smiling and the artist had drawn faint blue shadows at the corners of her mouth. Was this chill what she’d experienced?
He grits his teeth. Beyond the shallows of the sandbank, the water is murky. Something stirs in it, and he hesitates. On the opposite bank, Yi is signing frantically. No no no! But Ren is bigger and stronger now than when they were parted. He looks at the river with the confidence of an eleven-year-old and is sure he can make it.
Now the water is up to his waist, swirling and eddying darkly. It tugs hard. The chill is almost unbearable, eating through his spine and sucking all the heat out of his body.
Yi is kneeling on the other bank. His face is contorted, tears stream down as he gesticulates wildly. STOP!
Ren wants to tell him not to cry; he’ll be there soon. But his teeth are chattering so much that he can’t form the words. With a final rush of courage, Ren plunges his head under the icy black water.
22
Ipoh
Monday, June 15th
Morning. I stared at the ceiling again—this time the familiar one at Mrs. Tham’s house. Sitting up, I fumbled for the ring Shin had given me, still knotted in a handkerchief. I wondered what she looked like, this girl whose finger was a different size from mine. The soft metal and rich color indicated it was twenty-four-karat gold. My mother always told me to make sure to get twenty-four-karat jewelry, not eighteen or some other inferior number.
“Because you can pawn it,” she’d said matter-of-factly. “You get a better deal.”
Of course, she must have had some experience with pawnshops after my father died. In my brief time working at the May Flower, men had given me gifts: silver pendants, thin bracelets. I’d been reluctant to accept anything, but the other girls said I was foolish to turn down one of the few perks of the job. My mother had been right, however. None of those trinkets was worth anything at the pawnshop, though I’d tried a couple of times, thinking to reduce her debt faster. I wondered how much money Shin had spent. He was always the one who ended things with girls, not wanting to commit. As far as I knew, he’d never given anyone a gift like this.
* * *
Yesterday after Matron had left us, I’d tried to return it to Shin with a smile, saying, “You should keep this safe for your girlfriend.” That was nice and friendly and just what I might have said to him a few years ago.