“Ji Lin?” It was a young man with a fashionably skinny mustache. Because of this, I almost didn’t recognize him.
“It’s me, Robert! Ming’s friend, Robert Chiu.”
Robert was the one who’d given me that unwanted sticky kiss on the bench outside the watchmaker’s shop. He was very much the young man now, and knowing what I now did about the price of things, expensively turned out. But he gave me the same eager, half-excited look he had then, which surprised me. If I’d been turned down by some skinny girl from Falim, I probably wouldn’t have been so happy to see her again, but Robert evidently had a more forgiving disposition.
“What are you doing here?” His eyes traveled up and down. I knew that look; at work I was very careful with men who stared like that, but it was just Robert, I told myself. And besides, he’d no idea about my part-time job.
“I was just passing by,” I said.
Evening had fallen, that magical blue twilight hour, and the yellow radiance from the FMS Bar shone through the door and window transoms.
“I haven’t seen you in so long,” he said. “How have you been?”
We chatted about inconsequential things. Robert was reading law in England and was back for the holidays. He talked hurriedly, the words tumbling out as though he was afraid I’d walk away. Stories about university and people I didn’t know that I listened to with only half an ear.
He’d stopped talking and was staring at me again.
“I’m sorry,” I said guiltily. Poor Robert, all that money and still so dull. “You were saying?”
“Nothing. Just that, you look nice.”
It was probably the light that spilled out from the bar, warm and flattering, bathing everything with a golden glow. Even Robert looked rather distinguished with his expensive clothes and neatly slicked hair. I dropped my eyes but Robert misunderstood.
Encouraged, he said, “I heard from Ming that you’re not married yet.”
I said cheerfully, “No, I’m apprenticed to a dressmaker.” Best to be brisk at times like these.
“Do you like it?”
“Yes,” I said, lying through my teeth.
“I’m surprised that you didn’t go on for higher studies. Like teacher training or nursing.”
“No money, I’m afraid.”
He gave me a quick, embarrassed glance. “Have you thought about scholarships? My family sometimes awards them to bright students—the Chiu family foundation, you know.”
“I’m not in school anymore.”
“It doesn’t matter. I can give you a personal recommendation.”
I looked at the ground, not knowing what to say. This was a great chance and any other girl would be jumping at it—and at Robert. Yet I couldn’t help thinking that everything came at a price. So I thanked him, saying it was very kind and I’d think about it. “And now I’m afraid I really ought to go.”
Robert wouldn’t hear of me walking home. “It’s not far,” I said, laughing.
He insisted though, and I soon discovered why. He led me around the corner to a gleaming new motorcar. It was cream-colored, with sweeping curves and a grille that shone silver in the last of the evening light.
“Get in,” he said, opening the door. It was lovely. The seats were camel-colored leather, soft as a baby’s cheek, and the whole thing smelled rich: of leather and lemon wax and a faint whiff of gasoline. I sat down, crossing my feet to hide the scuffed toes of my shoes, and inhaled deeply. It would be easy to get used to traveling like this. Or maybe not. Because Robert, unfortunately, was a terrible driver.
I gripped the door handle, my knuckles turning white as Robert launched the car into the street with a queasy lurch. There was a grinding sound as he pressed various levers with his foot and yanked on others with his hands. We shot through an intersection (Robert waving in a friendly way at a furious trishaw man) and barely missed a fire hydrant. The worst part was that he kept talking.
“So, Ji Lin,” he shouted, over the din of someone honking at us, “will you be around all summer?”
As if I had anywhere else to go. I said politely, “I’ll be here,” through gritted teeth. And then finally, in a cloud of exhaust fumes, we were at Mrs. Tham’s shophouse.
“Oh, this place,” said Robert. “I had to pick up my sister’s dress here once.”
My legs were weak and rubbery, and I was forced to take Robert’s hand as he helped me out. Perhaps this was his routine with women, terrorizing them in his car so that they fell—literally—into his arms.
Mrs. Tham was out of her shophouse in a flash. It was clear she’d been watching for me.
“Ji Lin, I’m so glad you’re back.” She glanced at Robert. “Who’s this?”
“I’m an old friend of her brother’s,” said Robert, though he and Shin had never particularly got along.
“Oh!” Mrs. Tham’s curiosity struggled with her desire to impart news. The latter won. “Ji Lin, we just got a message that your mother’s ill.”
This was the news that I’d been dreading, ever since my mother had remarried. That she was “ill” could have meant anything, despite the fact that so far, her injuries had been confined to a twisted elbow or fingermarks on her wrist. The image of Shin’s broken, dangling arm was always in the back of my mind.
“She had a miscarriage.”
A miscarriage? By Chinese counting, which added a year, my mother was forty-two and approaching the most dangerous age in life, since the homophone for forty-two sounded like “you die.” My heart plummeted.
“Will you go home tomorrow morning?” said Mrs. Tham.
“Yes, I’ll take the bus.” It occurred to me that just this afternoon I’d asked Hui to tell the Mama I wouldn’t be in for the rest of the week because my mother was sick. How flippant I’d been! And now, like a curse, my words had come home to roost. I thought about the blackness in the river of my dreams, that ominous shape that stirred underwater.
“I’ll take you. Right now if you want,” said Robert. I’d completely forgotten about him. “It’s not far by car.”
“Would you really?” Mrs. Tham said. “That would be so kind.”
Sick with dread, I ran upstairs to pack, leaving her to ply him with questions. Once in the car, we sat silent. The one consolation was that Robert’s driving improved when he wasn’t talking.
After a while, he said, “If it’s very bad, we can send her to hospital. The district hospital in Batu Gajah is a bit farther than the Ipoh General Hospital, but she might get better treatment.”
“Why?”
“Because my father’s on the board of the Batu Gajah District Hospital.”
I hadn’t known that. Rich people lived in a different world, one where jobs and recommendations came easily. If I were cleverer about things I might be able to get better care for my mother, but I could hardly think. In the past few weeks, the people around me had been struck by a death, a horrible accident, and now a miscarriage.
Shin would say it was ridiculous and besides, who knew how many other incidents had occurred in this area in the same time frame? That poor woman I’d read about in the newspaper who’d been killed by a tiger, for example. Not everything could be attributed to fate, though there were others who would surely tell me to buy a charm against evil spirits. I sat in Robert’s big car, twisting my hands in my lap and trying not to cry as we rushed on into the darkness.
23
Batu Gajah
Friday night, June 19th
It’s cold. So terribly cold that Ren thinks his heart will stop. The bones of his skull ache. The water feels thick, like runny gelatin or clotted blood. Shaking his head like a dog, Ren peers at the far shore. Yi is running up and down frantically, pure terror on his face as he mouths: Get out of the water!
He starts paddling in earnest. It’s not so cold if he swims, or perhaps his arms and legs are simply becoming numb. The farther he goes, the more the pain recedes and Ren has the funny feeling that he’s shedding his body. Something scrapes his leg. Gulping water, Ren looks down to see a row of gaping teeth and a glazed eye that floats past under his foot. A dead crocodile. It rolls, drifting deep in the river current, white belly showing for an instant, then drops away into the darkness. There are other things, too, deep in the river. Dead fish, dead worms, dead leaves. Ren gives a cry of disgust.
Panicking now, arms and legs flailing. The current drags at him. His head goes under again and he sees more shapes. A Chinese man drifts by, neck hanging at an awkward angle as though it’s been broken. A young Tamil woman, mouth open but eyes mercifully closed. No body, only her serene, decapitated head. Ren is crying, struggling. Bursting with terror, water searing his lungs.
A chunk of wood hits him. Gasping, Ren surfaces and makes an empty grab at it. As it floats out of reach he sees that Yi has launched it. Another log drifts towards Ren. This one is bigger and as it smashes into him, he sees Yi’s despairing face. Go back!
* * *
And he does. He does.
Ren is lying facedown on the floor of his room. His hands flatten out like a gecko on a ceiling only there’s nowhere to fall, he’s already at the bottom. After a while, he starts to cry.