“No.” Koh Beng gave me a shrewd glance. “Did he want something?”
All I wanted was to sit down quietly somewhere until my hands stopped trembling. Should I report Y. K. Wong? He might claim it was a prank, or that I’d lured him into the storeroom to seduce him. In fact, broadcasting that I worked at a dance hall was enough to discount my testimony. If Shin found out, there’d be trouble; for all his cool quietness, he had an explosive temper. Distracted, I said, “He was looking for a package.”
“Was it Pei Ling’s? I saw the two of you talking right before her accident.”
“She wanted some help.” Not that it had done much good. “What sort of person is Y. K. Wong?”
“He’s an awkward fellow. Tight with Dr. Rawlings, the pathologist. He’s done a lot of work for him.”
Rawlings was another name on that list—was that why Y. K. Wong had the storeroom key? I frowned, thinking hard.
“So what was in that package?”
How much could I trust Koh Beng? He seemed to know a lot about the goings-on in this hospital. I said slowly, “Lists of names and numbers. But please don’t tell Shin about today. It’s a private matter.”
Koh Beng said sympathetically, “Don’t worry, you can count on me.”
He seemed pleased that we shared a secret, and recalling his talk of skulls and weretigers, I asked, “Do you know any superstitions about fingers?”
“Well, the Malays say that each finger has a personality: the thumb is the mother finger, or ibu jari. Then you have the index finger, jari telunjuk, which points the way. The third finger, jari hantu, is the ghost finger, because it’s longer than the others. The fourth one is the ring finger; in some dialects they call it the nameless one. The little finger is the clever one.”
The idea of fingers having personalities troubled me, as though they were five little people. Koh Beng gave me a sideways glance; I was sure he knew that I was hiding something. But he only said, in his friendly porcine way, “Pei Ling was a good friend of mine. I’d like to help. Those lists of names—can you bring them in to show me?”
I nodded. If he could make sense of them, I might have some bargaining power to deal with Y. K. Wong.
36
Batu Gajah
Friday, June 26th
In the hot, stifling afternoon, Ren continues to sleep. Pushing past the veil of fog that drifts and numbs him. He has to get through, to the other place. That bright, feverish place where everything is clear as glass and sharp as stone. It takes every bit of his strength but suddenly, there he is. The long bleached grass, the low tangled bushes. There was a tiger here before, he remembers, but it’s nowhere to be seen now. He casts around the muddy ground. What was he doing that was so important? Yes. Nandani. He has to find her.
William said that she made it home safely that night after the party, but Ren doesn’t believe him. She’s not in Batu Gajah. She’s here. He’s sure of it.
In that burning, dreamlike landscape, Ren follows the footprints in the soft earth. They lead onward, the left foot dragging, through the waist-high grass towards the train station that he glimpses in the distance. They must belong to Nandani, he thinks anxiously. Ever since he saved her leg that day, he’s felt responsible for her, even though she’s older than him. For some reason, Dr. MacFarlane’s words come back to him, that affectionate reprimand. Kindness will be the death of you, Ren. But that’s not true, is it?
Doggedly, he follows the footsteps. The trail wavers, as though whoever made it has become weaker along the way. His cat sense prickles, trembling in a single direction, only to be met by a high blank wall as vast as the sky. Beyond that, lies Yi.
Ren plods on, the brilliant light burning the landscape into his squinting eyes. The railway station draws steadily closer. It’s the same direction as the wall that separates him from Yi. For some reason, a girl in blue comes to mind. What was her name again—Ji Lin? His thoughts flicker in and out. William dancing with her. Her eyes opening wide as she sees Ren. Running around the house in the dark, checking the windows for Nandani, or is it some other pale chill creature who might be peering in from the windows? The vengeful long-haired women, cheated in love. And at last, the roaring flash that breaks the night—but he can’t recall any further. This is reality now, this bright sunny land that quivers with unknown expectation.
The footprints lure him onward, around a shrub with waxy dark green leaves. Oleander, he thinks, looking at the frothy blossoms, though he can’t recall who dislikes it so much. An old Chinese man, wiping his hands on an apron and saying disapprovingly that the master should cut it down. Ren blinks and the memory is gone.
As Ren goes around the bush, he almost stumbles on her. She’s sitting on the ground, nursing her left ankle. Her long dark hair is tangled, and when she raises her face to him, Ren has a terrible shock. It isn’t Nandani at all. In fact, he’s never seen this woman before.
They stare at each other in silence. She’s Chinese, with a pale, rabbitlike look. Her eyes are pink at the corners, as though she’s been crying, and when she stands up awkwardly, she’s not much bigger than Ren. “Who are you?”
“I’m Ren.”
She stares at him. “Are you a real person?”
“Yes.”
Unexpectedly, she grabs him by the elbow. Her touch is icy cold, and Ren gives a cry of surprise.
“You’re warm,” she says. Bending over, she clutches her ankle. “I can’t walk well. I must have sprained it.” With a grimace, she straightens, and now Ren can see there’s something wrong with her. One arm is bent, her shoulder set at a strange angle, as she shuffles forward. She looks broken, a puppet whose strings have been cut.
“Does it hurt?” he asks.
“Not really. I’m a nurse,” she says. “So I think I might have broken my arm or dislocated my shoulder.”
“Can’t you remember?”
“It was a fall.” She frowns. “My head hurts. Anyway, it will all be better once we get on the train. Yours, too.”
Ren glances down and realizes that he, too, is injured. His left arm and side are wrapped in bandages, and he has the uneasy feeling that he ought to remember why, although he doesn’t. They walk around the oleander bushes, and from here, there’s a clear view of the train station. Ren’s companion seems to take heart at the sight.
“Where did you come from?” she says.
“I don’t know.” He looks behind him, but there’s nothing but waving grass.
“Come on,” says his companion. “We need to get going.”
37
Falim/Ipoh
Friday, June 26th
Shaken, I took the bus to Falim. If I closed my eyes, I could still see Y. K. Wong’s crooked jaw, that instant, calculating look right before he’d locked me into the storeroom. I wondered what expression he’d have when he returned to find me gone. Certainly, I’d have to deal with him soon. Courage, my girl, I thought, squeezing my hands against the rising anxiety in my chest.
I spent a quiet evening in the shophouse helping my mother. Observing her frail figure, I thought of Ren. I had a terrible suspicion he was dying; the greyness in his face had frightened me, his eyes shut like a soul unmoored. What could I do for him?
“Don’t worry,” my mother’s voice broke in. “It will be all right. He likes you.”
My heart gave a startled leap. But she was referring to Robert, of course. I listened with half an ear as she chattered on about how kind he was.
“Yes,” I said nodding, thinking that I’d have to rely on that kindness quite soon. Shame flooded me. Surely Robert wouldn’t turn me away if I asked to borrow money? It was quite different from accepting a pot of chicken soup. So many things had gone wrong recently that I felt sick with worry. And what had Ren meant by only two days left?
* * *
The next morning, I let myself quietly out and returned to Ipoh, explaining to my mother that I was helping Mrs. Tham finish a dress. “A rush order,” I said, though the real reason was that I’d promised the Mama I’d sub in for a last shift at the May Flower.
It was past lunchtime by the time I reached Mrs. Tham’s. “So here you are!” she said, without any preamble. “I thought you were going to be in Falim all weekend.”
“I’m helping a friend out,” I said guiltily.
Luckily Mrs. Tham wasn’t interested as she was bursting with news of her own. “Your brother came looking for you. Him and also that young man.”
“What young man?”
“The one who drove you home the other night. Robert, you said his name was.”
Why on earth were Robert and Shin looking for me? They were an unlikely pair; they didn’t even get along.
“First your brother stopped by and then as he was leaving, that Robert came too. I told them you’d gone back home.”
“Did they say what they wanted?”
“No, your brother said he had to meet someone.” Mrs. Tham drew a little closer. “Are you going steady with that Robert?”