“Why on the roof?” asks Ren. He’ll be discharged today. It’s amazing how quickly he’s recovered, says the local doctor who examines him. Absolutely astonishing, the change from one day to the next, but that’s the way of children.
“It’s nothing for you to worry about.” Dr. Chin, the same man who informed Ren so awkwardly about the loss of his finger, frowns at a white patch of skin on Ren’s elbow. It’s exactly where the pale nurse, Pei Ling, grasped his elbow in that burning, dreamlike world. When Ren puts the fingers of his right hand in the same spot, it tingles. His cat sense grows stronger, as though he’s opened a door to a twilit road. And outside, there are many chill white creatures. Ren thinks of the pontianak and other tales of angry lost women who come in the night, shrouded with their long black hair. You mustn’t let them in, not ever, even if they scratch at the door with their long nails and call to you with sweet plaintive voices, promising knowledge and secrets. Though what if you went outside, just for a little bit, to talk to them?
The doctor palpates the elbow, but Ren feels no pain, just numbness. The mark looks uncannily like the grasp of a ghostly hand. “I could have sworn this wasn’t here before,” he mutters. Ren is silent. He understands that this is the price he must pay for abandoning Pei Ling on that train.
“Anyway, you’ll be discharged today.”
Most likely William will take him back at the end of the day. At least, that’s what Ren thinks.
Dr. Chin gives him a curious glance. “Better check that he didn’t go home early. I heard he was first on the … scene this morning.”
The nurse says, “No, he’s working.” A look passes between them.
“And Miss Lydia?”
At that moment, Lydia herself appears in the open ward doorway. There’s no color in her lips and her hair is flattened on one side as though she’s been resting in an office, which indeed she has.
“Did you want me?” she says, hearing her name. “Need any help?”
“Oh! I heard you were there when the accident happened,” the nurse says to her. “It must have been horrible.”
“Yes. My father’s coming to pick me up soon. I’m not quite up to driving myself,” she says with a grimace. There are sympathetic, half-admiring nods at her foreign fortitude. Someone has draped a light, cotton shawl over her shoulders, but it doesn’t hide the thin splatter of red brown on her blouse. Ren stares at it, cat sense tingling. Death covers her blouse, speckles her skirt, and he feels dizzy with horror. Yet despite her pallid face, Lydia is full of nervous energy.
She comes and sits down next to Ren. “Goodness, you look so much better!”
“Yes.” He drops his eyes. Does nobody else see the blood on her? But it is very little, just a few splashes. To Ren’s invisible feelers, however, a sticky grey web clings to her. He doesn’t know what it means, only that he shrinks from her awkward friendliness. Is it bravery or something else that narrows the pupils of her eyes—fear or excitement?
“I meant to pass this to you,” says Lydia, taking something out of her purse. “Will you be seeing your friend Louise again?”
Ren is momentarily confused—who’s Louise? Then he remembers it’s the other name for his girl in blue. Not knowing what to say, he nods.
“Could you give this to her?”
Ren flinches. It’s a small glass bottle. The same kind that the withered finger came in, except this one is filled with a tea-colored liquid. Of course, this is a hospital, and Lydia volunteers here. It isn’t surprising that she’d have the same kind of container.
“What is it?”
“Stomach medicine I promised her last time,” she says.
Ren recalls the conversation between Lydia and Ji Lin, something about women being troubled once a month and how unfair it is. Obediently, he pockets the bottle, then recalls Dr. MacFarlane’s rules for medication. “Should I label it with a dosage?”
“Just tell her to take all of it if she has a stomachache. It’s a mild tonic; I take it myself. But don’t mention it to anyone else—it might embarrass her.” Smiling, she gets up to go.
Ren stares after her, wondering how nobody else senses the pall that clings to Lydia’s retreating back. It’s like an invisible shroud or cocoon, those fine filaments spun out of nothing. Lydia has apparently cheated death this morning. But from the looks of it, she’s not unscathed.
46
Falim
Sunday, June 28th
My mother’s face, already haggard, turned even paler when I told her. She closed her eyes for a long moment.
“But I was only dancing. Really. I never did anything else.”
I’d decided to confess my dance-hall work since Robert might spill the beans at any moment. There was nothing I could do about my stepfather’s reaction, but it was better if she, at least, were prepared.
“So if you hear anything from other people, you mustn’t be shocked. Though there’s a good chance it will never come up.” I spoke with false confidence. “And Mrs. Tham, of course, doesn’t know.”
I was afraid that she’d start berating me for making such a stupid decision, but she only looked sad. “Was it to help pay off my debt?”
I hesitated, but there was no point denying it. “I’ve quit already. So you don’t have to worry.”
Her face twisted. “It was wrong of me to involve you—you mustn’t do things like this anymore. I’ll tell your stepfather about the money.”
“He’ll be furious! Besides, Shin said he’d help.”
“I don’t want you to worry about it. It’s not your burden.” She bit her lip. “Is that why Robert won’t be coming—because he found out?”
“No. I’m the one who doesn’t want to see him.”
“But why? He’s a good man, Ji Lin, if in spite of all that—”
“It’s not right, since I don’t care for him.”
“You could learn!” She stopped, realizing that she’d raised her voice. Then low and insistent. “Don’t miss this chance, Ji Lin. It will make a huge difference—you’ll regret it the rest of your life if you let him go!”
I’d never heard my mother so assertive and, frankly, it shocked me. I shook my head. “It’s not an option for me.”
“Then make it an option. Don’t be so proud!”
It wasn’t pride that was holding me back, but I could never tell her.
“Is there someone else?” she said sharply.
A pause. “Yes.”
“Who is it?”
“Ming.” I studied her covertly. How much did she want Robert as a son-in-law?
“Oh. Ming.” My mother gave a sigh of relief. “You know that’s not going to happen. He’s engaged.” Still, she gave me a searching look. Did she suspect?
At dinner, my mother and I watched each other warily. The prospect of her confessing her debts to my stepfather filled me with dread, but she seemed far more concerned about my missing a chance with Robert. I read the suspicion on her face; she didn’t quite believe I was still hung up on Ming, yet not a word passed our lips because my stepfather was there. He sat, oppressively silent, while we picked at our food. You could have cut the air with a knife. I glanced at Shin’s empty seat at the table too many times and when I caught my mother’s eye, dropped mine guiltily. This was no good. I’d give myself away at this rate. So I went to bed, praying that morning would come quickly.
* * *
But what came instead were dreams. Not the sunlit place where I always met Yi, but other strange visions. Perhaps I’d been worrying too much about the events of the last few days, because I was at a railway interchange with many platforms and corridors and stairs that connected below the tracks. It was like a reverse image of the Ipoh Railway Station. That was white and grand, but here all was dark, narrow, and grimy. Dusk was falling, a blue hush, and crowds of silent, wraithlike figures were rushing here and there. All I knew was that I must choose a train soon, or be left behind.
The people themselves were indistinct. If I stared hard, they dissolved like smoke, but as soon as I glanced away they were back, bustling around on some important business. Walking over to the edge of the platform, I peered at the railway tracks. They ran away like crooked ladders into the distance. A pair of opposing signs pointed to Hulu and Hilir, meaning upstream and downstream in Malay, though that made no sense in a railway station. The track labeled Hilir made me think that far away, at the other end, I might find Yi. It was a wink of a thought that I dismissed, though I had the feeling that if I called Yi right now, he’d appear in that same noiseless, frightening way.
Sooty smoke drifted over the platform as a train rattled in. People hurried to get on and I hesitated, wondering if I’d be trapped here forever if I didn’t make a decision soon. A spare old man—a foreigner with light eyes and a grey, scrubby beard—made his way across the platform. The edges of the dark suit he wore seemed to fray and blur as though it was unraveling into the falling dusk. His mouth moved as he pointed at my traveling basket.
“I beg your pardon?” I said.