A Painter in Penang: A Gripping Story of the Malayan Emergency

by Clare Flynn

  With a cheery wave, Mary finally clambered in beside Jasmine. ‘Your mother’s right. He is a very charming young man.’

  Jasmine groaned. ‘Not you too!’

  ‘And Evie is probably right about something else.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘That as you are so incredibly rude to the poor chap the only possible conclusion is that you’re nursing a crush on him.’

  Jasmine’s gasp was explosive. ‘What? That’s completely ridiculous!’ It was as if Mary had punched her in the stomach. ‘You and Mummy were talking about me?’

  ‘Of course, we were. I am after all in loco parentis while you’re staying here. It’s only natural that we should have talked about you.’

  Jasmine was aware of Bintang’s eyes in the driver’s rear-view mirror. She felt a rush of humiliation.

  Ignoring Jasmine’s indignation, Mary went on. ‘I’ve invited Howard up to Bella Vista for supper tomorrow. In fact, I’ve asked him to stay overnight. Much nicer than the scruffy old Station Hotel in Butterworth, where he’s been staying.’ She smiled at Jasmine. ‘It will give you a chance to make up for your childish behaviour towards him today. And since he doesn’t have to meet his lift until Sunday evening, you may want to think about exploring some of the sights of George Town with him on Sunday.’

  Jasmine was ready to express that she’d rather be dead, but remembered that she was, after all, Mary’s house guest. And she had been rude to Mary as well as to Baxter. Ashamed and annoyed, she realised she had brought all this upon herself.

  11

  After breakfast on Saturday morning, still nursing a sense of grievance about Howard Baxter, Jasmine decided to head off alone. Carrying her satchel of art materials, she went to explore the Bella Vista estate. Jasmine didn’t know the plantation, even though it had been her father’s and she had lived here for a while as a baby. Later, her family had gone to live on the peninsula at Batu Lembah, but Jasmine had been sent off to board with the nuns at a convent school near there when only five, so she had little memory of Batu Lembah either. Most of her childhood had been spent in the family home in the centre of George Town. Mummy still owned it, but it was now let out to tenants.

  Jasmine started off down one of the mown grass alleys between the serried ranks of rubber trees. The tall brown trunks were mottled and bare. Higher up, gaps in the leaf canopy allowed narrow rays of sunlight to filter down and dapple the grass beneath. The trunks bore the scars of the rubber tapping – diagonal stripes, snaking down to meet the little metal cups attached by wire. The air was thick with the smell of latex and it caught in Jasmine’s throat.

  She walked up to one of the trees and peered inside the metal collection cup, watching the constant, hypnotic drip of the thick, white sap as it filled the cup, running down the edge of the cut strip in the trunk, like lava. It was as if the trees were bleeding milk. She dipped a finger into the cup, touching the sticky, viscous liquid, then wiped her finger dry on the bark of the tree.

  It was relatively cool up here in the plantation, thanks to the elevation and the shade afforded by the tree cover. Jasmine looked about, wondering what to draw. Capturing the stippled light, the dark and shade between the trunks, would make an interesting abstract study. But, after hesitating a few moments, she moved on.

  As she walked, she couldn’t help rehashing the events of the previous afternoon. She dreaded the prospect of meeting Howard Baxter again, particularly after the comment Mary had made about her secretly nursing a crush on him. It was such a betrayal by Mummy. And so unfair. Untrue as well. Wasn’t it?

  She cringed, remembering how she had caught Bintang’s eye watching her in the rear-view mirror. What must he think of her? The utter humiliation. He would consider her a complete idiot. It was extremely frustrating, as she liked Bintang and would like to get to know him better. One of her hopes about coming back to Penang was that she might meet Malayans rather than lots of other white people, and Bintang was intelligent and interesting. Now, he’d think she was like all the other British girls – wanting nothing more than to bag a planter and settle into life as a mem, when that was the last thing she wanted.

  Everything had been so simple and uncomplicated until Howard Baxter had come along and messed it all up. Was there something wrong with her? Was she incapable of fitting in anywhere? Why did life get harder, the older you got?

  Eventually, she reached the end of a division where the land opened up and fell away down a steep slope, the rubber trees sweeping down towards the plain below and the sea beyond. Perfect. She found a spot under a hardwood tree which stood alone, apart from the rows of rubber, and set herself up in the shade beneath it. As the ground was damp, she sat on a small folding stool Mary had found for her.

  As always when she was painting or drawing, Jasmine became so absorbed in her work that she lost track of time, and the thoughts that had been weighing her down vanished. In her focus and concentration, she didn’t notice him until he was a few feet away.

  ‘Bintang!’ she cried. ‘Where did you pop up from?’

  ‘I visit grandmother. In kampong, down in valley.’ He pointed towards a distant collection of buildings on the plain below. ‘I disturb you?’

  ‘No, not at all. I’m only doing some sketching.’

  Unlike Howard Baxter, who hadn’t even bothered to inquire if he was intruding on her when she’d been painting on the ship, Bintang was polite. He showed no curiosity about what she was drawing, or even the fact that she was doing it at all. How refreshing! Yet, at the same time, it was rather unflattering.

  The driver leaned against a rubber tree opposite her and lit a cigarette. He looked out over the plain below and said nothing.

  Eventually, Jasmine broke the silence. ‘How was your grandmother?’

  ‘She well,’ he said.

  ‘Do you visit her often?’

  ‘When I can. She only family I have left.’

  ‘It must be nice to have a grandmother. My grandparents died before I was born. My parents are dead too. Although I have my stepmother and my little brother. Well, half-brother. And I have a step-grandmother in America but nobody hears from her, not even Mummy.’ She wondered if she was babbling.

  ‘I know. Your father used to be tuan besar. Big boss. New tuan worked for him.’ By new tuan, he was referring to Reggie, who had been the estate manager here while Daddy was alive and had bought the estate from Mummy after the war.

  Jasmine put down her pencil. ‘What happened to the rest of your family? When we were at the beach you told me Siti died in the war. I’ve been thinking about that and wondering what happened. We never got to finish our talk.’

  Bintang turned to look at her, his eyes narrowing. He was tall for a Malayan, his nose long and straight, his brows dark and frowning over brown eyes. ‘One day we are in fields working. Siti, me, and mother. Japanese come to take my mother.’ He drew on his cigarette. ‘To be comfort lady. She say them she cannot go with them as she need to care for Siti. So, they shoot my sister dead.’ He mimed a gunshot with his fingers. ‘In front of us.’

  His eyes fixed on Jasmine’s as he spoke. She wanted to look away yet couldn’t.

  ‘They drag my mother off into lorry, screaming and crying.’ He stared at Jasmine. She felt as though he were challenging her, maybe even accusing her. ‘I never see my mother again. Grandmother and me, we bury my little sister.’ He threw away the butt of his cigarette into the long wet grass. ‘Siti only nine. You were same age. You left Penang. You went on train to Singapore with all the white people.’

  Jasmine started to speak, wanting to explain that, as a child, she’d had no choice, but Bintang fixed his eyes on her and she became tongue-tied, her eyes brimming.

  ‘My father come home that night and when we say him mother gone with Japanese and Siti is dead, he is angry and go to join jungle fighters. He go to kill Japanese. I want to go too. I was thirteen. But he say me I must care for grandmother. He never come home again. Even when war over. Perh
aps he died too.’

  ‘I’m so sorry, Bintang. That’s terrible. What a tragic story. Your whole family gone.’

  He looked at her coldly, and Jasmine felt for a moment as though he were blaming her for their deaths. At last his expression changed and his eyes lit up. ‘I have grandmother. We care for each other. She is very kind lady.’

  ‘Did you ever find out what happened to your mother?’

  ‘You know what comfort lady is?’

  Jasmine felt the blood rush to her face. ‘I think so.’

  ‘If she alive, she too shame to come home after war.’

  ‘Have you ever tried to find her?’

  Bintang, his eyes still fixed on the valley below, said, ‘When someone not want to be found, hard to find them.’

  There was something about the expression on the young man’s face that made her wonder if he might not want to find his mother. She felt a chill, despite the warmth of the afternoon.

  They lapsed into silence and after a few minutes Bintang lit another cigarette. ‘So, you like the man who comes here tonight? Tuan Baxter? He talk to you and the mems when you come off ship. He is your boyfriend?’

  Jasmine’s stomach lurched. She’d put her anxieties about Howard Baxter aside and now they resurfaced in a rush. ‘No. Of course he’s not. Mrs Hyde-Underwood was teasing me. I barely know him. And I have no interest in him whatsoever.’ She knew she was blushing again and felt the driver’s eyes on her. She turned away to scrabble in her satchel for a pencil sharpener to cover her embarrassment.

  ‘I go to George Town to pick him up and bring him here. Mem say tomorrow I drive you and Tuan Baxter round the island, where you want to go.’

  She felt his eyes on her again and wondered if he was laughing at her, but his face was serious. It was always serious. She didn’t think she’d seen him smile in the time she’d been in Penang. ‘I think it would be better if you took him around the island without me.’

  ‘Don’t you want to see island? Mem say I take you to Penang Hill and Botanic Gardens. See places you know when you child before war.’

  ‘I can always go another time.’ She tried to look as if the whole idea was a big bore.

  Bintang shrugged. ‘Same to me if you come or just your boyfriend.’

  ‘He’s not my boyfriend.’ She spoke in a rush, indignation rising.

  Bintang pushed himself off the tree. ‘Soon time for me to go get him and I must wash car first. Tuan want car cleaned every Saturday.’ Was there a hint of contempt in the curl of his mouth? ‘Goodbye, Missee Barrington.’

  As he started to walk away, she called after him. ‘Please call me Jasmine. After all, Siti was a schoolfriend of mine. I’d like to be friends with you too.’ She gave him a smile.

  He frowned, but then nodded. ‘Goodbye, Missee Jasmine.’ And then he was gone, walking quickly back through the lines of rubber trees toward the house.

  After he had disappeared from view, Jasmine thought about the fate of her schoolfriend. The savagery of those Japanese soldiers in killing a little girl because she was an inconvenience made her shudder. Siti had been a pretty child, bright, warm, always smiling. At the moment her life had been snuffed out, Jasmine would have been sleeping on a crowded train to Singapore or on a ship for Australia. How had they been dealt such different fates? Bintang seemed to be reining in his anger. Suppressing his feelings beneath a veneer of politeness. Little wonder.

  12

  Jasmine examined her reflection critically in the mirror. She was wearing a beige cotton dress that had been part of her school uniform in Nairobi. Her intent was to make herself look as unattractive as possible, in an effort to put off Howard Baxter. It also might help underline their age difference and cause him to think again about chasing after her.

  But as she looked at the sun-faded cotton, she knew it was not a look she wanted for herself. Why on earth would she choose to look ugly? It was also insulting to her hosts, who were laying on a special meal and would be dressed formally themselves. No, Jasmine had to acknowledge she was being childish. She’d let that bigheaded planter get under her skin. It was ridiculous to let him rule her life like this.

  He’d mentioned that he was known at Batu Lembah as ‘the creeper’. She smiled to herself – creeper was the perfect name for someone she had already decided was a complete creep. Yet perhaps admitting that he was known by that name was an indication that he wasn’t actually that bigheaded after all.

  Jasmine frowned at the mirror and reached behind her to unfasten the buttons at the back of her dress. She would wear her new, blue silk frock and the ring Mummy had given her. Better to look and feel confident as she faced the enemy.

  Taking the dress from its hanger, she remembered Mummy helping her choose it on that shopping spree in Colombo. She pulled it over her head and ran her hands over the soft lustrous fabric. It was shot silk, and as she twirled in front of the mirror, the full skirt caught the light and shimmered, the blue changing to a deeper hue, closer to purple then back to blue again. She felt better already.

  There was a tap on the door and Mary entered the bedroom.

  Jasmine gasped. ‘Oh, Mary! You look so beautiful.’ A flood of relief ran through her as she realised how dreadful she would have felt if she’d kept that old school frock on.

  Mary was in a cream, bias-cut, evening gown with a deep V-neck. It hugged her slight figure tightly. ‘So do you, dear girl. That dress is absolutely stunning. Look how it shimmers when you move.’

  ‘Thank you. Yours is too. You usually wear Malayan styles.’

  ‘This is from years ago. Reggie saw it in the back of the wardrobe and convinced me to put it on. Not really my thing, but he insisted.’

  ‘He has good taste. You look absolutely gorgeous.’

  ‘I wanted to let you know that our guest has arrived and is having a sharpener on the veranda with Reggie, so come through as soon as you’re ready.’

  Deciding there was no point in delaying the inevitable, Jasmine told her she was ready now and the two women went out to join the men for drinks.

  Reggie and Howard jumped to their feet as soon as they appeared.

  ‘What a feast for tired eyes,’ said Reggie, smiling broadly, his eyes darting between the two women before settling on Mary, as he reached for her hand.

  Jasmine had readied herself to bat away the attentions of Howard but, to her chagrin, he paid her no attention at all. It was as if she were invisible. He focused his attention on his hostess then the conversation moved on to rubber, as Reggie quizzed the younger man. Mary excused herself to consult with the cook in the kitchen and Jasmine felt like a spare part as the men discussed latex yields and Reggie inquired about people he knew at Batu Lembah.

  ‘Worked there myself once,’ said Reggie. ‘I was a Dunlop man and worked on the estate next to BL. Jasmine’s father lured me away from Dunlop’s and gave me a job when he bought BL back in ’31. The place was in a terrible state and he eventually moved over there himself and got me to take over Bella Vista. Of course this is an altogether smaller enterprise, but it suits me well. My first wife hated BL – couldn’t stand the heat so Bella Vista was preferable. But it turned out she hated Malaya in general. Left me after the war.’ He took a swig of his stengah, draining the glass. ‘Good thing too, as it happens. Otherwise I’d never have ended up with Mary.’ He smiled. ‘She and the baby are the best things that ever happened to me.’ He held his hand out for Howard’s glass. ‘Let me freshen that up for you, old chap.’

  Howard relinquished his whisky tumbler and leaned back in his chair. ‘You’re a lucky man, sir.’ He was still ignoring Jasmine.

  She wasn’t sure which was worse – being pestered by him or treated as though she were invisible. She decided to try a new tack and be distantly friendly. After all he seemed to have got over his infatuation. ‘What did you do in George Town last night?’

  Howard turned and looked at her for the first time, his eyes revealing nothing. ‘Some of us went along to a thr
ash at the Sports Club.’

  Mary reappeared. ‘What was that in aid of?’

  ‘Twenty-first birthday party for the daughter of one of the Guthrie’s estate managers. Apparently everyone who’s anyone was there, and I must say it was chock full of very pretty girls. I don’t think I stopped dancing all evening.’

  Jasmine seethed – then asked herself why. This was actually good news. Howard Baxter had evidently moved past his stupid crush on her, as Mummy had predicted. It was what she’d been hoping for…wasn’t it?

  Mary looked at Jasmine, her lips stretched tight and frowning slightly. ‘That’s the kind of thing you’re missing out on, Jasmine, being stuck up here in the hills. I do hope you aren’t going to get bored and lonely.’

  Reggie passed Howard his stengah. ‘Any time Jasmine wants to go into George Town we can get the syce to run her in and pick her up later.’

  ‘But how’s she going to get to know people in the first place? Maybe we ought to throw a little party at the Club or the E&O to introduce her to some young people.’ Mary addressed Reggie but glanced at Howard.

  Jasmine felt humiliated again, terrified Howard was going to volunteer to take her out. ‘Don’t worry about me,’ she said, embarrassed. ‘I hate all that kind of thing. I’m perfectly happy up here. I can think of nothing worse than going to a dance.’

  Before anyone could respond, the amah appeared and announced that dinner was ready and they moved through to the dining room.

  To Jasmine’s relief, the topic of her going out and meeting people was not returned to. They sat down to enjoy the meal, the highlight of which was an enormous joint of roast beef. Reggie and Howard tucked in with relish and Jasmine observed that, as usual, Mary ate like a sparrow and what she did manage to consume was mostly vegetables. Unlike Mummy, who enjoyed her gin, Mary barely drank at all.