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

by Clare Flynn

  She studied the back of Bintang’s neck: glossy black hair meeting taut muscles. Since he’d told her about the horrible way his little sister had been so brutally murdered in front of the family at only nine years old, she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it. How had Bintang found the strength to carry on, having witnessed such an act of senseless savagery? At nine, Siti had been less than a year older than Jasmine’s brother was now. What if someone blew Hugh’s brains out in front of her? It was too horrible to contemplate. The revelation had given Bintang a near heroic status in her mind. Since then, she had stopped thinking of him as the syce but as an individual, worthy of her compassion and respect.

  Observing the back of his head, Jasmine decided he’d make an interesting subject to draw. Dare she ask him to pose for her some time? Would that be inappropriate? What might the Hyde-Underwoods think? More to the point what might Bintang think? On the other hand, sketching him when he was unaware and off guard might be more interesting than asking him to hold a pose. Every Saturday he washed the car, so Jasmine could find a spot where she could observe him at work and do some rapid sketches, then use them as the basis for a portrait later. It was tempting to take her drawing pad out now and sketch him as he drove, but that would mean Howard the Creep seeing what she was doing, and she wasn’t going to let that happen.

  The ominous silence was increasingly unsettling. Better to make some casual conversation. But Jasmine wasn’t comfortable with the concept of small talk, as Mummy called it. Evie could walk into any room and sustain a conversation with anyone. When Jasmine had asked her how she did it, she’d said it was part of being married to someone whose job required him to entertain visiting dignitaries. She had to mix and mingle with all manner of people from high-ranking officials to local tribesmen and missionaries. Everyone has something that they truly care about, Mummy had told her. It’s simply a question of discovering what that is and letting them tell you about it. Trouble was, the only things Howard Baxter appeared to be interested in were her, and rubber cultivation. Jasmine didn’t want to talk about either.

  They pulled into the Botanic Gardens and parked. Leaving Bintang with the motor, Howard and Jasmine got out and started walking.

  ‘Is there something between you and that chap?’ Howard looked at her sideways.

  ‘What chap?’ She turned to look at him in surprise. ‘Oh, my goodness, do you mean Bintang? Of course not. There’s nothing between me and anybody. I wish you’d leave me alone, Howard.’

  Howard had the grace to look ashamed. ‘I apologise. As usual I’ve put my foot in it and offended you. I honestly didn’t mean to, Jasmine, only…’ He looked away into the distance. ‘It’s possibly because I’m jealous.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The way he looks at you when you’re not aware. The fact that he gets to drive you around and see you all the time, when I’m stuck over on the peninsula.’ His eyes fixed on hers. ‘And yet again, I’ve messed up by blurting all this out and making you mad at me. When all I want is for you to be mad for me.’

  ‘That’s never going to happen.’

  He looked hurt and she felt bad.

  ‘You haven’t even mentioned the Perry Como record.’

  ‘What do you expect me to say?’

  He looked nonplussed. Shrugging, he said, ‘Nothing I suppose.’

  ‘Look, it was kind of you to bring me a gift, but as I told you before, Howard, I am not interested.’ She knew she sounded cold, cruel even, so added, ‘I mean, I’m not interested in anyone. Not like that. Nothing against you personally.’ Remembering her conversation with Mary over breakfast she wished she’d had time to look up Plato and Socrates in the encyclopaedia. Too late now. ‘I am very happy to be friends in the manner of the Ancient Greek philosopher.’ She cringed, realising how pompous she sounded.

  ‘Gosh. Not sure I can manage philosophy. I’m not feeling too philosophical right now.’ He looked crestfallen. Then his mouth stretched into a resigned smile. ‘But I’ll do my best. Now, let’s go and find your monkeys.’

  ‘There are waterfalls as well.’

  ‘Right. Waterfalls and monkeys it is.’ He smiled again, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes.

  Jasmine felt an overwhelming sadness. The day was not turning out the way she’d hoped. Even the gardens were a disappointment. There was an air of neglect about them since their pre-war splendour and her childhood memories. Even the monkeys failed to move her. Perhaps the charm of primates had eroded somewhat. They were two-a-penny back in Kenya, driving Gichinga mad when they ate the vegetables in the kitchen garden he tended behind their bungalow.

  Howard didn’t appear that impressed by the monkeys either. He must also have grown up with them all around him in Ceylon. This was not the pleasant tour Mary had planned for them.

  ‘Let’s take the funicular up to Penang Hill,’ Jasmine said.

  ‘Do you think we’ll see anything up there? There’s a lot of cloud about.’

  ‘What would you rather do?’ she asked sharply, realising she’d rather be anywhere than stuck in a small train cabin with Howard Baxter.

  ‘No. Penang Hill sounds perfect. I’ve never ridden on a funicular railway before.’

  They returned to the car where Bintang was leaning against the bonnet, smoking.

  ‘Haven’t you told him it’s a filthy habit, yet?’ Howard said to her as they approached.

  ‘Of course I haven’t. It’s none of my business.’

  Howard’s face broke into a broad smile. ‘I will take hope from that. I’m telling myself that it means your zeal for reforming character failings extends only to me.’ He opened his arms in an expansive gesture. ‘Plenty of raw material for you to work on here. I could ask the Parentals to draw up a list of my many defects.’

  Jasmine rolled her eyes but found herself smiling.

  * * *

  The funicular was crowded, and the seats were narrow, so they had to squash closely together. Jasmine, self-consciously aware of Howard’s thigh against hers, was glad he wasn’t wearing shorts and she didn’t have to see those tanned legs with the fine dark hairs.

  The hills above them were wreathed in mist, the trees like spectres breaking through the swirling haze. It began to rain. Heavily. They looked at each other. The umbrellas were in the car. Above their heads the rain made a drumbeat on the cabin roof. Jasmine hoped that it would be over quickly.

  The railway passed over a stone viaduct then cut into the hillside for the steep climb up to Middle Station. There the line went into a short passing loop, crossing the downward train on the opposite track. Jasmine watched the rain run down the windows and felt even glummer. Meanwhile Howard was deep in conversation with a middle-aged man who was explaining the feats of engineering involved in the creation of a funicular and the principles of its operation. She suppressed a yawn and wished she’d stayed at Bella Vista.

  As soon as they stepped out at the top of the track, the rain stopped. That’s how it was in Penang – frequent showers that were often over as fast as they started. To her delight, the sun broke through the clouds, which were moving away rapidly over the Straits. All around them was a dense canopy of lush green vegetation, the sound of birds, the flash of their plumage and the delicate bright wings of butterflies.

  They walked up to the vantage point. ‘What a view!’ Howard said, looking down to George Town and beyond it, the Straits with the distant dots of boats. ‘There’s the ferry to Butterworth.’ He pointed. ‘I’m so glad you brought me up here, Jasmine. It’s a magical place.’

  His enthusiasm was reflected in his broad grin and she couldn’t help but be infected by it, pointing out places of interest below them. ‘See that big pagoda over there? With the buildings beside it? A Chinese temple. It’s Ayer Itam. We can visit that next if you like.’

  ‘Some time. But not now. Let’s have some tiffin then go for a swim,’ he said. ‘We have our things. We can find a quiet beach somewhere.’

  Jasmine wasn’t sure
she wanted Howard Baxter to see her in her bathing costume, but the thought of swimming was too delicious a prospect to resist. ‘Shall we go to the Penang Club first for lunch?’

  ‘No need. It’s all planned. Mary offered to give us a picnic and I took the liberty of accepting on your behalf. There’s a hamper in the boot of the car.’

  ‘She didn’t tell me.’

  ‘You weren’t there, lazy bones.’ He winked at her.

  At least now they were communicating. Jasmine didn’t mind him when he was friendly and cheerful. It was the long silences or the declarations of his feelings for her that got her down. She decided to behave as if everything that had passed between them before hadn’t happened.

  ‘Where shall we go? The Penang Swimming Club?’ she said.

  ‘No. The sea. Mary suggested a place and told that sullen driver. I haven’t a clue what it was called. But she promised it would be quiet.’

  ‘But where can I get changed? We could go to the Penang Swimming Club and then go down onto the beach from there. At least then I can use the changing rooms.’

  ‘It’s Sunday, and Mary said the Swimming Club would be awash with people. I’m sure there’ll be some trees to hide behind where we’re going. And I promise not to peek.’

  Reluctantly, she followed him to the funicular. They took the trip back down and found Bintang waiting near the parked motorcar, smoking and talking to a small group of fellow Malays. He said something to his companions then headed back to the car.

  ‘Sorry, Bintang. We’ve changed our plans. We’d like to go to the beach now.’

  Bintang shrugged and opened the car door for Jasmine.

  The drive took about forty minutes, over the hills on a steep winding road, which then doubled back and headed to the north west of the island.

  ‘Apparently many of the most beautiful beaches are only accessible by sea or if you trek for hours through dense jungle,’ said Howard. ‘Maybe one day we can hire a boat and visit one. There are small islands too.’

  ‘I know,’ said Jasmine. ‘I was born here.’

  ‘Of course, you were.’ He smiled, adding, ‘There I go again.’

  She turned away to look out of the window. There was little traffic on the road, just the odd buffalo cart or rickshaw near settlements. They drove with the windows open, enjoying the cooling breeze, passing rice paddies and areas where local families grew subsistence vegetables. Everywhere was lush and green and vibrant under the sun.

  Passing through small kampongs, they saw children working alongside their parents in the fields and vegetable plots. Washing hung on long wooden poles, like bunting. Chickens clucked around in the spaces underneath the stilted wooden houses and armies of ducks paraded everywhere. Men and women, wearing straw coolie hats, carried panniers filled with rice or freshly picked vegetables on wooden yokes over their shoulders. In the Chinese villages there were small enclosures with pigs. Everywhere was a hive of industry.

  ‘I love this country. Everywhere is so green and fresh,’ she said, her annoyance at Howard now dissipated by her surroundings. ‘Africa is so dry and dusty.’

  ‘I’ve never been. Maybe you can show me one day.’

  There he went again, spoiling everything by trying to insinuate that they had some kind of shared future.

  ‘I won’t be living there anymore. I’ve left for good.’ She turned away to look out of the window.

  ‘But you’ll go back to visit. After all, your family is there.’ He was not easily discouraged.

  Irritated, Jasmine said nothing else, and the rest of the journey passed in silence.

  When they arrived at their destination, Howard lifted the picnic basket out of the boot of the car, as well as the bags containing their swimming gear. Jasmine went to take hers, but he shook his head. ‘I’ve got it.’

  Meanwhile, Bintang lit up a cigarette and sat on a fallen tree trunk between the road and the beach. It appeared he planned to stay within sight of them while they had their picnic and swam.

  Howard turned to the driver. ‘I say, we’re going to be here for the rest of the afternoon, so why don’t you take some time off and you can come back for us at four o’clock.’

  Bintang scowled, folded his arms and said, ‘I stay near Missee.’

  Fearing a confrontation, Jasmine gave him what she hoped was a reassuring smile. ‘Don’t worry about me, Bintang. I’ll be safe with Mr Baxter. Why don’t you take the motor and visit your grandmother?’

  ‘This is tuan’s car. I not use for me.’

  ‘The tuan won’t even know. If he did find out and wasn’t happy then I’d tell him it was my idea.’

  Bintang hesitated, then threw another scowl in Howard’s direction, nodded, got back in the car and drove away.

  ‘Thank goodness we’re shot of him. Well done.’

  Irritated by the grin on Howard’s face she said, ‘I only did it to avoid a scene and I don’t want you getting any ideas now he’s out of the picture.’

  Howard lifted both hands, palms facing her. ‘I won’t lay a finger on you, dearest girl. You have my word. Come on, let’s see what Jinjiang has prepared for our picnic.’

  The sandy beach was lined with coconut palms; some of them bent over towards the sea as though they were trying to dip their fronds in the water. There were a couple of small islets not far from the shore: rocky humps with vegetation clinging to them. Further along the beach a small cluster of huts with attap roofs was nestled between the palms. In the shallow waters in front of the huts, a couple of colourful fishing boats were roped to stakes in the sand, rising and dipping on the gentle waves. No one was about.

  Jasmine looked around, wondering where she was going to get changed. She didn’t like the idea of trying to do it discreetly under her towel in case she let it slip. Nothing would be more embarrassing.

  Sensing her discomfort, Howard offered to find a suitable spot and ran off along the beach, in the opposite direction to the fishing boats. A few moments later he ran back. ‘There’s a huge rock down there. It’s not overlooked from the road or the beach. ‘You can squeeze behind it and slip your cozzie on.’

  Grateful, she grabbed her swimming things and headed for the boulder. Behind it was an area of dense mangroves, their roots spreading over the edges of the shore. Quickly, she took off her dress and underwear and put on her swimsuit. Yet another gift from Mummy – this time bought from one of the shops at the E&O.

  Aware she was alone with Howard, and feeling self-conscious, she hoped the swimsuit wasn’t too revealing. Thank goodness her monthly period had finished three days ago. How would she have felt having to make excuses for not swimming? It was so hard growing up. Jasmine often wished she was still a child and didn’t have to worry about all these unpleasant things.

  When she got back, she was relieved to see Howard hadn’t changed into his swimming trunks but was wearing a pair of shorts. He looked up at her as he was unpacking the picnic hamper, but fortunately said nothing about her swimming costume. Not that he could see much of it as she was clutching a towel in front of her.

  ‘What a feast. I hope you’re hungry,’ he said. ‘I’m famished. There’s ham, salad, sausage rolls, little battered patty-cake things.’ He took a bite of one. ‘Mmm, I think it has prawns in. And ginger. Spicy. Delicious. Come on, before I scoff the lot.’

  As she ate, Jasmine realised she did have an appetite. Sitting cross-legged on the cotton blanket, she began to relax.

  ‘There’s beer as well. And what looks like homemade lemonade.’ Howard reached inside the basket.

  ‘I’ll have some lemonade, thanks.’

  A soft breeze was coming off the Straits, but it was still very hot and the lemonade cooled her parched throat.

  ‘I liked Colombo,’ she said. ‘It reminded me of Penang in so many ways.’

  ‘You need to see the rest of Ceylon. It’s beautiful. Deserted beaches like this. Temples, mountains, jungle, enormous stone statues. We even have monkeys. And better still, elephants
.’

  ‘Why did you want to leave then?’

  ‘I didn’t want to leave Ceylon. But I needed to get away from the old boy. One day I will return to live there.’

  ‘Really? So, you’re not staying on in Malaya?’

  ‘Oh yes, I’m staying. At least for the foreseeable future. But when the old boy shuffles off this mortal coil I’ll inherit the family business and then I’ll have to go back to run it.’

  ‘Mummy told me you didn’t like tea and wanted to work in the rubber business.’

  He shrugged. ‘Nothing against tea. I just can’t stand the constant pressure to be someone I’m not.’

  Jasmine was curious now. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I had an older brother. Bill. He was killed in the Normandy landings. Dad’s never got over him dying and the fact that he won’t be coming back to run the business.’ He turned his head to look out to sea.

  ‘I’m sorry. That’s awfully sad. How old was Bill when he died?’

  ’Twenty-nine. There was a big gap between us.’

  ‘Do you have any other siblings?’

  ‘A sister. Married. Lives in England. She’s the eldest. Sixteen years older than me. I barely know her. Ellen was at boarding school in England when I was born. I saw her in the school holidays, then she got married at twenty to some chap in the insurance business. As far as I can gather, she spends her life playing golf and bridge. They don’t have any children.’

  ‘I often wonder what it would have been like to have an older brother or sister.’

  ‘Are you an only-child then?’

  She told him about her half-brother, Hugh. ‘He’s eight. Bursting with energy. I miss him dreadfully. I absolutely adore the little horror.’ Her face broke into a smile. Then remembering that Howard had been telling her about his brother’s death, she rearranged her expression.

  ‘Bill was the best. Clever, brave, reliable, funny. Dad worshipped him. Mum too, but she was better at disguising any favouritism.’ Howard’s voice was hollow, slightly shaky. ‘And I looked up to him and wanted to be like him. When they got the telegram to say he’d been killed I was away at university in England.’ He took a swig of beer from the bottle. ‘I couldn’t believe it. But to the Parentals it was the end of their world. If Bill was the favoured son while he was alive, it was nothing to how they revered him once he was dead. And, in comparison, I was a shadow of my cleverer, braver, worthier brother. A living reminder of what they’d lost. Dad makes no bones about the fact that the runt of the litter survived. You’ve no idea, Jasmine, what it’s like to be constantly compared to someone else and found wanting. Especially when you yourself hero-worshipped the person you are compared to.’