by Clare Flynn
Jasmine turned to Godfrey and said, ‘I don’t remember much about my childhood here. Maybe you could show me the drying sheds and the place where the latex is processed. It might help me remember something.’
Godfrey was all too willing, and Jasmine hoped this little charade wouldn’t lead him to think she had designs on him. While he was a reasonably good-looking chap, he spoke with a public-school drawl and reeled off facts as if he were being tested. She couldn’t imagine why Barbara had even entertained the idea of kissing him. A cardboard cutout would stand a better chance of raising Jasmine’s pulse. But she mustn’t let herself think of kissing as it would only bring on the ache she felt for Bintang and she wanted to forget about that – at least until she was alone and could indulge her misery without witnesses.
There was nothing about the estate that revived any memories for Jasmine. It was like any other rubber estate. Much bigger than Bella Vista and with more modern equipment, but she was hardly a connoisseur. She’d been a small child during the brief time they’d lived there – and it had not been the happiest time of her life. It was all hazy – vaguely remembered arguments between her late mother and father and her mother’s constant irritation and bad temper.
Godfrey demonstrated the equipment in the small factory, going into elaborate detail over the machinery and how each piece functioned. She was tempted to tell him that she was currently living on a rubber estate, but she’d promised Barbara to play her part. Her eyes were glazing over until, eventually, Godfrey looked at his watch and suggested they make their way back to the bungalow he shared with Howard, where lunch would be ready.
They left the factory and Godfrey pointed out the tuan’s larger bungalow. ‘Over there, that’s where you would have lived. It’s O’Keefe’s place now. He and Mrs O’Keefe have three kids and another on the way.’
‘What’s that?’ Jasmine pointed towards what looked like a bunker in front of the property. Sandbags were piled in front of it.
‘It’s a dugout. For the guards. There’s always a couple of armed men in there, day and night. Not that we’ve had any trouble here at BL. Word gets out that we’re heavily defended and that probably puts the bandits off. It connects to the cellar under the bungalow so Mrs O’Keefe and the children can take refuge there if needs be.’
It was strange how quickly people adjusted to the need for constant armed vigilance. Clearly the threat here was more imminent than over on the island. Jasmine shuddered at the thought of having to hide in a dark cellar with Mary, Frances and Jinjiang and hoped it would never come to that at Bella Vista.
Something made her glance back at the factory behind them. A sense of being watched. She halted. ‘Did you see anyone just now? When we were at the factory?’
‘No. It’s Sunday. No one’s working today. Probably one of the guards on his rounds.’
Satisfied, she fell into step behind Godfrey, then something caught her peripheral vision and she stopped dead. A figure moving through the rubber trees. She gave a little cry. It was the way the man moved that gave him away. Silently. Like a cat. Even though he disappeared, and she hadn’t seen his face, Jasmine knew with absolute certainty who it was. Her heart raced and she gasped. How could it be? Why here? Had he seen her? Had he come because he knew she was here? But how could he have known?
Godfrey looked at her, frowning. ‘What’s wrong? What have you seen?’
‘Nothing,’ she said quickly and hurried after him. Her heart was beating fast against her ribs and she wished she could have run off into the trees after Bintang. He must have intended her to see him. Surely that meant he would find some way to speak to her before she left the estate. She wanted to shout for joy. That fleeting glimpse filled her with hope that maybe soon they would have a chance to speak. She imagined telling him of her visit to his grandmother and the gift of his portrait. Perhaps she could try to find him after tiffin. She would suggest another walk instead of the card game. It might be hard to give the others the slip, but she’d find some excuse.
Inside, the main room of the assistants’ bungalow was cool, a large fan rotating above their heads and the chicks drawn to keep the sun out. The amah, a small woman in a purple cheongsam, was waiting with the luncheon.
When Godfrey and Jasmine walked into the room, Jasmine saw Barbara had a sullen look on her face and couldn’t help a small moment of satisfaction. But now was no time to think badly of anyone else. She was on a cloud, barely able to stop her mind running away with the possibilities for how to engineer meeting Bintang.
Her thoughts were interrupted almost immediately. As soon as the housekeeper saw Jasmine, the woman became agitated and started speaking quickly and loudly in her own language. She clasped her hands together and bowed her head repeatedly to Jasmine, ignoring the three others.
Jasmine didn’t know how to react. There was something vaguely familiar about the woman, but she couldn’t place her. And she certainly couldn’t understand what she was saying. Helpless, she turned to Howard and Godfrey. The woman continued to speak,
Godfrey spoke at last. ‘Nayla says you are the former tuan’s daughter and she’s very sorry that he died.’ He glanced at Howard. ‘She says she wants your help.’ He spoke rapidly in Malay to the woman who replied, then bowed her head and left the room.
‘I don’t understand,’ said Jasmine when the woman had gone. ‘I barely know any Malay. How does she want me to help her?’
Howard spoke. ‘I don’t think she meant that. Nayla worked here before the war. She must have known you as a child. In those days she was the housekeeper at the main bungalow, for the tuan, for your father.’
That was it. It all flooded back. It had been a day out with Mummy and Mary and Jasmine’s best friend, Penny, to the Jungle Pools at Taiping. On the way back, Jasmine had had a desperate need to go to the lavatory. In the car she’d kicked up a fuss. Mummy and Mary, who was driving, had decided to make a quick stop here at Batu Lembah so she could use the bathroom. They walked into the bungalow and Daddy was sitting at the table with the housekeeper standing behind him. She remembered thinking it funny because Daddy was wearing a sarong and she’d never seen him dressed like that before. He always wore shorts. The Malayan lady had taken Jasmine to the bathroom. That was all she could remember except for Mummy telling her to go and wait in the car with Mary and Penny. Mummy had looked angry, but then had cried on the way back to George Town. After that, Evie had taken to her bed for days and days and Daddy didn’t come home for ages. Jasmine’s memory was hazy – after all she could only have been eight or nine. Mummy was expecting Hugh. But she did remember blaming herself – thinking that her sudden need to use the toilet had been the cause of all this upset – even though as a child she hadn’t understood why or what had made Mummy so sad.
Now, looking back at this through her older eyes, the realisation dawned that the woman must have been her father’s mistress. She felt sick to the pit of her stomach. Poor Mummy. ‘I know who she is,’ she said, simply, then pulled out a chair and sat at the table. She must put on a brave face. It was all in the past. From another world. Daddy had been dead for years. What did it matter now?
They ate the lunch and she was grateful that the amah didn’t reappear.
Barbara was morose during lunch, barely speaking. Not at all her usual ebullient self. She avoided looking at Howard at all and Jasmine suspected that her friend would find an excuse to avoid the card game and ask to be taken home. Evidently her plan to ensnare Howard had failed to ignite. Jasmine felt vindicated. While she was sure he was no angel, she didn’t like the idea of him so easily succumbing to Barbara’s wiles. He had always struck her as being an honourable man and not someone who would jump in and out of bed with girls he wasn’t serious about. One thing Barbara would have made abundantly clear was that she had firm plans for her own future. Jasmine glanced at her across the table. It must have been a blow to Barbara’s pride to be rejected. It had probably never happened before.
They were halfw
ay through the simple meal, with Jasmine still struggling to think of a way to leave the others and search for Bintang among the lines of rubber trees, when the sound of shouting reached them. Howard and Godfrey jumped up and ran to the open doorway onto the veranda. Jasmine and Barbara exchanged glances.
‘It’s the rubber sheds.’ The muscles in Howard’s neck visibly tightened. He nodded to Godfrey who patted the gun in his holster. Turning round, Godfrey told the young women to stay put and bolt all the doors. ‘The guards will keep an eye on the place. Get down into the cellar. You’ll be safe there. There are mattresses to sit on and a light switch next to the hatch. Wait until we’re back,’ barked Godfrey. ‘Don’t even think about coming out until we get back.’ Then the two men began to run in the direction of the rubber stores.
Jasmine stood frozen in the doorway. She didn’t want to be shut up inside the bungalow cellar unable to see what was going on. This was the opportunity she had been hoping for to find Bintang. ‘There’s smoke coming from those sheds. I’m going too. They’ll need as much help as possible to put out the fire. Are you coming?’
Barbara was shaking. There was no sign of the bravado that she had shown in the armoured jeep that morning. ‘You must be joking. There may be bandits out there.’ She was already tugging open the hatch in the floor that Godfrey had indicated. ‘Come on!’ Seeing her friend hesitate, Barbara screeched at her, ‘Hurry up. I’m scared.’ Her face was stricken.
‘Get down there and I’ll follow in a while. There are guards outside. You’re safe here, Barbara. I’m going to see what’s happening and I’ll be right back.’
Trembling with fear, Barbara climbed down the wooden steps into the cellar. She flicked on the light.
Without waiting for her friend to argue further, Jasmine pushed the hatch into place and dragged a straw mat over it. Taking a deep breath, she ran towards the thick noxious clouds of smoke and the stench of burning rubber.
30
Jasmine could feel the heat as she crossed the padang and drew closer to the factory and stores. Through the acrid smoke she could see two or three white men organising the tappers into lines to form a human chain and pass along buckets of water. Presumably Godfrey and Howard were among them. Her vision was distorted and blurred by the intensity of the heat. She turned away to cough.
A hand grabbed her by the wrist and jerked her away. Stumbling, she looked up, expecting it to be Howard about to tell her to return to the safety of the bungalow.
Her heart stopped. It was Bintang.
She gave a little cry of surprise. ‘I saw you,’ she said. ‘Earlier. Running through the trees. I knew you’d come to find me.’
He didn’t answer. Holding her wrist in a painfully tight grip, he pulled her away from the buildings, running through the lines of rubber, moving on a diagonal, tacking slightly from left to right so the trees would block the sight lines of anyone who might be looking their way. But no one would be. All attention was focused on the fire.
She was starting to stumble, wearied by the heat, her lungs straining after breathing in the smoke. But Bintang ran on, until the estate buildings were completely out of sight. Eventually he stopped, releasing her wrist from his grip.
He looked haggard, thinner, after only two or three weeks, and his beautiful silky black hair was unkempt and matted. A gun was strapped to his waist.
‘You set the fire, didn’t you?’
He said nothing, staring at her, his eyes cold. The arrogant expression that had sometimes bordered on cruelty was all too evident now.
‘What the hell do you think you’re playing at, Bintang? Setting buildings on fire. Do you have any idea how much mindless damage you’ve caused? Those stores were full of rubber. Do you know how much it was worth?’ After her recent lecture on the subject from Godfrey Fairchild she was only too well aware of the numbers involved. ‘Do you realise how much work went into producing it? Hundreds of tappers and their families are dependent on this place for their livelihood and you’ve sent it up in flames.’
‘Good. The running dogs must go. Leave my country.’ His voice was cold, flat.
‘You’ve been brainwashed by those people. What kind of rubbish are you talking? What do you mean by running dogs?’ Exasperated, she tried another tack. ‘You’re worth much more than this, Bintang. Don’t throw your life away. There are so many opportunities open to you. Please. Come back. The Hyde-Underwoods will help you.’
‘Never go back.’ His tone was angry, clipped. ‘Never go back to imperialist running dogs.’
Jasmine stared at him in astonishment. ‘But what about us? You and me? Is that why you’ve come here? Is it because of me? Because Batu Lembah used to belong to my father?’ She hesitated then blurted, ‘Or is it because Howard Baxter’s here? Are you punishing him because you know he likes me? Because you’re jealous of him? Because, Bintang, you mustn’t be. You have no need to be jealous at all. I’m only here today because of my friend. You know, Barbara – she was there when Ellis arrested you.’
‘You think everything is about you. You spoilt little white girl.’ His words were laced with a sneer. ‘Yes, I don’t like your boyfriend. Not because he your boyfriend. Because he is a white man stealing our land, stealing my country’s wealth. I don’t care about you.’
‘That’s not true, Bintang. I know it isn’t. You’re just saying that. You don’t mean it. I love you, Bintang. And I know you love me too.’ She reached for him, certain that if he held her everything would be all right.
His expression was horrible, conveying utter contempt. ‘Love you? I don’t love you. I hate you.’
It was a punch in the stomach. Her mouth fell open and she looked at him in shock and horror, her eyes filling with tears. ‘But you kissed me. And the way you kissed me… I loved you…’ She felt less sure of herself and hesitated. His eyes continued to bore into her, making her doubt herself. ‘But…’
‘I kiss you because I want to know what like to kiss white girl. Curiosity. And you are pretty. Why not? You act cheap. You offer. Why not take? But I have admitted my shame to my comrades in the struggle. I tell them in Retrospection and Review meeting.’
The ground was pulled out from under her and she was falling, blindly, into nothingness. The tears rolled down her cheeks and she did nothing to stop them. Looking at him now, his contempt was all too evident.
‘And all the times you talked with me.’ She spread out her hands in a gesture of supplication. ‘I thought we were friends.’
‘Never friends. I servant. Do what told. Follow orders. Now not servant. Follow orders from my leaders in communist revolution. Soon Malaya will belong to my people. White men will be gone. And those who don’t go will die.’
She gasped. ‘What have they done to you, Bintang? They’ve brainwashed you. All this talk of running dogs and killing people. It’s horrible.’
‘Soon Malaya will be communist country. People live in peace and harmony. Now we must spill blood of white dogs to be free. I do my duty for fight.’
Desperate, Jasmine tried another tack. ‘I met your grandmother,’ she said, hoping to appeal to his strong sense of family. ‘I gave her the portrait I painted of you. I liked her very much. We went together to visit Siti’s grave.’
It backfired. His face set harder. ‘Keep away from Grandmother.’ Then he drew out his gun. ‘You think I won’t kill you because you young girl and once I kiss you.’ His laugh was more of snarl. ‘You think I care for you? I never care for you. I will care only when your body lies here dead on ground for ants to eat. I go back to camp and say them not only burn rubber stores but kill white woman, tuan besar’s daughter, girl from Penang. My comrades very pleased. Now give me your watch and that ring. We sell for food. Worth much money.’
Jasmine’s heart stopped. This wasn’t happening. He doesn’t mean it. He can’t mean it. Not Bintang.
‘You can have the watch but not the ring. It belonged to my grandmother. It’s a family heirloom.’ She touched the pearl
protectively.
‘Take it off. Now!’
His voice was loud. Angry. She could no longer recognise the Bintang she knew.
‘You not need heirloom when dead.’
Terrified, she handed him the watch and eased the ring over her finger. He snatched it from her. ‘You turn away. I kind man. I give you few moments to get ready to die. More than Japanese gave my sister.’
Numb with shock that he intended to shoot her in the back of the head, Jasmine stood her ground. So, this was it. The end of her short life. Longer than Siti’s had been, but shorter than was right or natural. A few minutes ago, she’d been so wretched she’d almost have welcomed it, but now she wanted nothing more than to live. She wouldn’t turn and give him the easy way out. Her legs trembling, she made herself look at him. If he was going to kill her, she’d force him to do it as she watched him.
The rubber trees crowded in around her. Her own father might have planted some of these. Was he up there watching her now? What are you supposed to do when you’re about to die? How do you prepare? Time stopped, even as she realised it was running out. She fixed her eyes on Bintang, staring into his large brown ones, taking in that beautiful face she had loved and believed to have loved her too. If she kept looking at him, unblinking, he wouldn’t do it, couldn’t do it. He raised his arm and took aim. Blind terror coursed through her and her legs were jelly. But she kept her eyes fixed on him through the blur of tears. ‘I love you, Bintang,’ she said.
He hesitated, the hand holding the gun shaking, before he lowered it.
Hope surged. He couldn’t do it. Of course, he couldn’t do it. She took a step towards him, breathing his name.
An angry voice cut through the silence. Jasmine turned.
A small man wearing a khaki military-style cap with a red star stood several feet away from them. He was screaming at Bintang. Jasmine couldn’t understand the words he was saying but had no doubt that he was ordering Bintang to kill her. Around his waist was an impressive munitions belt and his outstretched arm held a pistol pointing straight at her. He continued to scream orders at Bintang.
