‘Has nobody asked to excavate it – to dig out the tunnel?’
‘Not that we know. The locals – native Malaysians – want to forget about the colonial past. They’d probably pull this place down if it was up to them.’
‘Why is it still standing then?’
‘The company that owns it is Chinese.’ She turned away and hurried back to the stairway. ‘We must go back to Ipoh.’
‘What about the temple?’
She climbed a few steps and, as soon as there was sufficient light, looked at her watch. ‘We have time before it gets dark but we should hurry.’
They strode side-by-side to the pedestrian bridge over the stream and, without crossing, turned right and followed another path that took them into a copse of native trees fringed with colourful blossom: icing sugar white, lilac and blood red. The trees formed hardly more than an arched gateway to another clearing alongside the main road. Behind a pale cement-rendered wall rising to Mick’s shoulder height, stood a tower faced with multi-coloured tiles.
‘The temple,’ she said.
‘Amazing!’
‘Do you know the story?’ she asked.
‘That he built it to appease the migrant workers’ Gods when so many of them had been killed by the flu after the First World War.’
‘Yes.’
Mick followed the wall to the entrance but there was a heavy chain across the iron gates. He turned to check that she had followed. ‘Can we go in?’
‘I do not think it’s used. Come back round to the side. I want to show you something.’ She pointed to a single file of plaster figurines. Each was about a half-metre high, posed, some seated some standing, on a pediment wall that extended along the length of the façade at roof height. There must have been twenty or thirty of them. Mick scanned along the row.
A pink-faced man in a brown military jacket stood to attention between a kneeling fakir playing a wind instrument as if to charm a snake from its basket and a holy man sitting Buddha-like. The western-garbed man wore a black belt across his chest and held a rifle by his side. His head was covered by a pith helmet.
‘He is your grandfather,’ she said.
‘His brother – my great uncle,’ Mick said. He felt a tug in his chest. Perhaps it had been important to come here. He needed a photograph of this not only for him but for Steve, the funny little statue’s grandson, and he cursed himself for leaving his camera at the hotel. The prospect of having Nancy as his guide had made it slip his mind.
He stepped onto the gravel path that ran around the wall. As with the house, some agency was keeping the jungle at bay. He stood on tiptoe to get a closer look over the wall. Nancy was right, it looked as if the building had been abandoned. He turned to her. She stood at the margin of the trees scanning the ground at her feet.
‘What are you looking for?’ he said.
‘A block of wood or a stone. Something to stand on.’
‘What for?’
‘So that I can see.’ She pointed. ‘Over the wall.’
‘I can give you a boost.’ Even in the fading light he could see the colour rise from her throat to her cheeks.
She shook her head and took a pace backwards ‘I don’t think so.’
He imagined grasping her by the waist and lifting her almost weightless form so that her shoulders were level with the top of the wall. ‘Look!’ He stooped and interlaced his fingers to form a stirrup. ‘You only have to step into this and I can lift you.’
She smiled and came back to the wall. He leant his shoulder against it and offered his hands. She stepped in and up. He had been right, she seemed to have no heft at all. He looked up. She had grasped the top and was using it to take some of her weight.
‘Yes. I thought so. Nothing,’ she said.
When she had stepped down, she dusted off her hips and thighs. ‘It’s getting late,’ she said. ‘We should return you to your hotel.’
He only half heard her. He had unconsciously moved his hands and they now held hers. ‘I can’t tell you how grateful I am for your help today. I have learned so much more than if I had come here alone,’ he said. He was trying to think how he could legitimately extend the time with her. What would be acceptable in her culture? Would it offend her if he invited her to dinner?
‘It is not a problem. Has what you have seen given you satisfaction?’ She smiled as if she was amused by something he wasn’t party to.
‘Yes. I had to come and see it for myself. And now I have.’ The words sounded final. This was the opposite of the impression he wanted to achieve.
‘So now you can go home?’ Her eyes were downcast as if she couldn’t bear to look at him. Was this a sign?
‘I hadn’t thought about it but, yes, I suppose my business here is finished.’
‘Will you move on to the next stage of your trip – to Langkawi?’
‘Yes, to Langkawi.’ He didn’t remember telling her of his plans.
They reached the car and he held the door open for her. As she passed him her hand touched his sleeve almost imperceptibly but the contact gave him a jolt as if from a cattle prod. Once he was settled in his seat, there was silence. She was watching him anxiously, her hand on the ignition key with the engine not yet started.
The claustrophobic, sun-baked interior encouraged a sudden swamping of sweat in Mick’s underarms and around his thighs. He glanced at Nancy who appeared unruffled.
‘Are you all right, Mr Mick?’ she said.
She seemed genuinely concerned and he wondered if he could dare imagine that she might have feelings for him. ‘It’s so hot in here.’ He fanned his face with a hand.
She started the car and, before the cooling effect of the air-conditioning could kick in, drove over the bridge and out of the castle compound. He looked back wondering whether this would be his only visit. Had he seen everything he should have? He had come away with nothing tangible, not even a photograph. That was it. ‘Nancy…’
‘It is permitted to call me by my first name when we are alone but back in Ipoh if we are in public you should call me by my family name – Miss Lee.’
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t know that.’ She had mentioned the possibility of being in public together. Perhaps what he had in mind would not be so out of place. ‘I was going to ask… I forgot to bring my camera today. Would you bring me back tomorrow? I would like some photographs.’
Her knuckles paled as her grip tightened on the wheel. ‘If you need to come back, of course I will be your guide once again.’
‘Good. Shall we meet in the lobby of my hotel?’
She bowed towards the windscreen. ‘Of course.’
‘Shall we say 10am tomorrow?’
‘Yes.’ The tip of her tongue fluttered where her lips were at their fullest.
12
When Mick returned to his hotel he went down to the basement business centre and sent an e-mail to Steve to let him know that he’d seen the castle and intended to return the next day to take pictures. He also mentioned that he’d spent the afternoon in the company of a charming guide called Nancy Lee and that he was thinking of asking her out for an evening meal the next day.
Afterwards, he contemplated where he might like to eat that evening. He cursed himself for not asking Nancy to continue her role as guide and help him find a restaurant. It was perfectly reasonable to ask for her recommendations and as natural as the sea meets the shore for him to casually ask her along.
Although KL’s bars and clubs gave the impression of a hedonistic society, he assumed that the permissiveness of the capital did not necessarily extend to the country’s north. Even in KL, Islam affected day-to-day discourse. The women mostly wore headscarves with two-piece outfits comprising a smock over loose fitting trousers. He had noticed that many of the Malaysians at the roadside cafés ate only with the fingers of their right hands. People from the Chinese diaspora, like Nancy, were a minority. If they felt beleaguered, they had every reason to retain conservative ideas about a woman’s behaviour
and mixing with westerners.
He had made her uncomfortable by calling her ‘Nancy’. What if she had divined that he imagined them enjoying each other’s company as a couple? No. This was going too far, too fast. She would be shocked at the idea. It was bad enough that he was having these notions when he was ten or more years older than her; his being a westerner made it preposterous.
What about her time in England? Even if she had lived with relatives she would have been exposed to student life to some extent. She’d have been in the company of young men – boys – her own age. If they were anything like he was in his late teens a beautiful woman such as Nancy would have learned how to fend off unwelcome advances without being offended and, perhaps, to have accepted a few welcome approaches. Here he was thinking of her as an innocent. What’s to say she hadn’t had her share of affaires d’amour?
As he went to bed that night, Mick resolved that by lunch-time tomorrow he would have made a simple statement and asked a straightforward question: He would like to get to know her better. Would she care to join him for dinner?
If it was so simple, though, why couldn’t he put the scenario out of his mind and go to sleep? Why was it replaying over and over with each possible response making him shiver with apprehension?
Perhaps it was residual jet lag, perhaps it was anticipation of the day’s events, either way, Mick woke early and couldn’t prevent his mind instantly engaging gear. There was no way he would find sleep again. Sighing, he pointed the zapper at the television screen and watched Fox News in Asia. The lead story was about the possible sighting in Germany of Nick Leeson, the Brit who, when he lived in Singapore, had worked as a trader for Barings Bank. The bank had collapsed due to the enormity of his trading losses. He had successfully eluded the police since leaving Singapore in February, but, the report concluded, the dragnet was closing in on him. Mick speculated about the possibility of bumping into his fellow countryman in the hotel lobby. Would he turn him in? It sounded as if the bank had been extraordinarily lax in its controls. Should he treat Leeson as a victim rather than a fraudster?
In the absence of any up-to-date film of Leeson, the segment ran a montage of what appeared to be family snaps: on the beach, in a bar, at a party. In all of them, Mick discerned something about the face of the bespectacled trader, something in his eyes that suggested vulnerability. The fragility there reminded Mick of other boys who had been bullied at school. He remembered how he had tried so hard to inject steel into his own gaze, to learn indifference, to not show fear. Mick could understand how such a man would overstep the line to get ahead, to show ‘them’ that he could thrive in the hothouse atmosphere of the trading floor.
Which brought Mick to today. In the years that he represented the family company on the road, he had learned how to mask his victim’s diffidence. Outwardly he was confident but inside he suffered an inordinate fear of rejection. His objective during the morning’s tour with Nancy would be to charm her. He hoped that she already had some feelings for him and, if he could build on these, not in a forced way but naturally, he would maybe reach the point where it would be natural for him to invite her to dinner and for her to accept.
Nancy was waiting in the lobby, when he emerged from the lift and her expression of mild concern turned into a broad smile of welcome. ‘Mr Mick, how are you this bright Sunday morning?’
‘I’m well, thank you, Miss Lee, and looking forward to our expedition.’ He registered what she had said. He had asked her to work on Sunday! He hurried after her. ‘I’m so sorry. I lost track of the days. I didn’t realise it was Sunday. It must be your day off.’
She stopped before they reached the revolving doors and drew him to one side. ‘It is my pleasure to be of service, Mr Mick. It is not an inconvenience to me.’ She looked him over. ‘But where is your camera?’
He lifted the hem of his sweater so she could see the leather case.
‘It’s very small,’ she said.
‘It’s the latest compact camera. Automatic. Point and shoot. It has the Advanced Photo System; the film’s in a cartridge. Today’s date will be recorded on each picture automatically…’
‘I’m sure it’s a jolly excellent camera, Mr Mick.’
‘I’m sorry.’ He shrugged. ‘But I had to jump to the defence of my little camera.’
‘You could have just said, size isn’t everything.’ She didn’t wait for an answer and, with her hand over her mouth stifling a laugh, she swept through the revolving doors.
He caught up with her in the heat and they waited side by side for the car to arrive. She was dressed almost identically to the day before. Her crisp, cotton blouse was in a style that he would always associate with her – a narrow stand-up collar with a ‘V’ cut demurely into the front. She carried the same coolie-style hat in her hand. He tried to discern if there were any signals for him in the minute changes to her wardrobe and was disappointed when he decided there were none. But the ‘size isn’t everything’ comment; if a woman back home had said this in similar circumstances he would have interpreted it as flirtation.
As she drove them out of the city in silence, Mick became aware of Nancy’s perfume. It was flowery with a lasting note of grass-like astringency and he felt the need to breathe deeply through his nose as if this was her essence, the scent of her body. Once they were on the Batu Gaja road, Nancy’s knuckles resumed a healthy colour and Mick said, ‘Did you have a nice evening yesterday?’
She glanced at him and turned back to the road. ‘I just stayed in. Washed my hair.’
Was it a joke? ‘It looks lovely.’
She frowned. ‘What?’
‘Your hair. It looks lovely. After you washed it.’
A blush rose around the collar of her blouse. ‘Thank you.’
He cast around for a topic that would take the conversation in a more fruitful direction. ‘Do you have anything else planned for today? Other than me, I mean.’
‘No.’ She shifted the car into top gear long after they had been on the open road. ‘No. I will visit with my family.’
‘Here in Ipoh?’
‘Yes, my father has a business here.’
‘What does he do?’
She slowed down behind a heavy lorry belching smoke and, leaning to her right, peered ahead, waiting for a straight stretch of road. When it came, she pulled out and changed gears to accelerate past. Almost immediately, a car appeared from around a bend a few hundred yards ahead. Mick’s stomach muscles contracted and he involuntarily pressed his right foot to the floor.
Nancy pursed her lips, changed gear down again and pressed her foot to the accelerator. The Proton’s engine screamed but its response was immediate enough to press the seat into Mick’s back. They could see the dark face of the driver in the oncoming car. He flashed its lights. Mick watched Nancy’s face, silently imploring her to brake and resume position behind the lorry that showed no sign of slowing. Her features betrayed nothing.
The lorry driver was now blaring his horn and so was the driver of the car that was closing fast. Mick shut his eyes and stiffened for the impact. Nothing happened and he looked out to the offside in time to see the other car lurch onto the verge between them and the trees. It slewed from side to side. Mick turned and watched as it resumed the road with a final shake of its rear. Seconds later, Nancy pulled across in front of the lorry. She drove on as if nothing had happened.
‘That was close,’ Mick said.
‘I saw he was a Bumi,’ she said. ‘He was always going to give way.’
He wasn’t sure that he liked what this revealed. But he didn’t live in Malaysia. What did he know of the inter-ethnic relations? Best to stay clear of the subject. ‘You were going to tell me about your father’s business,’ he said.
‘It’s import and export. I work for the company most of the time. Being a tourist guide is only part-time, more like a hobby.’
‘That’s interesting. I also worked for a family company.’
‘What does your comp
any do?’
He smiled and decided to avoid that particular minefield. ‘We sold it a few years ago. I have an interest in a small cinema in Richmond now but I’m basically a man of leisure.’
She turned away from the windscreen to look at him briefly. ‘But you are too young to be retired. Will you be looking for another job?’
He smiled, revelling in the notion that she at least didn’t see him as decrepit. ‘I suppose I’m waiting for something to turn up. What does your company import and export?’
There was a hint of embarrassment in the way she breathed heavily through her nostrils. ‘Palm oil, obviously, locally produced furniture; it sells very well in Europe. They are probably our biggest lines. But, basically, we export anything that we think will turn a profit.’
‘What do you do?’
‘I manage the shipping – logistics.’
‘I imagine you’re very good at the organisational side.’
She cast her eyes downward for a split-second. It was a gesture to indicate modesty even where, as in this case as far as he could tell, no modesty existed. ‘I think it’s mostly because of my English.’ She nodded towards the windscreen. ‘Look, here we are.’
They retraced their steps over the river and Mick stopped to take the first picture of the castle’s facade. He asked Nancy to be in the foreground and, standing at a slight angle to him, she adopted a pose, holding the fingers of one hand to the brim of her hat. She crossed one leg in front of the other, knee flexed and toe brushing the gravel.
They progressed through the rooms and stairways with Mick taking photographs of the scenes through the empty door and window-openings or from the flat roof. He took a few steps down to the balustrade that ran along the courtyard side of the building, the part that overlooked the original Kellas House.
Mick leaned on the brickwork looking out. ‘This job you have – import-export – is it interesting?’
She appeared to be scanning the horizon, her eyes obscured by sunglasses. ‘It means I have to go to KL sometimes to sort out a local difficulty and I find travel interesting. I like the contact with our agents in other countries. But I would like to travel more. To go to Europe again.’
Once upon a time in Chinatown Page 19
