by Zen Cho
* * *
• • •
MOM HAD GONE to bed by the time they got home, so interrogating her would have to wait. It wouldn’t happen in the morning, though. Jess had other plans.
At five a.m. the next day she was huddled under her blanket with her phone, smiling down at Sharanya’s grainy image.
“How was your first day on the job?” said Sharanya.
Jess remembered the way the construction worker had run toward the scaffolding, the god’s blank face when Jess had looked up to see her across the construction site. She shivered.
“It was weird,” she said. “It’s not exactly what I was planning on doing after graduation, you know?”
She paused, studying Sharanya’s face.
It was strange, not feeling able to tell Sharanya what was going on. Before all of this, Jess would have said she was the one person she could trust with anything.
If they were able to talk in person, it would have been different. Jess would have been able to whisper what was happening into the tender place where Sharanya’s shoulder joined her neck. She wouldn’t have been afraid of the judgment in that direct gaze.
But it was impossible to explain everything on a video call. She didn’t know what she’d do if Sharanya didn’t believe her—have a screaming meltdown, probably. That would definitely reassure Sharanya that Jess was fine and not having a break from reality.
“Yeah,” Sharanya was saying, with ready understanding. “I was going to say, I know I sent you that job, but it’s OK if you’re not interested. I just thought it’d be fun if you ended up teaching at my university.”
Jess had forgotten about the link Sharanya had sent.
“Actually, that looked cool,” she said, with a pang of guilt. “I probably will apply.”
Sharanya brightened. “Really? You know, I think you’d be a great teacher. You’re so charismatic.”
“You are literally the only person in the world who thinks that,” said Jess, but Sharanya’s affectionate delusion was heartening.
Maybe Jess could tell her about Ah Ma and the god and the garden temple. The problem had definitely expanded beyond the bounds of what Jess was able to handle alone. It wasn’t like Sharanya could do anything from where she was, thousands of miles and several time zones away, but being able to confide in her would be a relief in itself.
She didn’t feel quite ready to announce that she believed the voice in her head belonged to her dead grandmother, especially since she’d told Sharanya the voice had gone away. She would build up to it.
“You know, one of the aunties was talking about seeing a shadow on the living room ceiling the other day,” said Jess. “It took me a while to work out what she was talking about, but I think she was saying she thought it was a ghost.”
“Wow,” said Sharanya. “What did everyone else say?”
“I don’t think anyone else saw it,” said Jess cautiously. “But they all seemed like they believed her. Except my aunt. She didn’t really like the idea of a ghost being in her house.”
Sharanya laughed. “My aunties would be exactly the same. They totally believe in all that stuff. It’s wild. Most of them went to college. I guess it’s a cultural thing?”
Jess had been planning to say she thought she knew what had cast the shadow Auntie Grace had seen—that she had seen the same ghost. It was Ah Ma, whose voice had been troubling Jess even before she arrived in Penang, whose life had threaded itself into Jess’s dreams.
She looked at Sharanya’s amused, skeptical face and couldn’t do it.
“Yeah,” she said. “Must be.”
It was nearly seven by the time she went downstairs to get some breakfast. The house was quiet—weirdly so, until Jess remembered it was a Tuesday. That meant Kor Tiao and Kor Kor were out with their exercise buddies—they were part of a posse of middle-aged fitness freaks who met up regularly to walk backward and do tai chi in the Botanic Gardens. Mom and Dad were probably still asleep.
She was wandering into the living room with a mug of Milo in one hand and a plate of Hup Seng crackers in the other, when she looked out of the sliding doors facing onto the garden and saw Mom sitting on the swing outside.
Jess didn’t know why Kor Kor had a swing in the garden. It was a romantic spot, veiled by flowering bougainvilleas and almost comfortable in the evenings when the heat of the sun had died down, but nobody ever used it. The one time Jess had tried, Kor Kor had hared out of the house to tell her to come indoors: “You’ll get bitten, so many mosquitoes here. After get dengue then how?”
Jess’s mom clearly had bigger things than dengue on her mind. She started fumbling with a tissue when she saw Jess, but it would have taken more than a Kleenex or six to hide the fact she’d been crying. Jess knew all the signs.
“Hey, what’s up?” said Jess. A chill passed over her. “Is Dad OK?”
“What? Dad?” said Mom. “He didn’t wake up yet. Still sleeping. Why?”
“Why are you crying?”
“I’m not crying.” Mom blew her nose.
Jess gave her a look. Mom crumbled.
“What’s wrong if I’m crying?” she said. “I’m not allowed to cry meh? I have so much to cry about!”
“Do you?” said Jess. “You have an amazing daughter and a nice husband. You get to live in a literal tropical paradise. Instead of lying on a beach drinking piña coladas, you’re hiding in some bushes at the crack of dawn, crying. What happened?” She put her arm around Mom and gave her a little shake, but gently.
Mom wasn’t smiling yet, which meant it was serious.
“Nothing happened,” she said.
Jess waited. After a pause Mom said, “I applied for a job, but they didn’t want. Last night heard back from them. Small thing only lah.” Her voice broke on the reassurance. She sniffed and looked, woebegone, at the crumpled ball of tissues in her hand.
“I’ll get you some more tissues,” said Jess.
She came back with a box of Kleenex and waited till Mom had had the chance to destroy a couple before saying, “I didn’t know you were looking for a job.”
Mom shrugged. “You and Dad are working. I should work also, right?”
Jess could hardly deny they needed the money. “What job was it?”
“Businessman’s secretary,” said Mom. “I thought I can do it. The salary is not much, but not many places want to interview me also. So long I haven’t worked.”
She’d looked after Jess full-time when Jess was little, and then when Jess was older, Dad had been doing well enough that Mom hadn’t needed to go out and find a job. For a while she’d sold sambal to other homesick Malaysians, but Mom took so long making the sambal and was so uncompromising about the results that it had been hard to make the venture profitable. When the neighbors had complained about the smell, Mom had scaled back.
It hadn’t mattered anyway. They had been comfortable enough. Even Dad’s redundancy hadn’t worried them too much initially. At the time they’d assumed he’d get another job soon. They hadn’t expected him to get sick.
“I went for interview, thought it went well,” said Mom. “Then got phone call. They said they want a young person. They’re scared I cannot keep up.”
“Are they allowed to say that? That’s, like, age discrimination, isn’t it?”
“In Malaysia they don’t care one,” said Mom. “Last night I had to pretend to go to sleep early, otherwise I’ll sure tell Dad. You mustn’t tell him, OK? Don’t want him to be disappointed.” Her voice wobbled on the edge of a sob.
“Dad doesn’t expect you to get a job,” said Jess. “Don’t worry, Mom. We’re doing OK, right? Dad’s getting a regular paycheck, we’ve got somewhere to live . . .”
“Better if we have our own place. Not good for different families to stay in one house. Sooner or later they will fight.”
“
Yeah, OK, but—”
“Chinese New Year coming soon some more.”
“You said we won’t be celebrating. Because of . . .” Jess hesitated over the name, but it would be incredibly tactless even of Ah Ma to show up now. “Because of Ah Ma.” The fact Mom’s mother had died recently apparently meant she, Dad and Jess were tainted with bad luck. They wouldn’t be visiting any relatives for Chinese New Year.
“But Kor Kor and Kor Tiao will visit people, and they all know we’re here,” said Mom. “So must give angpow. Even if we give small angpow, have to give so many . . . People will say, wah, they all went US, earned USD, still give so little!”
“Fu—never mind those people, Mom. Who cares about them?”
“And there’s our debts,” said Mom.
It was not a good idea to start thinking about their debt. Jess found it easier than Mom did, because the numbers were so astronomical. “Forget about the debt. The debt collectors can’t get you here.”
Mom wiped her eyes. “At least it doesn’t affect you. You can still go back to US.”
“What, and leave you guys here?” said Jess. “How would you manage without me?”
Mom drew herself up. “We can one. You think we’re so helpless?”
This was so exactly what Jess thought that it was hard for her to control her face. “I don’t need to go back. Maybe I’ll just stay here.”
Saying it gave her a surprisingly acute pang. She hadn’t thought she’d miss America. She’d always felt out of place there, with the immigrant’s tenuous claim to belonging.
That was nothing to how foreign she felt in Malaysia, though. She didn’t even blend in visually, although Penang was majority Chinese. Something about the way she dressed or held herself tipped everyone off, before she even opened her mouth. Hawkers and Grab drivers and people in shops all looked taken aback when she addressed them in Hokkien.
They were only going to keep being surprised, if her Hokkien kept improving thanks to her being haunted by a native speaker.
Mom’s eyes had filled with tears again.
“You know how many people want US passport?” she said. “We sacrifice so much so you can be American citizen. If you don’t go back, what’s the point we work so hard?”
“Mom,” said Jess, as the tears spilled over. “C’mon, Mom. You’re wallowing now.” She gave Mom a reassuring squeeze. “I’m just saying, you don’t need to worry. Dad’s working—and he’s fine, by the way. We talked about it. He says he likes the job and Kor Tiao is definitely not exploiting him. Soon we’ll be able to get a place of our own. Everything will work out, you’ll see.”
But Mom had tipped over the edge. She was sobbing in a way that Jess knew from experience had to be left alone to run itself out. Trying to comfort Mom in this mood was pointless, because she was no longer crying about any one disappointment or mischance, but all of them—all of the accumulated blows and pricks and grazes life had dealt her.
“We cannot start over already,” she told Dad when he’d first proposed moving back to Malaysia to take up the job Kor Tiao was offering. “We’re too old. Cannot take it anymore.”
Her optimism had been restored by the next day, or at least she’d acted like it had. But Jess hadn’t forgotten that glimpse of a chink in what she’d come to realize was her mom’s armor.
Had she really thought of confiding in Mom and Dad about what was going on? Jess wondered at her own forgetfulness.
The past couple of years had stripped her of many illusions about her parents that none of them would have wished away. It made it all the more vital to preserve their illusions about her.
Finally, Mom wiped her eyes, smiling unsteadily at Jess.
“Mom is too emotional,” she said.
Jess patted her on the shoulder. “It’s OK.” All Jess wanted to do was go back to her room and sleep for a week.
“How was it yesterday?” said Mom, attempting to sound normal. Her breath hitched, but they both pretended not to notice it. “Is it OK, working for Kor Tiao?”
“Yeah,” said Jess. “It was fine.”
TEN
The approach of Chinese New Year meant Kor Kor’s social calendar was even more packed than usual. Jess’s parents might not be doing any New Year visiting themselves, but the unceasing stream of relatives and friends to the house meant they were seeing everyone they would have visited anyway.
There was one advantage to the fact Jess was working for Kor Tiao. Sure, she was spending her days freezing in an over-air-conditioned office, designing flyers she wasn’t sure anyone actually needed. But at least she was no longer expected to sit and smile while aunties and uncles she barely knew discussed her professional, marital and general life prospects all day.
There were still dinners where this happened, but at least she’d get to skip one of them when she made her planned trip to Ng Chee Hin’s son’s café. She told her family she was going for a networking event for young professionals in Penang.
The red dot on her left eyelid had faded by now, taking with it her ability to see Ah Ma. It hadn’t done anything to her ability to hear Ah Ma, but Ah Ma had piped down a little after Jess had managed to get through to Ah Ku on the phone. He’d sounded OK—not great, but not like he was dying either. He’d dismissed Ah Ma’s anxious questions about his health, and refused Jess’s offer to visit.
“Hai, don’t need lah. After your mother find out, she’ll be angry. I’m OK. I’m sitting at home, not doing anything. Don’t want that bastard to find me. You better be careful also, Ah Min. That bastard won’t give chance one, even to a young girl like you.”
Tell Ah Ku he don’t need to worry, said Ah Ma. I’m here to jaga you. You don’t need to be scared of that bastard.
Jess relayed the message, but Ah Ku was not convinced. “Ah Ma’s a ghost already. What can she do? Better you stay away from Ng Chee Hin. Don’t go and make noise. We fought them in court. There’s nothing more for us to do.”
He hadn’t seen the Black Water Sister at the construction site, or the workers’ faces as they looked at the scaffolding the god had brought down. But there was no point worrying him.
“It’s OK, Ah Ku,” said Jess. “I’m not planning on making noise.”
The morning before she was due to visit Ng Wei Sherng’s café, she made sure her photos of the accident at the construction site were backed up in multiple places—on her computer, an external hard drive and a couple of different cloud storage sites.
She hadn’t sent the photos to the press yet. She had thought the incident would have come out in the news anyway—the Rexmondton Heights development was a major one, and the place had been swarming with emergency services personnel. But there was no coverage that she could see, though Kor Tiao got all three major English-language newspapers and she’d been diligently going through each of them since the day of the accident.
Ah Ma snorted when Jess mentioned this to her. I told you. They all are scared of him. If they write about it, that bastard won’t pay them for advertisements anymore.
If that was true, there didn’t seem much point in sending the photos to journalists. But Jess wasn’t sure how much she could believe what Ah Ma said about Ng Chee Hin. The ghost was hardly objective.
One thing she could and did do was send the photos to the construction worker who’d given her his number. Whatever happened, at least Kassim would have the evidence of what had gone down at the site.
Jess laid down one ground rule for the visit to the café.
You can’t come, she told Ah Ma. If I see you or hear you, I’m turning around and going straight home.
Ah Ma was predictably put out by this. Where got medium talk to the spirit like that? Cannot do this, cannot do that. Some more I’m your grandmother!
Now that she’d seen Ah Ma, it was a little weird going back to talking to a voice in her head. Jess would have been tem
pted to ask Ah Ma to redo the eye opening, and mark both her eyes while she was at it, but for the thought of what else she might see. The Datuk Kong had been all right, but if it meant she started seeing spirits like the Black Water Sister everywhere . . . Jess shuddered.
You forgot ah, Ah Ma saved you? Ah Ma went on. If I didn’t come to the development the other day, you think what will happen? You’ll die and be a ghost like me already.
I know you saved me, said Jess. I owe you one. That’s why I’m doing this. You think I want to go to Ng Wei Sherng’s café? I beat up his dad’s men!
Though as a matter of fact Ng Wei Sherng’s café was the kind of place she totally would have gone to if not for the minor fact that his dad was a gang boss who was beefing with her relatives. She’d checked out the Facebook page for the flagship branch. It was a converted shophouse in George Town which served fusion takes on local cuisine and hosted slam poetry nights.
There was something annoying about the café’s combination of international hipster aesthetic and local charm, from the lovingly restored Peranakan tiles juxtaposed against exposed brickwork, to the selection of novelty ice creams. Durian ice cream was standard, but Jess had never seen anything like their nasi lemak sundae—scoops of coconut gelato on a base of pandan chiffon cake, scattered with caramelized peanuts and dusted with fried anchovies crushed to a powder. She found it all so appealing she felt faintly manipulated.
Not like you wanted to fight those men also, said Ah Ma. They’re the ones who bullied you.
I don’t think Ng Chee Hin is going to take that into account, said Jess drily. If he figures out who I am, I won’t be the only one who’s screwed. He’s a major client of my uncle’s. I can’t afford to get in trouble with him. If I’m going on his turf, I need to bring my A game. I can’t afford to lose focus.
If I don’t say anything, should be OK what, said Ah Ma. What’s there to distract you if I’m quiet?
Nothing. Jess had been prepared for an argument. This acknowledgment on Ah Ma’s part that there might be circumstances in which her silence would be more valuable than her opinions was surprising. If you’re sure you can stay quiet.
