by Zen Cho
She didn’t know what they saw, but it didn’t matter. It wasn’t like she knew them. It was strange being out by herself, anonymous. Nobody’s daughter or granddaughter or niece or cousin.
She had never screamed at anyone like that in her life—never let loose to the extent she had, ripping into Sherng. Sharanya was always hassling her about her reluctance to express her feelings: “What’s so wrong about being a normal human being with emotions?”
But Jess didn’t want to think about Sharanya just then. She shoved the memory down.
She didn’t need anyone to tell her she used humor to mask her emotions and puncture serious conversations. She did that on purpose. She had a lot of good reasons for being repressed.
Being constantly low-level furious was nothing new. But letting herself show how mad she was—lifting her self-control long enough for the fury to escape—that was a novelty.
It felt good.
Of course, now Jess had really screwed herself over. She knew Ng Chee Hin was out to get her and she had lost herself the one ally who might be able to make a difference to that.
Still.
“Fuck that guy,” said Jess aloud.
She was a couple of blocks away from where she remembered the phone shop being when a storefront display caught her eye. kedai barangan sembahyang, proclaimed the sign above, followed by a row of Chinese characters and finally, the English version: prayer goods store.
Behind a window huddled some statues of Kuan Yin, their eyes downcast. Each one had a hand upraised, the third finger touching the thumb.
Jess pressed her palm against the glass.
She could imagine her mom praying to Kuan Yin for help getting Jess out of her predicament. The Goddess of Mercy was popular in Penang. She was an easy god to worship—compassionate, unvengeful.
But Jess needed someone with sharper edges than Kuan Yin. A smaller, meaner god.
Staring blindly at the glass, she saw in her mind’s eye Ah Ku’s back as the cops had led him away, the construction worker Kassim’s face when he’d looked at her photos of the collapsed scaffolding. It all led to one place.
The Black Water Sister might be terrifying and murderous, but at this point the main thing she seemed interested in fucking over was Jess’s life. Ng Chee Hin’s sphere of malign influence was far wider.
And he was human. A rich, powerful, criminal human, but human nonetheless. That meant Jess might have an edge, resources and abilities he wouldn’t be expecting—so long as she was willing to do what Ah Ku and Master Yap and Ah Ma had all said she had no choice but to do anyway. To accept her fate.
It would be a sacrifice of her very self. She understood the Black Water Sister well enough now to know that the god would demand nothing less.
But would it even be much of a loss if Jess surrendered herself to the service of the goddess? It wasn’t like she had much of a life left to her. She’d probably just been dumped. She hadn’t gotten any of the jobs she’d applied for. So long as she was bound to her parents—and it was a lifelong bond—she would never be able to do the things she wanted, pursue her passions, be open about loving women. How much worse of an indenture could the Black Water Sister’s service be?
It didn’t matter anyway. Jess had a responsibility to fix the mess she’d made. And she knew one person who could help her do it.
She went into the shop.
NINETEEN
Jess went to the office the next day, even though it was a Sunday. She spent a few hours ferreting through the cabinets, but she didn’t get anywhere.
On Monday she waited till the office manager had finished her morning gossip with the accounts guy before sidling up to her desk.
“Puan Salmah,” said Jess, “do we have any files on the Rexmondton Heights project? You know, the Sejahtera Holdings development in Air Itam.”
“Wah, you’re very pro talking bahasa now ah!” said the office manager. Kor Tiao’s staff treated Jess with tolerant kindness, like she was someone’s child who’d been brought in for Take Your Kids to Work Day. Jess guessed she effectively was, though the condescension was a little grating given in her first couple of weeks at work she’d revamped and updated their website, a job the last guy hadn’t managed in the three years he’d been with the company. “Rexmondton Heights . . . that’s the one you and Mr. Teoh went the other day, right? What files you want?”
“I want to contact the developer,” said Jess. “We need to get a release signed by Sejahtera so we can use the photos I took.”
“Oh, like that you can call our contact,” said Puan Salmah. “Let me find for you the details.” She started typing and clicking around on her computer. “When you went to the development that time, you got see anything?”
Jess blinked. “See anything? Like what?”
Puan Salmah lowered her voice. “They all say that place is haunted. Somebody died there, long time ago. People say got a lot of accidents on the site. One of the construction workers almost died.”
Jess was fairly sure her face hadn’t given anything away. “Jeez. Where did you hear that from?”
“Got a lot of rumors,” said Puan Salmah. “You didn’t have any experience?”
“Nah,” said Jess. It was surprisingly easy to pretend she was amused. It was like playing herself, as she’d been before Ah Ma had started talking to her. “We’re lucky we didn’t go at night, I guess.”
“They should call the bomoh to cleanse the site,” said Puan Salmah. “Never mind how nice it is, who wants to live in a haunted condo? Nah, here.”
She wrote down a number on a Post-it note and gave it to Jess. “The name is Miss Cheah. Nice girl. You call her.”
There were customers in the showroom, so Jess couldn’t retreat to the bathroom to make a call as she had done before. She ended up in a corner of the parking lot, huddled under the minimal shade of a starveling tree. At least it was quiet, even if it was blisteringly hot.
She’d played around with the voice-changer app she’d installed on her phone yesterday, so she wouldn’t get slowed down by having to figure out how it worked. She dialed the number Puan Salmah had given her and waited, squinting in the sun.
“Wei?”
“Can I speak to Miss Cheah, please?”
“Yes, speaking.”
Jess had heard the voice before. It took her a moment before her brain supplied the image—the woman at Tau, quietly cleaning up the mess Jess had made. What had Sherng called her? Pooi Mun.
Sherng had said she was his dad’s executive assistant. Jess should have expected this.
She was extra glad she’d paid for the app.
“Miss Cheah, I’m calling from the Moral Uplifting Society about Dato’ Ng’s donation,” she said, in her best attempt at a Malaysian accent.
She didn’t want Pooi Mun to link her back to the girl who’d met up with Sherng; it would look too suspicious. She didn’t want them tracing her back to Kor Tiao and his company either. Her original plan had been to say she was representing the construction workers on the Rexmondton Heights site, but there was too much of a risk they’d refuse to take her call. A recent press report on Ng Chee Hin’s charitable activities had given Jess a better idea.
“My boss asked me to call you. We want to discuss how to allocate the funds,” she said. “Is Dato’ Ng available for a meeting this week?”
“Your boss is Mr. Tai, is it?”
Had the article mentioned a Mr. Tai? Jess couldn’t remember.
“Yes,” she said recklessly.
There was a long pause. Unease uncoiled in Jess’s stomach. She wiped the sweat off her upper lip with her sleeve.
“Mmm,” said Pooi Mun finally. “Must be this week ah?”
No indication so far that she’d recognized Jess’s voice. That was promising.
“We’re getting requests for the funds already,” said J
ess. “Mr. Tai wants to settle it quickly. We could do next week if—”
But Pooi Mun was already talking. “For expedited meeting, usually requires purchase of five units, total price is hundred fifty ringgit. But because you’re a charity, I can give you discount. For three units, I can book you in to see Dato’ Ng on Thursday six thirty p.m., or next Wednesday eleven a.m. Three units is only ninety ringgit.”
“I—what?” said Jess. “Units of what?”
“Oh, Mr. Tai didn’t tell you?” said Pooi Mun. “It’s a chlorophyll drink, one unit is five hundred ml. It’s very good, health drink. Mr. Tai said it helped clear his acne.”
Jess wondered if she’d somehow hit her head and blacked out during the call. She seemed to be missing some vital context.
“I’m sorry, I’m new, so I don’t really know how all of this works. Did you say we have to buy chlorophyll to see Dato’ Ng?”
“For expedited meeting,” Pooi Mun corrected her. “If you don’t mind waiting, that’s a different matter. If you don’t want to buy the chlorophyll, next slot is . . . end of April, I can see he’s quite free.”
“End of April? That’s two months from now!”
“Dato’ Ng is very busy,” said Pooi Mun.
“Why does he need to sell chlorophyll for the chance to meet him?” said Jess, baffled. “Isn’t he a multimillionaire?”
“You want to see him in April, or this week?” Pooi Mun’s tone was frosty. “It’s up to you, miss. If you want this week, I take cash or Maybank2u.”
Oh. That made more sense. Ng Chee Hin’s executive assistant was running a side hustle. Pooi Mun was evidently even smarter than she looked.
“I’ll pay,” said Jess hastily. “Thursday evening would be great.”
“You WhatsApp me the payment confirmation, and then I’ll book in with Dato’ Ng,” said Pooi Mun. She gave Jess the number she was to WhatsApp. “My desk is outside Dato’ Ng’s office. You can pick up the chlorophyll after your meeting.”
The voice-changer app wasn’t going to deceive Pooi Mun in real life. If she sat outside Ng Chee Hin’s office, it didn’t sound like Jess was going to be able to avoid an encounter, but at least she could avoid prolonging it to pick up chlorophyll she didn’t even want.
“Uh, I’ll have to leave to get to an urgent appointment after the meeting,” said Jess. “Could you ship the stuff to me? I’ll pay for shipping, obviously.”
Pooi Mun was pleased to assist. “Send me your address. I can arrange.”
“Cool, thanks,” said Jess. “Appreciate it. I’ve been meaning to eat more healthily. This stuff is good for your skin, you said?”
“Oh, it has a lot of benefits,” Pooi Mun assured her. “Detox, help you lose weight, fight cancer. Many clients come back and make repeat order. After you try, if you want more, you WhatsApp me. For repeat client, I offer discount.”
“Sounds great,” said Jess. “I’ll be sure to let you know.”
* * *
• • •
THE NEXT STEP was to use the supplies she’d gotten from the prayer goods store.
Jess wasn’t sure where to start, so she looked up instructions. The internet proved worse than useless. The first few pages of search results consisted of web pages set up by Western pagans, offering wholly unsuitable template prayers. Addressing her target audience as “Blessed Ancestor” or starting off by giving praise to the Sacred Universe would have been a total failure to read the room.
She waited till it was midnight and everyone was asleep before she set up in the bathroom adjoining her bedroom. She put the joss sticks she’d bought in a glass she had smuggled up from the kitchen, arranged oranges on a plastic IKEA plate and poured Chinese tea from a thermos into a mug. A Chinese teacup would have been better, but she didn’t know where Kor Kor kept those.
She felt like the only person awake in the world as she struck a match and lit the joss sticks. She sat back on her heels when she was done, watching the joss sticks send thin scented curls of smoke to the ceiling.
She didn’t have a picture of Ah Ma. She’d have to do the best she could with what she had.
Jess crossed her legs, getting comfortable on the bathroom floor. She closed her eyes and brought up an image of Ah Ma. A woman translucent in the sunlight, shifting between ages, the only unchanging features her bone structure and a pissed-off expression.
Jess focused on the image. It was kind of like doing yoga—having to tense muscles she hadn’t known she had, trying not to forget to breathe.
Her mind’s picture of Ah Ma grew clearer and clearer, until she could see all kinds of small details she hadn’t consciously registered. The flaking skin on Ah Ma’s thin lips, the fine hairs in her eyebrows, the wiry texture of her hair, the mole on her chin . . .
The Ah Ma in her mind opened her mouth, showing small, yellow teeth. She spat, in a voice trembling with rage:
“You bad child!”
Jess opened her eyes and saw her grandmother, the fluorescent light shining through her.
“Ah Ma,” said Jess.
* * *
• • •
THE FIRST THING Ah Ma did was kick over the mug of Chinese tea.
At least, she tried. The mug wobbled. She growled and drew her foot back again. Jess grabbed the mug.
“It’s for you, but if you don’t want it, that’s fine,” she said. She paused. “Wait, how come I can see you?”
But Ah Ma was too busy swearing at her in Hokkien to answer.
“You want to give me offering, give XO better!” she snarled.
“We don’t have XO,” said Jess. “If you want some, I can get it next time—”
“You give XO also I won’t drink,” snapped Ah Ma. “How can I accept offerings from you? Your own family you’re willing to betray. You pray to any god also, they won’t want to listen to you!”
“Ah Ma, I need your help,” said Jess, but Ah Ma wasn’t listening.
“I thought you’re a good girl. I thought you made friends with Ng Chee Hin’s son is because you want to help your family. How I know actually you wanted to help them? They bully your uncle also you don’t care. It’s because they gave you money, is it? Or you helped them for free, because you like the boy?”
“I don’t like boys,” Jess pointed out. “You know that.”
“You’re not ashamed ah? Your uncle is in the lockup,” said Ah Ma. “You know what the police are like or not? Even if he didn’t do anything, they will beat him unless he gives them money. Where got your uncle has money to give? He doesn’t sell drugs. Long time hasn’t done already. He doesn’t like that kind of business. Fixing cars, you think can earn a lot ah? Some more he has a daughter going to university. But you don’t care about Ah Ku or Ah Yen. You’re selfish, like your mother only!”
Jess kept her face fixed in a pleasant expression, though it was starting to ache.
“You’ve seen Ah Ku?” she said. “How is he?”
“He’s in prison. You think very comfortable ah?” Ah Ma tried kicking the plate of fruit Jess had piled up for her, giving it all she had. Two oranges rolled off the plate, catching up behind the toilet.
“Were Ah Kim and Yew Yen there too?” said Jess. “The police said they took them down to the station.”
“Went home already,” said Ah Ma. “They wanted to stay with Ah Ku, but he told them to go. Even if they sit outside his cell, what can they do? If the police catch you selling drugs, you’re dead, you know!”
“I know,” said Jess. It was pretty much the only thing she knew about Malaysian criminal law. Every flight she’d been on to Malaysia had taken care to remind passengers that the punishment for drug trafficking was death. “That’s why I called you. I want to save Ah Ku.”
“Save him?” scoffed Ah Ma. “You’re the one who got him in trouble in the first place.”
“I k
now,” said Jess again. “I trusted Ng Wei Sherng. That was my mistake,” she added, raising her voice; Ah Ma was eager to explain what an idiot Jess had been to do that. “This was Ng Chee Hin’s plan and his son helped him. I can deal with them and get Ah Ku out of jail, but I need your help.”
“Oh, you want to fight Ng Chee Hin now?” sneered Ah Ma. “Last time I asked you to do, you don’t want. Now you want to call me to beat that bastard for you?”
“I was going to ask Black Water Sister, actually,” said Jess. “But I thought I’d get your advice first. You’re the one who knows her best.”
The name of the god pricked her tongue on the way out. Jess felt a twinge at the back of her neck, where the god had left her mark on her.
But it was worth the discomfort. She had shocked Ah Ma out of her fury. The ghost stood staring down at her.
“What?” said Ah Ma.
“I’m going to offer her a life,” said Jess. She paused, letting surprise and doubt color Ah Ma’s expression before she said, “My life. If she helps me in return. That’s what you did, isn’t it? You promised to serve her, if she helped you handle Ah Kong.”
Ah Ma said sharply, “Ah Ku told you that, is it? He shouldn’t simply talk about other people’s business.”
“What did you have to do to get the god to help you?” said Jess. “Did you just ask?”
Ah Ma looked her over, as though Jess had surprised her. Jess half expected her to start laying into her again, or storm off without answering.
Instead Ah Ma said, “You want to kill that useless bastard, is it?”
Jess looked away under her gaze. “I’m not—all I want to do is scare him off. Get him to leave Ah Ku alone.”
But the memory came of her standing over Ah Tat with his knife in her hand, dark exhilaration thrilling through her blood. It would have been easy to use the knife.
“What happened with Ah Kong?” said Jess. “What did the god do to him?”
Ah Ma squatted, bringing her face closer to Jess’s. The hair tangled over her ears was dark again, but her face was neither young nor old. Her skin was smooth, but her shoulders were rounded, weighed down by care. She could have been twenty-five or forty-five.
