Black Water Sister
Page 35
“Moth? What moth? That moth?” said Dad, though it wasn’t like there was more than one to choose from. “Mom is right. Better don’t kacau. Don’t need to test.”
“Test what?” Jess started to say, when it clicked. “Wait. Is this a superstition?”
As far as Jess could tell, all Chinese superstitions were about either money or death, and the ones about death were nearly impossible to learn about because talking about death was taboo. Her parents were cagey enough that this had to be a death one.
“People say if the moth fly into your house, cannot chase or kill them,” Mom said finally. “They’re the spirit that passed on, the spirit of your ancestor.”
“Ah,” said Jess.
She looked at the moth. Maybe this was Ah Ma’s idea of closure.
If so, it sucked. There didn’t seem to be anything special about the moth. It was just an insect. Its wings were vibrating slightly, as though it was thinking about taking off.
“What if you off the light?” Mom suggested. “Then the moth will see the light in the road and want to fly out. Moths like light.”
So Jess turned off the AC and the lamp and opened the window, and they sat waiting in the blue half-light of evening, watching the gentle shiver of the moth’s wings. They didn’t talk, at Mom’s command (“if the moth knows we’re here, he’ll think we’re going to turn the light back on”).
It was peaceful, if a little boring. Jess was half expecting Dad to go off to watch TV or something, but he stayed where he was, his hands on his knees. His silhouette in the darkening room had the solidity of a boulder covered in moss—something that had always been there and would be there for many more years.
Jess put her head on Mom’s shoulder, breathing in the clean scent of shampoo and lavender talcum powder. She wished she could bottle the moment.
She remembered the nightmare the Black Water Sister had tried to frighten her with—her parents with their backs to her, hurt written all over them.
Maybe it would be like that. Even if it wasn’t, even if it went better than Jess could let herself hope for, everything would be different after tonight. Nothing would ever be the same again.
But she knew she’d survive it. That was one gift the Black Water Sister had given her.
Dad’s breathing had changed, becoming stertorous. Jess was about to prod him to see if he’d fallen asleep when Mom whispered, “There!”
The moth was flapping its wings. As they watched, it flew to the edge of the window, paused, then fluttered out into the night.
Mom laughed, delighted as a child. “Nah, see! It worked!”
Dad started, snorting. “Hmm? What?”
“The moth is gone.” Jess went to look out of the window. There were insects buzzing around the streetlight, but they were too small for any of them to be the moth. It had as good as vanished. “Who do you think it was?”
“Aiyah, this is just superstition lah,” said Dad. “People say only. Doesn’t mean it’s true.”
“You want to eat what for dinner, Min?” said Mom. “Dad can tapau for us, or we can go out and eat. You want to stay at home, or you want to go out?”
Jess reached through the grille to pull the window shut. She could see herself in the glass. She looked nervous, but she was braver than she looked, braver than she’d known she was before she had first heard Ah Ma’s voice.
You had to die first before you could be reborn.
“Mom, Dad,” she said. “I’ve got something to tell you.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
In the process of conceiving and writing this book, I consulted a number of sources on Chinese popular religion and spirit mediumship, including Cheu Hock Tong’s The Nine Emperor Gods and his work on Datuk Kong, Vincent Liow Ken Hua’s Confessions of an Ex-Taoist Medium: The Truth Revealed and 界线 (Between Two Worlds), directed by Ashley Thio. But this book owes its greatest debt to Jean DeBernardi’s work in this area, particularly her book The Way That Lives in the Heart: Chinese Popular Religion and Spirit Mediums in Penang, Malaysia, which, among other riches, gave me the garden temple and the Black Water Sister her name.
I am grateful to my agent Caitlin Blasdell; my editors Anne Sowards and Bella Pagan, as well as Rebecca Brewer, Miranda Hill, Georgia Summers and the wider publishing teams at Ace and Pan Macmillan; the Idlers by Bamboo for brainstorming sessions and high-quality chat; Seet Yan, Alina Choong and Maxine Lim for Rexmondton Heights, the lowdown on Penang housing stock and other lore; Kate Elliott for an Ameripicking beta; Charis Loke for a Penangite review; Mom and Dad for the scrap rubber guy and information on construction sites; Helen Smith for the Chan family tree and details of snake disease; and Bernadette and Martin Auger for looking after the baby so I could write.
Thank you, finally, to my family and Peter, for everything you give me every day. I love you.
Photo by Darren Johnson/IDJ Photography
Zen Cho is the author of the Sorcerer to the Crown novels and a novella, The Order of the Pure Moon Reflected in Water, as well as the short story collection Spirits Abroad. She is a Hugo, Crawford and British Fantasy Award winner, and a finalist for the Locus and Astounding Awards. Born and raised in Malaysia, she now lives in the United Kingdom.
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