Princess Bari

by Sok-yong Hwang

  I had no idea what that meant, but just sat there quietly.

  “I’d like to introduce you to someone. Naturally, I will speak with your employer about it, but let’s just say I’m hiring you for a job. All you have to say is that you’ll be working at my house. If you promise not to say anything stupid, I’ll see to it that you earn some good money.”

  “Yes, madam.”

  Auntie Sarah puffed away on her cigarette, deep in thought for a moment.

  “How’s Wednesday?” she asked. “If she likes you, she’ll probably want to see you at least three times a week. I myself wouldn’t mind having one of your massages every day if I could.”

  “As long as our boss allows me to, I don’t mind.”

  “What’s your name?”

  I told her, and she told me her own. She also asked whether or not I had any family, which neighbourhood I lived in, and how old I was. I answered all of her questions.

  Then she said: “This is the most important question … Do you have a boyfriend?”

  Later I thought it strange that Ali was the first person to come to mind when she asked me that; but all I said was: “I don’t even have any female friends, other than my roommate Luna, let alone a boyfriend.”

  “Good! Well, except for that brat Luna.”

  *

  Auntie Sarah and Uncle Tan reached an agreement: I was allowed to leave the salon every Wednesday. Auntie Sarah drove me there herself the first day. As the only places I’d been were Piccadilly Circus near Chinatown and Elephant and Castle, I had no idea where she was taking me. It turned out to be a dazzling white three-storey mansion near Holland Park in Kensington. The garden was so lush with trees that from the outside only a few windows were visible. Next to the front door was a set of stairs that led down to the basement. Auntie Sarah took me downstairs first, past a kitchen, laundry room and maids’ quarters, then back up to the ground floor where we crossed a large reception hall, and up further to the second floor. There, in the second-floor living room, I met Lady Emily for the first time. She was a fifty-something woman with a dreamy look in her eyes, as if she’d just awoken from a nap. I knew nothing about the rich, the bluebloods of this country, but what I did catch on to right away was the fact that, aside from Lady Emily herself, every person in that house existed to serve a master or mistress. (I never did catch so much as a glimpse of the master of the house.) Lady Emily wore a white dress and sat at a table talking on the phone while Auntie Sarah and I stood in the doorway and waited a long time for her to finish. Finally she set the receiver down and stared at us.

  “Madam, the masseuse has arrived,” Auntie Sarah said politely.

  Lady Emily shuffled through some mail and receipts that were sitting on the table and asked absent-mindedly: “You say she’s Chinese?”

  “Yes, madam.”

  “Well, you’ve really talked her up. Let’s see how good she is.”

  “I’ll prepare the things.”

  We went into the bedroom. Next to a chaise longue, Auntie Sarah set out some towels and a basin for the footbath, and prepared the herbal oils. She whispered to me: “This is your job next time.”

  Lady Emily entered and lay down at an angle on the chaise. I placed her feet in the warm water and slowly massaged her calf muscles. Then I dried her feet with a towel, warmed some herbal oil between my hands and gently massaged her feet. I began with long strokes from heel to toe, kneading the entire sole of the foot. Then I closed my eyes and opened my mind to her.

  A dark, cloud-like something was wrapped around her. I saw her leaving a villa in the middle of a huge forest with her husband. It was not in England. The scene changed, and I saw a small Southeast Asian woman standing next to her husband. Lady Emily’s face was smudged with tears as she argued with him. Everything looked like an out-of-focus photograph; only Lady Emily’s face stood out clearly. What was that dark cloud? Another image began to take shape. Black women and children lay slumped in front of a clay house.

  “Girl, what are you doing?”

  I opened my eyes. Lady Emily was looking down at me pointedly.

  “I was just concerned about your health,” I stammered.

  “You’re doing some kind of spell, aren’t you? I could feel it at once.”

  I didn’t know how to tell her about my special abilities, but I sensed she might share the same gift. I pretended not to understand her question.

  “All I did was close my eyes and try to sense whether you’re ill or not.”

  “There’s more to it, isn’t there?” Lady Emily asked, her head cocked to one side. “Let me guess. You’re some kind of shaman?”

  I decided to come clean.

  “I don’t really know myself. I just know that I can tell things about people from touching their feet.”

  “You said you’re Chinese. What religion are you?”

  “I don’t follow any religion, madam.”

  “Very well. Have you figured out what’s wrong with me?”

  I examined her feet as I rubbed them. A red aura appeared over the cushiony flesh at the base of her first two toes. Her ankle also glowed dark red.

  “You might have a weak heart, and I think your knees bother you.”

  Lady Emily studied my face, intrigued.

  “You saw my past too, didn’t you?”

  I had no choice but to tell her what I saw.

  “There were trees all the way to the horizon, and you were leaving a large stone house with rows of pillars.”

  “That’s right! That was Johannesburg! How did you know?”

  “A small woman was standing next to the master of the house. I think that’s why you two were arguing.”

  Lady Emily clasped her hands in front of her chest in shock. She took several long breaths. Her eyes were turning red. It took her a while to calm her breathing. Then she dropped her hands.

  “It’s a good thing you’re not Thai,” she said.

  I decided not to mention the dark cloud yet, or the piled-up bodies of black women and children. Lady Emily lay back on the chaise and gestured.

  “You may massage me now.”

  I began by applying pressure with my thumbs and stroking with the flat of my hands, progressing from the bottoms of her feet to the tops, then to the toes, heels and finally her calves. I massaged every acupressure point I knew. At some point she fell asleep. I ended the session by wrapping her feet in another warm towel, then massaging cream into her legs and feet. As I always did with clients, I crept out of the room to avoid waking her. Auntie Sarah was reading a magazine in the living room. She stood up when she saw me.

  “Done?”

  “Yes, madam. Lady Emily is asleep.”

  “That’s good. I guess it’s my turn now.”

  We went down to the maids’ quarters in the basement. Auntie Sarah was in charge of the maids, which put her on nearly equal footing with the butler, an Indian man. She sat down on a sofa with her legs outstretched while one of the maids brought a towel and a basin filled with warm water. In the middle of the massage, a voice came over the intercom saying that Lady Emily was looking for her. Auntie Sarah quickly dried her feet and went upstairs. She came back shortly, her face aglow.

  “She was really happy with you,” she said. “She wants you to come back tomorrow.”

  Auntie Sarah told me she would drive me back, but added: “Here is the address. Can you find your way back here on your own tomorrow? All you have to do is ring the bell at the door we used earlier.”

  On the way to Elephant and Castle, she said: “By the way, Lady Emily says you have an unusual talent?”

  I had to repeat the brief conversation I’d had with Lady Emily.

  “That’s extraordinary!” She shook her head. “I can’t believe you saw the Johannesburg estate. Her family lived in South Africa for generations.”

  When I also told her about the small Southeast Asian woman, and how agitated Lady Emily had become, Auntie Sarah’s voice turned angry.

  “
You said something stupid after all! That Thai bitch is the reason her husband is living in Brighton and not here. How embarrassing for her.”

  She mumbled to herself for a bit, then whipped her head around to look at me; something had just occurred to her.

  “That means you saw something when you touched my feet, too!”

  I didn’t answer, but she immediately chuckled to herself as if to say there was no use worrying about that now.

  “I guess you saw all my dreadful ex-boyfriends.”

  I debated whether or not to keep quiet, but then decided to say something in order to hold her attention a little bit longer.

  “I saw your white father, and the black man your mother met when she was working at the hospital.”

  “Oh my!” Auntie Sarah’s hands slipped on the steering wheel, and the car swerved. “You’re really something, kid!”

  I didn’t tell her about the form that looked like a dark cloud wrapped around Lady Emily, or the bodies. When the car pulled up in front of Tongking, she handed me an envelope. I got out of the car and looked inside: there was far more in there than just my hourly fee. If I kept working at that rate, I would be able to pay off my debts in Chinatown within six months. For the first time I felt my heart grow lighter. I gave the money for my hourly fee to Uncle Tan and kept the rest. He looked satisfied to have such a wealthy regular who would provide a fixed income for the salon.

  The following week, I took the Underground to the mansion on my own, address in hand. I was so scared that my heart nearly beat out of my chest, but at the same time I was happy that I had the freedom to go anywhere now.

  By the time I had made the two station transfers, walked down the side street next to Holland Park and arrived at the house in Kensington, I was ten minutes late. I went downstairs and rang the bell. Auntie Sarah’s face appeared.

  “I was worried you wouldn’t find it,” she said.

  “I took the wrong train and had to make a different transfer.”

  “Lady Emily’s waiting for you. She’s already asked me twice why you’re not here yet.”

  Auntie Sarah led me up to the living room on the second floor. Lady Emily was resting on the sofa, wearing a sky-blue silk Chinese gown.

  “Yes, come in,” Lady Emily said in a drowsy voice.

  Auntie Sarah gave me a nod and then vanished.

  “Would you like a cup of tea?” Lady Emily asked. “We don’t have to start with the massage today.” She spooned some dark tea into a porcelain pot that was ready on the table.

  “Is that black tea?” I asked.

  “No, it’s made from medicinal herbs. It’ll relax you and make you feel better.”

  I took a hesitant sip. There was no flavour at all, but it smelled like dried leaves and earth. I followed Lady Emily into the bedroom; she had me recline on the chaise while she lay down on the bed.

  “Let’s converse, Bari. You’ll know what to do.”

  I felt my back start to rise and fall, as if I were bobbing on the ocean, and then my body went slack and I felt like I was floating down a river. From between my fluttering eyelids, which insisted on closing, I caught a glimpse of someone standing over Lady Emily’s bed. It looked like an older black woman wearing a heavy brown cloak made from a rough material.

  “There’s someone’s behind you,” I said. “A black woman.”

  Lady Emily was not startled at all.

  “Yes,” she whispered. “That must be my nanny, Becky. She watches over me.”

  I tried to sit up in order to greet Becky, but for some reason my arms and legs would not obey. Lady Emily’s quiet voice reached my ears.

  “Go to sleep, child. Go to sleep.”

  *

  I stand in a field with dry grass up to my waist. The setting sun looks like a deliciously ripe persimmon. It turns the whole sky a deep, orangey red. A slow rhythm, like distant drumming, vibrates in my ears. I can’t tell whether or not it is my own heartbeat that I am hearing.

  At the centre of the field, enormous stone mountains tower up out of the earth and seem to brush against the sky. The further I walk into the mountains, the more they resemble two palms opening. At the centre I see a large pit, like the mouth of some giant creature, gaping open in the middle of a wide clearing. The bottom of the pit is drilled here and there with dark holes that go so far down I cannot tell where they end. Black men, seemingly thousands of them, fill burlap sacks with stones dug from the sides and bottom of the pit with pickaxes and shovels. They haul the stones up rope ladders and march up the winding ledge that leads out of the pit, carrying their heavy loads.

  To one side of the clearing, I see structures built from wooden planks, thatched roofs and white canvas awnings. White men sit in a circle beneath one of the awnings. One wears a white shirt and hat and has a moustache. I see soldiers in uniform.

  I wander around inside the image. A rope ladder breaks and dozens of men are sent tumbling to the bottom of the pit. A gun goes off, and more shots follow sporadically. Then everything goes silent. The soldiers walk over to the fallen and inspect them.

  I walk back to the field. The field is blanketed in the same black, fog-like shapes that I saw in my home country, and the low whoosh of the wind never stops. The sky is dim, as if the sun is on the verge of either rising or setting, and it is just as quiet. Spots of light appear here and there. Smoke rises from the roofs of a burned village, and embers fly over the burned grass and reeds. Everywhere, dead bodies are picked at by vultures and crows. The ground is littered with weapons. Did a battle take place?

  I see trees. Baobab trees with their roots sticking straight up toward the sky. Ash, oak, acacia, marula. All kinds of trees tower over me like fortress walls, and at the centre I see a light. I slip between the trees, sliding toward the light. Patches of colour – white, ochre, grey, blue – appear in the light. People are there, dressed in colourful fabrics. I take a closer look and see that they are nearly all female: grandmothers, mothers, young women. And children: grandsons, granddaughters, newborn babies. The light is coming from an enormous bonfire rising from a triangular stack of logs. No one speaks.

  They know that I am watching. And I know they are not alive. As I walk toward the bonfire, they cover their faces and step back to clear a path. Standing before the fire is a woman. She’s been waiting for me. When I am standing before her, I see that it’s Becky. She wears a headband laden with crystal beads on top of a headscarf, and on her body she wears a black skirt and a rough, brown cloth around her shoulders. Ostrich-tail feathers are stuffed in the back of the headband like scattered clouds floating over her head.

  You must be Bari, the one my baby girl Emily sent.

  She plucks one of the ostrich feathers from the back of her head and sweeps it along the ground, which splits open as if during an earthquake, and the people who were scattered about all crowd in at once, turn to shadows, and seep into the earth like fog, filling the crevasse. A hand sticks up out of the fog, then two arms, followed by a white man’s face. It’s the man with the moustache whom I saw sitting under the tent earlier. Another pair of flailing arms emerges, followed by the upper body of the white-haired man in the dark-red military uniform. The murky fog is less like a gas and more like a sticky, muddy bog. The shadows pull the two white men back down as they scream and shout.

  Let me go!

  Get us out of here!

  Suddenly the crack vanishes, and the earth closes up. The shadows have resumed their original forms and are sitting and standing under the trees. The bonfire blazes again. From the entrance to the forest where I came in earlier, Lady Emily walks toward me, dressed in the same blue silk gown as before. Her eyes are wet with tears. She pleads with Becky.

  Please release them.

  Becky’s face is impassive.

  It’s not me, child. The souls of the dead won’t let them go.

  How can they be set free?

  Ask Bari.

  *

  Even before Lady Emily could say anything,
my eyes were wide open. I could see the crystal beads on the chandelier that hung from the ceiling. Though my head was still foggy, the objects in the room and the leaves on the trees outside the window were in sharp focus. But the colours were all yellowed and faded, like an old photograph. I remained quiet for a moment until the colours were restored.

  “You’re awake!” Lady Emily said. She stood up and staggered over to me. “So, what did you see?”

  I couldn’t begin to describe all the visions I’d had.

  “I saw hundreds, maybe thousands, of African men working in a mine. And I saw a lot of people die, too.”

  “That would’ve been a gold mine.”

  “I saw two men … One was middle-aged. The other, a soldier, looked like an old man …”

  When I told her about the earth opening up and the two trapped inside the black smoke, she pressed her hands to her heart and lowered her head.

  “Oh, you saw my father and grandfather.” She clasped my hand tightly. “You’re a powerful psychic!”

  Because I’d sensed that she shared my powers, I asked her: “What did you see?”

  “I saw a long river. And a mountain on fire … And I think I saw a boat floating through the pitch black.”

  “Did you see my grandmother? Or a white dog named Chilsung?”

  “I couldn’t see that far.”

  I’d gotten a clear look at Becky and remembered her face and clothing, so I told her about the village with the giant bonfire.

  “Becky worked for my family since I was four years old,” Lady Emily said. “I think what you saw might’ve been her hometown. She was a traditional healer. I was the only one who knew she was a shaman.”

  Lady Emily looked around and then rummaged inside a drawer in her nightstand. She pulled out a small box covered in red velvet, opened the lid and showed me a leopard’s tooth, some jewels and the bone fragments that Becky had used to cast divinations. Then she carefully took out a small figurine carved from ebony. It was about the size of a finger, and depicted a slim, dark-skinned African man. The eyes were long and slanted and the mouth was closed, the corners drawn down in a grimace. From between the legs rose a long, sharp penis – the moment I saw it, my hands started shaking uncontrollably, and I could feel a wave of heat roll from the back of my neck all the way up to my cheeks. I grabbed the doll from Lady Emily, stuck it back in the box and shut the lid. My breathing slowly returned to normal.