The Moonlit Garden

by Bomann, Corina

  “I hope you’re not feeling unwell,” he said, after the vehicle with its loud music had raced away. “You look a bit green around the gills.”

  “I’ll be fine,” Lilly replied, although her stomach felt quite queasy. Fortunately it only lasted a few moments once her feet were back on solid ground.

  They walked a block farther before Verheugen announced, “Here we are.”

  He indicated a park in the center of which was a large structure that looked very similar to the airport building. The museum also had a traditional crescent-moon roof—or, as Lilly had read in her guidebook, a “buffalo horn roof.” The locals called this architectural style rumah gadang, which meant something like “big house.”

  “That’s the Adityawarman Museum, Padang’s main museum,” Verheugen said. “It houses mostly Minangkabau artifacts, but there are also many exhibits from the colonial era, and it has a good archive. All that remains from the Dutch period is kept here.”

  “Have you been here to look for something before?”

  “A few years ago I was seeking information about a specific house, and someone suggested I look here.”

  “Did you find what you were looking for?”

  “Yes, and I was amazed at all the things they have.”

  As they climbed the red-tiled steps and passed a modern tower, Lilly stared in fascination at the roof and its numerous curved gables. Verheugen followed her gaze.

  “Do you know why the Minangkabau design their buildings like this?” he asked.

  “It has something to do with buffalo, doesn’t it?”

  “Correct. Have you heard of the buffalo fight?”

  Lilly shook her head. “No, my travel guide didn’t cover that.”

  “You should contact the publisher and suggest an addition.” Verheugen smiled. “In the dim and distant past, a warlord from Java threatened to attack the island. To prevent bloodshed, the two kings agreed to set buffalo against one another instead of their warriors. The Javanese found the largest buffalo they could, while the Minangkabau let a buffalo calf go hungry for a while and fixed a long iron spike to its muzzle.”

  “Oh, I can guess what happened,” Lilly exclaimed. “The hungry little buffalo rushed up to the big one, thinking it was a cow it could suckle for milk.”

  “Exactly! That was how the little calf killed the big buffalo, and the Javanese had to leave the island.”

  “It seems a very sensible solution for those times. In our country I’m sure they would have laid into each other with cudgels and swords.”

  “The Minangkabau are in fact a hospitable people. It didn’t cost the Dutch much effort to colonize Sumatra. Later, when the economic situation worsened, the Dutch caused some harm here, but I’ll tell you more about that later.”

  Lilly agreed, since she was incredibly excited to see what the museum would hold. Would she find out here about the church registers and Rose’s daughter?

  “You’ll only find a few really old buildings here on Sumatra,” Verheugen was saying now as he perched his sunglasses in his thick hair.

  “Because of the earthquakes?”

  “Yes, the earthquakes and other disasters. It’s a miracle that there are still some houses from the early twentieth century here—we have the good quality of the structures to thank for that. This museum was built in the 1970s. It looks good for its age, doesn’t it?”

  The fans inside the museum did their best to freshen the air a little. The display cases were filled with magnificent clothing and household objects from past centuries. There was even a bride’s headdress, the traditional sunting. Lilly wondered whether a woman could actually wear this huge, elaborately worked creation made almost completely of solid gold without hurting her neck.

  It was not long before her companion had found someone who knew about the archive. After a brief exchange of words, Verheugen beckoned for her to join them.

  The woman he had been speaking to wore a sky-blue scarf over her hair and a dark blue suit with a long skirt. Lilly was surprised when she greeted her in English.

  “I’m Iza Navis, and I’ll be happy to help you.”

  “She’s the deputy curator of the museum and knows where the treasures are kept,” Verheugen added, causing the woman, who appeared to be in her late twenties, to look a little embarrassed.

  “I’ll certainly do my best to help you as much as I can,” she said modestly. “So, what can I do for you?”

  “I . . . I’m looking for some church registers from 1902 to 1909.” Lilly began with the first thing that entered her head, earning a look of surprise.

  “Church registers?”

  “Something like registers of births.” Verheugen jumped to Lilly’s rescue.

  “Oh, of course,” the curator replied. “We have a few church registers, as you call them. They were a donation from the estate of a church that was damaged in an earthquake in the past. Not many visitors are interested in them; that’s why we keep them locked away. But if you don’t mind waiting a moment, I can let you into the reading room.”

  The room was small and rather plain, containing a few desks with reading lamps and a bookshelf with titles all in Malay. Lilly and Verheugen took a seat after the curator told them they would have to wait a moment.

  “What do you want with church registers?” Verheugen asked, getting out and polishing his reading glasses.

  “Shortly before I left, I discovered that the violinist, Rose, had a daughter. I’d like to see if the baby was registered and baptized.”

  “Indonesia was struck by a few earthquakes in the early twentieth century. It could be possible that the mother and child were both killed in an accident.”

  “Whatever happened, Rose asked the father to care for the girl. Either he never received the letter or simply didn’t care.”

  “Or he did care and rescued the girl while keeping her origins secret?”

  At that moment the door opened and a young man wheeled in a number of thick old books on a small trolley. As well as church registers, Iza Navis had added a few bound volumes of newspapers from the period and a few other books that at first glance did not seem to have much to do with what Lilly wanted to know. She intended to glance through them, though, as she might be surprised.

  Looking through the church registers turned out to be a difficult job, since many of them had suffered a great deal of water damage and had not been expertly dried out. Although Lilly had little knowledge of book restoration, she hated to see the way the pages had been allowed to stick together. These were valuable documents of a bygone age, kept here for posterity but not restored.

  “This doesn’t look good,” Verheugen remarked after a brief look. “Perhaps I should have brought my equipment after all—a scalpel and tweezers could perhaps be useful for separating the pages without tearing them.”

  They set to work all the same, making sure to take great care. At first they only looked through the church registers; then, once they had seen enough, they turned to the bound newspapers, which were in much better condition but largely written in Dutch.

  “If you see a name or a picture that makes you think the article would be of interest to you, pass it over to me, and I’ll translate it for you,” Verheugen offered.

  The smell of old paper and mildew surged up to them as they leafed through the pages. The individual newspapers were not particularly thick, with most editions consisting of eight pages, including a whole page of advertisements for household goods, soap, pomade, and men’s garters.

  Lilly skimmed the text in search of a name she recognized. She looked at the pictures, which were mainly very old photos of colonial-era Padang, with the occasional view of sugarcane and tobacco plantations. There were family portraits here and there, but Lilly found no mention of Rose Gallway.

  “I might have something for you here,” Verheugen said after a while. He turned the book around and pointed to a name in the midst of a page of text that was completely incomprehensible to her.

  �
�Does your violinist spell her name like this?” Verheugen asked.

  Lilly nodded and felt a spark of hope.

  “Can you please read what it says?” she asked as she stared at the photo. It looked as if something had collapsed.

  “‘Last Monday there was a regrettable accident in the vicinity of the harbor. A badly secured crane fell onto a group of workers who were being given their instructions by their overseer, Mijnheer Gallway. Three men were killed, including Mijnheer Gallway, who leaves behind a wife and daughter, Rose, the famous violinist, who has just given a series of concerts in her hometown.’”

  So Rose’s father had been the victim of an accident! Lilly was stunned. How would things have been for Rose and her mother after that? After Peter’s death she had felt as though someone had ripped her soul from her body.

  “It must have been a dreadful time for them,” she remarked in a hollow tone, trying not to think of her own past.

  “It is for anyone who loses a loved one.” Verheugen seemed to have had his own experiences, if the deep furrow above the bridge of his nose was anything to go by. “It looks as though you didn’t know about it.”

  “No, nor does the head of the music school Rose Gallway attended.”

  “Well, it was a long time ago. This newspaper is from 1902. And it happened in another country. Why should he know?”

  “You’re right. He hasn’t done any research in Sumatra yet.”

  Lilly looked at the article for a while, regretting that she did not understand Dutch.

  “It says that Rose had recently given a few concerts,” Verheugen said. “Perhaps there’ll be something about those in some earlier papers.”

  They went back to leafing through the pages. Verheugen unearthed eleven more articles from his volume. As the newspapers had been bound in reverse sequence, Lilly looked at the extracts in reverse order.

  The two pictures accompanying the first article were particularly beautiful. One showed Rose standing between the governor and a man in evening dress, smiling almost shyly into the camera. The second picture was taken on the rear terrace of the house, looking out over a rather unclear moonlit landscape. The black-and-white photo only gave a hint of what a wonderful view there must have been.

  Lilly gazed at the pictures as Verheugen translated the article for her. It told of how Rose Gallway had been invited by the governor to play at the annual reception for the region’s plantation owners. What would the reception have looked like? What colors would the ladies’ dresses have been? It took her back to her childhood, before they had a color TV.

  The next articles were mainly concert reviews, which praised Rose’s music and her charisma to the high heavens—the whole of Padang seemed enchanted by her.

  And then Verheugen produced a real gem from the volume.

  “Can that be true?” Lilly asked, as she looked at the small portrait of a couple in the middle of the small article. The photo caption revealed who the man at Rose’s side was.

  “What do you mean?” Verheugen asked.

  “This is Paul Havenden. Lord Paul Havenden.”

  The man’s face was turned away from the camera, which disappointed Lilly—but at least she had seen the man whom Rose had taken as her lover and who had got her pregnant. She quickly noted this article for a copy, fiendishly excited by the picture.

  “Ah, the father of the unknown child,” Verheugen said with an indignant snort. “I can understand why the woman wrote him that letter. In her shoes I’d have read him the riot act!”

  “Perhaps there’s an explanation for his behavior.”

  Verheugen shook his head. “I doubt it. He got his lover pregnant and then disappeared—I’m convinced of it.”

  Lilly looked at the young man’s elegantly proportioned face. His profile reminded her a bit of Gabriel. Had Paul Havenden acted maliciously? Had he forgotten Rose once he returned to England? Or had there been obligations he was unable to release himself from?

  “We should find out the whole story before judging him,” Lilly said, still delighted with her find. Gabriel will be thrilled, she thought.

  By the time evening came, they had some more clippings about Rose’s performances, a report on her wardrobe for the final concert, and another one about her father’s fatal accident. The name of Gallway, unfortunately, did not appear in any of the church registers.

  What did you expect? she asked herself. Did you think you would solve the whole mystery on the first day? Be satisfied that you have a picture of her with her lover. Gabriel’s sure to be delighted!

  It was highly likely that when the Dutch left the island they had taken a lot of documents with them. It might be better to try looking in Amsterdam for more about Rose Gallway’s daughter. If there were any documents from colonial times, they were sure to be kept in a museum of colonial history.

  “I’m very sorry that you haven’t found much,” the deputy curator said as they returned the documents.

  “Oh, we’ve brought some things to light,” Lilly replied with a smile. “We’re very grateful to you for letting us see the newspapers.”

  “If you’d like to see some more documents from the Dutch period, you should go by the governor’s former weekend residence.”

  “Weekend residence?” Lilly wondered aloud before realizing that must be the house with the terrace shown in the photo. The house in which Rose Gallway played!

  “It’s a modern expression, I know. I couldn’t think of a better word. The governor worked here in Padang, of course, but he had a country house outside the city, where he received visitors. It survived the earthquakes reasonably well, but over the years no one purchased it. If it remains vacant, it will have to be demolished one day.”

  “Can that be done so easily?” Lilly asked.

  “I’m afraid so. There is such a thing as a protected monument here, but if buildings are in too much of a state of disrepair, they’re demolished eventually.”

  “Isn’t it worth making a museum out of it?” Verheugen said, speaking Lilly’s thoughts out loud.

  “It’s possible, but sadly the funds just aren’t available for it. And in any case, some people here still have an uneasy relationship with the colonial times. The state organizations consider it a greater priority to research the Minangkabau culture and present that to the public.” Her tone was slightly regretful, even though she likely was Minangkabau herself.

  “What will we find in the weekend residence?” Lilly asked. “Do you keep uncatalogued items there?”

  “You could say that. There are a few boxes out there that we still don’t have room for here. There’s a custodian who keeps an eye on the house and its contents. If you tell him I’ve sent you, he’ll let you in.”

  “Thank you very much; that’s very kind,” Lilly said, trying not to grin like someone with an eye on stealing the family silver. The house where Rose had played! Possibly even the house where she had met Paul Havenden. Would she be able to sense their ghosts there? Even if the boxes only held damp and rotted junk, she was sure the journey would be worthwhile.

  “So? Shall we go and see the governor’s house?” Verheugen asked as they left the museum. Twilight was creeping in, and the air was noticeably more humid.

  “Yes, we must. Perhaps I’ll find the door to the terrace shown in the newspaper photo.”

  “I’m sure you will—provided the custodian or collapsed ceilings don’t bar your way.”

  “I’ll need to find someone to take me there.”

  “That someone’s standing right in front of you,” Verheugen said.

  “Really?” Lilly raised her eyebrows doubtfully. “Haven’t I taken up enough of your time?”

  “I don’t consider it wasted time, but rather time well spent. I’d be happy to go up there and see what we find. If you’ve got a guilty conscience about that, you could invite me for a meal today. What do you say to that?”

  “Provided you tell me where we can go. I don’t know my way around at all.”

>   Lilly thought of Gabriel, hoping that their dinner would happen soon after she returned.

  “There’s a very good restaurant near your hotel, where you can get excellent rendang. Or even a whole makanan Padang.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You have to think of makanan Padang as a kind of buffet. You’re served with a number of different bowls containing various kinds of strongly spiced fish, vegetables, and rice. You choose what you want and only pay for what you’ve eaten.”

  “Sounds interesting.”

  “It is, but in some restaurants you have to keep an eye on the price. You can’t go wrong with rendang. It’s made from beef, also very spicy and served with rice. I hope you’ve got a strong stomach.”

  “No problem.” Lilly was not afraid of spicy food. With Peter she had been to almost every Indian and Thai restaurant in town and, unlike him, had proved to be well able to tolerate hot seasoning.

  “Excellent. Can I suggest that I pick you up in an hour? We can reward ourselves for all our hard work and drive away the smell of musty paper.”

  The restaurant that Verheugen recommended was full of people, a marker of its quality as well as making it difficult to secure a table. There was nothing for the two of them to do but join the line of waiting diners.

  “If we’re lucky, it’ll take less time than we think,” Verheugen said, causing Lilly to wish she could share in his optimism. Nothing ever seemed to be a problem for him. If he had to wait, he simply spent the time people-watching or talking.

  Lilly gradually felt as if some of this spirit was rubbing off on her. Back in Germany, when faced with a restaurant full to bursting, she would have turned on her heel and left. Yet she was now standing here with no intention of going back to the hotel. She drank in the scents and sounds, the voices and the colors. Some of the locals were dressed in traditional colorful sarongs, while others were wearing white shirts and pants. The women’s heads were, without exception, covered by colorful scarves.

  A table was finally free after around half an hour.

  “Believe me—it’s worth the wait,” Verheugen said as they sank down onto the cushions arranged on wide rattan mats. Between them was a low table with a pretty marquetry top. The waiter appeared almost immediately with the menus, which were bound in thick leather. They were partly in Malay and partly in Dutch. Every now and then there was also an English translation, although these were rather bad.