The White Pearl

by Kate Furnivall

  ‘How long do you intend to keep us here?’

  His mouth softened. ‘As long as you like, Mrs Hadley.’ He dropped Maya on the walkway and led her, whimpering, through the branches at a speed the others had to struggle to keep up with.

  ‘Damn the man,’ Henry muttered behind her. ‘He’s enjoying this.’

  ‘We won’t be here long,’ Johnnie assured him. He was scanning the sky through the branches and netting. It was like looking through the bottom of a green bottle. No sound of aircraft engines, not yet.

  Connie could hear the restlessness in his voice, and she could only guess at his yearning to return to his squadron. He never mentioned the subject, and he carefully sidestepped any questions if she raised it, but she saw the look in his eyes when he gazed skyward. At least he had an aim, a future to go to. That was more than she had.

  30

  ‘Mem,’ Maya eyed the silent figure warily.

  The two of them were in the hut. Maya hated it. It was not natural to live in the sky, but she could only go up or down the silly-pissy ladders when Razak helped her by carrying her on his back. She would shut her eyes tight and pretend she was riding on Golden Jo-nee’s back. She had been astonished when Iron-eyes had dumped her in this hut with Mem Hadley and her son, and declared that they must share it. Mem had not murmured, but Maya was embarrassed.

  She had glared at Iron-eyes. ‘Not right,’ she told him. ‘Not right at all.’

  ‘Maya, just do as you’re told for once.’

  He had marched off along the rope path, sweeping aside the branches that hung in his way, leading Jo-nee and the fat tuan to a hut in another tree, and showed little patience for their caution. Mem’s hut was tiny, just long enough to lie down in, and had three rattan mats on the floor for them to sleep on. That was all. A slatted bamboo blind covered the window hole, and another was gathered above the door frame. Maya inspected mem’s face for disapproval, but found none.

  ‘This is exciting, isn’t it?’ mem said to the boy, who was still clutching his dog as though frightened that the other wretches might climb up and eat it.

  ‘Yes!’ he agreed with an eagerness that startled Maya. ‘We’re in a treehouse.’

  His mother laughed, but she looked as if something hurt bad inside her. She took the dog from him and set it down on a mat. Its black eyes shone in the gloom, and it gobbled up a passing butterfly.

  ‘Now, you must both behave.’

  Maya thought mem was talking to her and she nodded obediently, but no, she realised mem meant the dog and boy. Mem bent down, kissed her son’s wet hair and stroked the dog fondly. Maya wondered if she sat on the mat next to the dog whether mem would stroke her head, too. Since Tuan Hadley’s death, Maya could feel herself bound to this woman. Sometimes she could even hear her mother’s evil cackle of laughter when the winds blew in the trees. Sai-Ru Jumat was wicked in life, and now she was wicked in death.

  Maya slumped in a corner and wished Razak was not so far away. She knew he would be racing up and down the rope ladders, exploring, while she was marooned up here, with Mem Hadley. As if her life and Mem’s life were hooked together now, as tight as one of the rope ladders.

  The aircraft came, a whole swarm of them buzzing like hornets. They flew low with machine guns blasting at some unfortunate boat caught out on the open sea. Maya jammed her hands over her ears and bent double, with her forehead touching her knees.

  ‘Teddy,’ she heard mem say with no shake to her voice. ‘You must remember never to use your father’s binoculars here.’

  Her son carried them around his neck, and he fingered their casing constantly as if it were part of his father. ‘Why not, Mummy?’

  ‘Because they may glint in the sunlight and give away our position to an enemy plane.’

  ‘Oh, I didn’t think of that.’ He stared solemnly at the binoculars.

  Maya would have snatched them from him and thrown them out of the hut. Bad binoculars. Mem trusted him too much.

  ‘All OK here?’

  Maya’s stomach did strange things. She looked up quickly and smiled at the figure in the doorway. It was Jo-nee, his golden hair the colour of seaweed in the green light.

  ‘Yes, we are fine, thank you, Johnnie,’ mem replied.

  ‘Hear that machine gun?’

  ‘It’s horrible. It could easily have been us in the boat if Fitzpayne hadn’t brought us here.’

  The sound of a heavy bomber droned overhead.

  ‘They are out in force today,’ mem said.

  ‘It’s bad news for Singapore, I’m afraid, Connie.’

  ‘Fitzpayne told me that the retreating British army is blowing up bridges to slow the Japanese advance down the peninsula to Jahore.’

  Golden-hair shook his head. ‘That’s not going to stop them.’

  ‘Nothing will.’

  ‘No British tanks, and not enough bloody planes. What was General Percival thinking? He’s let us down badly. We’ve lost everything.’

  Maya listened, and could not understand how they could stay so calm. If she was them, she would scream and cry and slit the throat of every Japanese on earth.

  ‘And you, Maya?’ He stepped into the hut, lowering his head because he was so tall. ‘Are you OK up here in your eyrie?’

  He smiled, and she smiled back shyly. ‘What is eyrie?’

  ‘It’s the home of an eagle.’

  ‘Hah!’ She looked out of the doorway at the swaying branches and immediately felt dizzy. ‘But I not eagle or monkey. I ground-rat.’ She twitched her nose at him and made him laugh.

  ‘I’m going down. Do you want me to help you descend the ladder?’ he offered.

  ‘I no fool, I stay here. No ladder.’ She glanced at mem, who was standing by the window hole, gazing out with a face that had gone far away. A big speckled spider was walking slowly around her hand on the ledge, interested in the pale white skin. ‘I look after Mem Hadley,’ Maya said in a small voice.

  Jo-nee looked at mem. ‘Thank you, Maya,’ he said in a low voice. ‘She needs your help, though she won’t admit it. Come on, Teddy,’ he added brightly, ‘let’s go and see what we’ve let ourselves in for on this island, shall we?’

  ‘May I, Mummy?’

  ‘Don’t get into any more fights. Promise?’

  The boy grinned. ‘I promise.’

  They vanished, and the hut became drab and gloomy again. For a long time neither Maya nor mem spoke, and a blade of green light slid through a gap in the roof fronds. It edged its way towards Maya’s bare feet, and she drew them away. When it cut a slice off mem’s shoulder, she shuddered.

  ‘Mem,’ Maya said when her thoughts became too heavy to hold any more, ‘I sorry you sad.’

  The blue eyes looked round at her, surprised. ‘Thank you, Maya.’ She ran fingers through her blond hair as if to stir the memories that left such shadows on her face. ‘In wartime, many people grow sad.’

  ‘Shark not know it wartime.’

  Mem laughed. ‘You’re right. But if it weren’t for the war, my husband wouldn’t have been on the boat.’ She paused and lifted a grasshopper from the hem of her skirt. ‘There are always ifs, in life, Maya. If there weren’t a war, if we had stayed in Palur, if I hadn’t rescued the pilot from drowning, if … ’ She stopped and smacked her hand on her knee.

  Maya didn’t know if she was squashing an insect or squashing her thoughts. For a while, no words came out, but Maya could feel the little hut waiting for more.

  ‘What would you like, Maya,’ mem asked suddenly, ‘if you could choose anything?’

  ‘Bowl of rice and chicken satay.’

  Mem smiled. ‘No, I mean, what would you like for your future … if you get out of this alive?’

  ‘That easy. I like plenty food. And a bicycle.’

  ‘A bicycle?’

  ‘So I not walk-walk-walk all time.’

  ‘And where would you ride this bicycle of yours?’

  ‘All places.’

  The blue eyes st
udied here gravely. ‘You don’t ask for much, do you, Maya? Nothing else?’

  Maya lowered her eyes. Mem was looking at her too hard. She picked at a patch of dry mud on her ankle and scratched it away, but she couldn’t scratch away the words that climbed onto her tongue. ‘I ask I be pretty and gold-haired and white like you. But nobody listen.’

  ‘Oh, Maya.’

  A shout somewhere further along the walkways made them both look up, and their gaze met and held.

  ‘You are pretty, Maya. Your skin is …’

  ‘Horrid dark.’

  ‘… your skin is like velvet. It’s beautiful. But more importantly, you are clever and you learn fast. You should be proud of yourself.’

  ‘Why Tuan Jo-nee Blake so sad?’

  Mem blinked, caught off balance by the switch of subject, but in Maya’s head it was the same subject.

  ‘Because he can’t fly his plane. And because he and my husband were close friends, long before I met either of them. They were at school together, and he misses Nigel now.’

  ‘Razak miss tuan too.’

  Mem Hadley’s face closed up tight, like the lid of a box slamming shut. Mem did not like Razak. But suddenly she whipped the silk blouse out of her bag once more. ‘Maya, it’s time that you and I both faced our fears. The blindfold for you, and for me … I am going to find your brother.’

  Connie strode along the narrow trail, mud churning up beneath her feet. It was a dark brooding place that Fitzpayne had brought them to. Its steep slopes were crowded with dense jungle that towered over the narrow gorge carved out by the river. The pervasive sound of bird calls, monkey shrieks and booming bullfrogs bore down on her, trapping her under the green netting, and all the time she heard the pattering of Maya’s feet behind her.

  Figures flitted in and out of the trees. Some were on the forest floor, but most high on the walkways or leaning out of the window holes in the huts up there, smoking cigarettes and watching her. No one came near her, no one spoke to her. Had they been warned off?

  She saw no women.

  She retraced the track back to the Kennel, but the children had vanished and in their place a group of seven Chinese men were squatting in a circle on the floor, industriously mending fishing nets, fingers shuttling back and forth at high speed. One halted his work long enough to beckon to her. They wore ragged tunics over loose trousers, and the black watchful eyes of all of them fixed on her as she approached. They chattered something in Chinese, and nodded to each other. Behind her, Maya mewed nervously and hung back in the doorway.

  Connie stood over them and smiled politely. ‘I’m looking for a young Malay man who came here with me. His name is Razak. Do you know where …’

  ‘Missee,’ the oldest Chinese spoke. His face was criss-crossed like old leather, but his eyes were sharp. ‘We sail tonight. We go west to Ceylon. You come?’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘You come with us.’ His lips spread in a thin smile. ‘We save you.’

  One of the others muttered something to him.

  ‘And your girl,’ the old one added, glancing across at Maya.

  Dust hovered in the humid air along with the stink of fish. Connie took a step backwards. ‘No, thank you.’

  ‘We pay.’ With a flick of one hand he lifted a cloak at his side to reveal a silver casket. ‘We pay Missee good,’ he said.

  He was so polite, Connie could scarcely believe he was offering to buy her.

  ‘No.’ She took another step away from them.

  He chewed on his bottom lip and covered up the casket once more. ‘Your Razak is with Fitz. Much work in pit.’ He gestured off in the direction west of the Kennel.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, bowed courteously to her would-be purchasers and left before Maya could even think of saying yes.

  She found Razak with Fitzpayne in the pit.

  Only Fitzpayne’s head and naked shoulders showed above ground level; the rest of him was immersed in a hole in the forest floor about six feet square. His hair was spattered with wood shavings, and sweat gleamed in a green shimmer over his skin. He was wielding a pickaxe when he caught sight of Connie striding up the trail towards him. He stopped in mid-strike, the pickaxe’s metal head poised in the air. She became aware of her skirt sticking to her legs, and under her breath cursed this damn climate. Beside him stood Razak.

  ‘Mr Fitzpayne, you are …’ She was going to say busy. She could have added working like a native. But her eyes registered what else lay in the pit other than himself and Razak. There were vicious rows of sharpened stakes pointing up towards the sky, their tips honed into lethal spears lying in wait for the unwary. The blood in Connie’s veins, so hot a moment ago, turned cold and her tongue froze to the roof of her mouth.

  He dropped the pickaxe and jumped easily out of the pit. Up close she could smell the sweat and the timber on him, and the earth upon his fingers. For a moment she thought he was going to touch her, but he stayed his hand before it made contact with her arm.

  ‘Are you all right?’ he asked with concern.

  ‘Of course. I’ve just been hurrying in the heat.’ She pulled the brim of her straw sunhat down so that it shaded her eyes.

  He moved back, and for one nightmare second she thought he would fall into the pit. ‘Fitzpayne!’

  But all he did was offer a hand to Razak to haul him up. Razak was also stripped to the waist, and Connie was again struck by how beautiful his body was. My poor Nigel, it must have been unbearable for you.

  ‘What are you doing?’ she asked Fitzpayne. As if it wasn’t obvious.

  He shrugged, his muscles flexing under his damp skin. ‘Preparing the pit.’

  She didn’t ask for what.

  ‘Have you settled into your hut?’ he enquired. The change of subject wasn’t exactly subtle.

  ‘Yes.’ She laughed. ‘Thank you, it didn’t take long to unpack my belongings: a book, a hair brush and a change of clothes. Oh, and a needle and thread. I intend to turn my skirt into trousers.’

  He glanced at her legs, his gaze lingering on them. ‘I can find you some trousers … if you wish,’ he offered.

  He was embarrassed. That surprised her.

  ‘I certainly won’t be running along this path too often,’ she assured him, and took another look at the pit.

  ‘There are others,’ he warned.

  Visions of spikes plunging through her son’s young chest rushed into her head.

  ‘Where?’ she demanded.

  ‘Don’t look so worried. It’s safe. They are boarded over at the moment.’

  Once more she had that sense that he was about to touch her, to leave some of his own strength on her skin the way a cat will leave its scent on your ankles. ‘I wish to have a word with Razak, if you can spare him for a moment.’

  ‘Of course.’ He bounded back into the pit and hoisted his pickaxe. ‘Attend to Mem Hadley, Razak.’

  Two other men emerged from the forest with more stakes over their shoulders. One was of Indian blood with thick curly hair, and Fitzpayne introduced him as Supp. His long, sleepy eyes turned on her and Maya with an interest that he made no attempt to disguise until Fitzpayne dropped the tip of the pickaxe onto Supp’s boot. It made him curse.

  ‘Take no notice of Supp,’ Fitzpayne smiled. ‘He possesses no manners.’

  ‘It strikes me that this island of yours is noticeably short of women.’

  ‘There are a few women here,’ he said, the smile still caught on his lips. ‘But yes, this island is short of women like you.’

  Connie wasn’t sure what he meant.

  *

  ‘Razak.’

  ‘Yes, mem.’

  ‘I have something to ask you.’

  ‘Yes, mem.

  Connie had not spoken to Razak since the day of Nigel’s death. Her anger at him had blocked the words, but now she could smell the sadness on his young frame as acid as stale sweat.

  ‘Did you order the Japanese pilot to throw the dog overboard?’
/>   His large round eyes looked stricken.

  ‘No, mem, no. I … no, mem, no … I …’ He choked back tears. ‘No,’ he said finally. ‘No. Why I do that?’

  ‘To hurt me. To hurt my son.’

  ‘No, mem. I not hurt you. You belong to Tuan Hadley.’

  She believed him. Suddenly she was able to see the figure before her not as the malicious hand of his dead mother, but as just a sad young boy, dazzled by her husband’s power and wealth and attention. Just as she had been dazzled all those years ago by Nigel’s promises of the exotic.

  ‘I’m sorry, Razak,’ she said softly.

  He lowered his head, and a tear that gleamed green in the strange underwater light slid down his cheek. ‘I sorry too, mem.’

  31

  Madoc liked having The White Pearl to himself. Kitty had gone ashore to stretch her legs and to get away from him. She wore a beautiful pair of high riding boots that had belonged to Nigel Hadley, and relished stamping on leeches that wafted their evil little heads up from the leaf mould. There was a plague of the blasted things here.

  ‘I’ll stamp on your fucking head too, Madoc, if you don’t talk sense,’ she had growled at him before stalking off the boat.

  They’d had a row. He hated quarrelling with Kitty. It always grabbed something in his gut and twisted it in a knot that made bile rise into his mouth. He couldn’t bear to see the way her face aged physically when they argued, the spidery lines growing deeper and her lips stretching thinner. But worse was the hurt in her eyes, and the fear that she cloaked with anger.

  ‘Come here, my Kitty,’ he’d said.

  He tried to draw her to him, but she gave him a look that told him that if he came any closer she’d put a knee where it hurt. Kitty was quick with that knee. It was how in their jungle bar she had kept all customer hands off her ample assets.The row was about timing. It would be crucial. Madoc lit himself a cigarette, and leaned over the stern to watch a sea otter bob its head above the wave for a split second and vanish. The boat was well hidden in the mouth of a narrow muddy river, tucked into the bank beneath a stand of overhanging areca palms. On the opposite bank lay a fringe of sand, where their three companions were digging for bait.