by Yangsze Choo
Ah Long frowns, his wrinkled neck angled like a tortoise. “Check the house. Just in case she came back through the side doors.”
Ren races off on silent feet. He knows how to nip around without going into any of the public spaces where the guests spill into, mingling and talking. The back hallway, the corridor between the study and the dining room. At every window, he pauses and peeks out just in case Nandani happens to be waiting on the other side, in the dark. There are too many stories about vengeful women who come in the night, tales of the pontianak, a woman who dies in childbirth or pregnancy and who drinks men’s blood. She looks like a beautiful lady with long hair, and can only be tamed by stopping up the hole at the nape of her neck with an iron nail. Or is it by cutting off her own long nails and stuffing them into the hole in her neck? Ren isn’t sure, except that she’s very angry with men. There are other creatures, too, child spirits like the toyol, used as a sorceror’s servant to steal and run errands. It reminds him uneasily of his own disturbing task. Ren shakes his head with a sharp, doglike movement. There’s something about tonight—a restless unease, the laughing dancers, Nandani’s pained face—that sends a long shiver up his spine.
His cat sense has gone quiet, the invisible tendrils curled back as though they’re afraid to penetrate the silent outer reaches of the house. All is hushed, quivering in expectancy. It would be faster to run but running is worse, as though he’s giving in to his fears.
When he gets to William’s study, he freezes, hand on the door. The tiger skin on the floor, its mouth open in a rictus, is not what he wants to see right now. Not in the darkness, with the faint new moon gilding the dead eyes.
Ren lets out a whimper. Yi, he thinks. I don’t want to be alone. He gazes from the passageway into a brightly lit slice of drawing room, and there she is, his girl in blue, leaning against the wall. She looks straight at him. Glances around, then slips into the corridor beside Ren.
“I’m Ji Lin.” Her voice is low and friendly. “Who are you?”
“I’m Ren.” His chest clenches. One, two. Breathe.
“Ren … meaning ‘benevolence’?”
“Yes.”
“But you’ve grown bigger!” Wide-eyed, she studies him with surprise. Then she catches herself. “I mean, you look like someone I’ve met. Do you know me?”
Ren doesn’t know how to reply to that. Technically, he’s never seen her before but he believes with all his heart that they belong together. The sensation is so strong that his throat squeezes tight. “No,” he says at last, though it feels like admitting defeat.
“How old are you?”
“Eleven.” It’s the first time since leaving the orphanage that he’s told anyone his real age. Seen up close, she’s shockingly pretty. Or at least, she is to him, though some might say her cropped hair and slender frame are too boyish.
“Do you have a brother?”
“Yes. No.” Ren stumbles over this question. Auntie Kwan said he must stop telling everyone he had a brother since it confused people. But Yi still exists for him. “Yes,” he says at last.
“What’s his name?” She watches him closely, as though this is some kind of test. Ren desperately wants to pass it.
“Yi.”
A long exhale. “Ren and Yi. Well, the ‘Ji’ in my name is zhi for wisdom. Does that mean anything to you?”
“Ah Jie,” he blurts out. Older Sister. That’s the right way to call her though he understands exactly what she’s saying. They’re part of a set, she and him; he’s known it all along. A wave of giddy exultation washes over him, and she laughs, her eyes sparkling.
“And your brother Yi,” she says excitedly. “Let me guess, is he younger than you? About seven or eight years old?”
“Yes.” Ren is about to tell her that Yi is younger than him because death has increased the distance between them, but he pauses, not knowing how to mention it. Not here, in the gloomy shadow of the windows. “Do you know my brother?”
Now it’s her turn to hesitate, as though she’s said too much. “I’m not sure. But I have a brother, too. His name is Shin, for xin. So that makes four of us out of five.”
“There’re five actually. If you count my master.”
“What do you mean?”
“He has a Chinese name, too—he said so tonight. It’s got the Li in it, for ritual.”
“Are you sure?” She looks disturbed for some reason.
“Yes, but maybe it doesn’t count, since he’s a foreigner.”
“Ren!” Ah Long appears in the corridor.
Guiltily, Ren spins round. He’s supposed to be searching for Nandani, not talking to strange young women. “Coming!” he says, but Ah Long has seized his shoulder.
“Did you find her?”
“No.” Ren doesn’t understand why Ah Long is so worried.
“Don’t go out right now.”
“Why?”
“Aiya! Because the tiger is in the garden. Ah Seng and that boy, Nandani’s cousin, swear they saw it just now.”
“Where?”
“At the bottom of the garden where you bury the garbage—remember the paw print? Stay inside for now!”
“Did you tell the master?”
“He’s gone for his shotgun.”
“To kill it?” asks Ji Lin.
Ah Long glances at her as though he’s just registered her presence for the first time. “To frighten it off, so the guests can leave. You can’t kill a tiger with that kind of shot.”
He turns on his heel and disappears. And now Ren realizes that the mood in the house has changed. There’s a rising buzz, cries of alarm and pleasurable excitement. A tiger! The same one the fellows at the Club were waiting up for the other night? Mrs. Banks is wailing to her husband, I knew we should have left earlier, but the men are enthusiastic. This is what they have come East for: adventures like tigers in the garden, Oriental dancing girls, and cobras in their beds. Rawlings says loudly, “It’s probably gone already,” though nobody wants to believe him.
But Ren has a terrible, sinking feeling. There have been too many coincidences tonight, too many warning signs. He should have paid attention to them, but he’s been distracted. Now Nandani is gone, and the tiger is waiting, right where its pugmarks were found yesterday. What kind of beast returns so soon when there is no kill?
Ren knows that spot is where he buried the finger. If he returns the finger, perhaps the tiger will give back Nandani. With a strangled cry, he darts towards the veranda.
“What are you doing?” Ji Lin catches him by the sleeve.
“I have to get it back.” He has the peculiar sensation that she’ll understand him. “It wants the finger.”
“What finger?” In the dim light, her face has a greenish pallor.
“Dr. MacFarlane’s finger! I must put it back!”
With a sharp tug, Ren frees himself and runs out of the veranda doors. Now is the time to get it, before William comes out with a shotgun. He’s not afraid of the tiger, he tells himself. This kind of spirit tiger, that only hunts women with long hair.
It’s a lie though, because he’s terrified. His head is pounding, his lungs burning. But Ren is certain, down to the marrow in his bones, that there’s very little time left for Nandani. Perhaps she’s already dead. But no, the tiger has come back as a sign to him. A last chance.
I’m sorry, he gasps. He should have obeyed Dr. MacFarlane’s wishes from the beginning. He promised, didn’t he? This is what happens when promises are broken.
Outside, the darkness has a wet green scent, as though the earth itself is exhaling. Ren runs blindly over the lawn, heading for the rubbish dump. Breath wheezing as he trips, scrambles, gets up. Behind him, distant shouts. Doors slamming, windows opening.
And now he’s scrabbling in the soft earth, heaving aside the stone that he used as a marker. No spade, nothing but bare hands and broken fingernails.
Hurry, hurry!
Then he hears it, a rumbling snarl. It’s pitched so low that the
air trembles; he can feel the reverberations in his bones. Every muscle in his body freezes, the hairs on his head stand on end. At this moment, Ren is no longer a boy or even human. He’s nothing but a hairless monkey caught on the ground.
The growl goes on and on, a steady rolling that fills the air. Dazed, he can’t tell which direction it comes from. Then there’s a coughing bark, a harsh rattle that cuts off abruptly and silence.
From the house he can hear faint shouts. A girl’s voice screaming stop or no.
But Ren is digging like a madman. So close, he can feel the edge of the biscuit tin. Thumbnail tearing. Sliding up the lid. It’s open and the little glass bottle clinks into his grimy hand. Ren heaves a sigh. Crouching, he turns towards the house. And then there’s a flash and a deafening roar.
Eyes wide, Ren hits the ground. He’s so surprised, he feels nothing but numbness. Lifts his left hand. It’s wet and slippery and looks like raw meat. Then the pain hits him in the side. Ren folds over, crumpling like old newspaper. The last thing he sees is his girl in blue. She’s holding him in her lap; there’s blood all over her pretty dress. It’s all right if it’s her, he thinks as he presses the glass vial from his good right hand into hers.
29
Ipoh
Saturday, June 20th
Kiong was the one who got us all out that night. As soon as he realized there was trouble, from all the shouting and carrying on, and then of course, that gunshot, the sound that cracked open the night. It was he who, searching for me as the last straggler, ran out with the crowd spilling onto that dark lawn and grabbed me. I had no memories of that. If I closed my eyes, I was still there. The white muzzle flash, the high sharp scream of a young animal.
My dress was covered in blood, dark blotches staining the pale blue silky material. None of the other girls wanted to sit too close to me. They huddled up towards the other side of the car, talking in hushed tones. Pearl was crying. She had a little boy of her own, I remembered.
I should have stopped him. When the boy took off, rocketing out of the veranda doors, I should have gone back to the house to warn them that he’d gone out, but like a fool, I ran after him, stumbling around in the dark in that unknown garden, tripping and falling and circling back to the house. If only I hadn’t wasted all that time! And then the black shape of the man, coming out of the house with a gun. I knew it right away—one of my stepfather’s friends used to hunt wild boar—that sticklike shadow and the way he was carrying it, tucked under his arm.
“Stop!” I screamed as he lifted it. “No!”
But it was too late.
Shouts behind us: Acton, did you get it? But I already knew what he’d shot. I raced past him, sobbing. The old cook pushing his way through with a lantern, his face grey. And in the circle of lamplight, the boy crumpled on the ground.
So small. That was the first thing I thought when I saw that pathetic little body, the shadows of the trees and bushes looming above him. He must have been digging, because his arms were stained up to the elbows with earth. There was a look of utter astonishment on his face. I couldn’t look at his left side and arm, soaked in blood that looked black in the light. That arm—was there even a hand left? I was on my knees beside him, on the rough grass and upturned earth. He looked at me and his mouth moved.
“Put it back,” he said faintly. “In my master’s grave. I promised.” He pressed something into my palm with his good right hand. Men shoved past, barked orders.
“Move aside! Move, please!”
A hand grabbed my elbow. It was Kiong. “Time to go.”
“Wait!” I wanted to hear what the men were saying as they lifted him up, his limp body just like Pei Ling’s dangling foot. There were doctors here tonight; they’d know what his injuries were like and if he would live or die.
Kiong dragged me away. I couldn’t break his iron grip on my arm. “We’re leaving now.”
And so we had. The other girls were already waiting in the car. There was a flurry of questions when they saw me, but I’d no words to answer them.
“But what were you doing out there?” said Hui. She seemed agitated, more so than me in fact. Numbness paralyzed my hands and feet; my tongue was thick and dry.
“I saw him run out,” I said at last. “So I tried to stop him.”
“You might have been shot!” Hui squeezed me hard.
“Don’t,” I said. “My dress has blood on it.”
* * *
The way back seemed shorter than our journey out, on mile after mile of pale, ribbonlike road. After a while, the other girls started talking again, speculating about what had happened.
“What an idiot, shooting his own houseboy,” said Rose.
“Well, it seems he’s an orphan, so there’s no family to complain on his behalf if he dies,” said Anna.
I said nothing, only stared out of the window. My fingers were still clutched tight around the object that the boy Ren had given me. I had a stomach-clenching feeling that I knew exactly what it was from the shape of the slippery glass cylinder. I didn’t have to look. Didn’t want to look.
There were no pockets in my dress, and the little bag I’d brought with me had been left behind in the rush of leaving. There wasn’t much in it anyway, just my house keys and lip rouge. Hui had taught me not to leave telltale information like my name or address in my bag if I ever had to go out for work. But in the meantime, I had nowhere to put my burden, this unwanted gift that Ren had slipped me.
Why did he have the finger? It was like a curse, one of those dark tales when you try to discard something but it always returns to you. The image of the little boy from my dreams and Ren’s face blurred together. The same, yet not the same.
Now we were passing streets that I knew, the village of Menglembu, and very soon, Falim, where my stepfather’s shophouse was. Kiong planned to drop us off at our homes since it was so late. But how could I possibly slip into Mrs. Tham’s dress shop in a bloodstained dress with no keys?
“Stay over with me,” Hui whispered, as though she’d been reading my mind. “I’ll lend you clothes.”
I hesitated, and she must have sensed it, because she said, “You’ve had a shock. Come on, I’ll take care of you.”
She said it so kindly that my throat closed up. I would really like that, I thought. For someone to pry open my tightly clenched fingers and take away the little glass bottle with a dead man’s finger in it. As we passed my stepfather’s store on Lahat Road, I bit back the urge to jump out, run home. I wanted my mother. Wanted to bury my face in her lap, feel her soft hand on my hair, and forget about everything but the two of us.
I didn’t want to think of Shin—of that pleased look on his face when he’d discussed my stepfather’s promise about my marriage. Isn’t it a good thing?
“All right,” I said to Hui. “I’ll go with you.”
* * *
In Hui’s rented room, I washed up and borrowed some pajamas. While I was cleaning my face off with cold cream, Hui came and sat on the dressing table.
“You all right?”
I nodded numbly.
“Go to sleep,” she said.
Hui’s bed was a narrow single, and as soon as my head hit the pillow next to her, I felt a heavy current dragging me away. A chilly paralysis seeped into my arms and legs. I tried to keep my eyes open, but I was falling. Dimly, I heard Hui saying something, but I couldn’t understand her. The current was far too strong. And so I fell down, down, deeper than the deepest lake, until I reached that place I was beginning to know so well.
* * *
This time, I stood by the sunny shore, my bare feet ankle-deep in the clear water. It wasn’t cold at all, just the same, dreamy afternoon heat that made the trees in the distance shimmer. And like before, I was lulled by the calm, though I was quick to step out of the water. That limpid, deceptively clear water that harbored a rising black shadow.
There was no one around, not even the little boy. Since I was here anyway, I set out to look for him
through the waving grass, but when I got to the deserted railway station, there was no one to be seen. Nor was there a train, as there had been each time before.
Time stretched on—I’d no way of knowing how long. Anxiety gnawed at me as the sunlight remained fixed at an angle. I didn’t want to be stuck here. What had the little boy said? If I discovered his name, I could summon him.
“Yi!” I called softly.
The silence was unnerving me. I turned towards the other side of the platform, and there he was, standing right behind me. So close that he could have stretched out a small hand to touch my back. I gave a little shriek.
“You called.” He was looking very serious. No smile, no cheerful wave. Now that I examined him carefully, there were differences between them. Ren was taller, his face longer and more grown-up looking. A distance of perhaps two or three years separated them.
“I met your brother.”
He nodded warily.
“He got shot tonight.” Remembering the darkness and the swinging lantern light, blood blossoming over that broken body, my eyes filled with tears.
“I know. That’s why the train’s gone.”
The train that traveled on a single line, only in one direction.
The little boy climbed onto a wooden bench, and I sat down beside him. It was easier to talk this way. “You’re dead, aren’t you?” I said. “They said that Ren was an orphan—that his whole family had died.”
He turned his head away, that small round head that was now so familiar. Although he and Ren were disconcertingly similar, they were also different. Their mannerisms, their voices. I remembered the delighted look that Ren had given me just a few hours ago. How happy he’d been to see me, as though he’d been waiting for me all his life, and I felt like weeping again. “That’s right. I’m dead.” Yi’s face swung back to mine. It looked smooth and guileless, but I had the feeling that he was concentrating very hard. It unsettled me, how much younger he seemed than Ren, yet older. Perhaps it was the way he talked sometimes, like an adult.
