I closed one bottle, shook it hard and held it up to my desk lamp. In the sepia-toned syrup, I saw the grains settling down. Mrs Lau would not have noticed these grains if they all remained at the bottom of the jar. Being difficult to pour out, she would have discarded the remaining syrup as part of her usual impatience. I scattered some sesame powder onto another sheet of paper. The grains in the powder had two tones of grey; some light mixed with darker ones. They too, tasted sweet. The weight and colour of the metallic powder matched what I knew of lead. When I looked at my chunk of galena, I decided to ask someone who was an expert.
The next day, I caught up with Maria as she left the Science block. ‘Free for coffee?’
‘It depends on the coffee.’
There was a small shopping centre up the road from the college. I knew of a posh cafe where no student would go as they preferred the Internet cafés for IRC chat and e-mail.
‘Do students have access to the science labs?’ I asked her at our table.
‘No, not outside lesson time. If so, only with special permission from someone like me.’ Maria looked weary and I knew she did not want to talk about work.
‘Do you keep dangerous substances in labs?’
Maria measured out a spoonful of brown sugar and tipped it into her coffee cup. ‘The acid and alkali solutions used for class experiments are rather diluted. Dangerous and toxic substances such as mercury and potassium are handled by the teacher only with protective equipment.’
‘What do you know about lead?’
She stirred her coffee, ‘It’s cheap, quite available and common. It’s in the air, hair dye, lipsticks and car batteries. People even ate it! The Romans used lead acetate as a sweetener and artists suffered painter’s colic with prolonged exposure to paint. The Victorians used it to sweeten their wine. Even Chinese medicine uses lead powder as treatment for eczema.’
‘Is lead soluble?’ I was thinking about the cough syrup.
‘Lead is not soluble in water, but with exposure to moist air, lead oxide forms on the surface and darkens the lead,’ Maria explained, which accounted for the dual tones of the sesame powder.
‘Why? Are you worried about poisoning?’ She giggled. ‘Don’t worry, all the pipes in this country are quite new, not like the nasty old lead ones in London.’
I fibbed and told Maria I was concerned about the chunk of galena on my desk.
‘Galena is lead sulphide. As long as you keep it in that airtight plastic case and don’t breathe, eat, lick or touch it, you’re fine.’
‘Thank you, Miss De Silva,’ I said, genuinely grateful.
‘You’re welcome, Mr Simon; now it’s my turn to talk about your subject area. Have you seen The English Patient? What did you think of the movie adaptation of the novel?’ And she ordered two more espressos.
* * *
I took the 150 bus to Woodlands Checkpoint and onwards across the Causeway. When I arrived at City Square Complex, a tropical heavy downpour started. As the rain thudded outside, I located Lim Huat Hong Traditional Chinese Medicine Shop on the third floor. The signboard bore the logo of a mortar and pestle that matched the logo on the plastic bags. Inside the dusty shop, a skinny Chinese man was perched on a ladder.
‘Pirated videos downstairs!’ he called to me as he peered over his clipboard, taking stock of shelves upon shelves of large, bell-shaped jars that contained rhizomes, dried berries and preserved roots.
‘Is Cordelia here?’ I asked him. When he realised I was not there to browse through his merchandise, he descended the ladder.
Cordelia emerged from the back of the shop. ‘Mr Simon?’
The man rushed over and shook my hand; his over-eagerness told me he was her father. ‘You’re Mr Simon? Cordelia always talks about you! She says you’re very good and very smart! Want to go for drinks?’
I declined. ‘Thank you, Mr Lim, but I must talk to your daughter about college.’
‘She got problems again? What for you come all the way to Johor Bahru?’
‘No,’ I lied. ‘I was actually here shopping. By the way, do you sell lead?’
Mr Lim asked Cordelia what lead was in Chinese. Her eyes widened as she went to the counter and opened a thick Chinese- English dictionary that was next to the till.
‘Qian,’ Cordelia read aloud from the dictionary, but kept staring at me.
Her father nodded. ‘Ah yes, I have some stock at the back. Good for itchy skin. You want some?’
‘No thanks. I was just asking.’ I declined and tried not to sound too leery.
Cordelia was already waiting for me outside the shop, resting her arms on the railing as she watched the shoppers below, her lips pressed so tightly together that they turned mauve. I said nothing, a tactic that makes reticent students talk.
‘Remember Francis Bacon?’ I asked after a minute of silence. ‘About revenge coming at a price?’
‘You know what Mrs Lau would cost me by forcing me to drop A-level Geography? A chance to get into uni!’ Cordelia shook her head in disgust. ‘She told my father that History and Geography combinations showed a poor pass rate from previous years. Three subjects left, and me struggling with Economics.’
‘I asked three students from 96A07 to drop Literature in second year last week’, I replied, ‘but they didn’t get as mad as you. They didn’t try to give me free food with poison.’
Cordelia gripped the railing. ‘Mrs Lau said something that pissed me off after my father saw her. She told me she couldn’t understand how someone from my background is so good in English.’
‘By background, you mean class?’
‘No, school background. I was in a Chinese language school in Johor before I went to Singapore. But I work hard, I do assignments and I read up on a lot of subjects in my spare time. Just like you, sir: you are not from a science background, but you still read your scientific magazines. I see them on your desk next to your rocks and crystals.’
Cordelia looked back to her father’s shop and continued. ‘Mrs Lau called Lydia Ang’s parents and told them about their daughter. It was none of the bitch’s business; Lydia was just unlucky that day. She did none of that during college time or while wearing the uniform. Only I knew she was gay.’
‘You knew Mrs Lau was already dead when Mr Caulden was in the quadrangle?’ I asked Cordelia, ‘ Is that why you joked about “showing respect for the dead”?’
‘You saw her lying there too, sir! It just came out when I wasn’t thinking. We all heard Mr Caulden shouting “Cover her face”, so it reminded me of The Duchess of Malfi.’
I laughed in disbelief, ‘Ha-hah! I know how you did it: small amounts of lead mixed into the free medicine and sesame seed powder, increment by increment. You’re very hard-working indeed. And patient too.’
‘Father leaves me in charge of the shop on Sundays, he doesn’t notice a few missing stock items. And I know where he keeps everything.’ Cordelia tapped her temple. ‘We all knew Mrs Lau was sick, I just wanted to make her sicker. So that we’d have some peace.’
‘There’s a lot of peace when you’re alone in a prison cell, Cordelia,’ I rejoined.
‘But I’m glad to see you here, sir. It proves you’re one of the smartest teachers I’ve known.’
‘Not quite.’ I turned around to make sure Mr Lim was out of earshot. ‘I’m just the crazy new ang moh teacher with a wild theory that his superior got murdered in college by one of the students. Without the autopsy, nothing can be proved. But you know that I know about it, Cordelia. And please don’t ask me for a character reference when you leave college.’
* * *
Opting not to renew my contract after one year, I left the college before Cordelia. Maria was disappointed to see me go, but I gave her my e-mail and said that she was welcome to visit me in England. Eighteen months later, Naomi sent me an e-mail with Harvard University in the email address; she wrote that Soraya was studying drama, Lydia was resitting her A-levels and Gayatri was doing Law back in India. In my reply, I
asked Naomi about Cordelia, but Naomi did not know what happened to her.
I was relieved not to know any more about Cordelia; to think of her meant an association with lead. I had grown adverse to my galena after my visit to Johor Bahru and tossed the specimen into the monsoon drain outside my apartment before I left Singapore. And even though I am now back home in London, gifts of food left on my desk by students still makes my stomach leap in alarm.
LEE EE LEEN was born in London, UK. Her first story was published in Urban Odysseys: KL Stories in 2008. She was shortlisted for the 2009 MPH Alliance Bank National Short Story Award and has also published reviews for The Directory of World Cinema: American Independent (2010, Intellect Books, UK).
‘Decree Absolute’ by Dawn Farnham
I was rid of her. I was free.
Now is the winter of our discontent made glorious summer by this … pitch of fork.
I know, I know, but the Bard would forgive me. I smiled grimly to myself. It was simply about endings which rhyme, and he would have appreciated the tragicomedy of this finale.
The spade went into the ground. Under the crisp layer of leaves, it was soft. I knew that was superficial. It would get harder. It might take all night, this unorthodox divorce proceeding, but it didn’t matter. Before the sun came a-peeping, the decree absolute would be issued. I would be rid of her and the pendulous, chafing yoke of marriage which had been around my neck for two years. Two years of gradual but relentless friction. Two sides of a grinding stone, our marriage the wheat and chaff caught in between, growing ever thinner, ever dustier at each turn of the handle.
The clod of earth made a satisfying thump as it landed on the ground. The place was deep in rough, jungly land. But the earth was friable.
The spade dug in deeper this time and the clod a little bigger.
When had it started to truly go wrong?
At first, I thought it was when sex became too much trouble. Now, excuse me, but isn’t it the contractual duty and actually, the absolute fucking point of marriage that there should be sexual activity? At least in the first few years, for chrissake. The regular and vigorous participation of the marriage partner in sexual intercourse was, essentially, the only reason a young man like myself, good-looking, with prospects, would get married in the first place.
God, she’d been clever there. Hours of kissing, fondling, foreplay and a glimpse at what the whole deal would be like, without, now I had time to reflect, really giving me anything.
Well, not totally nothing. She had fabulous tits which she let me touch as much as I liked. And she gave great head. That was the problem, right there. She was good at it. She once told me that she liked to suck cock because it would horrify her father. Whatever. So long as she kept on doing it, the reasons were really not very important. Men can be slaves to women who give great head. And it led me to understand that, therefore, the whole sexual encounter would be mind-blowing. Mind-blowing sex on a permanent basis. You can see the attraction.
She was an animal, that’s exactly what I thought. Underneath the most virtuous exterior, she was an animal. But a woman, too, who wanted security. The security of a permanent relationship, the love and understanding to allow her to blossom, to allow her animal instincts to bloom. Only I would know this. She would give herself utterly to me, keeping unto me and forsaking all others, till death did us part.
Well, you see, that’s exactly where we were right now. And I, for one, was delighted.
The spade slid down, soft and yielding as a kiss, and another clod landed on the side of the hole.
It really was a lovely night. The full moon which had been glinting through the trees was now in glorious fullness high in the sky. A light breeze played with the leaves.
It was like the night we first met, minus the meat. Or perhaps not. That was quite funny in a gallows humour sort of way. Still the occasion did rather call for it.
We’d met at a barbecue, you see, organised by our managing director and his wife, in the garden of their black and white house. Over the steaks. We’d both gone for the same piece at the same time and she’d smiled shyly. Adorable. Beautiful. ‘Please,’ she’d said and pointed to the steak. The thought of food had rushed out of my head. Eyes like an Egyptian princess, luscious lips like an Indian goddess, the full, perfect and voluptuous figure of an Italian porn star. And shyly adorable.
I was in Singapore on assignment. My parents are Singaporean, long since emigrated to the US, and I was raised in America. Now I was back, with a Harvard business degree and a great job. A few girlfriends in high school and university had left me less than interested in the opposite sex. It’s not an unusual story. Shy Chinese-American boy meets pert American girl. She thinks that, despite the glasses and the intellect, you will be Bruce Lee. In bed. It’s not a good start.
The hole was starting to take shape. The first, soft layer had been removed. The rooty tangles lay below. It would be harder from now on.
But there was certainly no problem on my side. My dad is a big guy. He’d been a judo man in his day. I’d inherited his build. Strong and broad-shouldered. And I’m definitely a laid-back sort of guy. Some say too much, but that comes from the American upbringing. So from high school on, the American girls were intrigued. That movie Dragon had just come out, with Jason Lee playing the real life Bruce and it was a massive hit. Tall, good-looking Chinese guys were in. I definitely benefited amorously from that.
So there was no problem with performance-based issues. The American girls had ridiculous expectations, but it wasn’t even that. They just seemed bland and lazy. It was me who had to do everything. Arouse them, satisfy them. While they lay there doing, well, frankly, fuck all, as the Brits say. That sort of thing is all right for a while. Lovely bodies are lovely bodies, but, guys, you know it can get old very fast.
Well, we could go on about that, but in the end it comes down to this: Leila was dark and exotic and the loveliest creature I’d ever seen. And, after the second date, modestly but enthusiastically proactive.
An owl hooted and the wind picked up. The moon cast long beams down into the clearing. The sky was filled with stars. The night is nice, you know. Nobody gets out enough in the jungle at night. Certainly I had not appreciated it until now.
Where she was clever was the gradual revelation of her glorious body and her sublime skills. From kissing, we had progressed over more than ten dates to touching. Me, allowed to touch her; she, shyly touching me in more and more intimate ways. God, it was arousing.
After two months, I met her parents, who were really delightful and welcoming. Her father is Anglo-Indian and her mother is English, so I hadn’t expected such warmth, what with the different cultural backgrounds, but perhaps the middle-class, English-speaking, educated, foreign-raised children of all nationalities have a more common culture than we think.
Anyway, things got a lot more serious. I’d hesitated at that point. I wasn’t sure I was at all ready for marriage and she was definitely leading that way. I didn’t get it at the time, but she’d read this hesitation and that was when she had suddenly upped the ante by unzipping me.
Initially, she was pretty good fun. A little humourless perhaps. We enjoyed movies and nice restaurants. Not always the same ones, but still. She liked rich toys and I had money, so I was happy to oblige. Have you remembered why? Occasionally, very occasionally, she would show a flash of temper if I didn’t do something she wanted, but it was so rare as to be almost adorable.
The spade got stuck on a big root and it took some vigorous hacking to get through it.
The really smart move was her going away. They all went off on a trip back to the UK to visit her grandparents.
OMG! … as the kids write. I was randy all the time. I read somewhere that men think of sex a hundred times a day or something like that. Well, let me tell you, that was well short of the number bouncing my libido around like pinball in a penny arcade. When she got back. I was her poodle, her willing lapdog. When she mentioned ‘something
more serious’, I caved.
With the engagement ring on her finger, she was my very own nymph—o—maniac. We never went all the way, but pretty damn close and she promised me that saving it for our wedding night would make everything more spectacular. The date was set and I was champing at the bit.
The hole was now exactly the right length and width. Down was now the only way to go. Nice and deep. I chuckled to myself. I’d never have to see her face again. Gone, gone.
The wedding was expensive. Her father pushed the boat out. He didn’t seem upset at losing a daughter. He kept on shaking my hand. I’d really felt part of their family. I just didn’t see it coming.
To be fair, the wedding night was pretty good. Not spectacular perhaps … but maybe I’d built it up too much. All that waiting. Perhaps I’d been a little too fast. Not stoked the flames enough. I put it down to bride’s nerves. Still, when you slide into a woman for the first time, it’s heady, no doubt about it. The submissive liquid and yielding softness. Man, that’s the fire of life.
And things did get better. In fact, I’d like to think we were both really enjoying each other for a while there. I was allowed unfettered access to my wife’s body and she was pretty hot to trot most of the time. It felt happy. We set up home, bought an apartment in Singapore, got a maid.
Leila gave up her job three months into our marriage. I was pretty surprised. We hadn’t discussed it. She just came home one day and announced it. From then on, she spent time with her friends and went out a lot—lunches, spas, that sort of thing.
So I thought the beginning of the end was when sex was too much of a bore, but now, taking the time to reflect here, under the stars, the sex became a bore after we had the money talk.
Crime Scene: Singapore Page 5
