by Gaie Sebold
It hurts. Every time, I forgot how goddamn much it hurts, until it happens again.
But it’s a good pain. It’s the pain that makes me what I am.
At the final moment I sweep my arms back, and now they’re no longer arms, but wings. I plunge chest-first into the water.
When I come up, I’m a swan, black as a moonless night.
For a while I simply glide around, listening to the night-calls and the gurgles and the splashes; the life of the lake. It isn’t that I can’t think when I’m a swan. I just can’t be bothered to.
I see light on the water, a sudden burst of gold, shockingly pretty. For a moment the sight foxes me.
Then I realise it’s a reflection and look up, just as a red flower explodes above the trees, its mirrored twin glittering in the surface of the lake. Fireworks. Fireworks to celebrate a royal wedding.
Well, they didn’t waste much time. Fall in love one day, marry the next. Hell’s curse on them both.
Then, suddenly, I know why they’re – why she’s - in such a hurry.
Another thing people don’t know about magic is that there are some forces it can’t stop. Like death. Or time. Oh, it can make people think nothing’s changing, stick a nice comfortable illusion in front of reality. Magic can even put some things on hold for a while. But in the end, there’s always a price to pay. I don’t know how old I am but since I’ve started counting the years I’ve been through my fingers and toes twice, and I’m back to fingers again. The white swans have been living on the far side of the lake for as long as I can remember, and papa once told me that she was their leader because she’s the oldest of them all.
Now father’s dead and the spell’s broken. Given I’m a swan again it would seem I’ve enough magic of my own to keep me going but as for her... any day now, time’s going to start catching up with her. I bet she can feel it in her bones. She knows she doesn’t have long. That’s why she’s so desperate to wed my Siggy at once.
It might be a week, a month, maybe even as much as a year, but one morning soon my poor, brave fool of a prince will wake up next to a woman older than his grandmother. Let’s see true love survive that.
I can wait. It’ll happen, sure as night follows day. And when it does I’ll be here. After all, we swans mate for life.
At times like this, I almost wish I had a mouth to smile with.
THE FIRST WITCH OF DAMANSARA
Zen Cho
Vivian’s late grandmother was a witch — which is just a way of saying she was a woman of unusual insight. Vivian, in contrast, had a mind like a hi-tech blender. She was sharp and purposeful, but she did not understand magic.
This used to be a problem. Magic ran in the family. Even her mother’s second cousin, who was adopted, did small spells on the side. She sold these from a stall in Kota Bharu. Her main wares were various types of fruit fried in batter, but if you bought five pisang or cempedak goreng, she threw in a jampi for free.
These embarrassing relatives became less of a problem after Vivian left Malaysia. In the modern Western country where she lived, the public toilets were clean, the newspapers were allowed to be as rude to the government as they liked, and nobody believed in magic except people in whom nobody believed. Even with a cooking appliance mind, Vivian understood that magic requires belief to thrive.
She called home rarely, and visited even less often. She was twenty-eight, engaged to a rational man, and employed as an accountant.
Vivian’s Nai Nai would have said that she was attempting to deploy enchantments of her own — the fiancé, the ordinary hobbies and the sensible office job were so many sigils to ward off chaos. It was not an ineffective magic. It worked — for a while.
There was just one moment, after she heard the news, when Vivian experienced a surge of unfilial exasperation.
‘They could have call me on Skype,’ she said. ‘Call my hand phone some more! What a waste of money.’
‘What’s wrong?’ said the fiancé. He plays the prince in this story: beautiful, supportive, and cast in an appropriately self-effacing role — just off-screen, on a white horse.
‘My grandmother’s passed away,’ said Vivian. ‘I’m supposed to go back.’
Vivian was not a woman to hold a grudge. When she turned up at KLIA in harem trousers and a tank top it was not through malice aforethought, but because she had simply forgotten.
Her parents embraced her with sportsmanlike enthusiasm, but when this was done her mother pulled back and plucked at her tank top.
‘Girl, what’s this? You know Nai Nai won’t like it.’
Nai Nai had lived by a code of rigorous propriety. She had disapproved of wearing black or navy blue at Chinese New Year, of white at weddings, and of spaghetti straps at all times. When they went out for dinner, even at the local restaurant where they sat outdoors and were accosted by stray cats requesting snacks, her grandchildren were required to change out of their ratty pasar malam T-shirts and faded shorts. She drew a delicate but significant distinction between flip-flops and sandals, singlets and strapless tops, soft cotton shorts and denim.
‘Can see your bra,’ whispered Ma. ‘It’s not so nice.’
‘That kind of pants,’ her dad said dubiously. ‘Don’t know what Nai Nai will think of it.’
‘Nai Nai won’t see them what,’ said Vivian, but this offended her parents. They sat in mutinous silence throughout the drive home.
Their terrace house was swarming with pregnant cats and black dogs.
‘Only six dogs,’ said Vivian’s mother when Vivian pointed this out. ‘Because got five cats. Your sister thought it’s a good idea to have more dogs than cats.’
‘But why do we have so many cats?’ said Vivian. ‘I thought you don’t like to have animals in the house.’
‘Nai Nai collected the cats,’ said Vivian’s sister. ‘She started before she passed away. Pregnant cats only.’
‘Wei Yi,’ said Vivian. ‘How are you?’
‘I’m OK. Vivian,’ said Wei Yi. Her eyes glittered.
She’d stopped calling Vivian jie jie some time after Vivian left home. Vivian minded this less than the way she said ‘Vivian’ as though it were a bad word.
But after all, Vivian reminded herself, Wei Yi was 17. She was practically legally required to be an arsehole.
‘Why did Nai Nai want the pregnant cats?’ Vivian tried to make her voice pleasant.
‘Hai, don’t need to talk so much,’ said their mother hastily. ‘Lin — Vivian so tired. Vivian, you go and change first, then we go for dinner. Papa will start complaining soon if not.’
It was during an outing to a prayer goods store, while Vivian’s mother was busy buying joss sticks, that her mother’s friend turned to Vivian and said,
‘So a lot of things to do in your house now ah?’
Vivian was shy to say she knew nothing about the preparations afoot. As the eldest child it would only have been right for her to have been her mother’s first support in sorting out the funeral arrangements.
‘No, we are having a very simple funeral,’ said Vivian. ‘Nai Nai didn’t believe in religion so much.’
This was not a lie. The brutal fact was that Nai Nai had been an atheist with animist leanings, in common with most witches. Vivian’s mother preferred not to let this be known, less out of a concern that her mother would be outed as a witch, than because of the stale leftover fear that she would be considered a Communist.
‘But what about the dog cat all that?’ said Auntie Wendy. ‘Did it work? Did your sister manage to keep her in the coffin?’
Vivian’s mind whirred to a stop. Then it started up again, buzzing louder than ever.
Ma was righteously indignant when Vivian reproached her.
‘You live so long overseas, why you need to know?’ said Ma. ‘Don’t worry. Yi Yi is handling it. Probably Nai Nai was not serious anyway.’
‘Not serious about what?’
‘Hai, these old people have their ideas,’ said Ma. ‘Nai Nai l
ive in KL so long, she still want to go home. Not that I don’t want to please her. If it was anything else ... but even if she doesn’t have pride for herself, I am her daughter. I have pride for her!’
‘Nai Nai wanted to be buried in China?’ said Vivian, puzzled.
‘China what China! Your Nai Nai is from Penang lah,’ said Ma. ‘Your Yeh Yeh is also buried in Bukit Tambun there. But even if he’s my father, the way he treat my mother, I don’t think they should be buried together.’
Vivian began to understand. ‘But Ma, if she said she wanted to be with him—’
‘It’s not what she wants! It’s just her idea of propriety,’ said Ma. ‘She thinks woman must always stay by the husband no matter what. I don’t believe that! Nai Nai will be buried here and when her children pass on we will be buried with her. It’s more comfortable for her, right? To have her loved ones around her?’
‘But if Nai Nai didn’t think so?’
Ma’s painted eyebrows drew together.
‘Nai Nai is a very stubborn woman,’ she said.
Wei Yi was being especially teenaged that week. She went around with lightning frizzing her hair and storm clouds rumbling about her ears. Her clothes stood away from her body, stiff with electricity. The cats hissed and the dogs whined when she passed.
When she saw the paper offerings their mother had bought for Nai Nai, she threw a massive tantrum.
‘What’s this?’ she said, picking up a paper polo shirt. ‘Where got Nai Nai wear this kind of thing?’
Ma looked embarrassed.
‘The shop only had that,’ she said. ‘Don’t be angry, girl. I bought some bag and shoe also. But you know Nai Nai was never the dressy kind.’
‘That’s because she like to keep all her nice clothes,’ said Wei Yi. She cast a look of burning contempt at the paper handbag, printed in heedless disregard of intellectual property rights with the Gucci logo. ‘Looks like the pasar malam bag. And this slippers is like old man slippers. Nai Nai could put two of her feet in one slipper!’
‘Like that she’s less likely to hop away,’ Ma said thoughtlessly.
‘Is that what you call respecting your mother?’ shouted Wei Yi. ‘Hah, you wait until it’s your turn! I’ll know how to treat you then.’
‘Wei Yi, how can you talk to Ma like that?’ said Vivian.
‘You shut up your face!’ Wei Yi snapped. She flounced out of the room.
‘She never even see the house yet,’ sighed Ma. She had bought an elaborate palace fashioned out of gilt-edged pink paper, with embellished roofs and shuttered windows, and two dolls dressed in Tang dynasty attire prancing on a balcony. ‘Got two servants some more.’
‘She shouldn’t talk to you like that,’ said Vivian.
She hadn’t noticed any change in Ma’s appearance before, but now the soft wrinkly skin under her chin and the pale brown spots on her arms reminded Vivian that she was getting old. Old people should be cared for.
She touched her mother on the arm. ‘I’ll go scold her. Never mind, Ma. Girls this age are always one kind.’
Ma smiled at Vivian.
‘You were OK,’ she said. She tucked a lock of Vivian’s hair behind her ear.
Old people should be grateful for affection. The sudden disturbing thought occurred to Vivian that no one had liked Nai Nai very much because she’d never submitted to being looked after.
Wei Yi was trying to free the dogs. She stood by the gate, holding it open and gesturing with one hand at the great outdoors.
‘Go! Blackie, Guinness, Ah Hei, Si Hitam, Jackie, Bobby! Go, go!’
The dogs didn’t seem that interested in the great outdoors. Ah Hei took a couple of tentative steps towards the gate, looked back at Wei Yi, changed her mind and sat down again.
‘Jackie and Bobby?’ said Vivian.
Wei Yi shot her a glare. ‘I ran out of ideas.’ The so what? was unspoken, but it didn’t need to be said.
‘Why these stupid dogs don’t want to go,’ Wei Yi muttered. ‘When you open the gate to drive in or out, they go running everywhere. When you want them to chau, they don’t want.’
‘They can tell you won’t let them back in again,’ said Vivian.
She remembered when Wei Yi had been cute — as a little girl, with those pure single-lidded eyes and the doll-like lacquered bowl of hair. When had she turned into this creature? Hair at sevens and eights, the uneven fringe falling into malevolent eyes. Inappropriately tight Bermuda shorts worn below an unflatteringly loose plaid shirt.
At seven Wei Yi had been a being perfect in herself. At seventeen there was nothing that wasn’t wrong about the way she moved in the world.
Vivian had been planning to tell her sister off, but the memory of that lovely child softened her voice. ‘Why you don’t want the dogs anymore?’
‘I want Nai Nai to win.’ Wei Yi slammed the gate shut.
‘What, by having nice clothes when she’s passed away?’ said Vivian. ‘Winning or losing, doesn’t matter for Nai Nai anymore. What does it matter if she wears a polo shirt in the afterlife?’
Wei Yi’s face crumpled. She clutched her fists in agony. The words broke from her in a roar.
‘You’re so stupid! You don’t know anything!’ She kicked the gate to relieve her feelings. ‘Nai Nai’s brain works more than yours and she’s dead! Do you even belong to this family?’
This was why Vivian had left. Magic lent itself to temperament.
‘Maybe not,’ said Vivian.
When Vivian was angry she did it with the same single-minded energy she did everything else. This was why she decided to go wedding dress shopping in the week of her grandmother’s funeral.
There were numerous practical justifications, actually. She went through them in her head as she drove past bridal studios where faceless mannequins struck poses in clouds of tulle.
‘Cheaper to get it here than overseas. Not like I’m helping much at home what. Not like I was so close to Nai Nai.’
She ended up staring mournfully at herself in the mirror, weighted down by satin and rhinestones. Did she want a veil? Did she like lace? Ball gown or mermaid shape?
She’d imagined her wedding dress as being white and long. She hadn’t expected there to be so many permutations on a theme. She felt pinned in place by the choices available to her.
The shop assistant could tell her heart wasn’t in it.
‘Some ladies like other colour better,’ said the shop assistant. ‘You want to try? We have blue, pink, peach, yellow — very nice colour, very feminine.’
‘I thought usually white?’
‘Some ladies don’t like white because — you know—’ the shop assistant lowered her voice, but she was too superstitious to say it outright. ‘It’s related to a not so nice subject.’
The words clanged in Vivian’s ears. Briefly light-headed, she clutched at the back of a chair for balance. Her hands were freezing. In the mirror the white dress looked like a shroud. Her face hovering above it was the face of a mourner, or a ghost.
‘Now that I’ve tried it, I’m not sure I like Western gown so much,’ said Vivian, speaking with difficulty.
‘We have cheongsam or qun kua,’ said the shop assistant. ‘Very nice, very traditional. Miss is so slim, will suit the cheongsam.’
The jolt of red brocade was a relief. Vivian took a dress with gold trimmings, the highest of high collars and an even higher slit along the sides. It was as red as a blare of trumpets, as red as the pop of fireworks.
This fresh chilli red had never suited her. In it she looked paler than ever, washed out by the vibrant shade. But the colour was a protective charm. It laid monsters to rest. It shut out hungry ghosts. It frightened shadows back into the corners where they belonged.
Vivian crept home with her spoils. That night she slept and did not dream of anything.
The next morning she regretted the purchase. Her fiancé would think it was ridiculous. She couldn’t wear a cheongsam down the aisle of an Anglican church. She w
ould take it back to the boutique and return it. After all, the white satin mermaid dress had suited her. The sweetheart neckline was so much more flattering than a mandarin collar.
She shoved the cheongsam in a bag and tried to sneak out, but Wei Yi was sitting on the floor of the laundry room, in the way of her exit. She was surrounded by webs of filigreed red paper.
‘What’s this?’ said Vivian.
‘It’s called paper cutting,’ said Wei Yi, not looking up. ‘You never see before meh?’
On the floor the paper cuttings unfurled. Some were disasters: a mutilated fish floated past like tumbleweed; a pair of flirtatious girls had been torn apart by an overly enthusiastic slash. But some of the pieces were astounding.
‘Kwan Yin,’ said Vivian.
The folds in the goddess’s robes had been rendered with extraordinary delicacy. Her eyes were gentle, her face double-chinned. Her halo was a red moon circled by ornate clouds.
‘It’s for Nai Nai,’ said Wei Yi. ‘Maybe Kwan Yin will have mercy on her even though she’s so blasphemous.’
‘Shouldn’t talk like that about the dead,’ said Vivian.
Wei Yi rolled her eyes, but the effort of her craft seemed to absorb all her evil energies. Her response was mild: ‘It’s not disrespectful if it’s true.’
Her devotion touched Vivian. Surely not many seventeen-year-olds would spend so much time on so laborious a task. The sleet of impermanent art piled around her must have taken hours to produce.
‘Did Nai Nai teach you how to do that?’ Vivian said, trying to get back on friendlier ground.
Wei Yi’s face spasmed.
‘Nai Nai was a rubber tapper with seven children,’ she said. ‘She can’t even read! You think what, she was so free she can do all these hobbies, is it? I learnt it from YouTube lah!’
She crumpled the paper she was working on and flung it down on the floor to join the flickering red mass.
‘Oh, whatever!’ said Vivian in the fullness of her heart.
She bought the whitest, fluffiest, shiniest, most beaded dress she could find in the boutique. It was strapless and low-backed to boot. Nai Nai would have hated it.
