“I love you,” Ruth whispered.
“I still don’t remember. When we kissed, it rekindled something in me, something tucked deep inside. I feel I should know you; somehow that our kissing is right.”
“Come to bed,” Ruth said drawing him close, her body against his. Mark could feel her breasts melting into him through her thin cotton dress. Every fibre in his body tingled. He felt alive.
“Are you sure?” His voice was husky.
“Yes, I am sure.” Ruth buried her face in the nape of his neck. “If you cannot remember, we can start anew.”
***
Ruth arranged to meet up with Hugh the following day. She took the bus into town. The little bus crunched to a stop just outside Port Dickson’s market square. It was late morning. Traders were dismantling their stalls and packing goods away. Only a handful of shoppers remained. Soon it would be too hot to hawk fresh meat or fish. Baskets of green vegetables were beginning to wilt under the relentless heat. The smell of fast-ripening fruits mingled with the salty tang of sea breeze blowing in from the sea. Ruth inhaled and caught a whiff of the salted shrimps drying in the sun. She smiled. Everything pleased her that morning. She meandered through the stalls and headed for the coffee shop. Hugh assured her that she could not miss it. The town was tiny; a row of shops behind the market square was all there was to it. It had started out as a Malay fishing village. The Malays called it ‘Arang’ then, because of the charcoal. Now, he explained, it was mainly a port named after its founder, Frederick Dickson, a British civil servant. With the discovery of tin in the surrounding area of Lukut, large numbers of Chinese had flooded into the vicinity. The shops, two-storey terrace buildings, each boasting a shop on the ground floor and a place of residence on the floor above it, were all Chinese-owned. “They are called shophouses in this region. The coffee shop you would be looking for is owned by a Chinese man, nicknamed Fei Loh, Fatty. You would not miss him.”
Ruth headed in the direction she was given. She stepped out of the market square and spotted it immediately. She was aware of the curious stares of locals squatted beside stalls or chatting in the byways. Her hair, left free and flowing, fluttered in the wind, framing her oval face like a golden flame. Sitting daily with Mark on the beach had given her a tan and her blue eyes sparkled with renewed vigour. She thought of the previous night. A blush rose to stain her cheeks. I must be strong, she told herself, and I must protect the love we share.
Within minutes she arrived in front of the coffee shop. Hugh was right. She could not miss Fatty. The proprietor had positioned himself by its entrance. He was unmistakable; his girth was like a barrel and his legs were like tree trunks. He had tied a white apron around his waist. Stains of black wove into the white fabric of the apron like writhing serpents. Ruth recognised the stains from Fu Yi’s cooking. It was black soya sauce, thick like treacle and used liberally to flavour food. Underneath the apron he wore a thin white singlet and a pair of equally thin white cotton shorts. Those too were stained. When he saw Ruth staring, he pointed to the huge wok on a stove placed by the entrance. “Char kway teow?” he asked, his eyes disappearing almost into the folds of his cheeks when he smiled. “Fried with lovely blood cockles harvested just this morning.”
Ruth shook her head. She didn’t quite understand what was said but guessed it was an invitation to eat. “Thank you. I am looking for an English soldier, a Major Hugh Anderson.”
“Ahhh! Yup bin. Inside, inside,” he pointed, flashing white teeth. The toothpick at the corner of his mouth wobbled in affirmation.
***
From the dark recess of the coffee shop, Hugh watched Ruth approach. It was a different Ruth from the one he knew a mere two months ago. This new Ruth looked determined. The dazzling smile she had on her face made her vivacious, a word he would not have used to describe her when they had last met. He wondered what she had in mind when she called him late last night. The call had come through when he was in bed. She had sounded breathless; she told him not to come to the house and that she would meet him in town instead. She asked him not to speak to Mark. He had explained that he had made the journey from Kuala Lumpur specifically to speak to both of them, particularly Mark. “Please,” her voice barely a whisper over the phone, “your news about May would upset Mark’s delicate state of mind; it could push back the progress we have made. Let you and me talk first.”
He rose at her approach and drew back a chair. “Thank you,” she said, “I appreciate your seeing me.”
“You look well. How is Mark?”
“Physically, he is improving. Mentally...” she shrugged, “... he does not remember.”
“I have to speak to Mark; you know that. I have to tell him we have found May.”
Ruth fell silent. She became tense like a coiled spring ready to pounce, the smile banished from her face. It was a different Ruth from a minute ago.
They could hear Fei Loh calling passers-by to try his noodles. The sizzling of his hot wok was like the sound of electricity in the charged atmosphere of their table. The smell of fried cockles blew into the coffee shop. Ruth raised her eyes to look straight into Hugh’s. They were pleading.
“Mark does not remember anything. Telling him about May would destroy our marriage. It would fill him with guilt. He might leave me. Is that what you want?”
“Of course not. I am, however, obliged to tell him about May.”
“Why? At the moment he does not know of her existence and what she was to him. He may never remember it. Why do you wish to dig it all up and cause him pain and me, our marriage?”
Hugh sighed. He was caught in an impossible situation. “I am his friend.”
“Aren’t I your friend too? Does May need Mark’s testimony on her role in his kidnap? He can’t provide it. He doesn’t remember. It would be useless and would not stand up to scrutiny. Meantime, our private lives are exposed to the world. The newspapers will make hay out of it.”
A heavy silence fell between them. Hugh wrestled with his conscience. He was torn between doing the right thing as an officer, doing the right thing for his friends and the right thing for May. He had never had a real conversation with May until these last few days. He saw her in a new light now. She was a young girl who had fallen in love and had acted on impulse. She was a victim of circumstances, just like Ruth. There was something in May that touched him. She was like a wounded fawn. Mark should bear responsibility for her situation.
“The doctor says that we can leave Malaya as soon as Mark is able to travel. The company will release him. They do not think Mark, with his amnesia, will be ready to return to his job. This is our chance to start afresh. Remember, Mark’s testimony at present does not count for anything because he cannot remember. He may never do so. No one knows about his affair with May. Only you, Fu Yi and me. And Fu Yi has promised not to tell.”
Hugh could see that Ruth’s arguments were compelling. Mark would not be able to help May even if she needed it because he couldn’t remember. Telling Mark about May could do what Ruth had said. It could break up their marriage. Moreover May was no longer a suspect. Her injuries and her help in identifying Chun and the men involved in the raid had allowed her to be cleared. The Government had granted her an amnesty. It was part of its new policy to win the hearts and minds of the people. There was to be no trial. He remained silent thinking ... thinking. What would May want, he asked himself. She had not spoken about Mark nor had she hinted at a wish to be with him.
“How did they find May?” Ruth asked.
“A patrol found her in a ditch in the jungle. She was badly beaten up. They brought her back to a station further north. She said that she had been abducted and beaten by Chun. She gave us his whereabouts, at least up to the point where they abandoned her.”
“They believed her?” asked an astonished Ruth.
“Yes. She was able to identify his other accomplices. She blamed Chun for causing the death of her parents. They died shortly after being returned to their settlement
. Her father’s heart failed. The interrogation was the last straw. May was distraught. He was already weak and sending him back to the settlement with its food-rationing programme hardly helped. Her mother died soon after. She couldn’t sustain the harsh conditions they were kept in when they were interrogated. She died of pneumonia.” Hugh remembered delivering the news to May. She had cried silently burying her face in the palms of her hands.
Hugh watched Ruth’s face as he explained. He could see that she was not convinced of May’s innocence.
“May said that Chun wanted her to be his woman and abducted her for that reason. Look, Ruth. She was very discreet. She did not mention her relationship with Mark. You should give her credit for that. She was protecting Mark. She did not disappear willingly. She had extensive injuries. Chun’s wife told us that Chun was May’s cousin. We discovered later, through our China contacts, that he made the story up to entice May’s parents to entrust May to him.” Hugh paused. “With Bill discredited, May will not face problems from that quarter. Bill has been sent back to England where he is likely to be court-martialled.”
“So she is free.” Ruth was incredulous. She was not ready to forgive May. Her face was hard. Hugh was keeping something from her. May had enticed him as she had Mark.
“Yes!”
“Then she does not need Mark’s testimony.” Ruth grabbed hold of Hugh’s hand. “Please leave us out of this. Help us.”
Chapter 14
THE ROOM HAD no standing space. Under slow revolving ceiling fans, men in black-tied formal suits mingled with those in colourful long-sleeved batik shirts. Such shirts were fast becoming the norm in Malaya. It was a gesture of defiance, a break from colonial times. Suits and ties were history. They evoked too much of the past, of a country subservient to Britain. Some chose to wear short sarongs over silk trousers. Thus east and west stood side by side, incongruous in their attempt at harmony. A desperate air of gaiety filled the air. The men grouped together with drinks in hands. Glasses clinked. Conversations were conducted in urgent whispers; laughter was gruff and strained.
In the fringe, standing separate from the men, Malay women in long sarongs and diaphanous embroidered tops chatted alongside Chinese ladies in slim-fitting cheongsams with side slits that revealed shapely legs. Indian women wore silk saris and cholis showing bare midriffs. Fewer in numbers they were dispersed among the different groups that formed and broke-up. The women spoke with singsong cadence. Their tinkling laughter rose and fell. A band played sentimental songs. A Malay song was followed by a Chinese ballad and an English tune. It was necessary that each race in the room was equally represented. The women eyed one another, each not willing to be the lesser. The atmosphere was thick with suspense and rivalry. Already the swords were out amongst the men and the women knew where their loyalty lay.
May wove her way through the crowd, stopping to talk to one and then hastening to another. She eyed a waiter and indicated that he should refill the glasses. A boy stood at a corner with a tray of canapés. May made urgent gestures to him to distribute them. She beamed and nodded; glad that it would be one of the last, if not the last, cocktail party that she had to oversee. She was thankful for the time spent in mastering etiquette and elocution. She shuddered to think what she would be without them. At least now she could deal with diplomats and people from all walks of life without feeling shy. She squeezed through the throng of people and made for the terrace. The French windows were thrown open and some of the crowd had moved on to the paved area, spilling out to the garden beyond. A cool breeze stirred. She caught the scent of jasmine in the air. She inhaled its perfume, breathing deeply and expelling it slowly. She needed the calm. She needed to have a moment alone.
“Everything okay?” Hugh asked. “I saw you heading this way and wondered.” He came to her side and touched her briefly on her bare arms.
“Fine. You go back to the guests and I’ll join you in a minute. My feet are killing me.” May looked at her feet shod in silver high-heeled sandals. Her toenails gleamed a burgundy red, the colour of her cheongsam.
“Such talk amongst our guests. Some speak as though we have already left. We have at least two months to go before Malaya’s independence.” A note of exasperation crept into Hugh’s voice.
“Will the transfer of power be smooth?”
“The alliance between the Malays, Chinese and Indians will win, I am sure of that. In that sense, the transfer will be smooth. It will not be long now before we see them wield real power and who knows what will happen then? There has been such discord between them. Will they be able to mend their differences and work together? Have we been too precipitate in our decision to leave?”
May knew Hugh’s anguish. She had no answers to the questions he raised. She could not concentrate on his words. All she felt was his presence and his breath on her neck. Her thoughts switched to Mark. She blushed with guilt. How could she think of Mark on a night like this? She berated herself. She must stifle all thoughts of the past. Mark was her first love and she would never forget him. It was Hugh, however, who had given her back her life. It was Hugh who had sustained her through those terrible months of suffering. She loved Hugh. She took his hand and pressed it against her lips. She forced herself to the present.
“It will not be your problem soon,” she comforted. She ran her fingertips lightly on his cheeks. “Don’t take it so hard. The tide is changing. India, Burma, now Malaya. Life goes on. It always does, perhaps not how we expect or wish it to be, but it works out itself. Sometimes it is even for the better. Like you and me. At times, I still wake up terrified. The jungle and the horrors of the killings that I have seen crowd my mind. Then I look at you by my side.” May sighed. “Everything becomes good.”
Hugh beamed. May was always able to distil to the essence of things. “I’ll circulate before the guests come searching for me.”
“Yes, do. I shall go and check on Craig.” May raised herself on her toes and brushed Hugh’s lips with hers.
Someone guffawed loudly from across the terrace. “Such affection! I don’t kiss my wife; kissing one means kissing all the others.” Hugh’s response was a strained smile. He knew the man’s reputation. He had a harem of women. He would ignore the comment; the man probably had one too many.
May slipped back through the French windows into the crowded room. It was distinctly warmer in there. Some guests had loosened their neckties; others stood stoically, face flushed, with beads of perspiration on their brow and a sheen on their nose. A strong smell of alcohol rose to greet her, drowning the sweet undertone of boiled syrup flavoured with rose water drunk by the ladies. Perfume masked the muted odour of sweat. The level of noise grew; each person vied to speak above the other. The singer had given up belting out ballads and sat behind the band mopping her brow. May walked quickly through the lounge and made for the stairs.
***
Upstairs was quiet compared to the din on the floor below. May pushed open the door to the left of the landing. It swung open with a creak, like bones grinding together. It jarred her nerves. She made a mental note that something had to be done. Perhaps the amah could put some grease on the hinges. With great care, she tiptoed into the room and closed the door behind her, wincing again at the sound it caused. In the quiet it seemed an exaggerated ear piercing noise.
“Mummy,” cried Craig. He was still up with a blanket drawn to his chest. “I was waiting for you. Have you time to read with me?” He switched on the bedside lamp and flooded the room with light.
May sat down on the bed sideways and then turned to face Craig. Her heart melted at the sight of her tousle-haired son. “Yes! Just one chapter. I have to be with the guests.” She slipped off her sandals and swung her legs up on to the bed. She took the book and settled down with one arm draped around Craig. At times like this, she felt her heart could burst with happiness. Without warning, she crushed Craig to her and kissed him soundly on the cheek.
Craig ducked. “Mummy! No! My friends don’t allow
their mummies to kiss them any more. Promise you won’t do it when they are around.”
“I promise. I’ll only do it when we are on our own. Why don’t you read to me and we’ll see how well you do it.”
“All right.” He picked up the book and turned the pages until he found the chapter where he had left off.
May cuddled him closer, smelling the soapy tang from his bath. Her mind drifted as he read.
“Mummy, Mummy are you listening?” Craig shook his mother’s arm. “I asked if Daddy was a soldier like the man in this book?”
“Yes, daddy was a soldier. Not any more. Not for a long while. Not after you were born. We came to Kuala Lumpur and he took a new job.”
“A more important one than being a soldier?”
“Yes! Yes, I believe so, a more important job. Certainly a job he feels more comfortable with. You’ll understand when you are older. Soldiering didn’t suit him as much, at least when his heart was not in the policies that were being pursued.”
“What policies? What do you mean?”
“I’ll explain when you are older. For now, we have to close the book. I have to go downstairs. I’ll come back again in a little while.” She kissed Craig on his forehead and switched off the light.
***
It was well past midnight when the last of the guests left. The servants began clearing the room of glasses and bottles. Ashtrays filled with cigarette stubs were emptied and a semblance of normality returned. Tomorrow the chairs would be put away and the floors cleaned and the terrace sluiced down. Hugh sent the servants to bed. Linking arms with May, he stepped out in to the garden. It was too hot indoors and the air was stale with the aftermath of cigarette smoke, sweat and alcohol.
Where the Sunrise is Red Page 9
