Where the Sunrise is Red

by Chan Ling Yap

  “I do not know what you have been told or remembered,” Hugh said, getting straight to the point. “I can only guess. But can we not talk it over, man to man? We cannot allow our personal issues to affect the outcome of this weekend which has such implications for British firms.”

  Mark spun round. His eyes were fierce. “Is that all you can think of ? The firms!”

  “No! But they are part of it, an important part. The lives of many people depend on them. More importantly, I believe your anger may not be justified. At least hear what I have to say.”

  “Why are you in such a hurry to talk? You tried putting off talking before.”

  “That was my mistake. You had no recollection of the past then. I thought that if you did not remember, then the problems would somehow fade away. I was wrong. I am sorry.”

  Hugh was aware of several pairs of eyes upon them. “There is a pub nearby. We could talk there. You tell me what you think you know and remember or been told. I tell you my version. I promise it will be the truth. You can decide then what you think. You might still think badly of May and me. I will take that chance.”

  ***

  The pub was almost empty. It was a workman’s pub, not the sort that people from the manor would visit. They sat opposite each other like two adversaries. Two empty tankards stood between them. They had drunk quickly, each seeking courage as much from the act of downing their beer as from the beverage itself. A stack of photographs was fanned out on the wooden table stained with age and spilled ale. The dank sour smell of beer permeated the air. Behind the bar, the television was switched on to a cricket match. The commentator’s voice drifted across the room.

  Mark picked up the photographs one by one from the table. They were pictures of May injured and in detention and photos of her recovery and finally a photo of her marriage to Hugh. He flipped the last photo face down. He didn’t want to look at it. He had listened unwillingly to Hugh’s account. Could he believe him? That May and Hugh had got together only after he, Mark, returned to England?

  Hugh saw the angry way Mark handled the photograph and the rapid throb of the veins on the side of his forehead. It had been a mistake to bring the wedding photograph along. He had hoped that it would force Mark to come to his senses, to realise that May was beyond his reach.

  Hugh pushed a picture of Ruth towards Mark.

  “Your wife was distraught when you were captured. She found out about your affair with May. She was frightened of losing you. She did not tell you of her discovery because she loved you. Surely you can understand that?”

  Mark took the photograph of Ruth. She was sitting by his bed nursing him. She looked wan, thin and worried. Fu Yi’s account of Ruth as a devoted wife corroborated with Hugh’s. Ruth had nursed him back to health. Images of the hospital room and her face, filled with concern, came to him. He was the one that betrayed Ruth’s trust. For a tiny second guilt crept into his heart.

  A man came into the pub. He had with him a blond woman. She reminded Mark of Ruth. The couple sat at the far end; their movements were furtive. They kept glancing at the door as if they were expecting someone to burst in on them. Then, after a couple of minutes, they threw caution to the wind. They kissed passionately. The man’s hand slipped down to the woman’s buttocks. The woman giggled and pressed closer to the man. The pub’s landlord winked at Mark when he caught him staring at the couple. Mark thought of Ruth and her affair with Steve. How could he give credence to the story that Hugh had fed him? Hugh and Ruth must have connived to keep May away from him, Hugh because he coveted May and Ruth because she wanted to keep him for herself. And May? What was her role in this?

  Mark stood up, toppling the chair. “Don’t worry,” he snarled, “I will not jeopardise your precious business negotiations. Don’t,” he stressed, “don’t speak to me ever again unless it is to do with business.”

  ***

  It was dark outside. The only lights were those coming from the manor. The other guests had retired. Mark stood in his bedroom by the window. He watched as one by one the lights in the manor went off, throwing the grounds into even greater darkness. An owl hooted. It sounded loud in the quiet of the night.

  He lit a cigarette; its tip glowed red. He drew deeply on it. Smoke spiralled and the air turned instantly pungent. Something did not click when he went over Hugh’s account. He could not figure out what it was. He walked up and down the room. Could he believe that May had not double-crossed him when she was still his lover? Her child. Craig! How old was he?

  Mark stopped abruptly. There lay his answer.

  He walked over to his desk and took out Ruth’s telegram. He read it again. Then he crushed it into a ball and dropped it into the wastebasket. He looked at his watch. It would be morning in Malaya. He picked up the phone. “Operator, can you connect me to the Department for the registration of marriages, births and deaths in Kuala Lumpur?”

  ***

  The bed was soft, yielding to Mark’s form like liquid. He buried his face in the nape of May’s neck and wrapped his arms around her, breathing her sweet scent. Her naked body was like satin and warm against his own. He turned her around to kiss her, reaching out to hold her face to him. Her lips were warm and her breath moist as their tongues made contact. He opened his eyes. It was not May! It was Ruth! How had she wedged herself between May and him? He struggled and pushed Ruth away; he couldn’t. His arms were paralysed. No sound came out when he shouted; his arms remained heavy, inert, and lifeless. Hugh rose from behind Ruth. He had a rope in his hand, a rope tied into a loop. He swirled the loop round and round like a lasso. Then suddenly Mark felt himself in the sea. Water surrounded him; he fell deeper and deeper into the blue void. May’s face appeared; beautiful May with her hair streaming behind her, swirling, swirling in the blue, blue sea. She smiled and slowly, ever so slowly, she waved her hand. Goodbye, her lips mouthed. Goodbye! She grew smaller and smaller, carried away by the tide. No! No, he wanted to shout. Nothing came out of his mouth, except water. He couldn’t breathe.

  Mark woke up. Sweat poured from his brow. His pyjamas clung to him like a wet sponge. He was out of breath, panting as though he had sprinted for miles, his heart bursting with the effort of it. It was a bad dream, just a bad dream.

  Chapter 28

  Kuala Lumpur

  THE DAYS PASSED very slowly for Ruth. Mark had not replied to the telegram she had sent him. She sat at his desk fingering the pens that lay before her. Listlessly, she picked up a glass paperweight and watched the flecks of snow rise and disperse within it. She had bought it for Mark when they first holidayed in Brighton. She placed it down carefully. She wondered if she should send him another telegram. Perhaps the last one hadn’t reached him. She could not believe that he could be so cruel. An image of his face, red with anger and, worst of all, disgust rose before her. Her throat caught. Ruth got up and shook her head to dispel the image. She went to the window. It was another hot and humid day outside. The trees stood absolutely still. Not a leaf stirred. It was too hot to be in the garden. How should I spend the hours until I pick up Libby, she wondered. She moved to the next room. How could she have ended up so friendless? Only Mary, the Headmaster’s secretary, had written to her once. The letter was full of news about the school. Mary wrote about the other teachers, bits of gossips gathered during tea breaks in the staff room. She mentioned Steve in particular. Ruth deliberately skipped reading that section. She didn’t want anything to do with him. She had thrown the letter away. She hadn’t replied either. Since that last communication, no others had come. So what could you expect, she scolded herself, except to have no friends. She hurried up the stairs to fetch her keys and bag. She passed the console in the hallway. The sultry seductive scent of tuberoses caught her attention. Beside the vase of flowers stood a letter. It was addressed to her. The maid must have left it there.

  She tore it open. It was short and to the point.

  Ruth,

  I am writing to seek a divorce. You could divorce me citin
g my adultery with May as grounds. This would allow you to preserve your reputation. However, if you refuse, I shall divorce you on the grounds of your adultery with Steve Fisher. I have his confession at hand. Please let me have your decision before my lawyers draw up the divorce documents.

  Mark.

  Shock went through her like a thunderbolt. The letter slipped from her hand. Mark knew of her affair! That was the reason for the revulsion on his face. She sank slowly to the floor. Her bag fell, spilling the keys and other contents within it. An overwhelming sadness and shame took hold over her. She pressed her face into her hands; her shoulders shook as she sobbed her heart out. She cried for her love of Mark, a love that had been battered over the years by his neglect and his affair with May, a love that had been battered by her own misconduct and infidelity, a love that she had tried to retrieve and mend these last few months. It was over. It seemed so final in black and white.

  Nurin heard the sobbing. Alarmed, she came out into the hallway. She stood with a confused look on her face. After a while, she retreated back into the kitchen. Afraid she would embarrass the mistress if she made her presence known, she stood behind the kitchen door instead. Minutes passed. She tiptoed out again into the hallway. Ruth lay prostrate, her head turned with a cheek resting on the black marble floor. Tears streamed unchecked from the corner of her eyes. Her eyes were open but unseeing. At the end of the hallway, the grandfather clock ticked rhythmically. Nurin retreated once again back to the kitchen. She called the cook. Together the two women lifted Ruth up and took her to bed. “Jangan menangis, jangan menangis,” they pleaded with her not to cry. After a while they left the room. It was best for the mistress to weep out all her pain.

  ***

  Ruth remained inert in the bed long after the women left. She buried her head into the pillow to stifle the sobs that threatened to break out again. Gradually her thoughts switched to Libby. Mark had not mentioned Libby. Did he know that Libby was not his? It did not matter now. She would fight to keep her daughter, no matter the consequences. But how would they live? She recalled the difficulty she had when she tried to find a job in Malaya in the past. Could they stay on in Malaya? What should she say to Libby? Would Libby hate her? From across the hall, the clock chimed three o’clock. Libby was at school. It was her school concert that evening.

  Ruth sat up. She swung her legs to the ground. She went to the bathroom and turned on the shower. She took off her clothes and threw them aside on the floor. She stepped into the shower and allowed the hot water to cascade over her. She soaped and lathered, scrubbing herself clean, hoping to wipe away the hurt, sadness and worry. The cubicle steamed and clouded. All was silent except for the sound of water. Later towelled and dried, she sat in front of the dressing table and carefully blow-dried her hair, brushing it until it was shining and bouncy. Then, carefully, she made up her face, just a touch of colour to her cheeks and lips and a lick of mascara. She went to the cupboard, dropping the towel on the way. The mirror showed her slender figure: pale with a narrow waist and long legs. She straightened herself to throw her shoulders back. She needed to hold herself together. She chose a slim skirt and a silk blouse amongst the garments hung neatly in a row. Libby had told her that Craig’s mother wanted to meet her. She had ignored the invitation. She would see her now. She would attend the joint school concert. She would tell Libby about the divorce after speaking to May. She knew May would be at the concert.

  ***

  Ruth stood at the entrance to the school hall. People were streaming into the hall. She searched the room, looking from one end to the other. She couldn’t see May nor Craig. Clutching Libby’s hand firmly in hers, she moved aside to let people enter. The seats were rapidly taken; still no sign of May. Ruth could feel her heart beat. Perhaps May would not be here; perhaps she was not feeling well.

  “Here they are, Mummy,” cried Libby. She tugged Ruth’s hand and pointed. Ruth turned. May was standing behind her. They looked at each other. Neither spoke. Ruth held on tight to Libby. Her hand was clammy and Libby was trying to extricate herself from her mother’s clasp. The children were desperate to join the others to prepare for the start of the concert.

  “We have to go,” they cried, freeing themselves from the restraining hands of their parents and dashed away.

  “Shall we sit together?” asked May. Ruth nodded in reply. They made their way towards the front and squeezed in through a row of seats already occupied by excited parents. They sat down, both self-conscious, both tense and each very aware of the other. Though masked somewhat by the chatter and excitement in the hall, their protracted silence grew awkward. Minutes passed. Unable to stand the tension, May turned and extended her hand and took Ruth’s in hers. “Please, I would like us to be friends.”

  Ruth was completely thrown by the gesture. Unable to speak, she found herself pressing May’s hand in return. A friend, thought Ruth, from such an unexpected quarter. She swallowed hard. She needed a friend. She had not come expecting friendship. She had come to do battle, to ask for help against the biggest of odds.

  They settled back in their seats. Unconscious of Ruth’s stream of thoughts, May was delighted. Ruth had not withdrawn her hand and had not turned down her offer of friendship. Perhaps everything would be fine after all. She wondered at what she could do to seek forgiveness from Ruth, to make Ruth happy. The concert began. Midway, just after the children took their bow, Ruth whispered fiercely to May. “I want to talk to you in private. It is urgent.”

  “Of course.” May threw an anxious glance at Ruth. Ruth’s lips were drawn tight and the sinews on either side of her neck stood out. Her eyes remained fixed ahead on the stage. May realised that all was not well and she had been too precipitous in her conclusion. A flush spread from her face to her neck. She told herself that if Ruth were to harangue her with accusations, she would take it. She would not, should not offer excuses. She could only offer her sincere regret for causing Ruth hurt in the past. It was naive of her to think that Ruth would accept her friendship so easily. May felt a flutter in her stomach. Instinctively she placed a protective hand over it. “There will be a fifteen minute interval before the next act. Perhaps we could go out into the garden and talk in private.”

  ***

  Ruth and May walked across the football field to a bower at the far end. Behind the bower stood a netball court, which marked the boundary of the girls’ school. May sat down on the wooden bench below the bower and Ruth sat beside her. They could see, across the field, long files of people moving from the hall into the adjacent room set up as a temporary refreshment room. Their voices floated across to them.

  “First let me say thank you for seeing me,” said May, “I don’t deserve your kindness.”

  “Don’t thank me,” Ruth retorted. She turned fiercely to direct her gaze at May. “Mark wants a divorce.”

  “No!” May looked at Ruth with horror and shock. She grasped Ruth’s hand. “It cannot be.”

  Ruth shook away May’s hand. “Yes. He wrote; he says he wants me to divorce him citing him and you as the guilty party. Did he come to you? Did you agree to this?”

  “No! I must warn Hugh. I will call him tonight.” Suddenly May felt ill. She stood up. Her head swam and she sat down again, cradling her tummy.

  “You could stop Mark from taking this route.”

  “How?”

  Ruth searched May’s face. What makes her more worthy and more lovable than me, she wondered. Why does she have such a hold over my husband? It must be something more than loveliness, though lovely she is, Ruth admitted to herself. For a split second, her old jealousy rose. She quelled it. “Mark still loves you. He would be open to what you say to him.”

  “But Hugh has already tried to explain.”

  “Hugh is not you. Mark would view Hugh as a rival, an opponent and an enemy even. But you ... it might be different. Can you not even try?”

  “What do you want me to say to him? Not to pursue the divorce? I can’t dictate to him. I
have not seen or spoken to him for over seven years.”

  “Tell him you don’t love him. Tell him that you have never loved him. Tell him anything that will stop him from thinking that he has a future with you. If you can convince him, he might at least drop his pursuit of the divorce. He might come back to me.”

  May stared wild-eyed at Ruth. She couldn’t think clearly.

  “Don’t you see? Mark thinks he has a chance of winning you. I am sure that is why he wants a divorce.” Ruth’s face flamed red with embarrassment. To have to plead with her husband’s former lover! She was appalled at her lack of pride. Still she had to try to keep her family together for Libby’s sake if not her own. She would prostitute her soul if needed. It might not work. She had no alternative. She cursed herself for her own infidelity. There was nothing she could do to undo it. She could only hope that Mark would believe that Steve had meant nothing to her. If only he would give her a chance to explain.

  May saw the desperation in Ruth’s face. “I will try to help. I don’t know if your suggestion would work. I must talk with Hugh. You must know that it is not only me; Hugh is involved too.”

  Chapter 29

  MAY WAS STILL awake long after everyone in the household had gone to sleep. She lay on her side listening to her heartbeat. Ruth’s revelation and request frightened her. She stared at the photograph on the dressing table. Hugh had his arm around her shoulders. He was gazing at her with such adoration that May had to swallow hard to stop the emotion coursing through her body. She thought of the consequences for Hugh’s career and social standing if she was cited as the ‘other woman’ in Mark’s divorce. It would destroy Hugh’s career. The media would make a meal of it. Divorces were rare in Malaya and a triangular affair involving two Englishmen of standing would hit the front page. Malayan politics would have a field day of it. It would reinforce the new nation’s view of the morals of its former colonial master. And Craig! He would suffer at school. Perhaps even the baby might be tainted by her one youthful blunder in the past. She too would be marked for life. Asian women would never let her forget it. She imagined the disparaging remarks that would be made. Then she thought of Ruth. She owed Ruth. But would telling Mark that she had never loved him make him return to Ruth? Was it a price she should pay to make it right for Ruth? Her head felt tight with the juxtaposition of conflicting thoughts. She could not think.