“Count me out.” Ruth was weary. Yet an unaccountable twinge of regret rose in her breast. She attributed it to madness. She would probably never see him again. She wondered at her ability or rather stupidity to let her mind gather such thoughts. He had been kind, masterful and unquestioning. For one mad moment during the journey she had allowed herself to dream. In another life, Omar would be the kind of man she could fall in love with. He was someone who would take care of things. She needed someone to take care of things, an uncomplicated, unquestioning sort of person. He had not even asked her name. But she had never been good at judging people’s character. Steve and Mark were cases in point. An overwhelming sense of tiredness descended on her once more. She shivered. “I need to sit down.”
“How silly of me, gabbling away. Come and sit down. I’ll collect the children and you can rest here. Have dinner with us. Hugh is still away. We’ll talk afterwards.”
Ruth sank on to the sofa. She felt her body burn. She tried to respond in a way befitting someone intending to wave away the friendly overture of a rival. Instead her lips quivered, not quite doing what she wanted them to do. Everything became too much for Ruth. She had come to press her case, had imagined last night that she might have to resort to threats. May’s kindness and attentiveness disarmed Ruth. The conversation they just had could have been between two friends. Yet she did not count May as a friend. How could she? She wondered if the day’s events were real. Meeting a celebrity and having what she had once considered her arch-enemy fuss over her. Was May for real? Her eyelids felt heavy. The weeks of sleeplessness took over. Under the oppressive soporific heat, she drifted off into a troubled sleep. A sleep where before her yards and yards of silk rippled through the air; their brilliant colours mingling to form a rainbow shooting through the sky. The colours broke and came together like a coloured stream. She felt herself enfolded into its midst; its softness caressed her skin, making it cool and then warm. If only, if only she could remain in its embrace. The corner of Ruth’s lips lifted; she was drifting, drifting in the warmth of the silk. The warmth turned into heat. The silk became flames, bright fiery red licking her skin, turning it into blisters. She was on fire. She struggled. The flames held her, flickering and burning, flickering and burning.
***
“How long has she been like this?” Omar was shocked when he saw Ruth. Her skin was almost translucent, like white muslin with a hint of blue. The hands that peeped out of the bed cover lay limp and lifeless.
“Two days. The doctor has been twice. I have been bathing her with ice water. The fever has finally broken. She is very weak. How did you find out?”
“I brought her car to her house. Her address was in the glove compartment. The staff told me that she was with you. I waited a day before I came, as I did not wish to be too intrusive. I am glad I came.”
May adjusted the bed cover over Ruth. The curtains were drawn. A table lamp on a chest of drawers threw a soft light in the room. She took the bowl of water she had been using to wipe Ruth’s brow and stood up.
“I’ll like to sit with her for a while. May I?” Omar asked. His face was partly hidden, for the light was behind him.
May hesitated, uncertain that it was the right thing to do. So much had happened these last two days. She was glad that Hugh would be back that evening.
“Please,” he said.
May relented. It would be rude to say otherwise.
Omar sat down by the bed. He edged closer bringing his face close to Ruth’s. He drank in the paleness of the oval face in repose and the soft hair like spun gold spread out on the pillow. Ruth stirred. He took her hand in both of his. He murmured something to her.
From the doorway, May watched in silence and astonishment. She couldn’t hear him. Then she closed the door slightly, leaving it partly ajar to maintain propriety.
Chapter 31
MARK BADE FAREWELL to Bob Haskin at the airport terminal and made his way to the car park. His ears were still ringing with the advice of his new friend. He threw his suitcase into the boot and got into the car. He sat in the sizzling heat, his fingers suspended over the ignition key, thinking. Sweat poured off him, trickling into his eyes and down his back. There was a certain truth in the old man’s words. Perhaps he had been too hasty in blaming Ruth. Why should her infidelity be a greater wrong than his? The blame lay with May. He thought of the information gathered from the Registrar’s office. Craig’s birth date showed that he was conceived before Mark was kidnapped. She must have deceived him with Hugh even while professing her love. She could well have connived with her cousin to have him kidnapped and out of the way so that she could be with Hugh. Hugh’s role in vouching for her character played a major part in her release. Of course Hugh would vouch for her character. He was her lover. He, Mark, had been two-timed.
He grew more and more agitated in the confined space of the car. Away from the moderating reasoning of his new-found friend, Mark’s anger once again imploded in itself. He slammed his fist on the steering wheel. He had lost years of his life because of their treachery.
He started the engine. It roared into life. He revved it hard. Fumes, black as coal spurted out of the exhaust pipe. He reversed, hardly paying any attention to his surrounding or the people in it. The tyres carved sharp treads on the tarmac. He raced out of the car park with his foot pressed hard on the accelerator. The tyres screamed in protest. He drove like a madman. Trees and houses rushed past him in a blur. He overtook a car, and then another, swerving to the left to hit the grassy verge and then accelerating even more to overtake from the left. He did not care that he was breaking the law. People gestured and pointed to the speed limit, cars honked. He saw nothing. Just red!
He drove without knowing where he wished to be. He knew only where he did not want to be. He didn’t want to go home. He couldn’t go to the office, not like this. He headed to the north of Kuala Lumpur towards Ipoh. Rubber estates whizzed by. Between the estates, open cast tin mines dotted the landscape. They too flashed by in a blur. He overtook every vehicle on the road, cars, big trundling lorries, unwieldy motorcycles, anything and everything. Oncoming vehicles veered to avoid him. The single carriageways were not made for speed. The heat in the car became oppressive. Mark wound down the windows. Hot wind rushed in. His hands on the burning steering wheel became clammy with sweat. Then, suddenly the sky changed. Black clouds gathered; huge cauliflower-shaped cotton wool, dark as soot, blotted out the sun. Lightning struck. Jagged shafts of white light lit up the sky. A flock of birds shot out of the trees and dispersed like black flecks. Then the heavens opened. Rain spattered fast and furious on to Mark’s windscreen. It came through his open window. He released his grip on the steering wheel to wind up the window. His fingers slipped. The wheel spun free. He panicked. He stepped hard on to the accelerator. The car veered to the other side of the road. An on-coming lorry loomed, its light shone straight into Mark’s face. Mark’s car shuddered with the impact of the lorry. With a deafening bang its body crumpled fold upon fold with Mark wedged inside it.
***
“Does Ruth know?” Hugh asked the minute he stepped into the house. News of the accident had come through when he was at a board meeting. He had hurried home immediately.
“No! Come into the study. She might hear us.” May beckoned her husband to follow her. The house was as quiet as a graveyard. The maids were huddled in the kitchen, whispering amongst themselves. They had been warned not to mention anything to Ruth or the children. Craig and Libby were still at school. May had insisted that Ruth and Libby stayed with them until Ruth was fully recovered.
May drew the curtains shut. She could see Ruth seated in an armchair on the terrace under a sunshade. Ruth’s eyes were closed and her head was resting on a pillow that May had wedged behind her. She looked pale and tired.
“We have to tell her. She has a right to know.”
May’s face crumpled. She had no words to express her horror and the compassion she felt for Ruth. “I wouldn�
��t know how to tell Ruth. I wouldn’t know what to say to Libby. Poor, poor things.”
“We’ll have to tell Ruth. Perhaps Ruth would like to speak to Libby herself. We can’t hold back the news. It would leak out. We can’t trust the servants not to let it slip.”
“We must do everything we can for Ruth. I know she has financial difficulties. Mark had not left her with much housekeeping money. I had to pay her servant the wages owed.” May had been aghast when she learnt of Mark’s cruelty. “She can stay on with us, can’t she?” May asked her husband.
“Of course. I’ll arrange to terminate the rental contract for her house. We’ll cover Libby’s school fees, until such time as we can work out a more permanent plan.”
May lifted the curtains aside to peer out. Ruth was staring blankly at the shrubs surrounding the terrace. On her lap, lay the shawl that May had given her. Ruth’s fingers were listless, making little knots of the soft silk until it formed a crumpled heap.
“We’ll tell her now,” said May with a sigh.
Chapter 32
THE HOUSE STOOD on the crest of a low hill some hundred metres from a little stream. From where she stood, Ruth could hear water gurgling as it cascaded over stones as smooth as jade into a deep pool of darkness. She made her way to the stream, stopping to gather a posy of hibiscus and long grassy seed heads. Her feet sank into the grass, still damp with the morning’s dew. When she reached the water’s edge, she turned and looked up. The house was a silhouette of dark wood against the bright rays of morning sunshine. Memories of another life crowded in. Impatiently she shook them away. She must not dwell on the past. Today she would see her daughter. Sunday was her day of respite. Slowly, she lowered one foot and then the other into the stream. The water was crystal clear, so clear that the motley of stones in the riverbed looked like coloured gems. Water swirled between and around her toes. She sat on an outcrop of rocks letting the bottom end of her sarong dip and billow in the water. Then, carefully she placed the flowers down on the rock and waded into the pool. It was ice cold. She gasped with the impact and swam swiftly. Her arms looped wide and pulled, her legs fanning out behind her. Her sarong with its swathes of browns, blues, yellows and crimson swelled like a balloon. Then, turning face upwards, she floated. Her hair streamed behind her like seaweed in an intricate dance. She closed her eyes and allowed the sunshine to warm her face, revelling in the contrast of warm and cold. A bird broke into a song. From the corner of her eye she saw a kingfisher land on a branch by the stream. All was quiet except for the gurgling of the water, the chirping of birds and swishing of bamboos. Peace and solitude. That was what brought her back to Port Dickson, the one place that gave her solace. She thought of Libby. She would be here soon. Ruth flipped over and swam back to the outcrop of rock. She stood up. The sarong moulded to her wet body outlining her slim muscled form. She retrieved the bunch of flowers and headed up the hill.
Water dripped down her back leaving a trail of wetness as she strode up the slope. Her bungalow, built above the ground and on stilts, was only a short walk from the school. The villagers had helped build it, as they did the little pre-school that she ran. Both were simple wooden structures with wide verandas and carved banisters round them in the style of Malay houses in the vicinity. While the school was a new construction, her bungalow was a vintage fisherman’s hut revamped to provide her with a postage stamp sized shower and a small galley kitchen. Hugh and May had provided the funds for the purchase of the land and the materials for the buildings.
Home! Yes, she thought of this as home. It gave her such immense pleasure and peace. She had May and Hugh to thank for it. They had cared and looked after her for almost a year before she found the will to be human again. They would be here soon with Libby. She must hurry.
***
A rich smell of lemon grass, galangal, turmeric and coconut wafted through the air. Ruth blended the spices in her granite mortar and pounded them to a fine paste. She tipped shallots and chillies into a clay pot and added the paste, frying the mixture until it turned a russet brown. All she had to do was to stuff it into the red snapper, wrap the fish in banana leaves and place it on the barbecue. Then a sauce made up of lime juice, a sprinkling of fish sauce, a dash of palm sugar, and perhaps some sliced chillies would be all that was needed to accentuate its flavour. She was pleased with her menu: a salad of pineapple, cucumber, sweet onions and bean shoots and rice to go with fish. On Fatimah’s instructions she poured coconut cream and tucked a bunch of the local aromatic pandan leaves into the soaked rice grains. Soon the rice was bubbling and a fragrant aroma filled the air, a tantalising sweet and savoury combination that would have appalled her in the past. She thought of Mark and how his changed palate had filled her with surprise. Now, they too were flavours she and Libby loved.
A little nudge of regret rose in her breast whenever she thought of Libby. She could not share everything with her daughter. Some things must remain hidden. Perhaps, in the years to come when Libby became an adult, she could tell her. She shut her eyes to still her rebellious mind. Silently she mouthed the word aman. Fatimah had taught her to repeat the word peace ... until the threat of tears dissipated.
She filled a tray with cutlery and plates and went down the steps into the garden to set the table. She wanted the day to be perfect and had decided to serve lunch under the huge tree by the side of the house. Now she was uncertain if it was a good idea. The sun was sizzling hot. She gathered the cutlery and plates and took them back into her bungalow. The table on the veranda might be a better idea. She flung a brightly coloured batik cloth over the table’s rough wooden surface. Diagonal swathes of vibrant browns and blues sprang to life. A clock struck twelve. She was running late. She dashed into her bedroom to change. She brushed her hair until it shone and then looped it up into a ponytail. She smiled at the image in the mirror. The white tee shirt and blue slacks suited her tan. A car purred into the driveway, shortly followed by another. She was puzzled. Two cars! Who could the other one be? she wondered.
By the time she ran down the flight of wooden steps, Libby was already running towards her followed by Craig, May and Hugh with a toddler cradled between them. Libby hurled herself into her mother’s arms, talking non-stop. Ruth’s eyes travelled beyond Libby’s shoulders. May was waving frantically. Beyond her, standing by the car was Omar! Their eyes met.
May hurried over. “I couldn’t stop him from following us. He wants to see you and would not take no for an answer. Libby told him we were coming today.”
“It’s fine. He is here. I can’t turn him away.” Ruth felt her whole body tingle. She hugged Libby tight and kissed her before turning to embrace May and Hugh. “Do join us,” she beckoned Omar. She mustered a smile to quell her fast-beating heart. She hoped her invitation sounded natural and nonchalant. She had tried to stop him from seeking her out. She didn’t want any involvement. She didn’t need any complications in her life. She had found peace here. Yet her treacherous heart was telling her something else. Its words came unbidden and unwanted. “Has peace always to be twined with loneliness? Are you at peace or are you lonely?”
“Mummy, did you hear what I just said? Can we go to the beach later this afternoon?”
“Yes, dear, I heard,” shemurmured in her daughter’s ear. “We’ll talk about it later. I am sure May and Hugh will need a rest and their lunch. Many days lie ahead of us. You don’t have to rush. I had better check on the tide before saying yes.”
Over Libby’s shoulder, Ruth could see Omar approaching, his feet lightly treading the bed of Casuarina pine needles on the driveway. She panicked. She deliberately turned away to look for May but May had wandered off with Hugh to the other side of the garden. When she turned back, Libby was gone. Her voice floated down from the bungalow. She must have gone to check on the food and was now running from room to room with Craig trailing behind her. Their carefree laughter filled the air.
Suddenly Omar was inches away from Ruth, filling her entire space.
> “Thank you for letting me stay,” he said.
Ruth found her hand in his.
“Gosh, your hands are cold.” So saying Omar took both her hands in his, squeezing them gently.
Ruth stepped back and withdrew them. “I am fine. Do take a walk in the garden. I need to check on the food. Excuse me.” She sounded unnaturally clipped and formal, even to her own ears. She ran up the steps into the kitchen. For a brief moment she hovered over the kitchen sink to catch her breath. She must put a stop to this madness. He must leave after lunch. He must be discouraged from coming again. They had managed to keep her whereabouts away from him until now. Why had Libby told him? She dropped her head in despair. She felt a hand on her shoulder.
“Are you all right?” asked May.
Ruth shook her head; her body still slumped forward over the sink, her hands clutching the rim of the basin.
“It’s Omar, isn’t it? Do you want me to send him away? He has been coming almost every week for the past year. We didn’t let on that you were here until Libby accidentally revealed that we were coming to see you. He followed us. He is very persistent.”
Ruth ran the tap and sloshed water on to her face. “I am all right. I just have to get hold of myself. I’ll tell him myself after lunch. We owe him at least a lunch for his effort, don’t we?” she said, summoning up a smile.
May stood on tiptoe to put her arms around Ruth, the taller of the two. “We are here if you need us. You know that, don’t you?”
Ruth hugged her friend. “Thank you,” she said. “Let me get on with the food. Everything is almost ready. I’ll join you in a minute and will call for help if I need it. But,” she said to May, her eyes swimming with unshed tears, “it is better if I do it on my own. I need some space to clear my thoughts.”
***
From the top of the steps May could see the two men talking. Their heads were close, one chestnut brown with streaks of sun-bleached gold and the other almost jet-black. Over the past year or so, the two men had become good friends. However, as far as Ruth was concerned, Hugh had kept to his word. He had not interfered nor given any hint to Omar on Ruth’s whereabouts.
Where the Sunrise is Red Page 20
