Where the Sunrise is Red

by Chan Ling Yap

  One year ago, 1959

  Ruth stepped out of the bedroom on to the terrace. The sunlight felt good on her face after the cool damp morning air. She undid the band that held her hair in a ponytail and shook her head. Her blond hair glinted gold in the sunlight. Everything was wonderful. Somewhere a bird sang. A light breeze stirred the blossom on a tree sending shafts of sunshine through the dappled shade. She felt every movement, heard every sound, saw every colour with a clarity and sharpness that brought joy to her soul. Her whole being was alive and she tingled with the memory of the night before; she could still smell the scent of Omar’s body on the bed sheets. He had left early in the morning with the promise that he would return in the evening and they would plan for their future then.

  She twirled in her nightdress and laughed at her own joy. For it was sheer joy that coursed through her veins. She didn’t want to go back into the house. She didn’t want to be cooped up. The sun shifted and the heat reflected off the terrace tiles. Ruth sank down on to the ground and her nightdress spilled softly around her to cover the tiles. She inhaled the scent of the jasmine flowers and closed her eyes.

  “Madam, someone to see you.”

  A lopsided smile still on her face, Ruth rose to her feet. She asked in stumbling Malay if the visitor was really for her and not for May.

  “Yes!” the maid replied in Malay. “A grand lady. Smartly dressed. She says she is Toh Puan Siti.”

  The joy Ruth had felt just moments ago left her. An overwhelming fear descended in its place. She could hear her heart palpitate, boom, boom. Suddenly the heat was unbearable.

  Horrified by Ruth’s white face, the maid took Ruth by the elbow and tried to guide her to a seat.

  “Shall I send the lady away?” she asked.

  Ruth didn’t hear. Whatever it was that Omar’s mother came to say she must meet it face on. Without a word, she returned to the bedroom and pulled on some clothes. Hastily she brushed her hair. She rubbed her face to bring colour to her cheeks. A wild-eyed image on the mirror stared back at her. This behaviour would not do, she scolded. She took a deep breath. Then, carefully, more calmly she put lipstick on her lips. She needed to be calm. She would hear Siti out. She would not be persuaded to leave Omar. She loved him and he her. Together they could, would, see through all obstacles in their way. Wasn’t that what Omar had said to her over and over again? Remembering his words calmed her. She went out of the bedroom holding her head high to meet Siti.

  ***

  Siti took in her surroundings; the pale cream sofa, the dark teak armchairs with matching cream covers, the crimson rug and the duck-egg blue Chinese porcelain scattered round the room. Her eyes narrowed. Possibly antique ware, she told herself, and expensive! They had done well in this country.

  She settled back on the chair. Carefully, she crossed her legs. She would be patient. A whole day lay ahead of her. Omar would not be back until evening. She had checked with his office. His calendar was full for the day.

  When Ruth entered the sitting room, Siti’s face was in repose; it gave no clue as to what was going through her mind.

  “You came to see me?” Ruth asked with a tremulous smile.

  Siti returned the smile and indicated that Ruth should sit.

  For a moment, Ruth allowed herself to think that perhaps, she was mistaken. Perhaps Siti had come to make amends. She sat down, her heart lighter. She must be more positive.

  “I see that Mr and Mrs Anderson have taken it upon themselves to accommodate my son. Such generosity!”

  “Yes! Hugh and May have been very kind.”

  A gleam of pure hatred flashed in Siti’s eyes turning them almost pitch black. She had lost many nights of sleep over her son’s misdemeanour with this angmoh. She had prepared many days for this meeting. She schooled her face and it fell again into repose.

  “And you, of course, benefit most from their kindness.” Siti’s voice was honeyed. “For with their generous help, you are able to steal our son from us. Don’t you realise that you have turned him against his family and have ruined his chances of a glorious career in politics? You have made us a laughing stock.”

  “Please do not blame May and Hugh for Omar being here. Do you not see? We love each other. All we want is to be together and have your blessing. Omar is very sad that he has hurt you. I too am so sorry...”

  “Love?” Siti snorted, not letting Ruth complete her sentence. “Not love. Maybe lust for white skin. I suppose he has not had many experiences with white women. You are a novelty. A lust, my dear that I guarantee will not last. I know my son. Omar is a Muslim. With three words, I divorce you, he could cast you aside, even if he married you. If he does not cast you aside he is still entitled to four wives. And, my dear,” her voice still like liquid honey, “are you sure you know what marrying a Muslim entails? You have to take our faith. Are you willing to forsake yours?”

  Ruth felt her heart constrict. She opened her mouth to speak; she couldn’t. Her throat was completely dry. Omar had assured her that they would find a way round the many obstacles in their path.

  “If you marry a Muslim you have to take up Islam. This is the rule. Omar cannot renounce his faith.” Siti’s sharp words cut into Ruth’s thoughts as though she had read Ruth’s mind.

  “If I have to become a Muslim to marry Omar, I will do it. I love him. He is everything to me. Please give us a chance.”

  “He is everything to you?” Siti mocked. She raised one eyebrow in question. “You mean like your husband Mark was everything to you? Does Omar know about your lover, Steve? That was a pretty story was it not? Cheating on your husband, stealing someone else’s husband. Mr Fisher had an invalid wife, did he not?”

  Siti rummaged in her handbag and took out an envelope. “I managed to track him. He wrote me this letter. We had the detectives on your trail the minute we found out about Omar’s involvement with you.”

  Trembling, Ruth stood up. “If you have come to blackmail me, let me tell you that I am not afraid. Omar loves me. I will tell him about Steve. I had planned to tell him. I am not proud of my actions. I was lonely and Mark was unreachable. I know that it is no excuse for my failings. I failed my husband. I failed myself. And I am ashamed.”

  “Shame? You have no shame! Do you think my son would forgive such a squalid affair? Do you think he would still think of you the same way once he knew about your past? You are in Asia. We value chastity. How do you think Omar’s social and political standing would fare if he was encumbered with someone the likes of you? My dear girl, Omar would not forgive you if he knew your past. We brought our son up to believe that women must be chaste. I know my son. You! How long have you known Omar?”

  Ruth sank back onto the seat. Her teeth were chattering so much she could not speak. She hunched over and clutched her middle. Shame, fear and bewilderment chased through her.

  Siti walked over to the window and stared out into the garden. No one spoke. Minutes passed. The tension in the room was palpable.

  “If you do not care about my son,” Siti said, “think about your daughter. School children can be cruel if such information is let loose. Think about your friends. One word from my husband to the appropriate circles and Mr Anderson might find himself ostracised. The British Commission is hardly going to retain him in his present capacity if his Malaysian counterparts do not like him. Is that how you wish to repay their friendship?”

  Without waiting for Ruth’s reply, Siti gathered up her handbag and left the room. She did not look back. She had done all she could to save Omar from the terrible fate that would surely be his if he were to marry this woman. He was her only son, one whom they have placed all their hopes.

  Ruth’s head swam. The coffee table and sofa swelled and retreated. She pictured herself as how Siti described her; a wanton, lustful, selfish woman. She stood up and rubbed her sweaty palms on her dress, creasing the cotton and leaving it with damp patches on it. She returned to the bedroom and shut the door. She couldn’t kill herself. Her hands
went to her belly protectively. She was with child. Omar didn’t know. She had wanted to be sure before she told him. Now she was glad that she hadn’t. Siti was right. The barriers were too insurmountable for them ever to be together. She could not bear the shame of Omar knowing about Steve. She was a wicked woman to have had an affair with a man with an invalid wife. She could not bear to inflict that shame on Libby. She couldn’t let Hugh and May down by her own selfish pursuit of happiness.

  She went into the adjoining bathroom. It was dark inside. She didn’t switch on the lights. She knew where Omar kept his razor. She deserved to be punished.

  Chapter 35

  MORNING CAME. THE sun rose, ascending in the sky like a huge ball of fire. Within minutes the morning dew on the leaves and grass evaporated and the air turned humid. Only the gentle sea breeze from across the Straits of Malacca brought welcome relief.

  May let herself out of Ruth’s house with Lin by her side. It was the last day of her stay with Ruth and she was going with her to visit baby Michael. May yawned. She was tired. By the time she and Hugh returned to their bedroom after their chat, it was almost five in the morning. While Hugh was able to sleep immediately, she did not.

  May went down the steps. Ruth could not be found in her bedroom or in the kitchen. She hitched Lin on to her hips and walked down the path towards the river. Ruth might be there. The water supply to the house was erratic. Sometimes the water would gush out in full force; at other times it trickled to a drip. Ruth had said that she had taken to washing in the upper stream of the river, where it was clean.

  She passed a flock of hens with their chicks. Someone had scattered rice husks on the ground. They were pecking furiously and paid May scarce attention as she walked by. Up and down their heads went, clucking incessantly.

  May turned a corner. Here the ground descended more steeply. Tall grass grew on the verge. She could hear the gurgling of the stream. She hitched Lin more securely on her hip and brought a hand over her brow to shield from the glare of the sun. She spotted Ruth at once, bent over the river edge dipping a cloth into the water and applying it to her arm. The water turned crimson.

  Alarmed, May hurried down, unmindful of the sharp blades of lalang that scratched her legs and feet. Lin had nodded off. The weight of her little body bore May down. She shifted Lin to the front and wrapped both her arms around her tiny body, hugging her close, one hand protectively on her head. Halfway down, she saw Ruth straightened up to bandage her arm. Slowly with infinite care Ruth pulled her sleeves down to cover the bandage. May stopped. She guessed what happened. She remembered the day when she had first discovered Ruth inflicting cuts on herself. She must be doing it again. When did it restart? Was it Omar’s sudden appearance that had sparked it? Had Ruth overheard her with Hugh?

  Ruth looked up. She saw May and the concern in her face. “I cut myself. It was an accident. Just a scratch. Let’s go to Fatimah’s. The children will be there soon.”

  Ruth hurried over to May. May examined Ruth’s face for any telltale signs of distress. Ruth looked absolutely normal. In fact her eyes were sparkling with excitement, the blue in her eyes reflecting the iridescent gold from the sun.

  “The children will meet us at Fatimah’s. I want Libby to see the baby and to fall in love with him before I come up with this proposal to adopt him. Do you think it will work?”

  May’s eyes were fixed on Ruth. How could she look so buoyant and normal?

  Ruth looked away. She tugged at her sleeve for it had ridden up revealing her bandaged wound.

  “It was an accident. Help me with Libby. Please. She must like baby Michael. So much depends on it. We can’t be together like a family if I don’t get to adopt him.”

  ***

  Ruth and May arrived at Fatimah’s at noon. They knew because the sun was directly above and the tops of their bare shoulders were turning pink from the heat. Libby was already there. Fatimah had hung a sarong beneath a tree, looping its end over a low branch. It was the shadiest bit of the garden. The tree was huge. Its branches sprawled wide to cast shade over the open stretch of straggly couch grass. The baby was curled inside the sarong, its little body snug and cocooned within its confines.

  Ruth waved to Libby. She beamed when she saw her mother.

  “Look mummy! A baby. Fatimah taught me to jiggle the sarong gently to send it to sleep. It is her niece’s baby. He is sweet, almost milky chocolaty in colour, with long lashes. Just like Uncle Omar.”

  May looked quickly at Ruth, whose face had turned pale.

  “I too would like to have long eyelashes,” Libby continued, blissfully unaware of the sudden tension. She was sitting cross-legged on a brightly coloured straw mat next to the suspended sarong.

  “Where is Craig?” May asked. She saw him before Libby could answer. Craig was kicking a rattan ball. He was clearly bored. A cloud of dirt rose and then settled to colour the ball a dusty brown. He did not know why Libby was fussing over the baby when they could be exploring the beach. There was a little rock pool nearby which he would like to visit.

  May walked briskly to her son. “Come,” she said linking her arm through his, “let’s take a walk. I am sure Ruth would appreciate some time with Libby. They have had hardly any time together since we arrived.”

  Ruth watched them leave. She went to Libby and sat down by her. She placed one arm around her daughter. Together hand over hand, they jiggled the sarong. It was quiet in the garden, except for the sounds of chickens clucking and the occasional bleating of a goat tethered to a rough fence at one end of the plot of land. Ruth buried her nose in Libby’s hair. She inhaled the lemony shampoo of Libby’s hair. “Would you like to hold him,” she whispered. “Fatimah is preparing lunch and she has given us permission to hold him if we wish.”

  “Can we?” Libby was excited and jumped up immediately.

  Ruth rose to her feet. “I’ll take him out of his sarong cradle.” Gently she reached into the sarong and brought the baby out. She held him tightly to her before kissing him. He smelt of milk and talcum. He stretched, kicking out his sturdy little legs, and brought a fist to his mouth. “There,’ she said placing the baby in the crook of Libby’s arm. “Be careful!”

  Ruth looked on as Libby swayed and crooned over the baby. Her heart swelled. “Do you like him,” she asked.

  “He is sweet. Not when he cries though. You should have seen him earlier. His face was all crinkly and red. Before you came he wailed so loudly that I thought he was ill. Fatimah changed his nappy. I had to hold my nose. I didn’t realise that baby’s poo could be so stinky. When he is quiet like this he is fine.” Libby grinned. “I wouldn’t like to be around when he is throwing tantrums.”

  “Would you like it if we adopted him,” asked Ruth casually. “His mother is not able to look after him and is considering putting him up for adoption.” Her heart was pounding as she waited for Libby to answer.

  “Is it because she has no husband? My friend Nina said that was what happened to her neighbour’s daughter.”

  “It would not be right to discuss Fatimah’s niece. It is a private matter. But would you like to have him as your brother?”

  Libby grew very quiet. Ruth searched for a clue on Libby’s face.

  “Perhaps not,” Libby frowned. “It is not that I don’t like him. We don’t have enough money do we? We are always short. Auntie May pays for my school fees. Would she have to pay for the baby as well?”

  Ruth was dumbstruck by her daughter’s answer. She hadn’t realised that Libby was so aware of and troubled about their straitened circumstances.

  “Also would the baby live here with you while I have to live with Auntie May?” Libby asked solemnly. A look of apprehension and suspicion crossed her face. She looked intently at her mother.

  Ruth nodded mutely. She could not help the tears that sprang to her eyes nor could she stop them rolling down her cheeks.

  The tears upset Libby. She became furious. Why was her mother crying over the baby? She never cried
over me, thought Libby.

  “Here, you have him,” she said thrusting the baby back to Ruth. “I don’t want him. I think you will love him more than me. You’d rather he lives with you than me!”

  “That is not true. Libby! Libby!”

  But Libby had turned away and was already half way down the path to the beach. Ruth ran after her but with the baby in her arms she couldn’t make speed. Woken by the commotion, the baby began to wail. Fatimah rushed out. Ruth handed the baby back to her and ran.

  ***

  The sand was bleached white on the beach. Coloured pebbles and seashells lay scattered at random, washed in by the tide. They gleamed under the bright sunshine. Many were caught in a tangle amidst the twining stems of Morning Glory that grew wild in this part of the beach. Craig picked up a piece of driftwood lodged between the purple blooms and hurried over to May and Fu Yi. The two women were talking softly with Lin sitting between them on a towel.

  “Can I take this home?” he asked. “I can use it for my school project.”

  “Of course. I’ll look after it while you wander around.” May looked fondly at her son. His hair was wind-blown and stood on ends. She reached out with one hand and flicked away the sand on his face. “Go on! We’ll be here.”