Where the Sunrise is Red

by Chan Ling Yap

  “And you? Do you still have a job?”

  “Of course! You are not to worry. “ Hugh saw the creases on May’s forehead. He leaned over and smoothed them. “Here,” he said picking up a morsel of food with his chopstick and placing it on May’s lips. “Eat, as Fu Yi would say. You need your strength. Leave all the worrying to me. We’ll break the news to Craig this evening.”

  “Yes,” she said, her face still pale.

  ***

  After Hugh left for his office May returned home. She wished Fu Yi was around. She needed to talk to someone. She was apprehensive about going to England. She had never been outside Malaya. Would she be able to integrate with English people? she asked herself. Would they accept her? How would Craig fare? The treatment she had received at the Selangor Club years ago still lingered in her mind. Would it be worse in England? It was all happening too fast. Yet she should have been prepared. They had talked about the possibility frequently enough. Hugh assured her that there would not be discrimination in England. “We are a hotchpotch of different races, a melting pot. You would be just one amongst the multitude settled in England,” he had said, “you’ll do just fine.”

  May wandered from room to room, her fingers lingering on the furniture she passed. She loved her life here with Hugh and Craig. Each room in the house, each piece of furniture held such memories. Then of course there was Ruth, Libby and baby Michael. She couldn’t leave them here just like that. Who would take care of Libby after they left if Ruth stayed on in Port Dickson? How could Ruth support herself without May’s help?

  She sat down and reached for the phone.

  ***

  Fu Yi fed the baby and placed him back in the crib. Out in the garden, a breeze picked up sending the washing billowing on the clothesline. Bringing the baby to Ma’am Ruth had been a good decision. May was right. In the week since she had moved here with the baby, Ruth was already looking happier and more settled. Fu Yi made sure that Ruth was never alone but constantly with people who loved and respected her. So far, there had been no further incidences of self-harm. Yet the worry was always there. She had to keep vigilant.

  Fu Yi stepped out into the garden and began folding up the washing. Night after night, she sat with Ruth and heard her unburden herself. Through a mishmash of Malay, a smattering of Chinese and English, they made themselves known to each other. In truth, Fu Yi did not understand all that she was told, but the telling seemed to help Ruth and so she allowed the words to flow over her, nodding sagely from time to time to provide encouragement for the outpouring from Ruth. More often than not, Ruth would fall asleep, exhausted by her emotional telling. Fu Yi would then cover her mistress with a blanket and leave her to sleep.

  Fu Yi hitched the basket of washing on to her hip. There was a time, she recalled, when she was young. A smile broke out on her sun-browned face, deepening the creases on her cheeks. It was hard to imagine herself young. She looked at her hands. They were lined and spotted. Once these hands had caressed a young man and loved him as Ruth had loved. She was glad she was no longer of an age where such loves were important. They brought too much pain. Now she loved like a mother and a grandmother. She would have done anything for May; she loved her like the daughter she had never had. Transferring some of the love to Ruth was not hard. She had seen how Ruth suffered. Master Mark was a charming man but he was selfish, putting himself before others. Then who could blame him? Who could blame him for falling in love with May?

  Fu Yi grinned again. “Aiyah!” she chided herself out loud. She would, of course think that. She was biased when it came to May. It was all to do with fate. You couldn’t change fate. It was meant to be.

  With the basket of laundry still on her hip, she went into the kitchen to prepare the evening meal. There was the ikan kembong, a mackerel, to gut and fillet, then just some greens and boiled rice.

  From a distance, the school bell rang followed by the sound of children. “I am glad I am here and not in the airless dormitory that was my retirement home,” she muttered. “Work and caring for others has given me new life.”

  ***

  Ruth waited until all the children had left. The classroom looked abandoned without them. She picked up the exercise books left on the desks and stacked them up in a pile. The children had been copying out the alphabets. She would mark them later in the evening. She sat down and took a piece of paper.

  Dear May,

  I am coming to you this weekend. I have to speak to Libby. Baby Michael is with me. Fu Yi brought him and is staying on to look after us. Thank you. He brings me such joy. I still want to adopt him as my own, a farce, I know, as he is mine. I can’t let the world know. I can’t let Omar know. I fear he will take him away from me. Even if he didn’t, his parents would probably try. I must convince Libby this weekend. I hope she will agree.

  I love Libby and just do not know how she could be persuaded to believe it.

  Love,

  Ruth

  Chapter 38

  ANGER, DISAPPOINTMENT AND jealousy! Omar felt them all. They rushed through his blood and fired him with disgust, disgust for Ruth and disgust for his mother who had commissioned the report. He wanted to choke the lifeblood out of the person who had written those vile words. Was Ruth the Ruth painted in these pages? He flung the papers away from him as though they were hot coals. They scattered on the floor. A photograph landed on his foot. He kicked it away. He clasped his head. Could it be, could it be, he asked himself. Was this what Ruth had wanted to tell him when he stopped her, each time saying that he did not care about her past, just what lay ahead for them? Yet the past was indicative of the future. Would he have brushed the past aside if he had known what lay in it? Confronted by the allegations in the report, he found himself in a quandary. He was a hypocrite! He scolded himself. Nothing should change if he really meant that he was only interested in the future. Yet ... yet! He was suffused with jealousy. The sordid accounts of their trysts burned in his mind. The Ruth he knew should have known better, behaved better, for the man had an invalid wife.

  Omar rose to his feet. He growled, a growl that became an agonised howl. He felt his heart ripped out of him. This was how jealousy felt, a burn that turned his insides out. Was this man the reason why Ruth had rejected him? He walked furiously up and down the room. He had harboured such hopes even after his failure to win her over when he visited Port Dickson. He wanted to hit out at someone, something and anything. His fist crashed into the nearest wall.

  He strode into the bathroom, knuckles bleeding, and turned on the shower. He stepped into the cubicle without undressing. He allowed the steaming hot water to gush over him. It fell like a torrent, its roar hiding his roar of anger.

  ***

  May sat patiently in the car listening to Omar. Her heart went out to him. She had never seen a man so utterly distraught. Where was the Omar the public knew, the confident, magnanimous man who was always on the winning side? The media projected him as the most eligible man in town. She had assumed that he must have had many affairs, many women, and many loves. In fact she had been afraid for Ruth because of the stories surrounding him.

  “Did you know about this? Did Ruth tell you that she had another lover, someone of whom she is still enamoured? Was this why she sent me away?”

  May shook her head. “I didn’t know. I don’t believe it. I think you should let Ruth tell you herself.”

  ‘The report had photographs.”

  “As there are photographs of you and other women. It is what you read into them. They are what you make them out to be.”

  Omar looked unconvinced.

  “I never knew you to be judgemental.”

  “I am not. I try not to be.” He reddened. He knew he was. “My first reaction might have been. I have had time to think it over since. I am more jealous than judgemental. According to the report, they are still lovers. It drives me crazy.”

  “If that is what is bothering you, then I can assure you that Ruth has not loved anyone but you si
nce Mark died. No matter what she says, she is still in love with you.”

  They were parked in a lay-by. “Imagine if someone saw us together today and tells Hugh,” May continued. “Imagine if they were to take a photograph. It would not look good would it?”

  “I am not saying,” she continued, “that Ruth was not acquainted with this man, which obviously she was, nor that he was not her lover when she was in England.” May took a deep breath. Her heart was beating fast. This was her opportunity to help Ruth.

  “Ruth has had a very hard time. Mark was unfaithful to her. This is not hearsay. Don’t imagine that it is Ruth telling stories to justify her actions. I know because I was his lover when he was first posted here. I was young, impressionable, and he was handsome. He swept me off my feet. I didn’t think of Ruth. It is a guilt I have to live with. People make mistakes.”

  Omar blinked. May looked away. Her ears were burning and her face was red with embarrassment. He realised how hard it was for her to tell.

  “Hugh knows?” he asked.

  “Yes, he helped me. He was my pillar. Without him, I would not be what I am.” She smiled and her eyes lit up with the thought of her husband. “I was a frightened young girl with no money. My parents were placed in a settlement. It was the time of the Emergency. They died. I didn’t speak English as I do now. I love Hugh. And my love for him grows with every trust he places in me.”

  May looked him in the eye. “I didn’t call you to talk about this. I didn’t know of the report or the information in it when I made that call. I came to tell you that Hugh and I are returning to England. Ruth will need a friend. She loves you. After you left, she started self-harming again.”

  ***

  When May returned home, she found Ruth’s letter waiting for her. She read the short missive several times in her bedroom. Carefully, she folded it neatly and placed it in a little box in her dressing table. She walked over to the window and sat down on the ledge. It was her favourite place. It looked out into the garden. She was just in time to see a host of sparrows land on the grass. Since Hugh had told her of their imminent departure, every moment spent in the house was poignant. They had had so many happy years in this house, her first real home with Hugh. The future was a big unknown. She stretched her hand out of the window to let the sun touch her arms, feeling its heat caress her. She would miss it. She would miss Ruth. She would miss Libby, as would Craig. She feared that it would be difficult for him to adjust to England. If Libby returned with them, may be...

  No, she scolded herself. Libby couldn’t possibly go back with them. Ruth would not agree. Her place was with her mother. It would be unhealthy for Craig and Libby to be so attached.

  May was fired with the need to mend the despair in the lives of those her past actions had touched. She must mend the rift between Libby and Ruth before she leaves. If Ruth was able to adopt Michael and the three could be together, it would make such a difference.

  Hugh’s car turned into the driveway. He had collected the children from school. She ran out of the room and down the stairs. Her heart felt as though it would burst with love when she saw her husband and son. Her meeting with Omar showed how lucky she was to have Hugh. It seemed unthinkable that she had once loved another. She went quickly to her husband and kissed him. He was taken back by her passion.

  “What brought that on?” He held her close. “Not that I am complaining.”

  “She swallowed. “The heat,” she replied, red-faced. The children sniggered and rolled their eyes.

  “I need you to do some shopping. Take Craig with you.” She held Hugh’s eye before glancing quickly at Libby.

  He understood. “Come on then,” he said to Craig.

  ***

  Talking to Libby proved more difficult than May had anticipated. She had gone over it many times in her head. Yet when the crunch came, she was nervous her intervention would worsen things. May poured a glass of orange juice and handed it to Libby.

  “Is everything all right at school?” May sat down and drew Libby alongside her.

  “Yes! Fine!”

  “I spoke to your school mistress. She said that you seemed distracted.” The teacher’s words were stronger: naughty and disobedient was how she described Libby.

  “I am fine.” Libby sipped her orange juice and avoided May’s eyes. She stared straight at the wall in front of her and swung her legs up and down before dropping her gaze to the floor. “We had sport practice all afternoon. I am tired. That’s all.”

  May placed an arm around Libby’s shoulders. “You know, we are very fond of you. If you have any problems or any issues at all, you will come to us, won’t you?”

  Libby swiped the back of her hand over her mouth. She didn’t answer, nor did she look up.

  May leaned over and kissed Libby lightly on her forehead. “We are worried because you look out of sorts. You can talk to me about anything,” she repeated. “I will keep your confidence.”

  Libby mumbled something under her breath and turned away. A tear splashed down her knee.

  “My dear, come here.” May wrapped her arms around Libby and held her close. “I know something happened between you and your mother when we visited her; something that made both of you sad.” She could feel Libby’s body trembling. Soon May’s blouse was wet with Libby’s tears.

  “Nothing is as bad as it seems once you talk about it.” The poor child should not have to bear a burden on her own, May thought. She knew from Ruth that Libby was jealous of Michael. She needed to expel the jealousy. Yet she must not mention Michael. It would have to come from Libby herself.

  “When I was a child, there were many occasions when I rowed with my mother. This is normal and part of growing up. You must not worry about it and let it eat you up. Your mother loves you. “

  Libby shrugged away May’s arms. Her face was red with anger. “That is the problem. My mother does not love me. She does not have time for me. She is always preoccupied with something or other. Yet she wants to adopt Fatimah’s niece’s baby! Have him live with her while sending me to you. She gives him time. She has none for me.”

  Libby stood up and put the glass down on a table nearby with force. Orange juice splashed over; a puddle of yellow collected on the table. She turned to head towards her bedroom. May caught hold of her hand.

  “Your mother loves you with all her heart. I know because she told me. She talks and worries about you all the time. She is proud of you. There are times when adults find it difficult to express themselves.”

  Libby tugged her hand free. “I don’t believe you.” She spat out the words with vehemence.

  “Your mum is coming to see you this weekend. She wants to explain. Believe me, there is a good reason for everything. Give your mother a chance. Give yourself a chance. Your mother loves you like I love Craig.”

  Libby stood still, head bowed. May was glad that she did not bolt away

  “She was heart-broken when she left you here with me. She did it only to allow you a better education. It was not an easy decision for your mother. Without you she is lonely. She is willing to subject herself to loneliness for you. Not having you with her is her way of saying how much she loves you.”

  Gingerly, May took Libby into her arms again. She stroked her hair. “Talk to your mother when she comes. Be generous with her. She has had a very hard life. You will understand when you are older.”

  May could feel Libby’s body relax.

  “Everything will be fine. You’ll see.”

  Chapter 39

  RAIN PELTED DOWN thick and fast. The bus was packed. The central aisle had no standing room. People stood like tin soldiers, hip to hip, swaying with the motion of the bus. Inside the vehicle, with bodies in close proximity, the damp heat was unbearable. Within minutes of departure from Port Dickson, the air in the bus became musty. Moisture condensed on glass. The windscreen misted over. Tick tack went the windscreen wiper. The driver leaned forward to peer. His chest brushed the steering wheel. He reached o
ut to wipe away the condensation on the windscreen but moisture collected almost immediately.

  Ruth sat squashed next to a Malay farmer. He had a rattan basket on his lap. Inside it were several fluffy little chicks. From time to time, he jiggled his foot. “Untuk cucu saya,” he explained. “For my grandchild.”

  She smiled in answer before turning to look out. She could see little. She rubbed the windows with the heel of her palm. Huge black clouds loomed and trees bent and swayed. The wind was strong. She was glad that baby Michael was safe at home with Fu Yi. The bus lurched to the left. Someone screamed. The farmer’s basket fell, caught in time by the man standing next to him. The bus righted itself. The passengers heaved sighs of relief. Everyone began to talk.

  “Alamak! Bound to flood-lah. The last time I was in KL floodwaters reached my knee. Is this your first trip to the city?” asked the man in the seat in front of her. He stood up and turned to look at Ruth.

  “I lived there for a few months. I have not known it to flood.”

  “You are lucky-man. Floods very common one you know. Monsoon-what. Maybe you lived in good area. All depends on where you are.” He rubbed his thumb and index finger. “You rich; all white people rich. Money counts.”