Where the Sunrise is Red

by Chan Ling Yap

  Ruth smiled politely and looked away.

  The man glared at her, clearly offended and sat down. “Stuck up,” he muttered.

  Embarrassed, Ruth looked apologetically at the farmer who was sitting next to her. He was observing the exchange with interest. He pointed at the man’s back and whispered leaning into Ruth’s ear, “Jahat! Penyibut,” making a face to indicate that the man in front of them was a busy body and was to be avoided. The bus continued to plough through the rain. More and more cars overtook them. Each time the bus swerved to the verge to make way. The road was narrow. The heat, the mingling of odours in a confined space, became unbearable. Ruth felt nauseous. She placed her forehead against the window to get some coolness. A car sped by perilously close to the bus, its metallic grey body a blur as it overtook. Harsh lights shone into Ruth’s eyes from an oncoming car, its body indiscernible under the pelting rain. A loud bang followed. The bus swerved and rolled over in slow motion, down the side of the road into a parallel ditch. Ruth could feel her head banging against the window, once, twice, three times. She lost count. Then darkness.

  ***

  “Why is Ruth so late?” May asked. Streaks of lightning lit up the sky but within seconds everything fell back to darkness. May pushed aside the curtains and looked out. Rain lashed down with force, driving diagonal sheets across the lawn and driveway. “I said I would send the driver to her. I begged her to at least take a taxi. She insisted on using a bus. She wouldn’t even allow us to meet her at the station. She wanted to make her way here on her own! I couldn’t make her see sense. She is so stubborn.”

  “In this bad weather the bus journey could take four hours, more if the traffic is bad. Remember the potholes when we last went to Port Dickson? Shall I drive to the bus station? I tried calling. No one answered. The connection is poor.” Hugh could see that May was agitated.

  “I’ll come with you.” May went into the hallway to get some umbrellas.

  “No! You stay at home and keep safe and dry.” Another streak of lightning lit up the sky, followed by a roll of thunder. Huge drops pelted the windowpanes. “Look at the weather. An umbrella would not protect you against the rain. The wind is gusty. It would turn it inside out within seconds. Umbrellas under such conditions are more a hindrance.”

  “I want to come.”

  The phone rang. The sudden succession of rings startled May. She looked at Hugh but he was already striding towards the phone. He picked it up. May watched his grim face as he listened. His hand went up mid-air to stop her from asking questions. Minutes passed: the clock in the hallway ticked. Gently, he placed the phone down. “It is Ruth. There has been an accident.”

  ***

  Ruth’s eyes fluttered, they moved rapidly from side to side. She saw Buster. He bounded up to her wagging his tail and leaving behind him a trail of flattened golden ripe wheat. It was summer and the sun was shining bright. He jumped, his paws catching the threads on her skirt. Ruth knelt down and stroked his head. The fur was soft and she could smell his doggy scent. She looked up. Mark was calling and waving to her. His voice soared and trailed in the wind. She could see his smile and sense his eagerness for her to join him. He stood in the field with the wheat reaching up his waist. His hair was like the colour of sun-bleached grains. The sky was clear blue. “Come,” he gestured to her. “Come to me,” he seemed to say, his words lost in the sound of the wind.

  Then another voice came from behind her, stopping her. She turned. Green paddy fields inundated with water stretched before her. The water gleamed black. Overhead the sun was red. In the midst of it stood Omar. “Stop, don’t go! Stay with me,” he shouted. His eyes sought hers. He ran towards her with his arms spread wide. “I love you.” He caught her wrist. She sensed a movement behind her. From the corner of her eye, she could see Mark. He was fading away with each backward step he took.

  Ruth struggled, hitting out with her hands, her arms flailing.

  “Nurse, hold her,” a voice commanded. “She will harm herself.”

  May stood petrified at the bedside. Ruth was twisting and turning in the bed. Her eyes were squeezed tight shut. Yet behind the blue-veined eyelids, her eyeballs continued to dart wildly from side to side. Ruth opened her mouth to speak. No words came out; instead an unnerving agonised howl issued from her lips.

  May dropped to her haunches and took Ruth’s hand in hers. She stroked it. “Shhh! We are all here. You had an accident. Everything will be all right. Libby wants to see you. You won’t want her to see you in distress.” May’s face was wet as she leaned over to stroke Ruth’s cheek.

  The nurse administered a needle in the crook of Ruth’s arm. Ruth stopped struggling and her head lolled to one side She was very pale and her lips were blue. There was a deep gash on one side of her temple, which had been stitched and bandaged.

  The nurse pulled a chair to the side of the bed. “There, a seat for you. Let her rest. We will run a series of tests when she wakes up. For the moment sleep is the best thing for her.” The nurse went out and came back shortly with a box of tissues. She placed it in May’s hand. “She must mean a lot to you. I’ll be back soon to check.”

  ***

  Omar opened his eyes. Gingerly, he touched his cheeks and felt the rough stubble of two days’ growth. He was fully dressed. His shirt, unbuttoned almost to his waist and un-tucked from his trousers, was crumpled. He could smell himself. A necktie lay carelessly half hidden and trapped by a cushion. He must have fallen asleep on the sofa. Since that fateful day when the poisonous documents had been rudely thrust into his hand he had dragged himself to the office and performed like a robot before heading home and drinking himself into a stupor. He looked around the room. It was a mess. Bottles, glasses, half-eaten food lay on every surface. He had given the maid leave. He wanted to be on his own to think. Instead, he drank.

  That was until the previous night. Filled with self-disgust, he had emptied a whole bottle of whisky into the kitchen basin and stood listening to the gurgling of the golden liquid as it disappeared down the waste hole. After that he collapsed on the sofa and slept until bright sunshine shone straight onto his face.

  He rose to his feet and stamped them. They were cramped and sore. He went into the kitchen and took a bin bag. With methodical care, he cleared up the bottles and mess from the floor and tables until some semblance of order returned. He went to his bedroom and stripped off his stale clothes and walked into the shower. The sensation of hot water pounding his body, the fresh scent of soap and shampoo breathed new life into him. He scrubbed until his body tingled. He dressed with care. He had reached a conclusion about himself and Ruth. He was a hypocrite. She had not told him the whole truth about her past because he had not wanted her to. He had told her that they should look forward to the future and not backwards. How could he blame her for not telling him? Her past was not for him to forgive. He had no right. Yet, the words of the report sprung before him, black on white and vicious. He had no right. But was it a question of right? Could he trust Ruth to be faithful to him, when she had not been faithful in her previous marriage, even though May had tried to explain? A picture of Ruth with Steve rose in his mind’s eye. He could not stop his revulsion. He recalled May’s words. Could he be magnanimous like Hugh? Deep down, he wasn’t sure.

  The doorbell rang. He rose to his feet and walked to the door. He opened it. “Hugh!” he exclaimed in surprise. Behind Hugh another car swerved into the driveway. It was his parents.

  Omar pushed open the door and indicated that Hugh should enter. He looked over Hugh’s shoulder and saw his mother getting out of the car followed by his father.

  Hugh hesitated with his foot suspended over the door’s threshold. He followed Omar’s eyes. “You have guests. I won’t stay. What I have to say won’t take long. Ruth is in hospital. She has had an accident.”

  Omar held on to the doorframe. “Accident?” he asked. “How? Is she going to be all right?”

  Siti’s voice cut in. She had hurried over the m
inute she saw Hugh at the door. “Of course she is all right. All this fuss over a little accident.” She brushed past Hugh without greeting. “You again,” she muttered aloud, “interfering with my family affairs. Isn’t it about time you packed up and went home like the rest? You don’t belong here. We have had enough.”

  “I am sorry. My wife is upset,” Omar’s father said with a curt nod to Hugh before he too brushed past and went into the house.

  “Well! I’d better leave you.” Hugh, embarrassed by the assault of words, turned to leave. He could hardly blame Ruth for not wanting to be part of Omar’s family.

  “Omar! Come into the house. We have something to say to you,” his mother shouted from within.

  Chapter 40

  MAY SAT WITH her knees pressed against the hard metal bars of the hospital bed. Her back ached from the long hours spent on the uncomfortable chair. A nurse came in with a cup of coffee. May took it gratefully with two hands. With infinite care, she sipped the hot sweet liquid, savouring the heat and the taste of it. She watched the nurse take Ruth’s blood pressure and change the drip.

  “You should eat something,” the nurse advised. She looked at May over her glasses. She was a stout robust-looking lady with a no-nonsense look about her. Her eyes were, however, kindly and they now stared straight at May. “Take a little rest yourself.” She adjusted the bed sheets and wrote on the board hung at the end of the bed. “I’ll come back in a little while,” she said taking the empty cup from May.

  May rolled her shoulders, for they were tense and rigid. She was about to stand up when Ruth’s hand moved agitatedly on the bed sheet as though she was in search of something. May took her hand and stroked it gently. “I am here,” she whispered. Ruth responded by gripping May’s hand back in return. May was surprised by the strength in her fingers.

  “May!” Ruth left the name hanging in the air; her eyes were still tightly shut. Despite the strength of her fingers her voice was weak. She had tried to speak many times previously. She had failed each time. This was her first clear discernible word. May’s heart leapt. It was a good sign.

  May bent closer. Ruth’s grip tightened.

  “I know that Craig is Mark’s son.”

  May straightened up with a start. She pulled her hand away, her body poised to run. Ruth stopped her. “It is all right. I am not angry. I am glad in a way because I have not borne him a child. It is good that some part of him lives on.” Tears rolled down from the corner of Ruth’s eyes, leaving streaks on her cheeks.

  May placed her cheek against Ruth’s, mingling her own tears with Ruth’s. “Don’t say that,” she said, “Mark lives on in Libby as well.”

  “Libby is not Mark’s. She is the fruit of my indiscretion. I do not want her to know. I am ashamed of myself. That is why I cannot be with Omar. His mother found out and threatens to tell him if I do not give him up. I cannot bear his scorn and anger when he learns what a bad woman I have been.” Ruth opened her eyes and looked straight into May’s. “Should something happen to me, please take care of Libby. I know you were worried that Craig and Libby are siblings and that their attachment to each other will lead to incest. They are not related at all. You have nothing to fear.”

  Ruth released May’s hand. She turned away for a few minutes before returning her gaze to May. “In the eyes of the world, Craig will be yours and Hugh’s and Libby, mine and Mark’s. That is if my indiscretion,” she continued, her eyes tired and her voice weak, “is kept secret. If Omar’s mother were to disclose this, people would gossip. The international community here is small. I don’t mind it for myself. I mind the stigma on Libby.”

  “Surely no one would blame Libby. Not in this day and age. We are in the Sixties.”

  “Yes, in this day and age even in England and particularly if I were to stay in this country. Think, however, of all the things we cannot do without men’s consent. Moreover, society generally views a man’s adultery more kindly than it does a woman’s.” Exhausted by her exertion, Ruth slumped back on to her pillow.

  May held Ruth’s hand tightly in hers. “I promise we’ll look after Libby. Nothing is going to happen to you. I won’t let it.” She kissed Ruth’s palm. It was clammy. “Please don’t fret. We’ll work things out. Omar...”

  But Ruth had already drifted off.

  “Omar,” May wanted to say, “knows about Steve.” Her unfinished sentence hung in the air.

  ***

  When Omar stepped into his house after seeing Hugh off, he found his father standing by the kitchen door with both hands clasped behind him. He stood with legs firmly apart and heels dug in as though he needed the strength and support of the floor. He didn’t turn round at Omar’s entry. Omar could hear the sound of clinking bottles from the kitchen. His mother must have found the empty bottles he had carefully bagged. He waited for the torrent of accusation that would ensue. He was caught wrong-footed; his intention to confront his parents for their ill manners temporarily evaporated at the sight of his mother rushing out from the kitchen. She pushed a bottle into his face and shouted.

  “What could you be thinking of ? Do you think bagging the bottles will conceal your wrongdoing? Do you not know that alcohol consumption is a sin and illegal for Muslims? Anyone, and that includes the rubbish collector, could report you. How could you? Madness! You would be publicly flogged if anyone found out. Your political career would be in tatters!”

  “Where did you get those bottles? Siti screamed in frustration when Omar didn’t reply. “We have to make sure no one else knows.”

  “For once I agree with your mother,” his father said. He wagged his finger at Omar. “This must not get out, especially now. We came today because I received news, good news. You are being considered for the post of Second Minister of Finance. I cannot emphasise enough the importance of this appointment and what it opens up for you in the future. To get this offer at your young age is no mean feat. There can be no scandal. And it includes this! Especially this!”

  Tun Zikri slapped down a stack of papers onto the coffee table. The gesture was so violent the pages flew and dispersed about the floor. Omar retrieved them. There were a couple of photographs of him and Ruth. In one her head was resting on his shoulder; in the other they were kissing. They must have been taken without them being aware. A caption underlined in red caught his attention: Omar’s secret love involved in an accident. Is there more to the story? He read quickly. It gave a brief account of Ruth’s background, the recent loss of her husband, her daughter Libby, the sighting of Omar and Ruth together not long after Mark’s death. Then the insinuations and speculations...

  “Are these out?”

  “No! I stopped it. Alhamdulillah! Thank God! Your cousin saw this at his editor’s desk and alerted me. It cost me. A lot,” stressed Tun Zikri, “ and now we are indebted to your cousin. So no more silly antics. Forget the woman! She is not good for you.”

  “Omar, I am your mother. I have only your interest at heart. Her past will leak out sooner or later. You cannot be involved with her if you wish to have a political career. She has shown herself to be heartless. She stole the husband of an invalid woman. She did this when her own husband was ill.”

  “Stop! Stop! I don’t want to hear anymore. Let me think for myself. Leave me alone!” Omar went to his bedroom and slammed the door shut. His head was bursting.

  ***

  Fu Yi placed baby Michael firmly into Libby’s arms giving her no chance to withdraw. Libby stiffened, unused to the little floppy body. It seemed so tiny and vulnerable. She didn’t want to hold him, didn’t want any connection with someone that competed with her for her mother’s love. She handed the baby back at Fu Yi. “I don’t want him.”

  Fu Yi stared sternly back at Libby and walked out of the room. “I don’t have four hands. You have to help.”

  Libby ran after her. “I don’t want to hold him.”

  Fu Yi went into the bathroom and locked herself in. “Talk to him, take him for a walk round the house, sing
to him. Anything. I need to go to the toilet,” she answered from behind the door. She waited for further protests from Libby and when none came, Fu Yi smiled.

  Libby held the baby gingerly. He squirmed and opened his mouth in a big yawn. Then he smiled revealing toothless gums and two little dimples on either side of his cheeks. Libby held him closer; his soft warm body smelt of milk. She looked around, saw that no one was about and bent down and pecked him on the cheek. She began pacing round the house. It was quiet. May was at the hospital and Craig was still at school with his tennis coach. The baby began to blow bubbles, gurgling and smiling at her. His eyes seemed to recognise her. With one free hand she wiped his mouth and with the other she jiggled, imitating the movements she had observed when Fu Yi carried him.

  Libby was sorry for the things she had said to her mother. She didn’t dislike the baby. In fact she liked him very much. It was just that she was jealous. She was also worried about the pending departure of Craig and his parents. If they returned to England, where would she stay if she couldn’t be with her own mother in Port Dickson? She knew it was not the baby’s fault. Filled with remorse, she kissed the baby again.

  “Aiyah! Ho lah! Ho lah!” Good! Good! You can give him back to me,” said Fu Yi appearing suddenly. She put out her hands out to receive the baby.

  “Didn’t you say you don’t have four hands and need to do something else? I’ll hold him if you wish,” said Libby.

  Fu Yi had seen Libby kissing the baby. “Okay! You hold! I make lunch. You and I eat. Then go hospital. Your mother wants see you. She thinks of you all time. Mother’s love.”

  “What about this baby? Perhaps she loves him more than she does me.”

  Fu Yi glared sternly at Libby. “You too jealous. Not good hap choh! Baby small. Everyone loves small babies. You too. Not mean your mother love one more than other. All equal, a yeong, a yeong! She cry every night for you.” With that she turned and went into the kitchen with a huff.