A Different Sky (24 page)

She had never before asked her father about his mother but tonight she needed to know Chwee Gek's story. Her name, spilling so painfully from her grandfather's lips that morning had stirred the real woman
to life in her mind. At first Boon Eng looked at his daughter in alarm and then stared into his whisky glass, clinking the ice against the sides.

‘I have a right to know; she was my grandmother,' Mei Lan insisted. Boon Eng nodded reluctantly, but when he spoke his voice was low and hard.

‘I was not allowed to see her body after she killed herself.' Boon Eng fell silent, searching memories compressed behind a locked door of pain. When he continued the words burst angrily from him.

‘Why could she not accept Father's marriage to Second Mother? She had no right to take her life over so little a thing. We were not able to keep it secret and it made our family a laughing stock. Father did no more than other men. In those times no woman with a wealthy husband expected to be an only wife; poor men kept just one wife because they could afford no more.' Boon Eng's face was flooded by emotion. He put down his empty glass with such force that it rang upon the tabletop. Then, abruptly, he pulled himself out of the deep rattan chair, suddenly anxious to get on with the evening, unable to bear any more.

‘At ten years old she left me alone in the world.' Boon Eng could not keep the bitterness from his voice. He strode hurriedly away towards an open French window and disappeared into the darkness of the house beyond.

After he left Mei Lan continued to sit on the veranda amidst the lengthening shadows, filled with a confusion of feelings. Soon she heard the crank of the car engine and then the crunch of gravel on the narrow drive as Boon Eng was driven away for the diversions of the evening. A wave of loneliness swept through her. Until now Chwee Gek had been an unknown face in a dim photograph and Mei Lan felt little connection to her. Now, suddenly, the woman had emerged from the mists of time, aching and grief stricken, catching hold of Mei Lan's own emotions across the divide of generations. It was as if her ghost had waited all these years to present its plight.

Later, Ah Siew squatted down to massage Mei Lan as she lay on her bed in pink silk pyjamas. The old woman's fingers, although arthritic, were still strong and she pressed her thumb hard upon each acupuncture point. Mei Lan rested her head on her arms and squinted up at Ah Siew. Nobody knew how old she was; even Ah Siew herself
did not know for births and deaths were never registered in the village. A mosquito coil burned in the room, while outside bats rustled the leaves of the mango tree. Mei Lan coughed as the acrid smoke of the coil caught in her throat.

‘Tell me about First Grandmother, what was she like?' Mei Lan demanded.

‘She was a good mistress,' Ah Siew replied and fell silent.

‘Why did she die?' Mei Lan persisted as Ah Siew pressed down on the knots of her spine.

‘Because, in the end, she could not accept the Second Obeying,' Ah Siew answered grimly. ‘Just like me and my sisters.'

‘Why will no one talk about her?' Mei Lan demanded. Ah Siew sucked her teeth and frowned.

‘Her in-laws bought her from her parents when she was four years old, for the purpose of being their daughter-in-law. When she was grown she would already know their ways, already be one of the family. Then, the chances of needing to divorce her for one of the Seven Outs would be much less: barrenness, disobeying, neglecting parents-in-law, adultery, wantonness, jealousy or gossiping, theft or diseases,' Ah Siew explained, going through the list.

‘Then First Grandmother and Grandfather must have grown up together, working and playing side by side.' Mei Lan raised her head in interest.

‘She was ashamed of her feet,' Ah Siew admitted, suddenly ceasing to massage Mei Lan, breathing the words out softly. ‘Young Master, your father, was born late in First Mistress's life, only after she arrived in Malaya. Before that she was left alone in China for years with Ancient Master's parents and when they died she must have been nearly thirty. I entered the house at that time, to look after your father. I was here when Second Mistress, Lustrous Pearl, came into the House of Lim. She had the smallest feet and she was just fourteen years old.' Ah Siew sighed and rubbed some of the massage oil over her own arthritic knuckles as she continued.

‘Once Mistress called in an old foot binder to ask if anything could be done about her large feet, if it was not too late to bind them. She said she would put up with any amount of pain. I told the foot binder to get out of the house and begged First Mistress to come to her senses.'

Mei Lan listened in horror, staring at the photograph of First Grandmother that had stood on her bookshelves beside a picture of her own mother for as long as she could remember. Her grandmother sounded half out of her mind. From the photo frame Chwee Gek faced her granddaughter with a cool gaze, sitting formally on a chair with a son of some months upon her knee. Lim Hock An, already the owner of a successful tin mine, stood beside her dressed in a dark jacket worn over a white cotton waistcoat and trousers. One hand rested casually in a trouser pocket and from a high brow his hair grew thick as a hat above the wide sensual features of his face. Chwee Gek's long, delicate earrings softened the severity of her drawn-back hair and high-necked blouse, her sensitive lips and wide clear eyes were full of stoic austerity. The son in her lap was not Mei Lan's father, her only surviving child, but an infant who had died soon after the photograph was taken. A whole life was on view in her grandmother's face and the child, destined so soon to die, would bring further pain to her eyes. Mei Lan stared at her grandfather's features in the photograph, and thought she could see the sensualist Lim Hock An had so famously been.

Ah Siew rubbed more oil into her sore knuckles and continued. ‘Second Mistress said her lily feet were for a man's pleasure. They should be so small that a man could take the whole foot into his mouth, if this was what he liked. Other men liked to hold them tightly as they took their pleasure. So many shameful things she told us servants, laughing all the while; I didn't want to hear.'

Mei Lan was acutely uncomfortable at these revelations. All she could see was Chwee Gek's grave and sensitive face in the photograph before her; all she could feel was rage at both her father and her grandfather. Behind each man stood the wasted ghosts of so many women's lives.

‘You are like her,' Ah Siew sighed sadly. ‘Your grandmother was a proud woman, she always needed to have her way.'

Mei Lan had never been to Belvedere before but she had imagined the look and the smell of it. The steep driveway was lit for her by the moon. The door swung open at a touch and she entered into a world of candlelight; smells of candle wax and cabbage surrounded her as she stood in Belvedere's small vestibule. She heard low voices in the distance, and by the clink of china and cutlery guessed the lodgers
were still at their dinner. As she looked about for a bell, Wilfred emerged from the shadows.

‘I was waiting for you, you're right on time,' he smiled, extending his hand in greeting, leading her to a couple of easy chairs in the alcove behind them. Once she was seated he disappeared in the direction of the dining room to request some coffee.

When he returned she handed over the envelope of information about the China Relief Fund, and pointed out the translations she had scribbled in the margins of the pamphlets. Within a few moments Rose appeared, a houseboy following with a tray of coffee. Wilfred jumped up to make the introduction.

‘She's our neighbour from across the canal,' he explained to Rose who smiled warmly, relieved Wilfred Patterson had found some female company at last and might now takes his eyes off Cynthia. At that moment Howard emerged from the dining room. Turning down the corridor towards his room he glanced casually over his shoulder and stopped in surprise.

‘Mei Lan.' Her name involuntarily escaped from him and Rose frowned with sudden understanding. In the several years since the Chinese family across the canal had erected their protective fence, Howard had stayed away from the girl of the house on Rose's explicit orders. Yet, by the way the girl's eyes were now fixed upon Howard, it was clear to Rose that she still had designs upon him.

Speaking directly to Howard, Mei Lan hurriedly explained about Wilfred's interest in the China Relief Fund. It was four years since she had seen him; he was taller, his hair curlier, his eyes deeper, and there was now a prominent edge to his features. A girl of Howard's age came to stand curiously beside him and Mei Lan knew immediately this was his green-eyed and tawny-haired sister, Cynthia. Wilfred Patterson moved forward in confusion and Mei Lan sensed that something connected him to Cynthia. From his hurried explanation to her of Mei Lan's visit, it was clear he wanted no misunderstanding.

‘Why didn't she just deliver the pamphlets to
The Straits Times
office? You'd better be careful, son,' Rose warned Howard when Mei Lan had gone.

Mei Lan returned to Bougainvillaea House and stood at the window in her room, looking across the black mass of the mangosteen trees
to the untidy shape of Belvedere, filled by a sense of desperation; everything she had thought was disassembled within her had only hidden itself away, and she could not control the way her feelings now ignited. Soon, in the distance came the notes of a saxophone. It was worse the next day; she could settle to nothing and in the late afternoon she heard him playing the same tune again, as if to send her a message.

The following day at the first sound of the saxophone she made her way once again to the gazebo, slipping under the dividing fence unseen, into the grounds of Lim Villa as she had not done for years. The clearing waited as before, the
lallang
grass neatly clipped by gardeners, the tall encircling trees pressed together, hiding the place as always. He was already there and when she reached him he pulled her to him roughly with none of the leisurely voluptuousness she remembered. Now he was kissing her, pushing open her lips, feeling the inside of her mouth with his tongue, just as she was responding, pressing herself against him. When she pulled away to take a breath, she tasted blood on her lip. Then, as he had never done before, his hands were reaching for her body, unbuttoning her clothes, pushing them aside. She was eager to help him, easing her arms from her blouse and arching her back so that he could pull away the last of her coverings. She felt his bare flesh against her and all she wanted was to enfold him, to feel him within her. The wrought-iron seat pressed uncomfortably into her shoulders. Without taking his mouth from her lips he fitted himself against her and she felt the hardness of him and then a pain, so sharp as he entered her that she cried out.

When at last his body was still and he lay heavily upon her, she ran her hands through his hair, tears in her eyes at the strange wonder of it all. The discomfort she was left with only confirmed his possession of her and she wanted it never to ease.

They came then to the gazebo each day, without rest from the longing that consumed them, the innocence of that other time far behind them. She waited only for the moments she was with him, unthinking and unfeeling of all else. Everything in the day underlay that time: the colour of the sky and taste of breakfast porridge, the musty smell of the canal, the touch of silk against her arm – everything increased in intensity. Her body throbbed at the thought of him, wanting him within her at every moment, in anguish until he thrust into her, craving the
pleasure he brought her. Together, they stepped into another dimension and beyond the gazebo the world was far away. Nothing else mattered; however many times they came together it was never enough. The protecting trees, the sound of birdsong and the rustle of leaves embraced them, condoning this ecstasy.

‘Will I get pregnant?' she asked him once, not caring if she did, the need of him was so great. Her own body had revealed itself to her in all its gratuitous carnality.

‘We'll marry if anything happens. We'll marry anyway,' he promised, and she knew it was true. Already they were as one.

But just as before, it could not last. Within weeks a gardener saw them, spying upon them through the trees, and told the kitchen boy in Bougainvillaea House, who then told Ah Siew.

‘What have you done, Little Goose,' the old woman moaned in distress. She was beyond anger, fearing the whispering of servants and slave girls would eventually reach Second Mistress as before.

When at last this happened, Second Grandmother's explosion of anger knew no bounds. Mei Lan's impiety embodied all the wanton sensations Lustrous Pearl had always longed to experience herself. Lim Hock An, stricken not so much with anger as with fear for the reputation of his granddaughter, made a grim decision.

‘Your father is in Hong Kong and is likely to stay some time. You will join him there; he is arranging for you to take a secretarial course, and later help him in the office. When you return here you must accept that it will be time for you to marry.'

‘You must do as they say, you must go,' Howard told her, guilty at her unhappiness, anxious not to create more trouble for her. ‘I will write to you every day.'

R
OSE COULD BARELY CONTAIN
her excitement. Mr Churchill's great battleship the
Prince of Wales,
the largest ship of its kind to be built, had arrived at the naval base and Howard was taking her to see it. Accompanied by the
Repulse
, the
Prince of Wales
had berthed just days before, on 2 December, to great celebration and everyone who could was making the journey to see it. In the face of increasing Japanese hostility, the ship had been sent to Singapore on the personal orders of Winston Churchill. It would display the might of the British Empire and defend the waters of South East Asia should the Japanese get any upstart ideas.