The Ghost Bride (27 page)

“You said you were from heaven.”

“I never said that. You just assumed it.”

She sighed. “I thought you wouldn’t make it. Come,
we must hurry.”

Once inside the tunnel, the familiar gloom
descended upon us. Soon, I could see less and less, relying on my hand entwined
in Chendana’s mane to keep me from stumbling.

“So,” said Fan conversationally, after we had
walked some time in the darkness. “You’re just a ghost like me after all.”

I felt a great weariness, but she went on. “That
man told me. He appeared out of the air, just as I had reached the cliffs. I was
so surprised! He asked me if I was the one who had brought a human to the Plains
of the Dead, and he told me to wait for you.”

“That’s right,” I said at last. I had no wish to
talk to her, but she kept pestering me with questions. It was easier to give her
desultory answers while my mind, in shock, was still fixed upon Er Lang. Had he
survived? It seemed impossible.

“So all this about a mission was also untrue?” she
asked.

“No, I was helping him, in return for my body.”

“Your body?” She seemed much interested in the fact
that I still had a living body in Malacca. “What a waste!” she said. “How could
you abandon it? If I were you I would have stuck close by.”

“If I had, perhaps he wouldn’t have died.”

“Who was he, after all? I couldn’t really see what
happened, only that the birds stopped chasing you and started flying the other
way.”

Surprised, I realized that with the whitening sky
and the great distance, Fan might not have been able to see Er Lang’s pearl
bright form against the horizon.

“He was a minor government official,” I said.

T
he
rest of the journey through the tunnel, shut in on all sides by enclosed rock,
passed in a numbed daze for me. Fan kept chattering, but I had little stomach to
answer her. The air grew close and suffocating. The silence pressed on me like a
stone.

“Well, I had a wonderful time in the Plains of the
Dead,” she said at length. “It was so nice to go back to my house. I changed my
clothes and everything. Do you want to see what I bought with the money you gave
me?”

I heard the swish of cloth, but by this time the
darkness was complete to me. On the way in, we had had the faraway glow from the
mouth of the tunnel to guide us, but going in the opposite direction there was
no relief from the shadows.

“Oh, I forgot. You can’t see anything here, can
you? It must be because you’re only half dead. That also explains why you looked
so different to me.” Fan continued to prattle on about her visit, her glowing
account completely different from the glum and dismissive behavior she had
displayed before. “Really, I don’t know why I don’t visit more often. It’s such
a pleasant place. I can’t wait until my lover and I can build our own mansion
there.”

It’s because you were afraid of the authorities, I
thought, but didn’t voice it.

“And socially—well! It was far better than my last
visit. I met a number of high-ranking people who were very kind to me.” Fan’s
light voice tinkled off the walls. At length she turned solicitously to me.
“We’re almost there. Do you need to rest?”

“So soon?” I asked. In my mind, the outward journey
had taken a far longer time, but maybe that was the way with all unknown
ventures.

“Yes,” she said. “What will you do when you get
back to Malacca?”

I hung my head. With Er Lang gone, I had no idea of
what to do. If he were, indeed, dead. Even now, I wanted to turn back to search
for his body, though it was madness. What if he was lying wounded somewhere in
the grass? The thought distressed me so much that I could hardly breathe. But
Fan was repeating her query.

“Go home, I suppose,” I said, wishing she would
stop asking me questions. I could barely even think of what to do if my house
was still under guard.

“Oh, me too! I can’t wait to see my lover
again.”

My own thoughts turned to Tian Bai. Perhaps I
should find him as well, question him in his dreams and find out the truth
behind Lim Tian Ching’s accusations. But I didn’t have the heart to think about
it right now, overwhelmed as I was.

I was roused by Fan. “Here we are,” she said.

I could see nothing at all, but I was conscious of
her movements in front of me. There was a sudden rush of fresh air, as though
the pressure had changed, and the faint gleam of stars in a night sky. I stepped
forward, then stopped for a moment.

“Are you sure this is right?”

My words died in my mouth as I turned. Behind me I
saw a door vanishing slowly, its edges fading into darkness. I caught a glimpse
of Fan’s pale face, illumined once again with the hazy green corpse glow she had
lost in the Plains of the Dead. She was smiling, a faint, wicked smirk that
winked out abruptly as the door closed. I stared around frantically. I was
lost.

Part Four

Malacca

Chapter
31

I
t was dark
outside, far darker than I would have expected in the immediate environs of
Malacca. Shadowy trees loomed overhead and the stars were brilliant through the
punctuated jungle canopy. In the Plains of the Dead, there had been no scent in
that dry world, but here the air was green and intensely alive. I drank it in
tremendous draughts, even as I felt like crying. Fan had betrayed me. This was
nowhere near my home.

She had spoken of different doors in that
passageway to the world of the dead, and had been surprised when I admitted that
I couldn’t see them. Any door might lead to a different place. What if this were
somewhere far away, such as Johore, or even Kelantan on the east coast? Or an
island across the Straits such as Bali or Kalimantan? There was no one to save
me now. Er Lang was gone, Tian Bai a possible murderer, my mother a servant in
the Plains of the Dead. I ran my fingers through Chendana’s mane, thankful that
she, at least, was still with me. It was true I could be anywhere, but I had the
feeling that I wasn’t too far from Malacca.

The smell of the vegetation and the faint tang of
the sea were familiar. And I doubted Fan’s capacity to thoroughly lose me. Fan
was lazy; she would probably shove me out of a door fairly close to the one that
we had entered from. Besides, she herself had admitted that she’d explored
almost none of these alternate exits, fearing her incapacity as a ghost to find
her way home. I wasn’t like her, I told myself. I was only half dead, though the
thought made me grimace. It didn’t seem like something to be proud of. One of
the few advantages of the Plains of the Dead was that I had been corporeal again
there. But now as I gazed down at my feet and the dead leaves that were faintly
visible through them, I was gripped by fear that my form was even more tenuous
than it had been before. Er Lang had warned me about the long separation from my
body. How many days, even weeks, had it been since I had left the world of the
living? I felt so agitated that I almost started off into the jungle, wishing
only to find some familiar landmark, but I stopped myself. It was dark and I was
at the end of my strength. My eyes were swollen from crying. In the morning I
might be able to take better bearings.

W
hen I
woke, the sun was shining. There had been no sun in the Plains of the Dead, but
now shafts of warm light caught the tops of the jungle giants though their feet
were still shrouded in gloom. I had never been so glad to be back, yet so
downhearted as I surveyed the thick tropical undergrowth. It reminded me of how
close I was to never returning to this world again. My path was as narrow as the
blade of a knife. One false step, and I would be permanently severed from my
body. I looked around to see if I could discern any sign of the door through
which I had passed last night, but there was nothing. With each passing moment,
I felt a pressing urge to return to Malacca. To find out if my body was still
preserved. To see Amah, and my father. And Tian Bai. I was sure, perhaps naively
so, that if I confronted him I would be able to tell if he was a liar. Or a
murderer. I wondered too whether Fan’s betrayal was purely spite or if someone
put her up to it. Or if Lim Tian Ching and his demons were even now searching
for me. But overshadowing these anxieties was the loss of Er Lang.

The chances of his survival were bleak. With a
shudder, I recalled how he had joked about being devoured in the Plains of the
Dead. I did not know what that meant, only that it had a dreadful finality.
Since losing my own body, Er Lang had been the only one with whom I could speak
freely about my fears and concerns. But I had never thanked him properly for
coming to my aid, even when he could have saved himself and left without me. I
missed his odd companionship desperately; it seemed impossible that I would
never see him again. My chest constricted as I recalled how pleased he had been
when I gave him the letter. And now that evidence too was destroyed.

I had often heard tales of
loong
during my childhood: great lords who controlled the rain and
the seas. Sometimes they appeared as magnificent beasts, other times as kingly
men or beautiful women. Occasionally, they took human wives or lovers; the
emperor of China himself claimed descent from dragons and embroidered them on
his robes. Five claws for royal garments, three for common folk. Recalling the
tale of the scholar who visited the wonders of the Dragon King’s palace
underneath the sea, I could certainly understand now why Er Lang had felt
entitled to patronize me. To see a dragon was considered lucky, but what if one
were complicit in the death of one? The thought plunged me into greater
depression.

Taking the scale out of my pocket, I examined it
carefully. To my dismay, the color was flat and the shining luster dulled. I
fought back the unhappy suspicion that the life had gone out of it and blew
tentatively on the fluted edge. The sound was faint and choked. After a while, I
put it away and buried my face in my hands.

With Er Lang gone, whom could I go to with my tale
of rebellion and conspiracy in hell? And who would intervene in Lim Tian Ching’s
schemes to marry me? My hopes of regaining my body seemed doomed. I leaned back
against the rough bark of a tree. The jungle around was thick and filled with
the sound of insects. I heard a grunting sound as a wild pig ran through a
clearing and, later, the curious coughing bark of a tiger. But there were no
people or spirits. This door might once have opened onto an ancient settlement,
though long ago, the last hungry ghost in this vicinity must have withered and
vanished away. It was no use staying here, but the trees were so close that I
had no sense of my surroundings beyond thirty feet. Gazing up at the forest
canopy, I was struck by the idea of climbing to get my bearings.

It was far easier than I imagined. My light body
needed scarcely any effort to pull up. Again, I tried to suppress the terrible
suspicion that I had lost substance. Gritting my teeth, I set my gaze higher.
When I broke through at last, I was dazzled by the brilliant sunlight. All
around was an unbroken sea of green, an undulating ocean of thousands of leaves.
The sky was a pure cerulean, as blue as the finest Ming porcelain. Butterflies
the size of my hand fluttered slowly past, their wings glittering. In the bright
sunshine and wind, I couldn’t help heaving a sigh of relief.

From my perch I could see the distant sparkle of
the sea and the curve of a bay. I could even, with my preternatural eyesight,
spy the smudge of low red rooftops. I was right, Fan had discarded me just a few
doors down from the correct exit. For most ghosts, a journey of this length
would be impossible given their frail natures and difficulties walking straight.
But I wasn’t a ghost yet, and I still had my horse.

Though I rode as fast as I could, Chendana still
had to pick her way between trees and over rocks as it was exhausting to pass
through solid objects. I suspected that every time I did so, I lost more
substance. To make matters worse, I frequently lost my way among the massive
trunks and was forced to climb again to get my bearings. From time to time, I
blew on Er Lang’s scale. There was never any response, but I continued in the
vain hope that it could call him back. The hours dragged on till nightfall while
the distance to the sea decreased in agonizingly slow increments. Naively, I’d
thought I might get there by the next day at least, or even the day after—but to
my dismay it took me almost a week to reach the outskirts of the port.

W
e
approached Malacca from the north, coming up along the bay. Once we were clear
of the trees, Chendana cantered freely and the miles of sand were eaten up under
her hooves. We passed fishermen’s settlements with wooden stilt houses standing
over the water, boats drawn up on the beach. Fish smoked over fires, and naked
children played in the shallows. I passed them in a blur, unseen and unnoticed.
Even the hungry ghosts stayed out of my way. The urge to return home was reeling
me in like a fish on a line. I felt frantic with anxiety, for something strange
was happening to me.

Sharp pains had begun to assail my body, followed
by interims of numbing weakness, as though someone had sucked the marrow from my
bones. Examining myself, I saw no visible wound, but I couldn’t deny it. I had
suffered some kind of harm. If it hadn’t been for my little horse I would never
have made it back, but she bore me onward when I was too weak to lift my head.
These exhausting episodes came and went, though they weren’t the only thing that
worried me. My clothes had begun to change as well.

Instead of the usual pajamas that Amah used to
dress my inert body in, I began to notice
sam foo
,
and loose cotton dresses that I used to wear around the house. At times the
garments became even more formal.
Baju
that I rarely
used, even my mother’s
kebaya
once. When that
happened I was terrified. Were they preparing me for burial? But the clothes
continued to change and I still remained in this world of the living. Still, I
was anxious, very anxious.

As we drew nearer, warehouses began to appear and I
realized that we were very close to Tian Bai’s office in the Lim family godown.
The temptation to stop and see him was irresistible, so I turned aside. When I’d
last seen him, it had been a slow, torpid afternoon, but now it was midday and
the fierce tropical light beat down. The warehouse was swarming with coolies
laden with crates and sacks. I stopped in the narrow pathway outside, invisible
to the gaunt men who, half naked, toiled under the burning sun. Their rib cages
stood out in stark relief, their toenails were black and broken. Some had cut
their hair in the new Western style, just as Tian Bai did, but the majority
still bore long greasy pigtails, the front of their skulls shaven like a new
moon. A rank smell of sweat rose from their bodies as they passed close to
me.

Slipping off Chendana’s back, I made my way through
the stream of people, shuddering at how they avoided me instinctively like a
plague-ridden dog. At the doorway, I was struck by another bout of weakness.
Reeling, I crossed the lintel and knelt on the floor. I heard orders being
barked and the heavy tread of feet. Despite my lack of substance, I had an
instinctive fear of being trampled and tried to rise. It was then that I heard
Tian Bai’s quiet, steady voice.

He looked thin and there were shadows under his
eyes that I didn’t remember. Still, he passed through to the rear office with
the easy gait that I remembered. I stumbled after him. Tian Bai seemed graver,
not so quick to smile as I remembered. The conversations he had were all
business related. I was impressed that he could speak so many different dialects
of Chinese: Hokkien, Cantonese, and Hainanese, as well as Malay and even a
little Tamil. But why should I be surprised? Most people could speak at least
two or three languages here. My estimation probably stemmed from the fact that
it was Tian Bai, and I was inclined to admire all things that he could do.

Midday turned into afternoon and I told myself that
now that I had seen him, I should go home. Still, I lingered. I watched him
anxiously, wondering if there was any deceit in that open face. Tian Bai had
tiffin delivered to his desk as he pored over paperwork. He negotiated contracts
and made abacus calculations with swift flicks of his wrist. Observing his
competence, I could easily imagine how his uncle would favor him over his own
spoiled son. Surely Lim Tian Ching’s accusations were pure jealousy, although my
doubts remained. Now that I had journeyed to the land of the dead and had seen
that desires and feuds lingered even after death, I couldn’t say such things
were impossible.

Late in the day, an older man came in with a stack
of papers.

“Not done yet?” he asked Tian Bai. He shook his
head. “Your uncle works you too hard.” The other man had a sly manner that I
distrusted, and hearing the turn of the conversation, I drew closer until I
stood at Tian Bai’s shoulder. “I’m sure he’s glad you came back from Hong Kong,”
he said. Many people said you would never return.”

Tian Bai frowned. “Who said so?”

“They said you liked it better there.”

“They were wrong.”

“Really?”

Tian Bai lifted his eyebrows. “A Chinaman is still
a second-class citizen there, even if he’s a member of the Commonwealth.”

His interlocutor raised his hands and laughed. “Ah,
why so serious? Anyway . . .” He paused. “I wanted to congratulate you
on your upcoming marriage. When is it?”

“In two months’ time.”

“I’m sure your uncle is anxious for you to be
married, now that you’re the only heir.”

“He’s been good enough to agree to it. Officially,
the family is still in mourning.”

Marriage! So he had agreed to the marriage, I
thought. Miserably, I paced up and down after the man had left, passing so close
to Tian Bai that I brushed his jacket with my sleeve. He didn’t look up. It
could only be to that horse-faced girl. Who else would be so acceptable to his
uncle? I leaned over in front of him; I plucked at his sleeves with my
insubstantial fingers, but to no avail.

“Tian Bai!” I cried. “Can you hear me?”

There was no response, but after a while he pushed
his chair back with a sigh. In repose, his face was closed, the expression
distant. I looked at the windowsill where his collection of curiosities was
still arranged. Among the carved wooden animals, I noticed that the horse was
missing and my mouth quirked. I knew where she had gone. And there was my comb
at the very end of the row, almost like an afterthought.

A thin silvery line still ran from it, that
insubstantial filament that had originally led me to Tian Bai. I walked over and
plucked it between my fingers. Perhaps it was a trick of the light, but it
seemed darker and less translucent than before. Still, it hummed to my touch
like a live thing. I glanced over at Tian Bai who was still deep in thought.
Sleep
, I thought.
Sleep, so
I can talk to you.
My will carried through the line, or it might
simply have been the effects of a long day, for soon Tian Bai’s eyes closed.
When I was sure that he was asleep, I pressed the thread lightly into his chest,
just as I had done before.