The White Amah (9 page)

His romantic impulse had upset Rubiah’s plan to swindle him. Whenever Roger bought her a gift she always offered to bargain with the shopkeeper. ‘I’ll get it cheaper for you. They think ex-pats are rich and stupid,’ she would say, confirming Roger’s own belief.

She would slip into conversation with the shopkeeper in Bahasa, thinking how fortunate it was that Roger didn’t understand her language. Then she would suggest to the merchant that he add an extra thousand ringgit to the price and split the difference fifty-fifty.

Still, the locket was pretty and she only knew one way to reward him. Slowly she removed the flimsy red nightdress trimmed with fake white fur, which she had admired at the airport in Labuan, the duty-free island in the South China Sea where Roger had slipped away for a romantic idyll with his enchanting maid. Roger
looked at her slim, flawless body and wished once again that he’d carried out his New Year’s resolution.

Twenty minutes later he lay exhausted on the bed and after a few moments began to snore loudly. Rubiah pulled the sheet over him to cover his nakedness; she didn’t like to look at his pale, flabby body. She didn’t go to sleep. She was already going over the next step in her plan to supplant Heather as his wife.

To succeed, she needed Jelian’s help and he wanted money, lots of it. Her cousin Dedan told her that only a powerful
bomoh,
or shaman, could protect her from the white witch’s curse and he had introduced her to Jelian. The magician told her it would cost five hundred ringgit to remove the spell Mei Li’s mother had cast when her baby had been taken. This was an enormous sum of money. Illiterate girls from the longhouses were fortunate if they earned three hundred ringgit a month, but money wasn’t a problem for Rubiah as long as she kept her boss happy.

The
bomoh
gave her a paper wrapped in yellow cloth. He told her that it had verses from the Quran and she should read them three times before sleeping for forty-one days. When she admitted that she couldn’t read he told her the spell would work just as well if she placed the paper under her pillow. She was counting off the days when she got word that there was a further ritual Jelian needed to perform if she was to be completely released from the spell, but it would cost another five hundred ringgit. The message came with a warning: if she didn’t pay for the purification ritual, the curse would come back doubled.

Roger had laughed when she asked for money to pay the witch doctor and dismissed her fears as uneducated superstition. He told her she was a silly, gullible little ‘jungle bunny’
and he wouldn’t let her throw his money away on a cheat and a charlatan.

Faced with arrogant, smug, ill-informed Western prejudice, Rubiah knew she had no alternative but to help herself to the cash left carelessly around the house by her rich employers. She didn’t feel guilty taking their money. They had so much, and after all, it was their fault she’d been cursed in the first place.

When Rubiah entered the darkened house Jelian’s wife took her through to the living room for the ritual cleansing ceremony. The three-piece suite, still protected in the clear plastic wrap it had been covered with to keep it clean in transit, was pushed against the side walls. The room was dimly lit by common candles stuck in empty cola bottles. Through the gloom she saw the conjuror’s acolyte sitting cross-legged on the pink, imported marble floor playing the traditional three-stringed
rebab.
The medium was sitting on a carved sandalwood chair under a yellow umbrella, gazing vacantly at his daughter. Dressed in an exquisite dress of antique-gold cloth, she was dancing around him, waving a palm frond and chanting an incantation.

The air was heavy with the smell of incense, and the rhythmic chanting was working a spell on the susceptible jungle girl’s senses. Rubiah felt weightless, as though she was floating and looking down on the scene below, released from her body. This is what it must be like to be Mother, she thought sadly. For a moment she felt regret. Since she’d first learned of the ancient power possessed by the women of her family, to travel at will between the physical and metaphysical planes, she had longed
for the gift to be bestowed on her too. Now it would never happen. In escaping the world of her ancestors she had severed links with her spiritual heritage.

A candle spluttered and Rubiah’s gem-encrusted bangle flashed in the flickering flame. Grounded again, she gazed at it with satisfaction. She watched intently as the
bomah’s
body began to twitch and jerk, so violently that he fell from the chair and lay on the floor shuddering.

His wife sidled up to Rubiah and whispered in her ear, ‘He is fighting a deadly battle with the witch for the return of your soul.’

Suddenly the
bomah
’s body convulsed, his eyes rolled back in his head and an evil- smelling black liquid flowed from his mouth.

Fearfully, Rubiah clung to Jelian’s wife, her eyes shut tight, too scared to look.

‘It’s okay, it’s over,’ the other woman said, frowning. Some of the vegetable dye had splashed on her new Persian rug. ‘My husband is a very powerful
bomah,’
she whispered. ‘If you want to marry your boss, he can drive away your lover’s wife and you can step into her place.’

‘How much will it cost?’

‘Only three thousand ringgit for you. You give me the money and I’ll ask him.’

Rubiah was determined to find the money, even if she had to go to a loan shark. But it wouldn’t come to that. She could always sell some more jewellery.

Roger was too cunning to take his amah into the hotel restaurant for breakfast and ordered room service. It was unlikely that any
of his wife’s friends would be holidaying in Labuan. It wasn’t a popular resort with the ex-pat community; they favoured Kota Kinabulu or Kuching for local getaways. All the same, you couldn’t be too careful. He congratulated himself on the clever way he’d covered his tracks.

Roger wished Ruby had put something over her nightie. He glared as he caught the waiter sneaking a look at her. Well, the man could forget any ideas about getting a tip. But his good humour returned as he tucked into a plate of halal bacon and eggs. He’d got used to eating turkey bacon, prepared to resemble the real thing, on the rig. He smiled across at Rubiah, who was finishing off a plate of rice porridge.

She had ordered
bubur sumsum.
‘Is good. You try. You like, I make for you,’ she offered shyly.

Roger liked porridge, but he hadn’t had any since he was a boy in St John’s and his ma had made him and his three brothers eat it to counteract the storms sweeping across Newfoundland off the North Atlantic Ocean. He looked at the dish of rice porridge mixed with unrecognisable vegetables, salted fish and
sambal
in disbelief and shook his head. Rubiah hid her disappointment and Roger had no idea that he’d hurt her feelings.

It was an early, hurried meal because he had arranged to take her fishing with a couple of guys he knew who worked on the same rig. He wasn’t worried they’d gossip. Lots of married ex-pats had local girlfriends, and not only the men whose wives had stayed home. He knew he could rely on his pals to keep quiet about Ruby, and anyway, they were based in Labuan so it was unlikely they’d turn up in Miri.

Andre Marchant, the sales manager of the French oilfield equipment company Bourbon et Jardinière, was waiting at the wharf. He smiled at Rubiah when Roger introduced him.

‘It is a pleasure to meet you, madam,’ he said courteously. ‘I regret I am not able to accompany you, Roger,’ he said with a disarming smile. ‘I’m hosting a company golf tournament this weekend, but Georges, my chauffeur, is a competent mariner and you’ll be safe in his hands.’

‘It’s good of Andre to lend us his launch, eh,’ said Roger, thinking he was giving Ruby a real treat by taking her fishing in the South China Sea. He hadn’t bothered to find out that her people were Sea Dayaks who lived near the mouths of the great rivers and made their living from the sea. ‘I bought some Quells from the drugstore in case you feel sick when we get out to sea.’

Rubiah obediently swallowed the proffered capsule, although there was no likelihood that she’d suffer any ill effects from the sea trip. She had been fishing these waters with her father, brothers and cousins since she was a small girl.

‘I think I see your companions arriving,’ said Andre, gesturing with a flourish towards the carpark.

Roger’s heart sank when he saw that Hank had brought his girlfriend.

‘Walter rang me first thing,’ Hank said. ‘He’s got the runs. Must’ve eaten a prawn that was off last night. Last thing he feels like is sailing, even on something as luxurious as this baby. They treat you very well, Andre,’ he added, commenting on Andre’s use of the company launch without a trace of envy. ‘Have you met my lady? Andre, Roger, this is Mel.’

Melanie was looking healthy, happy and relaxed. She and
Hank had been together now for over twelve months and were talking about making it permanent. Like Crystal, the ex-showgirl was trying to escape her past. She’d let her hair go back to its natural colour and put on a few pounds since she’d stopped dancing. There was little chance that anyone would recognise her as a former White Diamond, but all the same she had kept her murky past hidden from the hoity-toity oilfield wives in Labuan.

It was a perfect day. The sky was cloudless and the azure sea was smooth and sparkling.

‘Oh no,’ said Roger when Georges dropped the sea anchor thirty kilometres west of the island.

‘What’s the matter?’ said Hank.

‘I’ve forgotten the bait.’

Melanie rolled her eyes at Hank but she wasn’t really concerned. It was fantastic out here, flying through the foam, a white wave creaming around the ledge of the boat.

‘There’s a fishing boat over there,’ said Hank, and he took off his shirt and waved madly.

‘They’ve seen us,’ said Mel excitedly as the fishing smack changed direction.

The authorities had a policy of suppressing information about the explosion of piracy in the South China Sea so the ex-pats had no idea they were courting danger, but Rubiah was on edge. As soon as she saw the crew and realised they were Dayaks, she calmed down. It was well known that Filipinos kidnapped foreigners but she’d never heard any stories about her own people terrorising tourists.

When the ramshackle, leaky old craft was bobbing up and down alongside, Roger tried to explain to the perplexed fishermen that they wanted to buy a fish to use for bait. He was amazed
when they didn’t understand him. The wire-line crew he worked with on the rig were mainly Dayaks and they all understood English.

‘He no understands,’ said Rubiah, pushing in front of him and explaining the situation in Bahasa. ‘You give him money for fish,’ she ordered Roger. ‘Twenty ringgit.’

Roger was about to haggle but Hank opened up his billfold and handed over the money. Their captain handed over a fish from their catch and they motored away noisily, waving and shouting. Mel waved goodbye to them, her smile curved and red as a freshly cut watermelon.

‘It’s a good job Ruby speaks their lingo,’ Roger said, beaming at everyone as he cut up the fish. ‘I’ll bait your line, Ruby,’ he said, expecting her to be squeamish.

‘We go now,’ she said, ignoring the proffered line.

‘Aren’t you feeling well?’ He thought she looked queasy and he hunted in his pockets for the Quells, oblivious to the danger that had turned her face sickly green.

‘Look, they’re coming back,’ said Mel, clapping her hands. ‘I must get a picture. They look so authentic. You don’t see the real, traditional people until you get off the beaten track. This is so exciting, Hank.’ She opened up her backpack and took out a camera.

The fishing boat circled the launch and the sailors held up fish. ‘You buy … only twenty ringgit.’

‘No, one’s enough,’ shouted Roger.

‘Look, there are even more coming,’ said Hank. ‘That fisherman must’ve told the whole fleet there are some crazy white men paying big money for fish.’

‘No wonder,’ said Roger, giving Rubiah a dirty look. ‘I could’ve
bought a fish this size for five ringgit in the market.’ He didn’t like to be cheated.

The dilapidated boat pulled up alongside, and the master cut the engine and ordered one of the crew to lash the vessels together.

‘Hey, get back to your own boat,’ Roger yelled, his jaw thrust out as several members of the bare-chested crew scrambled over the side and onto the launch.

Georges watched from the fly bridge as three other boats circled the launch like a pod of killer whales around a sick dolphin. ‘Up here,
mes amis. Vite!

The Frenchman was worried. They were thirty kilometres from shore, alone and defenceless. A month ago a group of armed pirates had killed a fisherman off Sabah and taken his boat. Word was the pirates preyed on other fishermen but he hadn’t thought they’d have the gall to target tourists. True, with his powerful motor he could outrun the fishing boats, but they had him surrounded.

‘I’m going to radio for help,’ Georges whispered to Roger and Hank when they joined him on the bridge. ‘Don’t say anything to the ladies. We don’t want them to panic.’

Mel had no idea there was any danger. When one of the fishermen sidled up to her, she smiled at him in her friendly fashion. She handed her camera to Rubiah, who noticed the knives thrust in their belts and hoped that Georges had guns on board.

‘Get a picture of me with this guy.’ Mel peeled off her towelling wrap, put an arm round the fisherman and grinned at the camera.