A Painter in Penang: A Gripping Story of the Malayan Emergency

by Clare Flynn

  Bintang turned to look at her, curious.

  ‘Purgatory is a kind of waiting room for heaven where you go and suffer until your sins are washed away and God decides to let you into Heaven. I was frightened of Purgatory. They described it as almost as bad as Hell but with a chance to get out if God takes pity on you. When I was little, I didn’t think I was naughty enough to go to Hell but I was scared that God would be counting up all the times I was naughty and would put me in Purgatory for a very long time. When Daddy died I had nightmares thinking he would be suffering terribly in Purgatory. But I told Mummy and she said he would definitely be in Heaven as he’d already suffered so much that God wouldn’t make him wait anymore.’

  ‘You think because I am not a Christian I go to other place?’

  ‘Limbo. I don’t think any of it. I’m not even a Catholic. I think nuns speak a load of rubbish. If there is a God, I’m sure he would let innocent babies and good Mohammedans into heaven too.’

  ‘I do not want your Christian God. Malay people say Allah is the one God and Mohammed is his prophet.’

  ‘You believe in Allah then?’

  ‘No. I do not follow any religion.’

  ‘I don’t either. I am an agnostic.’ She said the word experimentally, hoping she’d remembered how to pronounce it correctly.

  Bintang shrugged, got up from the bench and walked over to stand leaning against a tree while he smoked another of his cigarettes.

  ‘I meant what I said about wanting to put flowers on Siti’s grave. Will you take me?’

  He said nothing for a few moments, drawing on his cigarette. He tossed the butt into the wet grass. ‘All right. We go now.’

  * * *

  They turned off the road they would normally take up to Bella Vista, following a narrow track that Jasmine had never noticed before. After about ten minutes Bintang pulled the car up and turned to her. ‘We walk from here.’

  In the distance she could see a collection of straw-roofed wooden huts, but instead of following the track towards the kampong, Bintang led her along a narrow path that skirted a paddy field.

  Eventually the paddy ended and there was a small cluster of trees and beyond that, what looked like a market garden with vegetables growing in strips.

  Under the trees was a patch of bare uncultivated land. ‘Here is Siti grave.’

  Jasmine clutched the handful of hibiscus she had gathered on Penang Hill. ‘I’ll have to lay them here without water,’ she said, wishing she’d thought to bring a jam jar.

  Bintang watched in silence as she placed the flowers on the damp earth. It was such a paltry token. Her eyes welled with tears as she thought of her schoolfriend. Siti’s resting place was a miserable spot, gloomy, unloved. ‘Why don’t you make another marker for her grave?’

  ‘Why? No one come here. Only Grandmother and she know where it is.’

  Jasmine turned to look at him, at the hard lines around his mouth, at his expressionless eyes. Sometimes he appeared almost cruel. She decided she would make something to mark the grave herself. It was the least she could do. She wouldn’t tell Bintang until it was done, but she was determined her young former schoolmate should have something to record the passing of her brief life.

  * * *

  When Jasmine returned to Bella Vista a letter was waiting for her. Not, as usual, with a Nairobi postmark, but with a local stamp. She recognised the handwriting from the note Howard Baxter had left her before he’d gone to his cricket match.

  With a sinking feeling she slit open the envelope.

  * * *

  Dear Jasmine

  I’ve tried. I’ve really tried. But it’s no good. I have to get in touch. I’m going to be in George Town next week. We have a meeting at the Guthrie’s office and I can’t bear the idea of being on the island and not seeing you. There’s some dreary function I have to go to on the Friday evening but I’ll be free on Saturday and I am hoping you might be able to come down and meet up. If the H-Us can spare their driver we could go for a swim. Or to that place you suggested last time. The one with the pagoda. I have to be back at BL that evening – we need all hands to man the defences. But it would be terrific if you could get away and join me for the day – or even part of it.

  The car savings fund is going well. Before long I’ll be able to drive over on the car ferry and take you around without us having to rely on that driver chap.

  Please say yes. I miss you.

  H

  * * *

  Jasmine screwed the letter into a ball and flung it into the waste basket.

  21

  As a result of the state of emergency, Reggie insisted that Bintang or, if he were otherwise engaged, one of the house servants, accompany Jasmine and Mary when they walked to the school. The following morning, the three set off in blazing sunshine and entered the gloom of the forest.

  The two women walked in front and Bintang followed behind. Sunshine broke through the dense canopy of trees and formed pools of light on the forest floor. Butterflies danced in the shafts of sunlight, their iridescent wings shimmering like bright jewels: emeralds, rubies and sapphires.

  Jasmine breathed in the air – clear and light up here at the top of the island, but with an underlying smell of decaying leaves and dampness that was not unpleasant.

  After a few minutes, Mary broke the silence. ‘I wonder what this Harris chap is going to tell us. I hate the thought of Bella Vista being surrounded by barbed wire.’ She shuddered. Not for the first time, Jasmine wondered what the teacher had gone through during the war.

  ‘Let’s hope he doesn’t suggest that then.’

  ‘Reggie says if he does, it’s more about protecting the tappers than us. They’re the most vulnerable in all this. Everyone gets frightfully shocked about planters being murdered but there are far more Malays, Tamils and Chinese being killed and threatened, so I suppose I should shut up and put up with it.’

  ‘Let’s hope it’s over before Christmas.’ Jasmine held up crossed fingers.

  ‘I fear it won’t be.’ Mary’s brows narrowed and she looked down at the baby in her cloth sling. They walked on, silent again. ‘The British underestimated the Japanese and now it’s likely they are doing the same with the CTs.

  Jasmine wished she had a chance to talk to Bintang, but she didn’t want to speak to him in front of Mary, doubting the driver would be as open with his employer’s wife there. She looked over her shoulder at the syce, but he avoided her gaze, instead sweeping his eyes over the jungle around them. There was something about the way he was doing it that made Jasmine think he was playing a part for her benefit. Going through the motions, when he knew there was actually no risk to them on this well-worn path.

  That morning, a small girl of about six was attending her first day at school. As Jasmine and Mary entered the padang, the child was clinging in desperation to her mother’s skirts and weeping copiously.

  ‘Oh dear, someone doesn’t want to come to school. Will you take care of her, Jasmine?’

  Jasmine nervously greeted the child and her mother. The little girl turned away, burying her head in her mother’s skirt and wrapping her arms like a vine around the woman’s legs.

  Instinctively, Jasmine squatted down beside her. ‘Hello, what’s your name?’

  The question produced a louder wail.

  Remembering she had a tin of barley sugar in her satchel, Jasmine fished it out and offered a sweet to the little girl. ‘Please don’t be frightened. Everyone here is very friendly and we’ll take care of you.’

  The child looked at the sweets suspiciously, then picked one out and put it in her mouth and her tears subsided.

  ‘Her name Amina.’

  ‘Hello, Amina, I’m Missee Barrington. Would you like to sit with me?’

  The child, sucking her barley sugar, nodded her head solemnly and to the relief of both Jasmine and the grateful mother, she took Jasmine’s proffered hand and followed her into the school building.

  Jasmine led the littl
e girl to the back of the classroom where they could sit quietly and the child was less likely to feel intimidated by the other children.

  Mary usually began the lessons with a short singsong. This always captured the children’s interest and bonded them together, readying them for the more arduous tasks of learning their spellings and reciting their times tables. Little Amina’s face lit up with pleasure at the singing and she relinquished her tight handhold and happily entered into the lessons for the rest of the morning. At playtime she looked as though she were about to start crying again. Jasmine was poised to go to her rescue, when two small girls approached the child and led her off to join their skipping game.

  By the time the lessons finished and Bintang appeared at the edge of the padang to escort them back to the bungalow at Bella Vista, Jasmine was tired. She thoroughly enjoyed the classes, particularly when she took the children individually to hear their reading, and most of all her weekly art class. Yet she couldn’t imagine dedicating herself to teaching as a profession in the way that Mary had done. For Jasmine, nothing compared to being alone or with a subject, losing herself in bringing a work to life on paper or canvas. If she had ever been uncertain about her wish to spend her life as a painter, these months in Penang had dispelled all doubts.

  * * *

  As the two women ascended the steps of the bungalow, they heard voices. The military guest wasn’t due until some time the following week, yet evidently someone was on the side verandah with Reggie. They made their way round and found Reggie and his guest drinking beers.

  Mary stepped forward to be introduced to the uniformed man, but Jasmine felt herself shrinking back, distancing herself. It was not Harris, but Ellis, Lieutenant SlimeBall from the Rosebery.

  The men got to their feet. Ellis was shaking hands with Mary when he noticed Jasmine lurking in the background. He dropped Mary’s hand and moved towards Jasmine, arm extended. ‘Well, well, well, we meet again, Miss Barrington. What an unexpected pleasure.’

  Jasmine shuddered as his clammy hand gripped hers. His time in Malaya had done nothing to improve his breath which now had overtones of the Tiger beer he was drinking, mixed in with pipe smoke, but neither were enough to counter the rottenness of his underlying halitosis.

  ‘I didn’t expect to see you, Lieutenant. Mr Hyde-Underwood said the officer was called Harris. And wouldn’t be here until next week. Quite a surprise.’

  ‘A pleasant one I hope.’ His smile was more akin to a leer, revealing the ugly teeth that were presumably the source of his sewer breath. It made her think of an angry dog, curling back its lips in a snarl.

  Jasmine didn’t answer and was glad when Reggie started talking about his blindspot in remembering names, and Jinjiang appeared on the threshold to announce that tiffin was served.

  Over lunch, Jasmine tried to be as inconspicuous as possible, avoiding joining in the conversation, which centred on the political situation and the continuing escalation of attacks by communist insurgents.

  ‘All the planters over on the peninsula are driving armoured cars now,’ said Ellis.

  ‘Really?’ Mary looked horrified.

  ‘Armour plating everywhere. They look like tin boxes. Driver has a small peephole to look though. Not a lot of fun to travel in with the sun beating down on all that metal plating. It’s like being inside a blast furnace. And the weight of the metal slows them right down. But without that kind of protection, planters would be sitting ducks.’

  ‘How horrible.’ Mary glanced at Reggie anxiously. ‘I hope you’re not suggesting we do that here?’

  ‘I’m hoping it won’t be necessary. But you are rather isolated up here. Anyway, I’ll have a better idea after I’ve inspected the estate.’ Ellis gave another of his smiles. Creepy. An unpleasant mixture of contempt, obsequiousness and bad teeth. Jasmine didn’t trust the man and hoped Reggie would feel the same.

  Reggie folded his arms. ‘There’s no evidence of any CT activity over here on Penang island.’

  ‘So far.’ Ellis frowned. ‘You have the advantage of being separated from the peninsula by the Straits. We’ve instituted security checks on the ferries and the CTs would anyway be cut off from their main jungle hideaways over here on the island, so I believe it’s unlikely. There’s easier prey for them on the peninsula. Plenty of isolated rubber estates and tin mines. Lots of quiet stretches of road for ambushes, and dense jungle running the entire length of the country for them to disappear into.’

  ‘Then why are you bothering with us?’ Mary clearly hadn’t warmed to the man either. It sounded as if she really wanted to say bothering us, omitting the ‘with’.

  ‘There are other threats over here.’

  ‘Yes?’ Mary folded her arms. ‘What exactly?’

  ‘The Min Yuen.’ The officer looked smug.

  ‘What’s that?’ Jasmine addressed Mary rather than Ellis.

  Before Mary could answer, Ellis did so. ‘The hidden army. Not fighters. But just as dangerous as we can’t see them. The CTs can only survive if they get cash to pay their men and food to eat. That’s where the Min Yuen come in. They also act as spies giving the commies intelligence about troop movements and suchlike.’

  ‘And you think there are Min Yuen on Penang?’

  Ellis gave a dry laugh. ‘They’re everywhere. And the trouble is it’s impossible to tell who most of them are. Some are ignorant peasants who give rice to the CTs under threat of death. But there are others. Often respectable people who sympathise with the Reds. Doctors, waiters, rubber tappers, bank clerks, teachers. My sources say Penang is rife with them. And my aim is to stamp them out.’ His mouth curled in a sneer. ‘Filthy vermin. I’d like to crush them all under my boots.’

  Mary and Reggie exchanged glances. Jasmine’s dislike of Lieutenant Ellis had increased and she now found him utterly loathsome.

  ‘I’m going to get the blighters though. I’m building files on them, gathering intelligence. There’ll be a reckoning before too long.’

  Reggie got to his feet. ‘Come on then, Lieutenant, it’s time I showed you around the estate.’

  After they’d gone, Mary leaned back in her chair. ‘What a thoroughly unpleasant man. Is he by any chance the chap your mother told me tried to paw you on the dance floor when you were on the ship?’

  Jasmine felt her face turn scarlet. Had Mummy told Mary all of her secrets? ‘Yes. I call him Lieutenant Slimeball. He’s really creepy.’ As she spoke the words, she remembered she had once described Howard Baxter to herself as creepy too, but there was absolutely no comparison. Howard annoyed her at times, but he didn’t make her skin crawl.

  ‘I wish we could somehow get out of him staying here tonight. The thought of having to entertain him at dinner is not appealing.’ Mary crumpled her napkin in her hands before dropping it onto the table. ‘The way he talked of Malayan people as vermin. Whether you agree with some of their political convictions or not, there’s no excuse to speak that way. They are human beings and this is their country.’ Mary’s voice was full of suppressed anger. ‘Who does Ellis think he is? He’s only been in the Straits for five minutes and he acts like he has more rights than people who were born here. Men like him make me sick.’ She looked at Jasmine and shook her head slowly. ‘And as for him trying to put his hands all over you, it’s too horrible to think about.’ She closed her eyes momentarily. ‘Changing the subject, what are you going to do this afternoon? How’s the Latin going?’

  Jasmine pulled a face. ‘I think I’m going to go to my room for a while and I promise to take my Latin primer with me. Then later, when it’s a bit cooler, I’m going to the studio to work.’

  ‘Righto! Don’t forget we’re doing a test paper tomorrow morning, so swotting up on your grammar is definitely a good idea.’ She put a hand on Jasmine’s shoulder. ‘You don’t have to excel in the exams. As long as you do yourself justice. You’re intelligent enough to put in a credible performance and I don’t want Evie and Arthur blaming me if you don’t.’

 
‘Of course not. I promise. I won’t let you down, Mary. You and Reggie are so incredibly kind to me, I owe it to you to do my absolute best.’

  ‘You owe it to yourself, darling.’ Mary left the room, heading for the kitchen to find Jinjiang and reclaim her daughter.

  * * *

  It was almost four by the time Jasmine had dispensed with her Latin grammar book, her head throbbing from her efforts to grapple with declensions and cases, and her eyes glazing over with the sheer pointlessness of knowing words for bards, altars, and sacrifices.

  The studio was cool. The attap roof was shaded by tall hardwood trees and the open side-elevation allowed the cooler hilltop air and the breezes off the Straits to circulate. She looked around. The unfinished portrait of Bintang stood on the easel but she decided she would start work on the memorial marker for Siti.

  She picked up a sketch pad and began to draw shapes and ideas. Wanting something to reflect the natural beauty of the island and the innocence of a little girl robbed of life before she’d completed her first decade, Jasmine racked her brains. Perhaps she could use some seashells and incorporate them into her design. The idea of flowers and fruit was appealing – something that would be there rain or shine, a symbolic offering to Siti. She could make a collage effect on a piece of timber, a mixture of natural objects and heavily layered paint and varnish. Her pencil worked fast as it flew over the paper, experimenting with different ideas. She’d need some wood. Something solid – hardwood or mahogany. Not a cross as that was for Christians and she didn’t want to offend Bintang or his grandmother. Better to stick with a rectangle. Reggie might be willing to find her a suitable piece.