by Zen Cho
Jess was about to disagree, and also to tell her grandmother to fuck off. But then she remembered Chief Thug, his expression of boredom verging on annoyance, telling Ah Ku, “You all must get out.”
In Malay. The entire interaction with the intruders at the temple had been in Malay. And Jess had understood it all.
But she couldn’t speak Malay. It wasn’t like Hokkien, which had been the aural backdrop of her life even after they’d moved to America. She understood slightly less of Malay than a bright dog might understand of human speech.
Jess clasped her hands, feeling her own bones against her fingertips. She wasn’t going to scream or throw up. “What have you done to me?”
“I didn’t purposely do anything,” said Ah Ma. “But if you share the same body, your heart will change. My English also is very good now,” she added, with pride. “I can understand all your American slang.”
“Oh yeah?” said Jess. “How about this? Fuck. Off.”
She expected Ah Ma to be pissed off. But the ever-shifting face—eerily familiar at some times, wholly strange at others—smiled.
“Even your mother didn’t dare talk to me like that,” said Ah Ma. “That’s why I know the god chose you.”
There was a strange note of satisfaction in her voice.
“You’re like Ah Ma,” she said. “You’re clever at being angry.”
Jess had nothing to say to this.
It struck her, as she stared at herself in the mirror, that Ah Ma was the only member of her family who knew this about her. It was a lonely thought.
* * *
• • •
JESS PHONED AH Ku up, partly to get Ah Ma off her back and partly because she wanted to know he was OK. The memory of the thug kicking him while he lay on the ground kept recurring.
Nobody picked up. It was seven a.m., probably Ah Ku was still asleep, Jess told Ah Ma.
Fortunately, Ah Ma had the number of the doctor he’d been taken to. They were both jumpy until the doctor picked up.
Her uncle had a couple of broken ribs but no more serious injuries, said Dr. Rozlan. He had been sent home to rest. The doctor recommended painkillers and avoiding certain unsavory persons.
“To be fair, the unsavory persons came to him,” said Jess.
“Then I would say Mr. Lim should avoid certain places, for their tendency to attract unsavory persons.” For some reason, Dr. Rozlan had a British accent, overlaid on a base of Malay uncle. “I hope you will advise your uncle accordingly. He may be more likely to consider it now your grandmother is no longer with us. I know the old lady’s wishes are important to him, but after all, bones are more important than bricks and mortar, aren’t they?”
“Uh, yeah,” said Jess.
When she relayed the doctor’s message, Ah Ma snorted. “He’s a Muslim. What does he know about temples?”
“Who is he, anyway?” said Jess. “The family doctor?”
Ah Ma ignored this. “I want to go to Ah Ku’s house. I can tell you how to drive there.”
“We made a deal. I asked a question, so you have to answer,” said Jess. “We had rules, remember?”
“Something like this also you must know meh?” said Ah Ma irritably. “Ah Ku helped this Malay boy’s brother last time. So now he gives discount if Ah Ku needs medicine. Enough or not? Come, let’s go.”
“No,” said Jess. “I made the call. Ah Ku’s fine. I’ve got to go to work.”
Ah Ma started to protest, but Jess said, “You’re the one who accepted the job, remember?” and shut the bathroom door on her.
Doors presumably weren’t an actual problem for Ah Ma. Jess wasn’t sure what she’d do if Ah Ma followed her into the bathroom—probably start throwing things—but to Jess’s relief, she refrained. Jess had a blissfully undisturbed half hour getting ready, taking her time over her makeup.
By the time she was done, nobody would’ve guessed she’d spent the night getting into altercations with gangsters and performing mysterious eye-opening rites on herself. She opened the door, closing her right eye, and scanned the room with the left.
Ah Ma was nowhere to be seen. Maybe she’d gone off to check on Ah Ku herself. Could she do that?
Whatever. Jess wasn’t about to question her good fortune.
Dad was already having breakfast. He did a double take when he saw her.
“You look nice ah!” he said, with unflattering surprise. He narrowed his eyes. “Did you cut your hair?”
Jess had had to go with a bold eye to hide the red dot on her left eyelid. It was an eccentric choice for daytime, but she’d figured Dad and Kor Tiao weren’t likely to notice.
“It’s makeup, Dad,” she said. Maybe it was just as well she was having to go to the office and make some minimal efforts at personal grooming. It was a good thing Sharanya loved her for her personality, given how little attention she’d been giving her looks of late.
She needed to reply to Sharanya’s last message so they could reschedule their call. She couldn’t do it now, with her dad around, but hopefully there’d be a chance after they got to the office to WhatsApp her privately.
Dad grunted, but he sounded a little impressed. “Don’t forget to bring your camera. Kor Tiao wants you to take photo of the units.”
It wasn’t yet as unbearably muggy as it would get later, but when she got in the van, Jess reflexively adjusted the AC up to the highest setting.
“Hot, is it?” said Dad. There were already beads of sweat on his nose and upper lip, but he turned both the AC vents between them toward Jess. Cool air washed over her.
She meant to ask Dad about what was going on with his job. But “hey, what’s up with Kor Tiao forcing you to do manual labor?” didn’t seem like the best approach, and Dad was humming along to the Chinese ballad on the radio, breaking out in song at the chorus.
She hadn’t heard Dad sing in a while. He had an unexpectedly beautiful voice, deep and resonant. Jess herself wasn’t especially musical, though her parents had forced her through piano lessons till she went to college, because they thought it would make her good at math.
It was comfortable in the van. Dad didn’t expect her to talk unless she felt like it, wouldn’t nag her or require her to manage his feelings.
Her thoughts bumped around in her head like balloons. If Dad had had the resources spent on her, she thought sleepily—all those years of piano lessons; of music teachers visibly reminding themselves to be patient while she fucked up her scales—what could he have done? What would he be like if he’d been able to afford the space in his life for art?
She dozed off with the AC blowing full in her face, feeling safe.
EIGHT
When Jess woke up, Dad was parking the van. Through the window she could see temporary fencing along the road, a row of green panels reflecting dazzling sunshine. Part-built structures loomed beyond the fencing. In the near distance, a tower crane rose into a vast blue sky.
Jess rubbed her eyes. “Are we at Kor Tiao’s office?” She’d been imagining something a little more developed.
“No, this is the construction site,” said Dad. He rummaged around his feet, pulling out a steering wheel lock. “Went to the office just now, while you were sleeping.”
“You should have woken me up.” Jess yawned. “Why are we at a construction site?”
“Supposed to install appliances in the show unit,” said Dad. “Kor Tiao wants you to take photo after I install. This should be a high-spec unit. The condos are very expensive. The developer said we can use the photos in advertisements all that.” He had a worried wrinkle in his forehead when he looked at Jess. “You slept late last night, is it?”
Jess twisted around to look in the back of the van. None of the boxes looked especially portable. Dad hated it when you even tried to take his bag for him. “We’re carrying those in together, right?”
“No need,” said Dad. “The other handyman, Ah Chong, is coming also. He’s meeting us here.”
Jess downgraded Kor Tiao from “definitely exploiting my dad” back to “only potentially a secret asshole.”
“If you want to sleep more,” said Dad, “you can stay in the car. On the aircon but open the window, should be OK.”
“No, no,” said Jess, stifling another yawn. “I’ll come in with you.”
It was already unbelievably hot, though it was only nine a.m. They got out of the van, passing a sign advertising the development. Rexmondton Heights, it was called, which was exactly the kind of dumb-sounding fancy name Jess would have expected.
The sign featured an artist’s depiction of what the squat structures beyond the barrier were supposed to turn into—a condominium complex, with a fountain in the middle for some reason. There were little people chilling out in a lush green courtyard, as though any Malaysian would ever hang around outdoors under the sun if they could avoid it.
Jess followed her dad to a low, temporary-looking office building next to the construction site. She noticed a small altar toward the back of the building, like the ones at the garden temple.
You saw altars like that all over the island—at roadsides, down back alleys, in parking lots, behind restaurants. But there was something striking about this one, with the green of the site walls behind it and the tower crane rising above. It would make a great shot.
Jess filed the thought away for later, stepping into the building. A welcome gust of cold air blew down the back of her top. It was polyester and already sticking to her; she’d dressed for spending the day in an air-conditioned office, not for traipsing around a building site in the heat.
Dad was wearing a cotton polo shirt and khakis. He looked cool and competent, in control, like he was in his native habitat.
Jess guessed he was. It was weird to be reminded that she’d seen him at a disadvantage all her life.
“Mr. Ho?” he said to the lone person there, a Chinese man in office wear. “I’m from Eurasia Appliances.”
The man rose. “You’re here to install the cooker hood all that, is it? The unit is at the back there.”
There were fake condos at the back of the building, set up to give buyers an idea of the bliss in store for them as residents of Rexmondton Heights. While the man showed Dad around the kitchen, Jess checked her phone. Sharanya had sent her a link and a voice note.
“Dad,” said Jess, when Mr. Ho left them alone in the show unit. “I’m going to go out and make a call, OK? It’s to do with this job application.”
Dad paused whatever it was he was doing with the kitchen cabinets to peer at her. “You want to go outside ah? Construction site, better not go here go there. Not safe. The ground got nails all that, you know.”
“I’m not going to the construction site. Don’t worry,” said Jess. “I’ll be right back.”
Outside, the sun’s glare struck her full in the face. The overhang afforded some shade, though Jess had to press herself against the wall to keep out of the sun. She went round to the back of the building where she could be alone, out of sight of everyone except the small god in the altar.
She had to turn up the volume so she could hear Sharanya’s voice note over the distant clank and grind of machinery. Before her lay the construction site—an unfinished place, bare orange earth and the beginnings of buildings. At one end was a strip of jungle, dark green in the sun. Either that was where the development stopped, or they hadn’t gotten around to razing the greenery yet.
It was nice having Sharanya’s voice in her ear. The link she’d sent was to an ad for a job at the university she was going to in the fall.
“You could totally teach freshmen how to write essays,” said Sharanya. “I know teaching’s not really what you want to do, but you could look for other stuff once you were there.
“Good luck with your first day, babe. Hope there haven’t been any more, you know, voices. I can’t believe your family’s making you work for your uncle’s company when you’re already dealing with so much crap. Let’s talk again soon, OK? I love you.”
Jess recorded her response, gazing distractedly at the tower crane. The strap of her camera case dug into her shoulder. She should have left it in the building, but she’d been in a rush to get out before Dad could stop her.
She’d canceled her appointment with the psych Sharanya had found, but Jess told her they were booked up and wouldn’t be able to see her for a month. “It’s OK, though. I haven’t heard anything else since. It must have been the stress of moving.”
She didn’t mention Ah Ma or the garden temple. Sharanya lived in a wholly rational world, rolled her eyes at astrology and tarot cards and poorly sourced parental WhatsApp forwards alike. There was no way she’d believe in what Jess was going through. And the last thing Jess needed right now was her girlfriend freaking out about her going crazy.
She was sticky with sweat, even in the shade. She was about to go back inside when she looked up and saw the altar.
It wasn’t like Dad was going to be done yet, and she had her camera with her.
The altar held a smiling pink-skinned statue of an old man with bushy white eyebrows and a white mustache. He looked like a Chinese Colonel Sanders. He was even dressed in white, with gold buttons running down the front. His bottom half was clad in a gold sarong.
Someone had draped a garland around his neck. By his feet, along with the usual offering of joss sticks, sat a small pyramid wrapped in brown paper and banana leaf.
“Nasi lemak?” said Jess aloud. Nasi lemak was the closest thing Malaysia had to a national dish and one of the few Malay dishes her relatives ate regularly, so she’d seen such pyramids before. There’d be rice wrapped up in the banana leaf, along with sambal, half a boiled egg and a bunch of other stuff Jess couldn’t immediately recall.
It seemed an odd offering. Maybe someone had been praying and had forgotten their breakfast there.
She raised her camera and took a few shots.
It really was unbearably hot. Jess wanted to get back indoors, but she hesitated. It felt somehow disrespectful to leave without giving the statue anything in return. She rummaged in her pocket and dug up a couple of tissues—yeah, no—and half a tube of mints.
She set the mints on the base of the altar, next to the nasi lemak. She was stepping away when a voice said right in her ear:
“What are you doing?”
Jess jumped, just about managing not to drop her camera. Out of her left eye she could see Ah Ma glaring at her.
“Warn me if you’re going to do that!” said Jess.
“Ah Ku’s house you don’t want to go, but you’re willing to come to this place?”
“It’s for work,” said Jess. “Where’ve you been?”
Ah Ma didn’t answer. She was looking around, jittery, as though she expected to be ambushed at any minute. “What are you doing here? Why are you taking photo of this for what? It’s a Datuk Kong only.”
“Really?” Jess had been planning to ask Dad about the idol, but since Ah Ma had brought it up . . . “What’s a Datuk Kong?”
“He’s the spirit who jaga the area. They all pray to him so the construction won’t have problems,” said Ah Ma. “But I tell you, no use to pray to him if the god is bad mood. When the god is bad mood, I also don’t want to be here. Why you came here for what?”
“I told you, it’s for work,” said Jess. “What’s wrong with coming here?”
Ah Ma looked like the only thing stopping her from slapping Jess was her incorporeality. “You don’t know ah?” She turned, pointing at the patch of forest Jess had noticed earlier. “You see over there? That’s where the temple is. You cannot see only, because of the trees.” Ah Ma gestured at the construction site. “The buildings all that, that bastard’s company owns one.”
“Wait,�
� said Jess, “this is Ng Chee Hin’s development?”
The man’s voice, when it came, made them both start.
“Siapa kacau aku?” it snarled.
The voice belonged to a Malay uncle, his face scrunched up with irritation underneath his cap. He was standing by the altar, formally dressed in baju Melayu, crisp white and gold, as though he was going to a wedding. It was a strange look given where they were, but that wasn’t the only weird thing about him.
“You called me for what?” he said. “What do you want? I’m busy, you know!”
“Nobody called you,” said Ah Ma. “If you’re busy, you go off lah! I’m talking to my medium.”
“I’m not your medium,” said Jess automatically.
She blinked, but that didn’t change anything. Her right eye saw the altar with the Chinese Colonel Sanders statue, his eyes narrowed in a beatific smile, and nothing else. According to her right eye, she was all alone.
Her left eye told a different story. It saw the Malay uncle, getting mad at her terrible grandmother.
“If your medium didn’t want to call me, then she gave me an offering for what?” The uncle pointed at the mints Jess had put down on the altar. “This kind of offering, even if there’s no trouble, I don’t want. All the more there’s a hantu attacking people, you think I want to eat this kind of thing? You should teach your medium to think of other people. And give better offerings! The packet is half-gone already!”
“What’s attacking people?” said Jess.
Both spirits ignored her.
“Is the god here?” said Ah Ma. She hesitated. The next words came out in a near whisper. “The Black Water Sister?”
She said the name in Hokkien instead of Malay, but the uncle—or rather, the Datuk Kong—seemed to understand her. He shuddered. “Don’t say so loud! You want to call her to come ah?” He looked around furtively. “That damn woman is waiting for me to relax. If I’m not careful, she’ll come in. She wants to chase out the humans. If I wasn’t fighting her, she would have killed them already.”