by Zen Cho
“You’d better go and hide somewhere, rather than fighting,” said Ah Ma. “You think you can beat the god, small spirit like you? She doesn’t care one. If she can eat one hundred souls, she’ll do it.”
“You think I want to fight?” said the Datuk Kong unexpectedly. “I only became a Datuk recently, when the old Datuk here moved to another place. If I can run, I’ll run. But what can I do? The humans there”—he pointed at the construction site—“they give me nasi lemak every day. They all are not rich also. They’re construction workers, from Bangladesh. Half of them don’t have permits. You think that Chinaman will pay them a lot? How can I not protect them?”
Ah Ma was taken aback. “They’re Bangladeshi also they pray to you?”
“When you’re scared, you’ll pray to anybody,” said the Datuk Kong. “Before they started giving me the offerings, there were a lot of accidents. The tower crane didn’t want to work. The metal rod fell, almost kena the humans. All these things happening. They complained, but that Chinaman doesn’t care. He wants them to be quiet and finish the job.”
“Who’s ‘that Chinaman’?” said Jess. “Do you mean Ng Chee Hin? Is he employing undocumented migrants?”
“He means the contractor,” said Ah Ma irritably. “That bastard is the developer, but it’s not his company that will do the construction. They call a contractor to do it. Ah Ku used to do construction work, so I know.”
“But this is happening on his site,” said Jess. She’d been feeling like an outsider stumbling into half-understood conversations, a puppet jerked around on Ah Ma’s strings. But now the same triumphant rush went through her as when she took a perfect photograph. “There are safety issues and he’s ignoring them.”
Ah Ma didn’t get it.
“All these contractors are like that lah,” she said impatiently. “They don’t want to hear this excuse that excuse. They want to do the job and get paid.” She turned to the Datuk Kong. “So far how many people died?”
“Nobody has died,” said the Datuk Kong in glacial tones, “because I have been there to jaga. So long as I’m here, that woman doesn’t need to try bothering the humans—”
He cut himself off, listening intently.
Over the distant whirring from the construction site came the sound of human voices, upraised.
“She’s here,” said Ah Ma.
It took Jess a moment to recognize the expression on her shifting features. It was something she had never seen on Ah Ma before—fear.
The Datuk Kong was engaging in swearing so fruity even Jess’s newfound Malay proficiency couldn’t keep up with it. “You see! You called me away and now she’s don’t know doing what! I have to go back.”
“We should go now,” Ah Ma said to Jess. “Quick, call your father to go home—”
But Jess said to the Datuk Kong, “I’m coming with you.”
“Crazy ah, you?” Ah Ma sputtered. “You don’t know only. Even the Datuk Kong is scared of the god.”
“Very scared,” the Datuk Kong agreed.
“You want to die, is it?” said Ah Ma.
Dying was extremely low on the list of things Jess wanted to do, and going with the Datuk to confront a god capable of making Ah Ma blanch wasn’t a lot higher up. But being an immigrant and dealing with all the ways that had sucked had shaped a good 70 percent of her personality. She shared little else with the men who’d left offerings for a foreign god, hoping he’d protect them when no one else would. But this was one thing she could do to honor that commonality.
“Who are you to go and face up to the god?” said Ah Ma. “You won’t be able to do anything also.”
Jess adjusted the strap of her camera case, resettling it on her shoulder. She had a feeling she might be needing it.
“If I can’t do anything else,” she said, “I can be a witness.”
She looked at the Datuk Kong, squeezing her right eye shut to bring him into focus. “Shouldn’t we be going?”
* * *
• • •
AH MA CAME along, complaining all the way.
“You don’t know this god,” she kept saying as they followed the Datuk Kong around the construction fencing. “If you know, you’ll be scared.”
“OK, then tell me!” said Jess. “Who is this god?” She cast her mind back to the discussion between Ah Ma and the Datuk Kong. “She’s called the Black Water Sister?”
Ah Ma hissed at her to shut up. “Cannot simply say her name. Say ‘god’ enough already. Or you can call ‘Big Sister.’ This god, I know very well. I was her medium.”
“You’re the medium?” yelped the Datuk Kong.
“I’m talking to you meh?” snapped Ah Ma. “Mind your own business!”
“Why are you so scared of her?” said Jess. “If you’re her medium, can’t you, like, talk to her?”
“God, you cannot answer back like that,” said Ah Ma. “When your father and mother are angry at you, do you try to answer back?”
Jess was about to point out that she did, in fact, regularly answer back. But they had come to a gap in the fencing, obscured by some straggly bushes. The Datuk gestured at Jess to enter. She squeezed through, metal snagging on her top.
While she was disentangling herself, she looked up and saw the spirits step through the fencing as though it wasn’t there. That was a weird moment.
“When the god talks to you, you listen,” Ah Ma continued. “She said, ‘Don’t come here and build in my area. Don’t go and disturb my temple.’ If people don’t want to listen, then they kena, it’s their fault. She warned them already.”
“The workers didn’t choose to disturb her, though,” said Jess. “It’s the company who decided to develop the site. It’s not like the workers have any power to change that. Isn’t it unfair to punish them?”
“Where got gods care about fair or unfair one?” said Ah Ma.
Jess didn’t see what gods were for, if not to care about fairness. Before she could say this, there was an outburst of shouting up ahead.
It came from a group of men, almost all dark-skinned South Asians, in hardhats and high-vis vests. They were arguing with a Chinese man.
“Where is that damn woman?” said the Datuk Kong to Ah Ma. “I can feel she’s here. You’re the medium. Can you see?”
“I’m dead already, how can I be anybody’s medium anymore?” said Ah Ma. “If I can see also, I don’t want to see. I didn’t want to come here in the first place.”
“Nobody asked you to come,” Jess pointed out. “You’re free to go whenever.”
“If I go and something happens to you, how?” said Ah Ma. “Who’s going to be my medium then?”
The Datuk Kong was searching for the god. He kept darting off and circling back, muttering, “Don’t have, don’t have. Where has she gone?”
Jess was more interested in the humans. There was something about the ongoing argument that worried her—an ugly energy in the men’s voices and gestures. She went over to the group, impelled by an obscure sense of urgency.
The dust rose up from the ground before her. The men looked around, suspicious. Jess had never felt so out of place in her life—and she would’ve said, before that moment, that hers was an existence featuring some pretty striking instances of feeling out of place.
It was so hot it was hard to think. She was sweating already, but fresh perspiration sprang up on her palms, from plain old fear.
But her feet were braver than her head. They kept going, and she heard herself speaking, her voice bright and confident.
“What’s going on here?”
She’d gone instinctively for English. The men stared at her like she’d gotten out of a UFO and started beeping at them.
“Who are you?” said the Chinese man.
“I’m from Sejahtera Holdings,” said Jess, imbuing her tone with surprise that h
e even had to ask. “I presume you’re the contractor?”
The name of the company did most of the work, but her accent helped, as did her office-ready outfit. She saw the change ripple through the man’s expression, smoothing out the beginnings of a frown, effecting subtle changes in his posture.
“Yes,” said the man sullenly. “I’m Mr. Yong.”
Jess gave her camera case what she hoped was a discreet nudge, pushing it further out of sight. “What’s the problem here, Mr. Yong?”
“No problem,” said Mr. Yong, glaring at the other men. “I’m discussing with the workers.”
The workers were conferring with one another, talking in low voices. Jess didn’t recognize the language, but she assumed it was Bengali.
“They all are saying they don’t want to operate the tower crane,” said the Datuk Kong. “Maybe she’s there.” He vanished.
Jess hadn’t gotten used to how spirits came and went without warning. She hoped Mr. Yong hadn’t noticed her smile wavering.
“I heard there’s an issue with the tower crane,” she said. “It’s malfunctioning?”
“There’s nothing wrong!” said Mr. Yong. “They all cari pasal only. Want more money to do their work, so they say tower crane got problem.”
The other men seemed to have come to a decision. One of them spoke up, a man in his forties.
“We all are not trying to cause problems, madam,” he said. His English was notably better than Mr. Yong’s. “There is a hantu spoiling the machines. Recently many accidents. We are worried about safety, that’s all. If it’s safe, we will work.”
“I see,” said Jess. “I’ll report back to my boss.” She turned to Mr. Yong. “I suggest you get someone to look at that tower crane. Mr. Ng would not be happy if there were any safety incidents on this site.”
When the man opened his mouth to protest, she added, “He doesn’t want any bad publicity around this development. Do you think people will buy condos if they think the site is haunted?”
Mr. Yong went ahead and protested anyway. “The machine is OK one. You don’t listen to these foreigners, they simply talk only . . .”
A bloodcurdling yell drowned him out.
“Auntie! Help, auntie!”
It was the Datuk Kong. He pelted toward them, holding on to his cap.
“She’s coming,” he shouted to Ah Ma. “You have to talk to her, auntie. She don’t want to listen to me!”
“You want to run now?” Ah Ma said. “I thought you came here is because you wanted to fight her?”
Mr. Yong was starting to look at Jess funny. Can you shut up! she thought at Ah Ma—but then she saw the god.
The Black Water Sister was too far away for Jess to make out her features. She could only tell that the god was a woman, probably Chinese, with short dark hair.
Yet Jess recognized her. She was the goddess she had noticed at the temple garden—the weathered little statuette in yellow satin, under the bodhi tree.
Jess couldn’t have said how she knew the statuette was meant to represent this god and no other, but she did. There was nothing mystical about it. It was like smelling something burning and knowing there was a fire, or seeing lightning and thinking of rain.
The statuette’s eyes had seemed to be watching her, Jess remembered. She knew now that the Black Water Sister had seen her—remembered her—and was looking at her now, with intent. It was a terrible thing to know.
“You see?” hissed Ah Ma. “I told you to run away, you don’t want. Now only you know!”
It didn’t seem like the men could see the god. Jess heard Mr. Yong say, “Miss?” but fear had dried up all the spit in her mouth.
She’d thought she believed in spirits before. It was hard not to when one as loud as Ah Ma was riding around in your head. But she saw now that she hadn’t known what it was to believe. There was a reason why Christians called it “God-fearing.”
The god held up a pale hand. Jess couldn’t move. Every muscle in her body was rigid with horror.
The god rushed forward, but not at Jess. The men scattered, shouting. The hideous attention that had been holding Jess immobile relaxed, leaving her weak with relief.
But the relief was fleeting.
“Eh, what are you doing?” shouted Mr. Yong. “Stop!”
The Bangladeshi guy who’d spoken to Jess was staggering drunkenly, shaking his head like he was trying to get water out of his ears. The others were arguing with him, trying to hold him back, but he shook them off and broke free.
He headed toward the partly constructed buildings, running as though he was fleeing a nightmare. The god was nowhere to be seen.
“The god went inside him already,” said Ah Ma.
“You mean she’s possessed him?” said Jess. “Why? What’s she trying to do?”
“This god is very fierce,” said Ah Ma. She sounded resigned, like she already knew what was going to happen. “If you make her angry, she will eat you up. They should know by now.”
“We have to help him,” said Jess. She wasn’t sure she was strong enough to restrain the man. But she had a ghost right next to her who had a proven track record of granting supernatural powers. “Can’t you possess me, like you did last night?”
“You want me to fight the god?” scoffed Ah Ma. “Forget about it! This is none of my business. If you want to fight, you go and do yourself.”
“OK, well, fuck you too,” said Jess, and started off after the man.
He’d had a head start, but he wasn’t running all that fast. His gait was strange, stumbling, as though the god wasn’t used to his body. Maybe the man was fighting for mastery over the spirit.
If so, he didn’t win. Jess was only about six feet away from him when he put on a burst of speed and dashed into the scaffolding covering the foundation of a building. Steel and concrete beams rose starkly out of the scaffolding, bare of the plaster and paint and glass and wood that would turn the building into somewhere people could live.
The scaffolding trembled, a shudder going through the interlocking metal poles. Jess’s stomach dropped.
“Shit!” She sped up, as though she could actually do anything, help the man in any way. But then Ah Ma was in her face, screaming:
“Go back, go back, stupid girl!”
She shoved Jess in the chest. It was like being hit by a very small, concentrated gale. As Jess went down, the Datuk Kong raced past her, his face grim with intention.
There was a grinding shriek of metal giving way. The noise was apocalyptic, drowning out all other sound. Jess was on her ass on the ground, and she could feel the vibrations from the crash travel up through her body, jarring her bones. Dust stung her eyes.
When she could see again, the scaffolding was a heap of broken cement and jagged metal. And the man was in there.
The looks on the workers’ faces were almost the worst thing. They didn’t look sad or angry or horrified. They looked like they had seen it coming.
“We have to—” said Jess, but her voice came out as a nearly soundless croak. She cleared her throat and tried again. “We have to call somebody. The fire department. What’s nine one one?”
Mr. Yong stared at her blankly.
“Nine one one,” Jess repeated. “How do you call the police here?” She turned to Ah Ma. It didn’t matter if they noticed she was talking to a ghost. Nothing seemed to matter right now, except doing something about the man under the rubble.
She half expected Ah Ma to go off on her, tell her, “I told you so.” But it appeared Ah Ma was in fact capable of mustering a sense of the occasion.
She said, “Nine nine nine. But that fellow won’t want to call.”
“Police?” said Mr. Yong, coming back to life. “No need to call police.” He barked some urgent Chinese into a walkie-talkie, adding, “We can handle it.”
Jess didn�
�t know what expression her face was making, but she was gratified, in a detached way, to see him wilt under its effect.
“There is a human being in there,” she said. It felt like the top of her head would come off if she got any angrier. “He might be seriously injured, or dead. This is an emergency and we need the emergency services.”
She took out her phone to dial 999.
A shell-shocked quiet hung over the men. The background sound of machinery had paused, as though out of respect for what had just passed. So they all heard it when the voice spoke from inside the rubble, shaky but clear:
“Hello? Hello? Help, please!”
NINE
The guy’s name was Rijaul and he didn’t have a scratch on him.
It only required a brief exchange with Rijaul to confirm that. It took longer to get him out from under the rubble.
Mr. Yong and his colleagues seemed hopeful they could arrange this themselves, without any external interference. Jess was pretty sure they would be forced eventually to accept they couldn’t cover up the incident—a massive pile of collapsed scaffolding was hard to hide.
But she wasn’t about to wait around for them to change their minds. While Mr. Yong was shouting into his walkie-talkie, she slipped away and made a call.
It was a challenge relaying the necessary information to the operator on the line. The reception wasn’t great, they were both having problems with each other’s English, and Ah Ma was bawling in Jess’s other ear.
“Police won’t help one!” said Ah Ma. “They want to take your money only.”
“Uh, we’re in Air Itam,” said Jess. “Hold on, let me get the address . . .” She lowered the phone, snapping, “Can you give me a moment!”
“You think the workers want you to call the police?” said Ah Ma. “If they don’t have visa all that, the police will catch them. Then how? Malaysia is not like US, you don’t know only—”
“Look, I get it. There are problems with the police in the States too,” said Jess. “But that guy is under a shit-ton of metal and concrete, somebody needs to get him out, and I don’t trust Mr. Yong and his buddies to do it! What else do you want me to do?”