by Zen Cho
“It was pretty cool,” she admitted.
“Penang is full of places like that. Hidden gems,” said Sherng. “It’s hard to get people to see it, though. Especially people like my dad. He’s had to fight for everything, so he’s practical. His generation, the people he works with, they look at land and they think condos, they think shopping malls, they think offices. They think that’s the only way they can make use of land. But that temple is special. It’d be a waste to destroy it. It’d be criminal.”
It was impossible to doubt his passion.
“What would you do with it?” said Jess.
“What couldn’t you do with it?” said Sherng. “I’d start with F and B. Imagine having a drink with all those trees and altars around you. It’s so atmospheric. People would go nuts. But you wouldn’t have to stop there. It’s such an amazing space, the potential is endless. You could do all kinds of events—wedding shoots—hell, why not weddings? There’s a growing market for quirky venues.”
“You want to turn the temple into a hipster café?” said Jess.
She was surprised by her own revulsion, as at a sacrilege. It was strange, given she’d only been there once and planned to avoid it in the future, but she found she had strong feelings about the garden temple. She saw again in her mind’s eye the wind-ruffled curtain of vines hanging from the bodhi tree, the faded red altars amidst the roots. Sherng couldn’t have been paying attention, if he could think of the garden and its shrines as no more than set dressing.
“What’s wrong with leaving it as it is?” she said.
Sherng gave her a look that said she was being disappointing. “That temple is sitting on land worth millions. If you don’t find a way to make it profitable, sooner or later it’s going to be destroyed. Isn’t it better if it’s preserved? If you want to keep that kind of place around, it needs to work for people now. For the young people, not just some uncles who want 4D numbers and a cure for gout.”
Jess must still have looked skeptical. Sherng laughed suddenly.
“Basket! There’s no reward for trying to find the middle ground,” he said. “You think I’m this big corporate villain and my dad thinks I’m a bleeding heart. He thinks I have no sense. When I first opened this café, he was like, ‘Who’s going to come? Building so old. Furniture so lauyah.’ The vintage furniture, he hated that the most. He was like, ‘If you can’t afford to buy new chairs, why you didn’t ask me?’ He couldn’t believe it when we started making money. He thinks I’m weird about old things. He doesn’t see that it’s practical.”
“If by ‘practical’ you mean ‘profit driven,’” said Jess.
“Yeah, it’s money. But it’s also soul,” said Sherng. “My idea wouldn’t make as much as a high-rise—mixed use, shopping, F and B, residential. I can’t match the yield from a bunch of premium condos. All my idea does is keep a part of old Penang alive for new Penang.”
Jess thought of Ah Ma. “Maybe it’s OK to let old things pass on.”
Sherng looked betrayed. “Don’t you want to save the temple?”
“I think it should be what it is,” said Jess. “It doesn’t have to be anything else. It’s OK if it fades away. But it shouldn’t be torn out and it shouldn’t be made over.”
Sherng smiled. “And Pa thinks I’m a romantic. He should meet you.”
Jess looked down to avoid giving away how much she never wanted to meet Ng Chee Hin.
A brief silence fell. Sherng lit another cigarette.
“What happened after I left, that time?” he said. “I came back to the temple after the function, but you guys were gone by then. You said the medium’s OK?”
“Yeah,” said Jess, after a pause. “I think those guys got scared after they beat him up. They started arguing among themselves and then they went off.”
Let Sherng call her out for lying if he found out who had really gotten rid of the thugs that night. Jess would deny everything. Who would believe she was capable of roughing up a gang of thugs anyway?
“Shit,” said Sherng. “I’m going to have to talk to my dad.” He didn’t seem delighted by the prospect.
He did appear to be on the level. Maybe he was telling the truth. At the very least, Jess could believe he thought his dad hadn’t sent the gangsters.
That didn’t mean he was right. But it might mean she’d found a way in. A potential ally.
She remembered the construction worker, Kassim, interrogating her about her social media reach. Here was an opportunity to talk to someone who could make a real difference to Kassim and the other workers’ situation, if he cared to do it.
“There’s another thing you might want to talk to your dad about,” she said. She took out her phone. “You know about the accident at the development?”
Sherng looked blank. “What accident?”
Jess handed him her phone. She heard his sharp intake of breath as he took in the image of the collapsed scaffolding.
“It happened on Monday,” said Jess. “There was a guy under there. He could have died. The workers have been complaining about safety issues for a while—equipment failing, that kind of thing—but they say they’ve been ignored.” She met Sherng’s eyes. “Your dad has a big problem on his hands.”
* * *
• • •
AH MA WAITED with surprising patience till Jess was a couple of blocks away from the café to speak.
You don’t want to take taxi? she said.
Night had fallen, but George Town was still full of life, people spilling out onto the streets now that the heat of the day had been quenched. Jess passed crowded restaurants and backpacker bars full of tourists.
It was nice, being out of the house. She hadn’t realized how much spending all her time around her family was getting to her. The living members were almost as stressful as the dead.
“I wanted to think,” she said.
She felt dissatisfied, the kind of restless that needed walking off, even though her encounter with Sherng had been reasonably successful. She was uninjured, unthreatened, and she had a promise of action from Ng Chee Hin’s own son.
Sherng had been convincingly shocked by her account of the incident at the construction site—a heavily edited account. She’d mentioned that the workers believed the accident had been caused by a disgruntled spirit, but that was as much as she’d said about the supernatural aspect of the matter. Sherng had said he didn’t believe in all that crap, after all.
When he’d said, “Do you know why that guy ran toward the scaffolding?” Jess had shrugged.
“There was a lot going on,” she said. “Apparently these equipment failures and accidents have been happening for a while. He was probably stressed out.”
Strictly, nothing she was saying was incorrect. Jess had plenty of experience in lying by telling the truth.
Sherng ran a hand through his hair. “I had no idea. Crap. This is really, really bad.” He hesitated. “Have you shown anybody else these photos?”
Jess raised her eyebrows. “Why do you ask?”
“Can I ask you not to tell anybody? I know what that sounds like,” he added hastily. “But I’m telling you this in good faith. If you publish these, you lose your leverage. If I talk to my father and I can tell him we can handle it confidentially, he’ll be more likely to listen.”
“I’ve sent the photos to some people,” said Jess, watching him. “I haven’t heard that they plan to publish them yet. I haven’t shared them anywhere public.”
“OK,” said Sherng. “So we still have time. My dad probably doesn’t even know this is going on.”
“Really?” said Jess despite herself. What did she think Sherng was going to do, put his hand up and admit his dad was a conscienceless gangster?
“He’s the last person the contractor would want to tell, if things are going wrong,” said Sherng. “They’ve been having iss
ues with the contractor already. The development’s behind schedule and it’s not just because of the court case.” He looked at her. “Give me a chance.”
He’d promised she would hear from him in a week’s time. (“Pa’s in Bangkok. This kind of thing, it’s best to discuss in person.”)
That was a win. No one was in a better position to persuade Ng Chee Hin to do something than his son and heir.
Sure, Jess could’ve told Sherng to fuck off and gone ahead with plastering the images all over social media, despite her pitiful number of Facebook followers. She could have emailed them to every media outlet she could find.
But if the press was scared of Ng Chee Hin—if even the police wouldn’t go against him—how much traction was she going to get that way?
“Go and show everybody,” the worker had told her. But what he wanted was his rights, not a social media campaign that might not go anywhere. He’d asked her to tell people and she’d told somebody. It wasn’t like she’d agreed not to publish. She was just holding off to see what Ng Wei Sherng was able to do.
“What did you think of him?” she asked Ah Ma. She only realized she was speaking aloud when a guy passing by gave her a funny look. She fumbled in her bag, popping an earbud in her ear so it would look like she was on the phone. She could always think at Ah Ma instead, but talking gave her a reassuring—if illusory—sense of distance between them.
Good boy, said Ah Ma judiciously. That bastard is lucky. Most rich men’s sons don’t know how to behave.
That this broadly matched Jess’s assessment surprised her. She hadn’t expected Ah Ma to be anything but suspicious of him. “You think I can trust him?”
No lah. If he’s guai, listens to his father, that means all the more cannot trust. What’s wrong?
“Nothing,” said Jess, but the denial was pure reflex and both of them knew it. She said, “He said he’d talk to his dad about what happened at the site. But I don’t know how much that’s going to help.”
Ah Ma snorted. “No use. That boy says whatever also, that bastard isn’t going to stop the development.”
Jess had come to the end of the five-foot way she was walking along. A road ran between the rows of shophouses, busy with cars and motorbikes. She paused, waiting for a gap in the traffic so she could cross.
“Ah Ma, you know the god. You were her medium. What would actually get her to back off?”
Ah Ma didn’t answer immediately. Jess had crossed the road and was making her way along the next block when the ghost spoke.
God is very simple, said Ah Ma. If you pray to them, give offerings at the right time, they’ll be happy. If you go and kacau their temple, don’t respect them, they won’t be happy. These people want to destroy her place, how can she not be angry?
“What if we could get Ng Chee Hin to pray to her?” said Jess. “Would that work?”
If somebody gives you a present, but they still want to spoil your house, will you accept?
“Obviously, Sherng will have to get him to agree to leave the temple alone,” said Jess. “But say that happens, and we get him to make her an offering—”
The god won’t layan that bastard. Ah Ma’s tone was freezing. You think she’s stupid? If you want to pray to her, your heart must be sincere. A useless man like that bastard, the mouth says one thing when the heart is different, what god wants his offering? He can buy however many suckling pigs he wants and pay for all the joss sticks. When he dies and goes to hell, he’s still going to suffer!
“OK,” said Jess, with an effort at patience. “What if we get Sherng to do it? He seems pretty sincere.”
You want to ask the son to go to the temple and pray to the god?
“He likes the temple,” said Jess. “If I tell him that my grandmother was a medium there and he needs to pray to show respect—”
That one cannot say. You cannot tell him about Ah Ma.
So much for that idea. “Then . . .”
Tell him it’s Ah Ku who asked him to do it, said Ah Ma. But cannot say he’s your Ah Ku. Just say the medium told you.
Jess blinked. “You think it’s worth doing?”
Could be. If the son makes an offering to the god, asks her to stop disturbing the construction workers, maybe she’ll be willing to forgive, said Ah Ma. Then Ah Ma can move on also.
Jess hadn’t even thought of that side benefit of propitiating the god. “Oh, would you go?”
You think I like ah, being a hantu? I’m like a hungry ghost like that. Neither here neither there. If I can, of course I’ll go on to my next life. I must stay here is because of this problem with the god.
“OK.” Jess took a deep breath, letting it out in a rush. “I’ll ask him to meet me at the temple.”
She’d been trying to block out her memory of the Black Water Sister, but inevitably the god’s image recurred now—the small figure dwarfed by incomplete buildings, squinting against the sun.
Goosebumps rose on Jess’s skin despite the warmth of the evening. She was grateful for the bustle of people around her.
“The god won’t . . .” Jess paused, swallowing. “She won’t do anything, will she?”
Why? You’re scared ah?
“I watched her try to murder a man, so yeah, I’m a little nervous!”
You’re not the one building condos in her place, said Ah Ma. You don’t need to worry. Just listen to Ah Ma. You must WhatsApp Ah Ku, ask him to come also.
“Uh, it’s OK,” said Jess. She couldn’t see Ah Ku being that useful if the god decided to turn nasty. “I don’t think we need to bother him. Shouldn’t he be resting?”
He’s the caretaker. If we’re going to the temple, we must call him, said Ah Ma. You tell that boy, don’t need to tell the father. After he makes trouble only.
TWELVE
Sherng seemed enthusiastic when Jess suggested a meetup with the caretaker at the garden temple so Sherng could explain what he had in mind for the site.
Yeah, definitely happy to talk, said his text. After CNY?
Chinese New Year would go on for two weeks. Kassim had messaged Jess on WhatsApp, asking if she’d published her photos anywhere yet. He and his coworkers were talking to an NGO about demanding better protections from the contractor, but it sounded like they’d appreciate any publicity she was able to drum up.
If she was going to put the photos up online, the holiday period would be a good time, when everyone was home and checking their phones. But she wanted to see what Sherng could offer first.
Can you do tomorrow? she replied.
She was pushing it—Saturday was only two days before the eve of the New Year, when people had reunion dinner with their families—but he said yes.
Jess held off on mentioning the whole “there’s a vengeful god preying on your dad’s development and you need to propitiate her” thing. That was an explanation best made in person, ideally via Ah Ku.
“You might need to make an appearance,” she said to Ah Ma. “In case he doesn’t believe it.”
You don’t need to worry, said Ah Ma. He’ll believe.
* * *
• • •
IT WAS LATE morning when Jess pulled up in the parking lot in front of the temple. Sunshine flooded the parking lot. The hawker center was experiencing a lull in business—it was too late for breakfast, too early for lunch—but a comforting blend of human noises still came from it: pots and pans clanging, oil hissing, people shouting orders over a stream of Cantonese from the TV. Against all this, the jungle looked like nothing more than some trees, denuded of mystery or threat.
Sherng was already at the temple. He was absorbed in his phone, but he looked up when Jess got to the top of the stairs, his scowl of concentration turning into a smile.
Jess didn’t smile back. She was too startled.
The garden was teeming. People perched on the roofs of th
e shrines, smoking, drinking and eating snacks. Others were gliding along the paths or clustered around the plants. A small wild banana tree had three women somehow sitting in it, gossiping.
Except they weren’t women, but spirits. They were all spirits.
Jess had asked Ah Ma to mark her eyes, opening them again to the spirit world. If she was venturing into the Black Water Sister’s domain, she’d figured she’d better be able to see what was going on. She hadn’t bargained on there being so much to see.
Fortunately the spirits didn’t seem interested in Jess. They glanced up briefly at her approach before going back to what they were doing, though a couple nodded to Ah Ma as if they recognized her.
“Eh, how are you?” they said pleasantly. “Died already, is it?”
This was all lost on Sherng.
“Weird, I don’t have reception,” he said. “Is your phone working?”
A notification popped up as Jess checked her phone—a message from Mom, reminding her not to eat the nangka in the Tupperware in the fridge, but only the nangka in the plastic bag, because the Tupperware nangka was Kor Kor’s, and if Jess touched it she would inevitably spark a civil war. Jess didn’t even like nangka. “Yeah.”
“You’re with Digi, is it?” said Sherng. “Maybe I should switch.”
He scanned the garden. Jess could imagine how peaceful it must look to him under the sun, the long grass swaying in the breeze. She kept her gaze resolutely averted from the shrines underneath the bodhi tree.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” said Sherng. He sighed. “I’ve got to get my dad out here. Maybe if he saw it . . .”
But Jess could see how the temple would strike Sherng’s dad, the same way it would strike her parents, even if they couldn’t perceive the spirits crowding it. Viewed through uncle-vision, the place was messy, overgrown, full of hazards both physical and spiritual. The picturesque vines and creepers whispered of bugs; the undergrowth was undoubtedly crowded with snakes; the pond with its placid terrapins basking in the sun might as well have had a sign up saying come catch your dengue here. As for the quaint altars and the gods and goddesses they held . . .