by Zen Cho
The god was reaching out to Kor Kor when Jess pushed her aunt back, making her stumble. Jess put herself between Kor Kor and the window, shoving her face up against the grille.
“Fuck off!” Jess shouted. “Don’t you know when you’re not fucking welcome?”
The god turned her chill gaze on Jess. Jess felt the phantom bite of the knife at her throat. She swallowed.
“You owe me,” said the god, in that dialect Jess shouldn’t understand.
“You started it,” said Jess absurdly, saturated with terror. It didn’t matter what she said so long as she kept talking, kept the god’s attention on her. Mom was holding Kor Kor back, thank God, though she was also yelling something irrelevant at Jess about coming away from the window. “You’re the one who took over my body. I didn’t do anything to you.”
“You came to my temple,” said the god. “You spoiled my shrine. How are you going to pay me back?”
“What if I don’t?”
The god didn’t answer. She only reached through the grille and laid her fingers on Jess’s forehead, as she had done in the dream. The touch was as tender as a lover’s.
Agony flared across the back of Jess’s neck. It hurt so much she only had the breath to gasp, which was lucky because it meant she didn’t alarm the women behind her. They were freaking out enough as it was. Kor Kor was praying loudly, and Mom was saying, “Min, you come here right now!”
“How are you going to pay me back?” said the god again.
Jess could hear Mom and Kor Kor approaching. She had to get rid of the god.
“I’ll find a way,” she said, breathless. The pain was subsiding, which made it easier to think. “Leave my family alone. It’s nothing to do with them. I’ll handle everything. I’ll go to the temple. I’ll pray to you—”
“You must bring me a sacrifice.”
“I’ll bring it to the temple,” said Jess. “But you have to go away. This is my aunt’s house, a Christian house. You don’t have a right to anything here.”
The god looked at her.
“OK, fine. You get me,” said Jess. “Just me. Nobody else.”
The god turned her eyes toward Mom and Kor Kor before looking back at Jess.
“Bring me the sacrifice,” she said.
Her message couldn’t have been clearer. This is the price of your loved ones’ safety.
And then she was gone. The bougainvillea blossoms shook, stirred by a passing breeze.
Kor Kor tugged at Jess, drawing her away from the grille.
“You don’t interfere,” she was saying to Mom in Hokkien. “You all are not Christian. I am! These spirits cannot hurt me.” Switching to English, she said loudly, all in one breath, “But deliver us from evil, for yours is the kingdom and the power and the glory forever! Amen.”
“She’s gone,” said Jess.
“The god’s not there anymore?” said Mom.
Kor Kor was flushed and exultant. “Thanks be to God! See, Poey Hoon Chee, this is the power of Jesus!”
Mom ignored her. “You said you’ll pray to her? That’s all? She’s happy already?”
She had the same look in her eyes as when Dad had been sick, as though she had lost something precious and couldn’t find it.
Jess reached for the comforting lie. “Yeah, it’s fine. I’ll go burn some joss sticks for her at the temple tomorrow.”
“That same temple you want to go back?” said Mom, her voice rising. “Cannot! If I knew Ah Ku was taking you there, I wouldn’t have let you go.”
“You want to pray to the spirit?” said Kor Kor, talking over her. “That’s all wrong already!”
Mom turned on her, glad of a target, even though Kor Kor was agreeing with her. “If Min has to pray to be left alone by the spirit, better she pray. Nobody asked you to comment also!”
Kor Kor took a deep breath.
Jess said hastily, “You asked her, Mom. You’re the one who called Kor Kor in.”
But it was too late. Mom had finally exhausted Kor Kor’s capacious reserves of patience. Kor Kor let out her breath in one big rush.
“Poey Hoon Chee,” she said, “you are too much!”
FIFTEEN
Tau and its soy-based delights would have to wait for another day. Jess messaged Sherng to postpone their meetup from the back of Kor Kor’s car, feeling like a teenager in disgrace.
Mom and Kor Kor were being scrupulously polite to each other in the front, saying nothing that was not strictly necessary. The temperature was arctic.
Jess had never seen them really fight before. The quarrel had rapidly taken on a life of its own. Kor Kor and Mom had started hashing out all the bad life decisions Mom had ever made, starting with emigrating to America and ending with returning to Malaysia, as well as the reasons none of Kor Kor’s kids were living near her as adults.
Jess had had to intervene to drag the focus back to her spiritual difficulties. She didn’t actually want Mom and Kor Kor involved in the dumpster fire that was her life, but it was that or let Mom fatally offend Kor Kor and get them all kicked out.
At first Jess’s strategy had seemed to work.
“We must pray,” said Kor Kor.
“Correct,” Mom agreed. “This issue man cannot solve.”
“Jesus will protect you,” Kor Kor continued. “You just have to ask him for help only. Put your hands together and say, ‘Jesus, I accept you into my heart.’”
“I’ll take you to Master Yap’s temple,” said Mom. “They pray to Tai Seng Ia, the Monkey God. You know the Monkey God? He was born from the rock, that one.”
“You mean the Monkey King?” said Jess, bemused. “From Journey to the West?”
Mom nodded, as though it was totally normal to have a temple dedicated to a fictional character. “We call him the Great Sage. More respectful. When it comes to this kind of issue, he’s very good, very powerful.”
“You want to go to Chinese temple some more ah?” said Ah Kor. “They’re the ones who caused the problem in the first place.” She turned to Jess. “Why don’t you come to church with me? My pastor has experience with exorcisms. She’s a lady-pastor, but very tough. Indian lady, so she’s not scared of all these Chinese gods.”
Jess could tell Mom was starting to fume. She said quickly, “Aren’t Christians not supposed to believe in other gods? I thought there’s only meant to be one God.”
“Only one with capital G,” agreed Kor Kor. “These other gods, the small g one, are spirits only. Spirits, the Bible also got. Jesus cast out a lot.
“Our congregation has such cases, you know,” she added. “Some people, they want to convert, but they’re scared the spirits will keep disturbing them. My pastor helps them. Their altars, the idols all that, she’s willing to pick up from people’s homes to dispose of them. People don’t dare throw away themselves. You have to be very strong in faith to do this kind of work.”
“This spirit is Chinese what,” said Mom. “Who is your pastor to her? Jesus also she hasn’t heard of. That’s why when you prayed earlier it didn’t work, Ah Yit. This spirit only respects the Chinese gods.”
Kor Kor bristled. “Where got it didn’t work? Jesus sent the spirit away. The spirits are scared of his name. They don’t dare come near to the cross. True or not, Min?”
“The god went off because you promised you’ll go back to the temple in Air Itam and pray to her, right?” said Mom. “I heard you say.”
Jess found two pairs of eyes fixed on her, demanding validation. She cleared her throat. “Well . . .”
The god hadn’t seemed to notice Kor Kor’s cross, but who was Jess to say that it wouldn’t have worked if she hadn’t stepped in?
In her mind’s eye she saw the god’s face again—the dark hair in which the sunlight was swallowed up, the inhuman blankness of her expression. Jess couldn’t find it in herself to reg
ret pushing Kor Kor away from the grille.
“I don’t know,” she said truthfully. “The important thing is, she went away. But she’ll be back. Unless I offer her a sacrifice.”
“What sacrifice?” said Mom.
“I don’t know for sure,” said Jess.
But she had a suspicion. The back of her neck twinged, the marks the god had left on her skin reminding her of their presence. The god had shown what she considered a meet tribute the day before, when she had held Jess still so death could be dealt through her.
“I’d prefer not to find out,” said Jess. “But if I don’t go back to the temple . . .”
“Cannot go back,” said Mom at once.
“Yes, better not go,” said Ah Kor.
“We’ll ask Tai Seng Ia what should we do,” said Mom. “I know the medium at the temple. He’ll help us.”
“No use you talk to all these mediums,” said Kor Kor. “Let me call my pastor, see if she’s free.”
They glared at each other. Jess could see storm clouds amassing.
“Why don’t we do both?” she said.
“Good idea,” said Mom instantly. “Come, we go to the temple now.”
“Now?” Jess glanced at the clock. She was supposed to be meeting Sherng in an hour’s time. “Can’t we go tomorrow?”
“Better go now, before Dad wakes up,” said Mom. “Cannot tell Dad about this. He’s so stressed already, working so hard.”
Jess glanced at Kor Kor, worried this would spark another argument, but Kor Kor nodded. Apparently she and Mom had found the one thing they could agree on in this situation.
“I told your father, he must rest more,” said Kor Kor. “But he don’t want to listen. Keeps pushing himself. Men are like that, they have their pride. If he hears about this some more, scared he cannot handle it.”
“He might have a breakdown,” said Mom darkly.
“Mustn’t disturb your father,” said Kor Kor. “You know how to drive to this temple, Hoon Chee?”
Despite this rapprochement, neither she nor Mom relaxed for the duration of the drive. The journey was weirdly long, even allowing for the Friday jam as people left work for prayers. Jess peered out of the window and found she didn’t recognize anything.
“Where are we even going?” she said.
“The temple is in Balik Pulau,” said Mom. “Very far.”
They passed dinky villages and durian farms and paddy fields, green and gold in the sun. Jess dozed off.
She only woke up when the car came to a stop. Mom was getting out.
“Awake already?” said Kor Kor. “Your mom was going to go find the medium first. Wanted to let you nap some more. If you’re getting out now, I’ll come also.”
Jess yawned. “You don’t have to come in, Kor Kor. You could wait in the car.”
“No,” said Kor Kor. “Better I come in case something happens. I brought my Bible.” She held up a small thick volume covered in blue leather. She’d brought the olive wood cross as well.
“Oh,” said Jess. “Good.”
It wasn’t like she shared Kor Kor’s faith, or believed in the efficacy of these artifacts against the god’s implacable persistence. Yet she felt obscurely comforted. It was something not to be dealing with this alone.
The temple was a modest structure with a corrugated zinc roof, nothing like the elaborate clan houses in George Town to which tourists flocked. But behind it was a dramatic blue-green hill, its peak rising to a dazzling blue sky.
It was only once they got closer to the temple that the mundane intruded. There was a brave attempt at landscaping out front, featuring a human-sized statue of the Monkey King, looking like he’d leaped out of a nineties Hong Kong TV series. He could have done with a paint job.
The red paint was peeling on the grille doors of the temple too. There was a design of a tree on each grille door, with twining green leaves, but the patches of rust somewhat detracted from the effect. Beyond the doors was an altar with a much smaller statue of the Monkey King, draped in an embroidered satin robe.
The only person there was a bored teenage boy. When Mom asked if Donald Sim was around, he nodded and ambled off, leaving them to wait.
Mom and Kor Kor were still enclosed in a bubble of tension. Jess looked around, trying to ignore it.
The Monkey King wasn’t the only god worshipped at the temple. There were other idols on either side of him. Jess didn’t study them too closely. It felt somehow impolite—and the last thing she wanted was to draw more divine attention to herself.
Averting her eyes, she noticed a framed painting on the wall. It was a portrait of a bald Chinese man with a kindly wrinkled face. He looked like a nice grandpa.
A caption in Chinese and dodgy English explained that Master Yap had been born in Canton and had come to Malaya in the 1900s. Desiring solitude so that he could devote himself to meditation, he had retreated to a remote part of the island. He was a virtuous man who did many good deeds. As his reputation grew, people came from far and wide to seek his wisdom. After his death, he had come to a follower in a dream and told him to build a temple by the hill where he had resided.
Jess wondered if the dream had been a one-off appearance, or if Master Yap had pestered his follower until his wishes had been fulfilled. If Master Yap was like his picture, Jess thought she wouldn’t mind so much being haunted by him. At least he was virtuous and had done good deeds. You wouldn’t see anyone putting up that epitaph for Ah Ma.
Donald Sim turned out to be a stout man around Mom’s age, wearing—of course—a polo shirt.
He seemed pleased to see Mom. It turned out they had known each other at school; Mom addressed him by a nickname that had no apparent connection to “Donald” or “Sim.”
While they chatted, Kor Kor waited with her arms crossed. Her hands were tucked into her elbows, as though to avoid the risk of touching anything and catching a spiritual infection.
But it was not in Kor Kor’s nature to stay frosty when met with warmth. All Mr. Sim had to say was, “Your sister-in-law? Very good. Welcome!” for the arms to uncross.
“So pretty here, with the mountain behind there,” said Kor Kor. “You must get a lot of tourists. All the Singaporeans, KL people like this kind of thing.”
Mr. Sim laughed, but in a nice way. “No lah. We have hardly any visitors. It’s so far. Some more we don’t give 4D numbers all that.” He spoke surprisingly good English. Jess would have pegged him as a retired civil servant or something, not a spirit medium. “Hard to survive. The statue outside we only got because a devotee donated money after Tai Seng Ia helped him.”
“We also need help, Ah Paut,” said Mom. She put her hand on Jess’s shoulder. “My daughter is in trouble.”
Mr. Sim composed his face into somberness. “What happened?”
“You don’t mind I show him?” said Mom. Her hand was hovering over the back of Jess’s neck.
Jess kind of minded. But if there was a chance Mr. Sim and his god could fix this, make the Black Water Sister leave her alone . . .
She nodded. Mom pushed the collar of her T-shirt down, holding her hair up so Mr. Sim could see the god’s marks on her skin.
Mr. Sim’s polite expression slipped, revealing real emotion. Shock, followed by a spark of professional interest.
“I see,” he said. “Come with me.”
* * *
• • •
“TAI SENG IA is a big god, you know,” said Mr. Sim. “Just because you call, doesn’t mean he’ll come.”
They were in a back room of the temple. Mr. Sim had called in an assistant, a young man maybe a few years older than Jess. He wasn’t wearing a polo shirt, but Jess presumed he hadn’t expected to be on duty that day. He looked grave and a little bored as he lit joss sticks and dressed Mr. Sim in black satin.
Jess was jittery, and Mom and
Kor Kor weren’t helping. Kor Kor was clutching at her Bible and her olive wood cross as though she was scared they would fly out of her hands. Mom looked like she was in a hospital waiting room.
It would be fine, Jess told herself. The Monkey King was a fun god. Dad used to bring back DVDs of Hong Kong TV series from their trips to Malaysia. She’d enjoyed the adaptation of Journey to the West, with its ebullient Monkey, unafraid of gods and demons alike.
Sure, Monkey got into fights. Sometimes Tripitaka or the Goddess of Mercy had had to remind him to behave. But he had a good heart. He had ascended to become a Buddha at the end, hadn’t he?
Jess didn’t know what had happened after that. She hadn’t watched the second series.
“Because he’s an animal, he can be fierce,” Mr. Sim continued. “He tends to express himself through action, using the physical. But you don’t need to worry. Ah Huat will help to restrain him.”
The idea that the god might require restraint by Mr. Sim’s assistant wasn’t especially reassuring. Mr. Sim seemed to realize this, because he added:
“In the end, he is a god. When he comes, it’s to do good to humans. Because he’s strong, he’s not scared of demons.”
“This is not a demon,” said Mom. “I told you, this god, my mother used to pray to last time.”
“Well,” said Mr. Sim, “these smaller gods, there’s not so much difference with the lower kinds of spirits. They can be very troublesome. But Tai Seng Ia can settle it—if he comes. I will try for you.”
His quiet civil servant’s voice sat strangely with his outfit. He’d swapped the polo shirt for a heavily embroidered black satin suit, with a collar of the same material around his neck. It looked like armor, or what the costume designer for a budget-strapped Chinese opera troupe might imagine armor to look like.
Mr. Sim got up and prayed to the Monkey King, a bundle of joss sticks in his hands.
Kor Kor prayed along, her eyes shut and her hand pressing her Bible open. “Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I will fear no evil, for you are with me.”