by Zen Cho
Even Ah Ma was impressed. She fell silent as they crossed the pristine floors of the lobby, hung over with the rarefied hush belonging to the holy or the extremely expensive. There was a giant mural on one wall, depicting heritage trades of George Town—rattan weavers, signboard carvers, bookbinders and makers of paper effigies of the gods.
Jess averted her eyes from this last. It was ridiculous to see omens everywhere when she was literally being accompanied by a ghost. The mural must have been Sherng’s idea.
“So ugly,” said Ah Ma, staring disapprovingly at the mural. “Why didn’t they paint it white?”
Jess felt a surge of sincere affection for her. If she had had a material hand, Jess might even have pressed it.
It was six o’clock and a trickle of office workers flowed through the security gates. They had that flattened, preoccupied look people had when they’d already mentally time-traveled to the future where they were chilling out at home in front of the TV. But Jess’s hair still got some startled side-eyes as she went up to the reception desk.
“I’m here to see Dato’ Ng,” she said. She smiled, then regretted it. Was it too American to smile at the receptionist, like asking, “How are you?” without expecting a real answer?
The receptionist gave her a weird look, but her eyes got stuck on the hair—so it was working. The more people stared at Jess’s hair, the less they’d be looking at her face.
“You’re from what company, Miss . . . ?”
“Miss Khoo,” said Jess, picking a surname at random. “I’m from the Moral Uplifting Society. I’ve got a meeting with Dato’ Ng at six thirty.”
Her trepidation grew as the receptionist tapped away on her keyboard, frowning a little. Had her phony Malaysian accent given her away? Or did the receptionist somehow know who she was? Maybe Sherng had distributed her photo to everyone in his dad’s conglomerate and now the receptionist was notifying security to come throw her out.
If she was lucky. The kind of security detail Ng Chee Hin employed probably didn’t stop at kicking people out of places. If Jess’s experience was anything to go by, they engaged in a lot of actual kicking.
“Here’s your pass,” said the receptionist, breaking into Jess’s anxiety spiral. “Dato’ Ng’s office is on the thirty-eighth floor. The elevator is there.” She pointed.
When Jess was past the security gates, it became clear why the receptionist had had to point. Only one of the row of elevators went directly to the thirty-eighth floor.
Half of one wall inside the elevator was covered with reflective glass. Only Jess was mirrored in it. Ah Ma, standing next to her, was invisible. They didn’t speak.
Beads of sweat formed on Jess’s top lip, despite the air-conditioning. In the cold light, her ridiculous hair and giant glasses looked woefully inadequate as a disguise. Her stomach was sour with fright.
To make herself brave, she thought of Ah Ku, the time she’d dropped him off at his house after destroying the god’s shrine. The awkward kindness with which he had pressed the money into her hand, the feel of the worn blue-green bills between her fingertips. She had to get him out.
There was another reception desk on the thirty-eighth floor, with shelves on either side, displaying beautiful, expensive-looking things—porcelain vases, wood carvings, ornate silverware.
Behind the desk was a wall of glass. Through it could be seen Penang. Clusters of red and orange roofs were interspersed with greenery, with the occasional high-rise rearing up among the squat white buildings. In the distance could be seen the cloud-wreathed humps of hills and a sparkling gray sea.
The view made something clench in Jess’s chest; it felt like sorrow, or love. If Sharanya could see this, she thought despite herself. But then Ah Ma said:
“She sit there beside the window all day, must be so hot. Kesian only that girl.”
The woman at the desk didn’t look uncomfortable. As at both of Jess’s previous encounters with her, Pooi Mun came off as someone who had never sweated in her life.
How did the saying go? Lord, grant me the confidence of a mediocre white man.
“You said what?” said Ah Ma, the only spiritual authority listening.
Jess was already striding forward, a smile plastered on her face—the smile of someone who was looking forward to her discounted liquid chlorophyll.
“Good evening. I have an appointment with Dato’ Ng,” she said. “Miss Khoo from the Moral Uplifting Society.”
Her palms were sweating as Pooi Mun looked up from her computer. Would she notice that Jess’s voice was different from the voice she’d heard on the phone? It must have been some issue with the line, Jess imagined herself saying.
But even as Pooi Mun raised her eyes, they veered off to Jess’s hair. She blinked rapidly, as though someone had thrown sand in her eyes, before the professional blankness fell over her face again.
“Moral Uplifting Society,” she echoed, looking back at her computer. “Yes, six thirty. I thought Mr. Tai was coming?”
“He couldn’t make it today, but he asked me to represent him.” The YouTube videos had said to distract your interlocutor, engage their attention with something other than you. Jess raked the woman over, hunting for something to remark upon.
But Pooi Mun was totally nondescript. Her suit was so boring Jess’s eyes skittered over it. Even her hair was tied back with a plain black band.
“I love your watch,” said Jess in desperation.
Pooi Mun looked down at her watch in some surprise. It was an analog watch on a black band, innocent of decoration. “What, this watch?”
“It’s so minimalist,” said Jess. “Very Muji. Where did you get it from?”
Pooi Mun declined to be distracted.
“I don’t remember,” she said. “Mr. Tai cannot make it? But you all chose this time. You’re the lady who phoned me the other day, right?”
“Yeah,” said Jess. She had to hold her nerve. “I’m taking over the medical fund, so I’ll be administering Dato’ Ng’s generous donation . . .”
But Pooi Mun was looking at her now, really looking, seeing past the undercut and blond hair and the dignified gray dress and the glasses. Jess met her eyes and knew she was fucked.
“Eh, I saw you the other day,” said Pooi Mun, her eyes narrowing. “You’re the girl at that restaurant, sell tauhu one. Mr. Ng’s friend—”
Jess leaned over the desk and said, in a vicious undertone, “You got your ninety ringgit out of me. Does Dato’ Ng know what you’re doing? How much have you racked up, selling appointments with him?”
She straightened up. Pooi Mun’s eyes were wide, but Jess couldn’t afford to leave it there. Pooi Mun had to have nerves of steel or she wouldn’t be running this racket. There was no way Jess was even in the top fifty most intimidating people who wanted to see Ng Chee Hin urgently, and presumably Pooi Mun had shaken down all of them.
Ah Ma, Jess thought, if you try, can you knock something off the shelves? The object nearest to Pooi Mun was a covered yellow porcelain tub, etched with a profusion of pink and red flowers. Like that bowl thing?
“You mean the kamcheng?” said Ah Ma. “That big bowl is called kamcheng. Rich people use at their wedding—”
Yeah, fine, whatever you want to call it, said Jess. Just do it!
Ah Ma was already by the shelves. She swiped at the porcelain bowl. It wobbled. Ah Ma swore, reached over and pulled, grunting with effort.
“I’d be careful if I were you,” Jess said to Pooi Mun as the kamcheng tipped over.
Only the lid crashed on the floor, but it was enough. Pooi Mun whirled around, real fear flashing across her face.
Jess turned and stalked down the corridor. She could see Ng Chee Hin’s office. In fact, she could see Ng Chee Hin himself, because the door to his office was made of glass.
He sat alone behind a large desk, lapped abo
ut with space and quiet. He was a relatively handsome variation on the average Chinese uncle, wearing a blue collared shirt. He looked older than in the photos Jess had seen online—but of course, he was only a little younger than Ah Ma. He must have been around Jess’s parents’ age when Sherng was born.
He was hunched, peering over surprisingly fashion-forward tortoiseshell glasses at his computer screen. He didn’t seem to have heard anything, but he glanced up as Jess approached.
Something must have given away the fact she wasn’t just some peon, come to ask him what he wanted on his donor’s plaque. He started up, suspicion flooding his face.
Jess thought, He probably has a gun in that desk.
But her hand was already pushing the glass door open, determination propelling her onward. Ah Ma followed, a cold draft on the back of her legs.
“Good evening, Mr. Ng,” said Jess.
“Who are you?” said Ng Chee Hin. “What do you want?”
Jess looked him in the eye. “My name is Jessamyn Teoh. I’m your son’s friend. Sherng said he told you about me.”
Ng Chee Hin was already reaching under the desk.
“He’s going to shoot you,” said Ah Ma.
“I’m here on behalf of my grandmother, Oon Bian Nio,” said Jess.
She could hear Pooi Mun’s footsteps behind her. She’d probably already called security.
Jess talked faster. “You knew her once. She wants to talk to you.”
Ng Chee Hin had put his hands back on the desk. “Oon Bian Nio passed on last year.”
“Yes. But she’s here,” said Jess.
She glanced at Ah Ma and deliberately spoke aloud, switching to Hokkien. “How do you want to prove it?”
Ah Ma was riding high from her success with the kamcheng. She went up to Ng Chee Hin’s desk and hurled herself at the cup of Chinese tea on it. It toppled over, drenching his keyboard.
Great. They’d antagonized him already and Jess hadn’t even said anything.
“OK, thanks, Ah Ma,” she said. “I think that’s enough.”
“Didn’t spill until the computer screen,” said Ah Ma regretfully. “Spoiled the keyboard only.”
The door swung open behind Jess.
“Dato’,” panted Pooi Mun. “Sorry, Dato’! She bluffed me—”
“We just want to talk,” said Jess, spreading her hands in the universal gesture indicating weaponlessness. “It’s about the accident at the Rexmondton Heights development. And—” She swallowed, but this was her one chance. If it was going to work, she had to play all her cards. “The god called the Black Water Sister.”
“The guards are coming now,” said Pooi Mun.
“Tell them don’t need to come.” Ng Chee Hin hadn’t taken his eyes off Jess. To her, he said, “You have something to tell me about the problem with the temple there?”
Jess nodded.
“OK. Let’s talk,” said Ng Chee Hin. “Take a seat, Miss Teoh.”
TWENTY-ONE
There was a black leather sofa. Jess perched on it as Pooi Mun left the room. She didn’t exactly slam the door as she went, but she closed it with a very pointed click.
“Each of us has the solution to the other person’s problem,” said Jess. “Your problem is you’ve got a god screwing with your development. My problem is you put my uncle in jail.”
She half expected Ng Chee Hin to deny it. Instead he folded his hands and said:
“Who asked you all to target my son?”
He sounded like a disappointed teacher, except his accent reminded her a little of Jackie Chan. The overall effect was disarming. Jess could feel herself wanting to like him, laugh at his jokes, trust him, even though this was a guy who wouldn’t think twice about murdering the crap out of her if she made herself inconvenient enough.
At least she had a ready answer to his question.
“My grandmother did,” she said. “She can tell you herself in a second. The god told her to do it. The Black Water Sister, I mean,” she added.
“I know,” said Ng Chee Hin shortly. She got the impression he didn’t like the sound of the name being spoken any more than Ah Ku or Ah Ma did.
He snorted. “You’re really like your grandmother, huh? Always talking about ghosts and spirits. I thought Harvard graduate won’t believe this kind of thing?”
“I’m surprised you’re familiar with my career, Mr. Ng,” said Jess.
Ng Chee Hin raised an eyebrow. “My son didn’t tell you? I have a very good memory. Especially people who cause trouble for my family, I remember.”
His tone was matter-of-fact. Not menacing, because he didn’t have to be. Power like his was like a natural law, like the operation of gravity. It didn’t need to swagger or threaten. You got out of the way, or you got crushed.
“Oh, I explained that to Sherng,” said Jess. A lifetime of deceiving her family in ways big and small had trained her for this. She sounded bright and helpful, not terrified in the least. “He probably hasn’t had the chance to tell you, but I saved his life. The god wanted him dead—she possessed me, to try to make me kill him—but I stopped her.”
This was a slight massaging of the facts, but she wanted Ng Chee Hin to listen to Ah Ma when her turn came to speak. She had a feeling being told it was Ah Ma who’d personally tried to strangle his son might make him a little less receptive.
Where had Ah Ma gone, anyway? Glancing around, Jess saw she’d drifted to the other side of the room, as if she couldn’t stand to be that close to Ng Chee Hin. She was pretending to examine the art pieces on the wall. They were bold blocky paintings of large women in sarongs, vivid-hued and joyful—not really Ng Chee Hin’s style. Sherng’s hand again.
“If this god wanted to kill my son,” said Ng Chee Hin, “why she tried to make you do it? The accident at the site, I hear the worker was possessed. Apparently the spirit made him run under the scaffolding. She is supposed to be a god what. God doesn’t need henchman to do things.”
“She doesn’t,” Jess agreed. She found she knew the answer, as sure as if the Black Water Sister had told her. “But if she’d possessed Sherng, he wouldn’t have known what was happening. She wanted him to know. She wanted him to be afraid.”
Ng Chee Hin’s face twitched at that. “What’s the god’s problem with my son?”
“Why do you want my uncle dead?” said Jess.
“That’s why you came to talk to me, is it?” said Ng Chee Hin.
He took off his glasses. She could almost see him deciding to humor her.
Her reason for coming to him was one he could understand and respect, Jess realized. He was taking her more seriously than he would have if she’d simply come to advocate for the construction workers, challenge him on what he was doing to ensure safe working conditions at his development.
Maybe he and Jess weren’t so different, after all. She wouldn’t have had the courage to confront Ng Chee Hin, knowing what he was under the polish and respectability his wealth lent him, other than for someone bound to her by all the history and debt and mutual betrayals of blood. For her, as much as for Ng Chee Hin, the family bond was incontrovertible.
“I don’t have any issue with Barry Lim,” he said. “You must understand. I am a businessman. If I decide to do something, it’s not because I like the person or I don’t like the person. My priority is what is best for the company. I have to think of my business partners and my staff.
“This Barry Lim, if he doesn’t bother me, I won’t bother him. The problem is he is not reasonable. I am willing to negotiate—even though by law, there’s nothing to negotiate also. This land in Air Itam, legally, it belongs to the company. The temple has no right to be there. But we were willing to talk. Your uncle was the stubborn one.”
“And because he’s being stubborn, you’ve ruined his life,” said Jess.
Ng Chee Hin peered at he
r, quizzical. “He also tried to attack my son.”
“I told you, that was the god’s idea. My uncle’s a medium. He just does what the spirits tell him to do,” said Jess. “Anyway, what about his wife and kids? They didn’t do anything.”
“If the wife and children suffer, it’s because the man is not responsible,” said Ng Chee Hin. “Your uncle should have thought of his family. We explained to him also, this is a big development. The government is involved. People will benefit—people need somewhere to live what. If it doesn’t go ahead, not only my partners and my company will lose money, we will lose face.”
Ah Ma had given up on pretending she wasn’t listening and come back over to Jess. She said, “This useless bastard! He can say whatever also. He chose that place is because he purposely wants to insult me. He knew it’s my temple back then. You ask him and see!”
Jess didn’t really want to ask, but she needed to keep Ah Ma sweet.
“So this was purely business,” she said reluctantly. “Nothing to do with the fact that my grandmother was a medium at the temple?”
Ng Chee Hin blinked, nonplussed. “I don’t know what your grandmother told you before she passed. But by the time we bought the land, I didn’t see your grandmother for a long time already. Penang is an island, there’s not much land. The plot is in a good location. Sooner or later it will be developed. If not my company, somebody else will do it.”
He added, in a confidential tone, “Actually I held back, to show respect. I let your uncle sue me, didn’t rush the process. Until your grandmother passed only, I said, that’s enough. But I warned your uncle. He had a chance to clear out and move the temple. He didn’t want only. That’s why I have to be more drastic. It’s not that I want to do. You think I like ah, this kind of thing? If I can avoid, I won’t do it.”
Jess believed him. Like Sherng, Ng Chee Hin exuded credibility. He gave off an impression of authenticity which, in a man of his age and distinction, came off as something like integrity. She could see how he’d made his way from rubber plantations to high-rises, why politicians and civil society leaders might be happy to have their photos taken with him. For a moment she could even understand how someone like Ah Ma, who did not give a shit about anything or anyone, could still be hung up on this guy, lifetimes after they had broken up.