On Far Malayan Shores

by Tara Haigh

  ‘No, not at all. To be perfectly honest, I admire you wholeheartedly for forging new paths and doing something that you believe in.’

  ‘Don’t you do what you believe in?’ she enquired.

  ‘Sometimes, when life doesn’t get in the way with all its temptations.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have any time for that,’ said Ella. That was the price one paid for following a profession out of passion, and in Rudolf’s presence, it felt unexpectedly high.

  ‘By the way, I have two free tickets to the opera. The conductor is a family friend,’ he said.

  ‘What are they performing?’

  ‘Don Giovanni.’ Rudolf’s tone conveyed both awe and excitement.

  ‘Isn’t that a rather dark opera?’ asked Ella. One of her colleagues had mentioned it during their break that morning.

  ‘Darkness is part of life too. It usually makes things more interesting.’ Rudolf spoke with complete conviction, which made his invitation even more appealing. Strangely enough, the prospect of experiencing something dark at Rudolf’s side felt just as thrilling as her covert operations with Mathilde at the hospital.

  ‘All right then. When would we go?’ she enquired.

  ‘Tonight, provided you have no other plans.’

  ‘It’s rather short notice, but . . .’ Ella wondered why she was being so coy – after all, she loved to be spontaneous. Evidently, so did Rudolf. That was something they had in common, and a pinch of darkness on such an otherwise glorious day could surely do no harm.

  CHAPTER 2

  The last time Ella had been to the opera was in London – one of the rare entertainments she had found time for on her few days off from the hospital. It had been a matinee, which didn’t have as strict a dress code as an evening performance. Even so, attending an opera in the West End along with five colleagues felt very different from doing so in the company of a man whom one was not averse to. She had had just two hours to smarten herself up and put on her favourite perfume. Ella thanked the Lord that she had bought a second evening gown last year.

  ‘What do you need so many dresses for?’ Mother had protested during their shopping trip to one of Hamburg’s biggest department stores, but Ella had already worn her old one to the anniversary reception at the dockyard and to be seen wearing the same gown twice in such quick succession would have been more than just embarrassing, since Rudolf would doubtlessly have inferred that she couldn’t afford a second. Ella was thrilled at the prospect of debuting her new dress this evening – especially by the side of a true gentleman in dapper white tie who smelled so alluringly of aftershave.

  When he arrived to pick her up, Rudolf looked stunning. His hair was combed back, throwing his striking features into relief, and a white scarf, which contrasted perfectly with the tone of his skin, was around his neck. Naturally, he had given Ella his hand to help her into the coach, showering her with compliments as he did so. Ordinarily, the words ‘You look enchanting’ were the sort of hackneyed cliché one might hear on the street when showing off a new dress for the first time – but from his lips, they sounded positively impassioned. In fact, Ella had more than once seen passion in his eyes during the short ride to the opera house on Dammtorstraße, since he had spent more time looking at her than at the road.

  It came as no surprise that Rudolf knew more or less everything there was to know about the building, for his father had built up one of the best-known property firms in Hamburg. Rudolf had presumably taken it over after his death. Ella had meant to ask him about it, but she had found it far more interesting to listen to his stories instead. She had only ever known the opera house with its current classical façade – its magnificent columns and ostentatious portico – since these features had been added to the otherwise plain building shortly before her birth.

  The prestigious venue could hold around two and a half thousand spectators, and its superb acoustics were apparent from the opening notes of the performance. The entire evening had radiated glamour, and it had been bliss to sit in one of the boxes with Rudolf, drawing envious glances from jealous women whose companions more closely resembled barrels that had been squeezed into tailcoats.

  Rudolf had offered to translate key passages of the Italian libretto for her, but Ella had declined. She much preferred to concentrate on Mozart’s music and the performances onstage – though she wasn’t always able to, for she could practically feel Rudolf’s gaze on her skin. Every now and then, their eyes would meet and briefly linger on each other. Sometimes she would smile bashfully when he caught her looking, and sometimes he would do the same. Of course, she had encountered plenty of men before whom she found attractive – that was inevitable in a profession where one had to deal with people. Yet Rudolf appeared to be a very special specimen of manhood indeed. How was it possible for her to feel the proximity of another person who was sitting half an arm’s length away from her as clearly as if he was touching her? The knowledge that he was by her side made her tingle with pleasure. Little by little, the rush of colours and the voices of the tenors and sopranos whirled her senses into a beguiling blur that made it impossible to pay attention to the events on the stage. And in addition to the assault on her senses, the heat in the box also played its part in sending her blood into a tumult, so that Ella caught herself wondering how it might feel if he were to touch her hand. Barely ten minutes later, after they had exchanged another brief glance, she began to imagine what it would be like if he kissed her.

  Ella was grateful when the curtain fell and the interval bell rang. It gave her a few moments to compose herself. When Rudolf extended his hand to help her to her feet, he held her fingers for a moment, and looked at her again with the same shy smile in his eyes. The situation urgently called for a little cooling off.

  ‘I hope I haven’t overwhelmed you with all this heavy fare,’ he said when they reached the foyer and joined the crowds pouring out of the boxes.

  ‘Not in the least,’ replied Ella, although not entirely truthfully. Normally she would have dug out her father’s guide to the opera from their library at home and prepared for the show a few days in advance, as this was always helpful when one didn’t speak Italian.

  Her answer was evidently unconvincing, for Rudolf gave a sceptical look. ‘We could buy a programme,’ he suggested promptly.

  A man of around Rudolf’s age – no less attractive, and of gentlemanly appearance – had apparently overheard their brief conversation and decided to intervene.

  ‘Don Giovanni is a nobleman; a lover and a seducer; a murderer and a bon vivant. He places his boundless desires above all else – he loves passion, the temptations of life,’ he held forth. ‘The opera could almost have been written for you,’ he added, looking at Rudolf. The two men laughed and greeted each other with friendly claps on the back.

  ‘Aren’t you going to introduce me to this delightful young lady?’ the walking theatre programme in white tie urged his counterpart.

  ‘This is Hubert Petersen. We’ve known each other since we were at school,’ pronounced Rudolf.

  ‘Ella Kaltenbach.’ Ella took the initiative and extended her hand, which Hubert duly mimed kissing. That was apparently the custom in these circles, and Ella relished it, as it suited these elegant surroundings.

  ‘You are a lucky man,’ said Hubert to Rudolf. Ella could well imagine what he meant by that – as could Rudolf, since those shy dimples had reappeared on his face.

  ‘As for me – I’m here on my own, poor wretch that I am. But what is it they say? Lucky at cards, unlucky in love,’ continued Hubert with a grin, pretending to languish under his ills.

  ‘Do you play cards?’ asked Ella casually.

  ‘It’s one of my passions. What with all my many sins, I expect I’ll go the same way as Don Giovanni. The ground will open up and swallow me. Questo è il fin di chi fa mal, e de’ perfidi la morte alla vita è sempre ugual. Such is the end of the evildoer: the death of a sinner always reflects his life,’ quoted Hubert with an appropriate sens
e of theatricality.

  ‘Most impressive. You seem to know the opera by heart,’ said Ella.

  ‘Only the final scene. It used to be left out of most performances in the past,’ said Hubert.

  ‘Probably because it’s so horrifying,’ mused Ella.

  ‘Then again, perhaps people nowadays have simply fallen for the illusion that good always triumphs over evil,’ Rudolf conjectured.

  ‘Do you really believe that evil wins out in real life?’ asked Ella in surprise.

  ‘It sometimes seems that way to me, but I am happy to be contradicted by the final scene of the opera. In the end, all of us simply want to do the right thing – but that is certainly the harder path to follow,’ answered Rudolf with a grin.

  Hubert exchanged a glance with his friend and Rudolf merely shrugged.

  Ella concluded that men seemed to have a very different view of the world to women. Father also liked to talk about the ills of life, and often painted a gloomy picture. How nice it was that the finale would be performed on this occasion after all.

  It had been a glorious evening! A breathtakingly opulent operatic performance – despite the ending, which really had been frightening. Poor Don Giovanni, swallowed up forever by the underworld. Ella was still tickled by the way Rudolf had completely lost himself in the performance during the finale, and had watched with wide eyes that had been trained solely on the events on stage, for once. But as soon as the curtain fell, he directed his applause more at her.

  ‘Splendid! Bravo!’ Rudolf joined in with the enthusiastic cries of their fellow spectators, as did Ella, but his radiant smile shone directly at his companion.

  ‘The night is still young. We should round it off with a little drink,’ Hubert had suggested. He had been waiting for them by the exit from their box.

  ‘What do you say, Ella?’ asked Rudolf.

  Ella was unsure, since she knew that she faced a tiring day tomorrow. It was already late, and she always tried to avoid starting an early shift on little sleep.

  Hubert seemed to misinterpret her hesitation.

  ‘We should honour Don Giovanni’s spirit – drink life to the lees and put our fortune to the test! How about the casino?’ he asked.

  Rudolf clearly possessed enough tact to see that Ella was not particularly keen on the idea.

  ‘Another time, perhaps,’ he said quickly, before double-checking with Ella for form’s sake. ‘Unless you would like to?’

  ‘I think I would prefer to go for a stroll,’ she proposed, hoping that Hubert would take that as a sign that he should visit the casino on his own, if it was so important to him.

  He took the hint. ‘You wouldn’t win anything anyway, you lucky devil. As for me, I can play for high stakes, what with my proverbial ill luck in love,’ said Hubert, before bidding her farewell with a discreet kiss on the hand.

  Ella was relieved. The night was mild, and the memories of the opera were so wonderful, the last thing she wanted was to taint them with a visit to the local gambling hall.

  They wandered down an almost deserted road lined with stately buildings, encountering only the occasional passer-by.

  ‘Hubert is rather an odd fellow.’ Ella was keen to see Rudolf’s response to her statement – you could tell a lot about a person from their friends.

  ‘Yes, he is. He’s very inspiring, in his way, but he can sometimes be too much, even for me,’ Rudolf admitted. Ella would have found any other answer disappointing.

  ‘What does he do for a living?’ she enquired.

  ‘He’s heir to a fortune, as far as I know.’

  Ella considered for a moment what she should say in reply. A good-for-nothing, in other words, who whiled away his days. Yet she decided not to offend Rudolf – after all, Hubert was his childhood friend.

  ‘I expect you don’t think very much of people like him,’ Rudolf continued.

  ‘I prefer not to judge people when I don’t know them well enough,’ answered Ella diplomatically.

  ‘What would you do if you had so much money that you didn’t need to work for a living?’ he asked.

  ‘Probably the same as I do now. Otherwise I would feel like I did nothing of any use in life.’

  ‘So you’re following your calling?’ asked Rudolf.

  Ella nodded.

  ‘Most admirable.’

  ‘I suppose you haven’t found your calling yet?’ Ella probed.

  ‘Unfortunately not. I simply follow my nose – and my heart.’ He stressed the final word, looking directly into her eyes as he did so. There could no longer be any doubt that he held strong feelings for her. This wasn’t just idle talk, and the absence of any smile this time offered additional proof.

  Rudolf offered her his arm.

  ‘Please, allow me to escort you back to the coach,’ he said.

  Ella hung onto his elbow, and as they walked, they looked just like the other couples who were also strolling along the pavement. It was amazing how comfortable it felt to have him by her side and to walk in step with him. Yet neither of them spoke: no words were necessary right now. Ella didn’t find the silence uncomfortable – on the contrary, it allowed her to lose herself in her own thoughts, which centred on one question: had she fallen for Rudolf? The answer came sooner than anticipated: yes – head over heels. Could he read her thoughts? She looked at him, and he smiled winsomely back at her.

  Alas, his coach came into view all too soon. She could have wandered through the night with him for an eternity.

  ‘Here we are.’ Rudolf got down from the coach and offered Ella his hand to escort her to the door of her parental home.

  For a moment, they simply looked at each other. It was wonderful to be able to hold another person’s gaze, she reflected.

  ‘May I hope that we might see each other again soon? Perhaps for a picnic or a trip to the coast?’ he asked.

  ‘As far away as that?’ she countered teasingly.

  ‘I do believe I would travel to the ends of the earth with you,’ he answered.

  Ella laughed.

  ‘I’m perfectly serious.’ He too was grinning, of course, but the earnestness of his intentions couldn’t be doubted.

  ‘Perhaps the day after tomorrow. I have no objections to a picnic.’

  ‘What about tomorrow? I don’t mean to be forward, but I find it hard to keep my eagerness for your company in check,’ said Rudolf.

  There could be only one reply to such a charming request.

  ‘It would be my pleasure. Shall we say three o’clock?’ suggested Ella.

  Rudolf beamed and seized her hand to kiss it – but not entirely out of politeness this time, for his lips brushed against her skin. She hoped he wouldn’t notice that her entire body had begun to shake. The trembling continued as he climbed into the coach, smiled at her once more, and drove off.

  As she locked the door, it struck Ella as odd that the lights were still on. Didn’t her parents normally go to bed early? Perhaps they were curious to hear what their daughter had to say about her evening at the opera. She could certainly believe that of her mother. At any rate, Ella didn’t think they could be worried about her getting home safely, given that she had been accompanied by Rudolf. As such, she began to consider how to frame her account of the evening – but her thoughts were interrupted when her mother suddenly appeared in front of her, ashen-faced and with tears in her eyes. Ella’s pulse quickened. She had never seen her so highly wrought before.

  ‘Your father . . . He . . .’ Mother couldn’t say the words.

  ‘What’s happened?’ asked Ella.

  Her mother drew a deep breath before she went on. ‘He won’t survive the night. A stroke, completely out of the blue over dinner. The doctor came . . . He can’t do anything more for him.’ She slumped feebly against the wall.

  Ella felt as though her heart would stop at any moment. Then it began to race. If only she hadn’t gone to the opera! Unable to move, she stared at her mother, who was valiantly wiping the tears from her ey
es.

  ‘He can’t speak . . . All he can do is move his left hand,’ she whispered.

  Ella’s legs threatened to give out. Her knees began to tremble.

  Mother held out her hand, and Ella clasped hold of it.

  She felt the need to take her mother in her arms, and went to do so, but Mother shook her head.

  ‘Go to him,’ she said.

  The door was open. Why was he lying there in the gloom? They had an electric light! Had Mother lit candles for her father as he lay on his deathbed? Ella’s eyes grew moist.

  Her father must have heard her come in. He moved his left hand, which was lying beside a notepad and pencil, and emitted a guttural noise. Evidently he could no longer turn his head towards her.

  Ella went to him and sat down on the bed to take his hand. It felt cold. His grip was weak, but she knew he could tell she was there for him. A gentle, barely perceptible smile passed over his lips, yet tears welled up in his eyes at the same time.

  ‘Father,’ Ella whispered, unable to say anything more. He presumably already knew what was happening to him. She wanted to give him the same hopeful words of consolation she often gave to her seriously ill patients – to tell him that he would be back on his feet soon enough – but here, they caught in her throat. She didn’t know what to say to him, or how to give him strength.

  His hand groped for the pencil that lay next to the notebook.

  Straight away, Ella placed it into his hand.

  Father tried to speak once again. She thought he was trying to say her name, but all that came out was an incomprehensible moan.

  With laborious effort, he scribbled something on the pad, which Ella deciphered as ‘Forgive me’. What in heaven’s name did she need to forgive him for?

  ‘Father, what do you mean?’ she asked.

  More tears ran down his cheeks.

  Falteringly, he began to write again. It clearly cost him great effort to put pencil to paper using his unpractised left hand. He strung the individual letters together in a line.

  ORPHANAGEKARLLIES