On Far Malayan Shores

by Tara Haigh

  ‘My name is Ella Kaltenbach. I was looking for Richard,’ she announced. Ella could read people well, and she was sure that a little humour would help this young Dutch couple to accept her fabricated pretext for her search.

  ‘My husband?’ laughed the young woman, as Ella had expected. Likewise, Richard himself, who had by now reached the carriage, clearly took it as a joke and laughed out loud.

  ‘We’re always happy when people come to visit. It happens so rarely. Will you have a cup of tea with us? I’ve just made some,’ said the woman, who introduced herself as Mila.

  ‘Yes, please – but only if you tell me who Elizabeth is,’ answered Ella.

  ‘She’s the new lady at the mission. They’re collecting money, and I thought that you . . .’ said Mila.

  ‘I owe you an explanation too,’ Ella began as the young woman beckoned her up to the veranda with a welcoming gesture.

  ‘You certainly do!’ said her husband, clearly tickled.

  ‘My father passed away recently. He had a few debts, and one of the bills was made out to a Richard, whose surname began with an F. My mother spilled some water on it and we couldn’t read the rest of the name. All I know is that he has a rubber plantation here in the south, and that he must be in his mid-fifties.’

  ‘Darling, why don’t you tell her that I’m in my mid-fifties?’ joked the Dutchman. His wife laughed.

  ‘We could make good use of somebody who wants to settle a few debts,’ he went on.

  ‘Ach, it looks like both of us are out of luck. But do stay for a cup of tea,’ said Mila, as she poured a cup each for Ella and her husband.

  ‘How long have you been living out here?’ asked Ella.

  ‘Since we were children, but we’ve only been running the plantation for seven years now. Seven years of bad luck! We took it over from my father,’ said Mila.

  ‘And you? How long have you been out here?’ enquired Richard.

  ‘Since yesterday,’ answered Ella truthfully.

  ‘How do you like Malacca?’ Mila seemed genuinely interested, so Ella was only too happy to make small talk.

  ‘It’s very hot, but so colourful in every respect. The people are very friendly too. They smile so much.’

  Mila nodded, and she too smiled.

  ‘Not all that glitters is gold, though. I sometimes get the impression that civilisation hasn’t quite taken full root here yet,’ said Richard.

  ‘Indeed. The local customs are rather harsh – if not outright medieval. Just yesterday I saw a worker being whipped on a plantation. He was so young . . .’ Ella recounted.

  ‘On a plantation?’ asked Mila in surprise.

  Ella nodded.

  ‘That’s unusual . . . Where did you see that?’ Mila probed.

  Ella preferred not to name the plantation directly – after all, it was nearby, and Ella assumed that the rubber farmers in the south would all know each other.

  ‘In the very far south.’

  ‘Not the Fosters’ place?’ asked Richard promptly.

  Ella shrugged. A new arrival could hardly be expected to know her way around.

  ‘That wouldn’t surprise me,’ said Mila.

  ‘Why not?’ Ella’s curiosity was piqued.

  ‘One hears all sorts of things about that farm. Many of the natives talk of strict discipline,’ Mila explained.

  ‘It’s said that there’s a curse on the property,’ said Richard.

  ‘A curse?’ Ella gaped.

  ‘Idle talk among the natives. Especially the workers from Sumatra. They see nothing but ghosts everywhere,’ declared Mila.

  ‘Idle talk is inevitable when somebody withdraws from the public eye and hardly ever appears in town. Ever since he died . . . Wait a minute . . . Didn’t you say you were looking for a Richard? Marjory’s husband. Your father always used to talk about him. He was called Richard, wasn’t he, Mila?’

  Mila nodded.

  Ella instantly grew hot. To think that they had already crossed that very plantation off the list!

  ‘When did he die?’ Ella enquired.

  ‘That must be twenty years ago now. When I was still a boy. It’s a pity my father is no longer with us. He would have known the exact date,’ said Richard after a moment’s thought.

  ‘Did he have any children?’ asked Ella, her heart pounding.

  ‘One ravishingly beautiful daughter. Her name is Heather. She must be nearly forty now. By all accounts, she used to be very vivacious. Father even danced with her once, at the harvest festival in Johore. Mother never let him forget it and would tease him about it all the time – that’s why I remember it so clearly. I think she was jealous . . . but since then . . . we only saw Heather two or three times in town after that, I think,’ recalled Mila, lost in thought.

  ‘Yes, it’s truly odd,’ said Richard.

  ‘Who runs the farm now?’

  ‘Marjory, his wife.’

  ‘Perhaps I should get in touch with her at the earliest opportunity,’ mused Ella.

  ‘I’m afraid you won’t have any luck there. She rarely receives any visitors – not even the people from the mission.’

  ‘That’s how they are, the English. Splendid isolation.’ Richard grinned.

  Although there was no reason whatsoever to assume that the late Richard might be her real father, Ella couldn’t let go of the name Foster.

  ‘Did your father know this Richard well?’ she asked.

  ‘He didn’t have a good word to say about him. It’s all so long ago now, but my father always thought he was avaricious. He tried to buy our plantation on a few occasions . . .’

  ‘Enough of that talk. One shouldn’t speak ill of the dead,’ Mila reprimanded her husband.

  ‘Well, you’ve already seen what happens on his plantation, even all these years after his death,’ Richard hinted nonetheless.

  Ella nodded pensively. It seemed that Richard Foster had had a wicked streak. Hadn’t Father spoken of the devil? Ella fervently hoped that she wasn’t a blood relation of these Fosters.

  In the end, Ella spent a very enjoyable afternoon with the young Dutch couple as they wanted to know all about life in old Europe, their parents’ homeland, and she was happy to oblige. Their hospitality would remain in her memory for a long time to come. Yet on the way back to Johore, she found her thoughts once again circling uneasily around the Foster plantation. She tried to convince herself that her interest was due to the unpleasant incident she had witnessed and the fact that it was clearly an unhappy place. But she had to acknowledge that perhaps it was the talk of a curse on the plantation that made it seem more interesting than it really was. Ella forced herself to be reasonable, knowing very well that every visit she paid to any of the plantations on Otto’s list would leave her feeling agitated. Each of them doubtless had its own story – some interesting detail that would make her imagination run riot. By pure coincidence, the Foster plantation was the first they had visited – though admittedly, its geographical proximity made it a more likely candidate to reveal something about her origins.

  Yet Ella’s unease refused to lift. There had to be more to it than that. Although she knew neither Marjory nor Heather Foster, she couldn’t stop thinking about them. The daughter of the house was said to be very beautiful. Heather might be Ella’s half-sister – perhaps even her sister – although strictly speaking, that would depend on the precise circumstances behind the events of the past and she couldn’t grasp the implications of that idea. Ella cracked the whip to urge her horse on faster. She wanted to get back to her lodgings as quickly as possible to discuss what she had learned that day with Rudolf. He had promised that whatever happened, he would be back by dusk, and Ella guessed that sunset was less than an hour away.

  In the end, she had no trouble getting back to the boarding house before dark, but the same apparently couldn’t be said for Rudolf, for when she pulled up in her carriage, his horse was nowhere to be seen.

  Ella decided to tend to her own horse first, and le
d it up to a public trough intended for everybody to use. An elderly Malay woman was selling hay there.

  Although Lee had already assured her that morning that Johore was a safe place, her sense of unease grew as the evening fell. The trough also attracted a horde of mosquitoes, as did the manure around it, and the effort of unharnessing her horse made her an easy target. Ella’s face was drenched in sweat from the humid air and she waved and flapped her arms like a dervish, much to the amusement of three dark-skinned men who were standing across the road by a grocery shop. They obviously meant no harm, but Ella was still glad when her horse finally lifted its head from the trough and obediently allowed itself to be led back to the boarding house.

  Just to make sure, she asked Lee if Rudolf had appeared and left a message for her. He hadn’t, so she decided to sit in a wicker chair in the courtyard and wait for him – but after a short while, the feeling that all was not well became almost unbearable. She tried to convince herself that nothing would have happened to him; she had seen for herself how rough the roads could be in this part of the world, and distances were hard to gauge. He must still be on his way. Or perhaps he had also been met with hospitality elsewhere, and had used the time to make further enquiries.

  After another hour spent pacing up and down like a caged animal, Rudolf still hadn’t appeared, but Ella’s stomach was beginning to growl.

  Lee knew where she could find something to eat at this time.

  ‘My brother runs a restaurant at the back of the building, but I think he’ll be closing soon. There are a few stands on the big square at the end of the road, though. They’re open at night too,’ explained Lee.

  ‘Please could you let Mr von Stetten know where I am when he arrives?’ Ella could count on Lee to tell him. All the same, she wondered whether it would be better to wait, since it was now the middle of the night. Yet there were bright lights burning on the square at the end of the road, and even at this distance she could see there were plenty of people around. That removed any doubts she had about leaving her lodgings after dark. Besides, Rudolf would probably be back before long.

  Ella was glad she had forced herself to join the crowds, but she couldn’t help but feel a little uncomfortable, for it was clear at first glance that she was not just the only woman, but also the only European sitting at the tables in front of the small row of food stands. After studying the menu, Ella was relieved when two European-looking men sat down at a neighbouring table. Going by their pith helmets and white uniforms, they had to be British.

  ‘I’ll have the chicken curry.’ Ella gave her order to a young Malay woman and then turned round to take a closer look at her surroundings.

  A few stone buildings with their lights still on made her feel like she was back in civilisation, but that impression was soon undermined by the people’s table manners. An Indian couple was sitting at the next table, and both of them were eating with their hands from palm leaves, which served as a sort of dish. They mixed the curry with the rice and kneaded it into small balls before eating it, leaving their hands and fingernails stained yellow. Other countries, other customs. Ella hoped she would be given a plate, as she had ordered from the same stand as the Indians. Some of the guests were squatting by a low wall that encircled a tall tree – mainly young men who were only having a drink. Still others were standing around in conversation. Ella then had to do a double take when she saw two lads approaching her holding hands. At first, she thought they must be a father with his adult son, but she had to dismiss that idea when they strolled into the light cast by the paraffin lamp mounted on the first stall. It seemed to be normal here for young men to walk around hand in hand. Nobody else took any notice. Ella watched the two of them in fascination as they examined the menu on the food stall and stepped fully into the light. Then she gave a start. There could be no doubt about it – she knew these men. The more athletic of the two was the rider they had met on the way through the Foster plantation, and the other was certainly the young worker whom he had flogged. And now they were walking hand in hand through town? Ella stared at the two of them as if hypnotised.

  ‘Your lemonade,’ Ella heard a voice say beside her. The young Malay woman was serving her drink.

  Ella turned back to the young men and was shocked to see that they clearly recognised her too, and were now staring back at her. Then they began to talk – evidently about her. She had the impression they were debating something. A smile appeared on the rider’s face, and the other gave a resigned shrug and nodded. This couldn’t be happening! They started to walk towards her. Ella’s breath caught. What did they want from her?

  ‘Selamat petang,’ they declared promptly when they reached her. By now she was familiar enough with the term to know it translated roughly as ‘Good evening’.

  Ella cautiously returned the greeting. She could sense the young rider’s embarrassment. His companion was staring outright at the floor, as if he were ashamed of himself.

  ‘I wasn’t sure it was you,’ said the man who had virtually jumped at the chance to whip his friend.

  ‘Indeed,’ Ella answered curtly. Although she found this meeting profoundly uncomfortable and she instantly pictured him before her with the whip in his hand, she decided to talk with him. After all, he worked for the Fosters.

  ‘Ella Kaltenbach. And what’s your name?’ To take the initiative in this way and introduce herself first was a bold move – one that was considered unbecoming for a fine lady back in Hamburg. But she wasn’t at home, and the ends justified the means in this case.

  ‘Amar,’ he answered, surprisingly bashfully, before pointing to his companion. ‘And this is Mohan,’ he added.

  Ella examined them both as they stood somewhat nervously in front of her. She had already detected some curious glances from the British at the neighbouring table. Judging by their surprised expressions, they evidently considered it unusual for an unaccompanied European woman to converse with two Malayan men, and they were watching warily as a result.

  ‘How is your back?’ Ella asked Mohan.

  ‘It’ll be better in a couple of days,’ he murmured, looking at the edge of the table. He still didn’t dare meet her eye.

  ‘Is everything all right, madam?’ one of the British onlookers interrupted. He seemed genuinely concerned for her. Evidently the region wasn’t so safe for women travelling alone after all.

  Ella nodded at him and smiled, to his visible relief.

  ‘There’s plenty of room at the table. I’m sure you’d like something to eat too, wouldn’t you?’ Ella asked.

  Amar and Mohan exchanged glances and then both nodded. It seemed that the situation took some getting used to for them too. The waiting staff and two other guests also looked up when the men sat down with Ella.

  ‘I think we owe you an explanation,’ said Amar.

  Ella took a closer look at him. His black hair and brown eyes seemed to gleam under the paraffin lamp. Once again, she wondered how she could have misjudged him so badly. It was hard to believe that a man with such a gentle face was capable of flogging somebody.

  ‘I borrowed a cart. We have so many, and I thought nobody would notice,’ began the younger of the two.

  ‘He brought it back, but somebody caught him,’ Amar clarified.

  ‘But that’s no reason to whip anybody! Or is that the custom in your country?’ asked Ella indignantly.

  ‘No,’ answered Amar, sighing deeply.

  ‘But it is on the farm?’ Ella hinted.

  Amar nodded. ‘It isn’t right,’ he added.

  ‘So why did you flog him?’ Ella demanded.

  ‘Because Raj would have beaten me otherwise,’ Mohan explained.

  ‘You mean that bloodthirsty Indian giant?’ Ella wanted to be sure she had the right man.

  ‘Raj isn’t bloodthirsty, but the Fosters have instructed him to punish things like that very harshly. Besides, Mohan is one of my workers. I’m responsible for him,’ explained Amar.

  It was slowly dawnin
g on Ella why Amar had persuaded the Indian to let him take over Mohan’s punishment.

  ‘I know how to use a whip – how to hit somebody without hurting him very much,’ said Amar in self-justification.

  ‘Do they teach you that at school here?’ asked Ella pointedly.

  ‘No, I learned it on a cattle farm. Buffalo need to hear the crack of a whip from time to time, as they won’t move otherwise,’ said Amar, who had by now lost his initial reserve at the unfamiliar situation and was even smiling.

  ‘So why do you work for the Foster plantation?’ Ella couldn’t figure the man out.

  ‘They pay well, and this was the first incident of its kind,’ he said. His companion nodded. He clearly felt it incumbent upon him to confirm what Amar said.

  ‘I’ve only been on the plantation for a few months. The Fosters recently hired a lot of Malay workers who don’t speak English, so they needed somebody who can speak both languages,’ Amar continued. It sounded like an excuse.

  ‘Your English is truly superb, from what I can judge as a German. Did you learn it on the cattle farm too?’ asked Ella with a smile.

  ‘I learned it at school. Thanks to our occupiers,’ he answered, with a sidelong glance at their British neighbours. He didn’t seem to hold them in high regard.

  ‘Are you and your companion in the rubber trade too?’ Amar asked.

  ‘No . . . We’re just travellers. Why do you ask?’ Ella replied.

  ‘I saw your companion this morning. He was riding along the road where we met yesterday,’ said Amar.

  Ella was startled. That was impossible. Rudolf had wanted to visit the plantations in the north.

  ‘Are you sure?’ she demanded.

  Amar nodded.

  Despite her best efforts, all the composure Ella had mustered so far immediately vanished. Her unease was impossible to conceal.

  ‘Is everything all right? I hope I haven’t said anything wrong . . .’ Amar seemed to sense the agitation his remark had caused.