by Lees, Julian
‘‘Cousin?’’ Sum Sum exclaimed, looking directly at the cabin boy. ‘‘I’m not her-’’
‘‘Yes, thank you!’’ Lu See interjected, pressing a Straits dollar into the young man’s hand. ‘‘Just leave the trunk by the window. We’ll sort it out later.’’
‘‘Enjoy the rest of your journey,’’ the cabin boy said, shutting the door with a soft click.
When they were alone Lu See fluttered her eyelashes at Sum Sum – little moth wings of amusement. ‘‘What? You actually expected me to stick you in steerage, sharing bathrooms and breathing space with all those pimply-arsed men? You should be so lucky.’’
Sum Sum did a little victory jig across the carpeted floor. She felt the air escape her lungs in a wheeze of laughter and instinctively she reached out and touched Lu See’s face, whose cheekbones were so high and angular they often threatened to break free from beneath the skin. ‘‘Seven years! Seven years and you never surprised me like this before!’’
Lu See smiled. ‘‘Has it really been seven years?’’
‘‘Almost, lah. March 1929. Same year my father died.’’ Sum Sum recalled the first day they’d met, when they were both only twelve years old. ‘‘Your mother shepherded me into breakfast room and announced that I was to be the new laundry amah, remember?’’
‘‘You avoided everybody’s eyes and turned your face away.’’
‘‘Towards the door, to hide my tears.’’ She nodded. ‘‘I was so homesick. I felt like an imposter in your house. Fresh off the train, lah. I remember the long journey in that iron coffin. I came via Assam, Mandalay and Siam. Tickety-tak, tickety-tak, all night long. And you, I remember this skinny, cheeky little girl with your hair cut above the collar.’’
‘‘School regulations. All hair had to be cut above the collar.’’
‘‘Your mother said, Sit up straight, Lu See! You were always being warned by your parents, no? Always same thing: no more biting your nails, stop slouching at dinner table, never forget to wash hands after pee-peeing.’’
‘‘Which I never did!’’
‘‘And then you took me by the hand, no?’’
‘‘And I led you through the house.’’
‘‘Aiyoo! So many dark corridors! It was still gas-lit in those days.’’
They tripped over each other’s words, laughing.
‘‘We both sat down in the back, at the servants’ table to share a bowl of mee hoon noodles.’’
‘‘And you told me not to chew with my mouth open!’’
‘‘Did I really?’’
‘‘Yes, lah.’’
‘‘We played a round of Chinese chequers. Then I went to throw small stones on to the roof to chase the monkeys away, but all you wanted to do was read your letter.’’
‘‘You know, for weeks and weeks I carried that letter from my mother in my tunic pocket.’’
There was a long pause. Sum Sum remembered every word of the letter. It said now that she was a fatherless daughter she had to be respectful and clean, to live a decent life, to honour the memory of her ancestors and to not be scared of the thunder. She remembered, too, the Himalayan sun breaking through the clouds; the deer hides used as groundsheets for sleeping; her mother warming her pink, stiff fingers over the teepee of flames as Sum Sum threw more kindling and bark resin on the fire. The horse and yak caravan had taken them to within sight of the Indian border. The journey across the mountains had taken sixteen days. It was here that they would say their final goodbyes. Sum Sum felt the prayer box amulet being secured around her neck and the shoulder bags being hitched in place. She was crying so hard that when she looked at her mother her image blurred and wavered. They pressed the palms of their hands to each others’ cheeks. Then her mother pulled her into her arms before Sum Sum could see the tears streak down her face. Sum Sum tried to speak but could say nothing; it was as if someone had placed stones in her mouth. When they pulled away, her mother’s eyes shot towards the distant hills to the south and she tipped her head. It was time to go.
At the time she never thought about whether Malaya would be different to Tibet. She did not know that there might be another way to live, unfamiliar foods to eat, outlandish customs and habits and languages to comprehend. Nobody told her anything. All she wanted to do was make her mother proud.
Sum Sum shook her head forcefully at the memory. Her teeth bit into her lower lip. Seconds later she was busying herself with the unpacking, putting things away, fastening cocktail dresses and cheongsams on to padded wooden hangers, arranging toiletries, unwrapping this and unfolding that. She retrieved Lu See’s brass statuette of Ganesha, the Hindu elephant-headed god, and positioned it by the bed.
Lu See went over and rubbed his pot belly. ‘‘We’ll need all the help we can get from this fellow - God of new ventures and remover of obstacles.’’
‘‘Remover of obstacles? Aiyo, you sound like you’re constipated.’’
Lu See cracked open the window. The distant sounds of the swing band on the promenade deck floated down from above. Springboarding into a yoga headstand, she closed her eyes and waited for the enjoyable rush of blood to her cheeks. She glanced at her watch, upside down. ‘‘I fancy a walk. You want something to eat?’’
‘‘Can, lah.’’ Sum Sum sighed, coiling her prayer beads round her wrist. ‘‘But I still think we should have bought some coconut candy at the quayside. I miss my tongue-touchers already.’’
‘‘Yes and we would have been collared by Uncle Big Jowl if you had done.’’
They strolled along the Lido deck under parasols, watching a group of people play an impromptu game of shuffleboard. Three stewards with braiding on their shoulders cruised the deckchairs with pitchers of iced lime juice. Both Lu See and Sum Sum accepted a glass and sipped the cool drinks, relishing the cold against their lips.
A little further on, they came across a tall European man holding a filbert brush. He stood by his easel wearing a blue blazer with gold buttons over a white shirt and white linen trousers. His teeth looked too large for his mouth. To his left a muscular, well-groomed Indian in a khaki safari suit was holding up a holland umbrella, shielding the canvas from the sun.
Lu See stood behind the European for a while and then cleared her throat.
‘‘God, Christ! You scared me half to death.’’
She asked, ‘‘Are you the captain?’’
‘‘Do I look like the captain?’’
‘‘Yes, actually, you do.’’
‘‘Well, I’m not.’’
‘‘Where is the captain?’’
‘‘Hell if I know.’’
Her head tilted to one side to look at the canvas. She made out some curvy blue and white lines that resembled waves with a blue purple blob in the middle. ‘‘It’s obviously a boat on the sea.’’
‘‘No, it’s a picture of Edinburgh.’’
‘‘It is not.’’
‘‘Why would I lie?’’
‘‘So you’re telling me that’s not a boat?’’
‘‘No, it’s a bus travelling down Princes Street.’’
‘‘Where are the buildings?’’
‘‘I haven’t done them yet, have I?’’
‘‘Why are you staring out to sea but painting pictures of Edinburgh?’’
‘‘It’s a free world.’’ He paused. ‘‘All right if you must know, my family’s originally from Scotland.’’
At which point Sum Sum came forward and belted out a repertoire of Scottish sounding phrases she’d picked up from the Glaswegian chaplain who called on the Teohs each month: ‘‘Och, aye, the kirk roof still needs ah-mending. Milk no sugar if ye will. Thy Kingdom come, thy will be done, Amen. I’ll see ye in a wee while, lassie.’’
‘‘For the love of Rita! Bit of a fruitcake, isn’t she? Perhaps your friend could do with a hat. The hot sun, you know. Those paper parasols don’t do much good.’’
‘‘Oh, don’t mind her. She’s very excitable. My name’s Lucy, by the way. Luc
y Apricot.’’
‘‘Stan Farrell,’’ he said, extending a hand. Lu See took it and felt his fingers close around hers.
‘‘We’re off for lunch,’’ Lu See said.
‘‘I don’t eat lunch.’’
‘‘Everybody eats lunch.’’
‘‘I had a big breakfast.’’ He removed a sweet from his pocket. ‘‘Fancy a gumdrop?’’
‘‘You’re a very odd man, Mr Stan Farrell. Are you getting off at Felixstowe?’’
Stan sucked his oversized teeth, disappointed. ‘‘’Fraid I get off in Bombay. I’m finishing my senior police officer training in Colaba.’’
‘‘So you’re a bobby.’’
‘‘Probationary Inspector at your service, marm.’’ He clicked his heels.
Lu See glanced at the well-groomed Indian. ‘‘And who is he?’’
‘‘This is Aziz Humzaal, my orderly.’’
‘‘Hello, Aziz.’’
Aziz wiggled his head and pressed his right hand to his heart.
‘‘Well, it was nice meeting you, Mr Farrell. Sum Sum and I are off to find some food.’’ She twirled her parasol. ‘‘See you later, no doubt.’’
As she turned to leave, Stan said, ‘‘I do, however, always partake of a midday meal on Fridays. I skip lunch every day of the week except for Friday. I saw on the bulletin board that tomorrow’s curry day. Want to join me?’’
Lu See looked at Sum Sum and shrugged. ‘‘Yes, all right. That sounds jim-dandy.’’
‘‘Jim who?’’
‘‘Jim-dandy, oh never mind. We’ll see you Friday.’’
The girls made their way towards the main dining room. Lu See smiled to herself.
Sum Sum glanced over her shoulder and pinched her nose. ‘‘He smelled of boiled prawns.’’
‘‘No, he did not.’’
‘‘I’m telling you he did, lah. Made me want to fry him in ginger and sesame oil.’’
‘‘He was quite handsome all the same.’’
‘‘Handsome? He looked like he was trying to eat a corncob through a tennis racquet. Teeth spilling out like prison escapees.’’
‘‘Aziz was nice-looking though, don’t you think?’’
‘‘No.’’
‘‘Oh really? Well if you don’t find him handsome why are you blushing?’’ she teased.
‘‘I’m not blushing. Just hot, lah.’’
‘‘Hot to trot for Mr Aziz. I can see you like him.’’
‘‘Aiyoo! Don’t put words in my mouth, lah!’’
Amused, Lu See scratched her nose to cover her smile. Sum Sum always spoke of men’s looks in this vague sort of way, as if to imply that they made no impression on her; it was something Lu See always saw through.
When they returned from lunch, Lu See found a note slid under her door. Laughing, she read it aloud to Sum Sum:
Started, Farted,
Stumbled, Fell,
See you Friday,
Stan Farrell
Later, still in her cabin, Lu See dipped her pen into the inkstand and wrote:
Dear Second-aunty Doris – well I’ve done it! I’m aboard ship and on my way to Europe. The money you gave me, all 2,000 Straits dollars, is safely locked up in the Captain’s personal strongbox and as soon as I reach Cambridge I will open a bank account to receive the monthly allowance you so kindly offered to wire over. Once I get settled I will begin to look into sourcing a pipe organ for the new church to be built in Po On Village. I did some research and came up with a number of firms that may be able to help us: Conrad P. Hughes in London, Brinkley & Fosler of Yorkshire, and Harrison & Harrison who were responsible for the King’s Chapel organ. Let us pray that I can find something suitable (and within budget) and have it shipped to Malaya in time for the memorial service planned for Christmas. Donating an organ to the church and dedicating it in Tak Ming’s memory is an admirable idea – I know that he would have approved.
As for my own situation, how can I thank you enough for helping me? How can I ever repay you? Thank you for believing in me when nobody else in the family did.
Wish me luck with my Girton interview. My old headmaster at Bing Hua has already received a reply from the college and I am due to meet with the Mistress and the tutors on March 2nd so fingers and toes crossed!
I will write again soon.
God bless you.
Your loving niece – Lu See
She replaced the pen on the writing table and looked around to find Sum Sum sitting cross-legged on the floor going through a set of photographs. ‘‘What are those?’’ she asked.
‘‘Pictures taken from dragon boat day. We so busy with funerals and everything I forgot all about them. Only had Mr Quek develop last week.’’
Lu See sat by her side. ‘‘Who’s that one of?’’ she asked when Sum Sum paused at the man with the mole on his cheek.
‘‘Remember I told you? Up on the hill I saw man come out of the trees with a gun.’’
Lu See peered at the man’s face. ‘‘I’ve seen him before.’’
‘‘Meh?’’
‘‘He’s a Woo. Adrian’s cousin. What was he doing up in the hills with a gun?’’
The girls looked at each other. ‘‘You think he has something to do with dam explosion?’’
‘‘Wait,’’ said Sum Sum. She got to her feet and returned with a red tin. ‘‘Look, meh, I keep my beads in this now. It is the same tin he has in his hand. He threw away but I go back to find it.’’
Lu See reached for the tin. On it were the words ‘DuPont No. 6 Blasting Caps’. She stared at the photograph; the container was clearly visible in his hand. ‘‘Adrian’s talked about him before. They call him the Black-headed Sheep. They say he is connected to one of the Penang secret societies, one of the Dragon Heads.’’ She looked at Sum Sum again. ‘‘Did he see you take this picture? Did he see you with a camera?’’
Sum Sum shrugged.
‘‘This is serious, pumpkin-head. If he had something to do with the dam and he knows you took a picture of him that day, there’s no telling what he might do. He might think there are more photographs, of him setting the charges perhaps.’’
Sum Sum laced her fingers together and stretched her arms. ‘‘Aiyoo! Stop worrying, lah. What you think, he going to follow us? Cut out throats in our sleep? Silly, lah.’’
‘‘Mr Quek developed these photographs, right? Did you talk to him about us? Did you tell him we were going abroad?’’
Sum Sum looked affronted. ‘‘Of course not. I’m not stupid.’’
‘‘Quek works for the Woos. Has done for years. I bet you when he saw this picture he went and told mole-face about it straight away.’’
‘‘But why would mole-face blow up dam?’’
‘‘I don’t know.’’
‘‘You really think he maybe come after us?’’
‘‘The people he is involved with go to any lengths to achieve their aims. If you have any evidence that might convict him of the dam sabotage he’ll find you and kill you.’’
‘‘Next you going to tell me he is already here, on this ship.’’
‘‘Perhaps he is. If Uncle Big Jowl found us then he could too.’’ The girls felt their mouths go dry as they stared at one another.
Sum Sum got to her feet to lock the cabin door. ‘‘Should we tell anyone?’’
‘‘Who are we going to tell? And what are we going to say? That there might be a saboteur on board? A man who killed over thirty people and almost destroyed an entire village? Someone who might be planning to kill us because you took his photo? Lord, we’d start a panic and before you know it we’d be on the first boat home. No, I think we should just stick close to our new policeman friends Mr Farrell and Mr Aziz.’’
Sum Sum groaned. ‘‘Aiyo, not smelly boiled-prawns-man.’’
‘‘Yes, smelly-boiled-prawns man.’’
‘‘You only doing this to torture me, I know you, lah.’’
‘‘Well now,’’ said Stan Farrell
at Friday tiffin, ‘‘let’s see what’s on the menu.’’ He peered at the carte du jour. Owing to Aziz’s ethnicity they were in the salon rather than the main restaurant, seated at a table for four. A string quartet played in the corner as potted palms swayed in the sea breeze. The other diners were mostly English, colonial civil servants in pale linen suits, holding up their newspapers, smoking their pipes and sipping their whisky stengahs – all very white and restrained.
‘‘Isn’t it odd for a sahib to mix so freely with his orderly and two Chinese women, Mr Farrell?’’ asked Lu See. ‘‘Aren’t you concerned how others might view you?’’
‘‘Well, as you said earlier, Miss Apricot, I’m a very odd man. I actually like mixing with Chinese.’’
Lu See smiled at him. ‘‘Have you, by any chance, come across any other Chinese passengers on board?’’ she probed.
‘‘Any with mole on face?’’ Sum Sum added, pressing.
‘‘A mole?’’
‘‘Yes, lah, mole.’’ She prodded her left cheek with an index finger.
‘‘Why?’’
‘‘Oh, it’s nothing,’’ said Lu See with an embarrassed flourish of her hand.
Stan returned to the menu and a deep line appeared between his eyebrows. He clearly had no idea what they were on about. ‘‘So then, Sum Sum,’’ he asked, ‘‘how hot do you take your curries?’’
Sum Sum beamed. ‘‘Volcano hot!’’
‘‘Glad to hear it. Let’s get four portions of basmati rice, some mutton randang to share, chicken Madras, Bengali potatoes, and poppadum with lime chutney. Sound good to you?’’
‘‘Sound tip-top to me, lah.’’
When the condiments arrived in a lazy Susan, Lu See noticed how distracted Sum Sum appeared. Her friend seemed transfixed by Aziz, staring quite unabashedly at the delicate way he manipulated his food, guiding curry into his mouth, working the fingers of his right hand gracefully through the basmati, shaping the long-grain rice into balls and using his thumb to flip the fragrant portion through his parted lips.