by Lees, Julian
‘‘… Elvis Presley’s new hit song ‘It’s Now or Never’.’’
‘‘Dungeonboy! Please turn it down in there!’’
From the depths of the kitchen, Dungeonboy tweaked the volume control but remained glued to the Zenith’s black dial.
‘‘Knock, knock! Aahh!’’
The voice was unmistakable. Lu See, Mabel and all the dogs swung their heads round in unison. Uncle Big Jowl leaned against the outer door frame. ‘‘Any chance of a plate of char siu faan?’’
‘‘I’m just finishing off here, take a seat inside.’’
He slapped his tummy with delight. Moving with hippopotamus stateliness, he turned heavily, swaying from side to side as he walked.
Mabel shook the bib free and swept hair from her clothes. She caught up with Uncle Big Jowl and helped him into a blackwood chair beside Pietro. Pietro pinched the brim of his fedora and raised it. ‘‘Buona sera,’’ he said, sipping a glass of lime juice with his little finger held in the air. He was eyeing the nearby table which bore a smoky glass case of rosemary shortcakes.
Yanking at the creases of his trousers the big man slumped down heavily.
‘‘The freight train has landed,’’ observed Pietro.
‘‘Bloody troublesome knees. Ai-yoo!’’ He winced. ‘‘So,’’ he growled, squinting at Pietro with suspicion. ‘‘Lu See says you a tip-top diplomat, aahh. Tell me, what makes a good diplomat?’’
Pietro, looking pristine as ever with a knotted silk cravat at his throat, fluttered his eyelids. ‘‘A good diplomat is someone who always remembers a woman’s birthday, but never her age.’’
Uncle Big Jowl puffed out his cheeks, made them as round as dumplings. ‘‘Oh, by the way, Lu See, aahh, your brothers, have come to see you.’’
‘‘Peter and James are here?’’ exclaimed Lu See. ‘‘Where?’’
‘‘Up in your rooms. James is wearing his maddo homespun clothes.’’
‘‘Bra-haa! Is that who it is?’’ cried Pietro. ‘‘I thought Gandhi had made an appearance.’’
‘‘Apparently they have come from Butterworth for a Jehovah’s conference.’’
‘‘Dishy fellow nonetheless – he’d look fabulous in polka dots.’’ With an imperious tilt of his chin, Pietro watched Lu See race up the stairs. He stretched a flaccid wrist in the direction of the smoky glass case of rosemary shortcakes but Mother slapped his hand away.
Through the open door Lu See could hear a deep-throated mantra. She found her brother James meditating between a stack of old books and the dressmaker’s mannequin. Attired in a white toga-like shawl and silk-lined slippers with socks held up with garters, he sat cross-legged, chanting, with a palm branch in his fist. ‘‘Om, om, Rama … Om, om, Hare om.’’
She knocked on the doorframe and his eyes sprang open. There was the look of the zealot about him; his gaze bright yet glassy like a radical priest with a drug addiction. ‘‘I thought you were a Jehovah’s Witness.’’ She smiled. ‘‘What’s with all this Buddhist chanting?’’
‘‘That’s what I said,’’ exclaimed Peter. He was dressed in his usual baggy shorts and shirt, examining an old walking stick.
‘‘In these troubling times, I’m hedging my bets, God Shiva allowing.’’
‘‘I don’t know what the elders will say about this.’’ Peter waved the cane at James.
‘‘Please get that stick out of my face.’’
‘‘It’s not in your face, it is in my hand.’’
‘‘Precisely.’’
Lu See interrupted them. ‘‘Why on earth are you dressed like a sadhu from the Batu Caves?’’
‘‘I’m in shirt and tie all week at the Postal Department, trussed up like a chicken. This is my way of letting off steam.’’
‘‘And who’s this?’’ said Lu See, suddenly noticing a stranger hovering by the shower room.
James got to his feet. ‘‘May I introduce Dr Rafit Patel.’’
She studied the little man, her eyes guarded. He wore a navy blue suit and had a pointy chin. He removed his silver pince-nez as he stepped forward to take her hand.
‘‘Birth certificate says Rafit Patel, but please call me Ralph,’’ the doctor said in a voice as clear and shiny as a diamond dipped in ghee.
‘‘Whose idea is this?’’ Lu See asked, her face beginning to purple slightly.
‘‘Mine.’’ Mother was standing at the door, fists on hips.
‘‘I’ve already seen several doctors.’’
‘‘All useless,’’ barked Mother. ‘‘Last time you vomited blood, you spent three days in hospital and still they scratch their heads. Dr Rafit is – ’’
‘‘Please call me Ralph,’’ he insisted.
Mother shot him a withering look. ‘‘Dr Ralph is an expert in his field.’’
The doctor approached cautiously, hands folded like a priest. ‘‘I would like you to come in for some tests.’’
‘‘I’ve had all the tests and they were inconclusive. They said it was probably ulcers.’’
‘‘What harm then to come in for a few more?’’ His tone was gentle and coaxing.
‘‘I’ve been poked and prodded and clucked over quite enough.’’
Everybody looked solemn. Lu See walked up to the window and pressed her forehead to the glass.
James shut his eyes. ‘‘Om, om, Bhadaraya … Om, om, Rama …’’
‘‘Quiet, James!’’ scolded Mother.
‘‘Just a couple of blood and urine tests,’’ the doctor said, cajoling now. ‘‘To put your mother’s mind at ease.’’
Lu See felt the colour drain from her face. She hated having her blood taken. ‘‘Will it be just the one blood test?’’
‘‘Two at most,’’ he conceded.
Mother came to stand by her side. ‘‘What are you thinking, Lu See?’’
Lu See dug her nails into her palms. She didn’t say anything for a long time. ‘‘I’m thinking I don’t want to know. Whatever’s the matter with me, I’d rather not know.’’
‘‘Often it is the not knowing that makes people worse,’’ said Dr Ralph. ‘‘The anxiety builds and builds. I can give you peace of mind.’’
Breathing rapidly, Lu See said, ‘‘And what if it is bad news? How does that offer me peace of mind?’’ She stared at her mother but she was talking to the doctor.
‘‘Well, that is where medical science comes in.’’ His voice soothed her. ‘‘Please,’’ he said. ‘‘Come with me now to my clinic.’’
He held his hands out to the sides, palms upwards.
‘‘Come, dear madam,’’ he said, shifting his weight forward.
Lu See followed the doctor down the stairs and into the glare of Macao Street.
It was late afternoon and the muezzin called the faithful to Asr prayer. Lu See muttered a quiet incantation to herself, as children, stripped to the waist, played with a rattan ball, running around in circles chasing the sunlight on their backs. For the first time in many years she felt scared of what the future might bring.
Lu See climbed into Dr Ralph’s car. Twenty minutes later, he motioned for her to sit in a chair in front of his desk. She sat very still and tense.
He spread out a number of diagrams on his desk, anatomical drawings of the human body, showing the digestive tract, the stomach, the large and small intestines, the rectum and anus. The major organs such as the heart and lungs and liver were coloured red. The intestines were shaded green.
Lu See pointed her eyes at the ceiling, as though there was something exceptionally interesting up there. She was so nervous she hid her gaze from the doctor’s.
‘‘Once I examine you, I will have a finer idea. First, we will analyse your blood and urine for anaemia and inflammation. After that we can talk.’’
He led her to a small surgery where a female assistant waited by an examination bed. There were instruments laid out in metal trays.
After about an hour Dr Ralph said, ‘‘Let’s talk in my office.’’ His
voice was calm. Lu See settled into the same chair as before. ‘‘What I am about to tell you is not easy to hear.’’ He took a breath and adjusted his pince-nez. ‘‘Our tests confirm that you are suffering from anaemia, which indicates to me that you may be bleeding within the intestines. I will wait for the urine samples to confirm this. I will need to proceed with further tests but your symptoms are compatible with a most uncommon illness.’’
Lu See’s mouth went dry. ‘‘Is it cancer?’’
Dr Ralph frowned. She waited for his response, scared his words might snap her in half.
‘‘At this stage, I would say no, but I cannot rule it out.’’ He set his lips in a grim line. ‘‘However, the abdominal cramps, the fevers, the weight loss and nausea are all consistent with deep ulcers in the intestines. These ulcers puncture holes in your bowels resulting in fistulae and abscesses.’’ He pulled a file towards him and looked at her over the top of his silver pince-nez. ‘‘Medical reports from your hospital stay last year have you diagnosed with Sprue, a digestive disturbance caused by an allergy to gluten.’’ He clasped his hands together tightly. ‘‘But I believe you have an advanced form of Crohn’s disease.’’
Lu See stared at him. She had never heard of such a thing. ‘‘And what does that mean?’’
The doctor took a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed his pointy chin. ‘‘It means you have a disease with no known cure.’’
Lu See swallowed. ‘‘Is it serious?’’
‘‘Ordinarily, it is not regarded as life-threatening.’’ The doctor removed his eye-glasses and rubbed the skin where the clip made a mark. ‘‘But in your case, you’ve vomited blood on two occasions. So I would have to say that it is serious.’’
‘‘Are there pills I can take? Can you remove the ulcers?’’
‘‘The disease is difficult to diagnose because the symptoms appear only gradually. To be absolutely certain I will ask you to come to the hospital for a barium sulphate X-ray. No, please, dear madam, do not look so alarmed. It is not as frightening as it sounds. Do not worry your brain over it. You simply drink a mixture of barium sulphate, tannic acid and gelatin, after which we X-ray you. The solution acts as a contrast medium in X-ray photography, meaning it will show up white in the images.’’
Lu See did not say anything.
The doctor asked, ‘‘Have you endured a lot of stress in your life?’’
‘‘Well, let’s see. My husband died a few months into our marriage. I miscarried. My home was taken over by the Japanese. My father shot himself in the head. My daughter ran away for months to fight in the jungle.’’ She paused. ‘‘I’m sure there’s more.’’
He nodded with a solemn look in his eyes.
‘‘Doctor, tell me the truth, please. How long do I have?’’
He took a breath. This time it was his turn to look at the ceiling. ‘‘It would be unprofessional of me to speculate.’’
‘‘I’m asking you, for my daughter’s sake. How long?’’
‘‘If you are lucky, ten, twenty, perhaps even thirty years.’’
‘‘And if I’m unlucky?’’
‘‘You mean if the vomiting of blood persists?’’
‘‘Yes.’’
‘‘Twelve to fifteen months.’’
Only when she was out on the pavement, crossing to catch a cycle rickshaw home, did she allow her body to release its anxiety. Her legs went weak. She only just made it into the seat of the waiting pedicab.
13
Sum Sum trudged ahead, head down, pushing against the wind. The wind felt like something solid and raw as it bounced off her face. ‘Not long to go,’ she muttered every now and again to keep her spirits up.
She pressed on, resisting the knifing wind. Eyes fixed on the next resting-place – a belt of trees or a cluster of craggy rocks in the far distance. Keep going. Keep going. With each step Sum Sum repeated the message, willing her legs forward.
She held an unshakable will to survive.
They walked for hours in silence; mostly because they would not be heard above the wind-rush. They tied thin cloths over their eyes to fend off the glaring sun and snow blindness. Occasionally they smiled through the cold and fed off their partner’s determination.
They carried on through a snow-flurry until Tormam sank to her knees. ‘‘I’m too tired!’’
Earlier, Sum Sum thought she’d heard voices behind her. She wondered now if the Chinese were after them. She pictured the officer with the laugh like Pirate Blackbeard, unbuckling his holster and shooting them dead.
‘‘Get back up!’’ cried Sum Sum. ‘‘Remember the yak that was left behind? I’ll do the same to you. I’ll relieve you of your bags and leave you here!’’ She helped her friend to her feet. To work out how many hours of daylight they had left, Sum Sum raised her hand parallel to the ground, with the sun just above the hand. Every finger down to the horizon meant 15 minutes. She counted eight fingers. ‘‘We have another two hours of daylight,’’ she said.
Muscles aching, they marched on, staring blankly at the carpet of snow ahead, keeping their centres of gravity low. They passed the skeleton of a bird. It made them think there must be trees up ahead.
‘‘Not long to go! We rest when we find shelter.’’
An hour later, out of desperation, with no shelter in sight, they chose a slope with a natural wind block and started scooping out a hole in the snow with their gloved hands and a trowel made of tree bark. They dug and dug until their arms and shoulders ached. They tunnelled at an upward angle. After forty minutes they crawled inside their burrow, just wide enough for them both to fit through, entering feet first. Once settled, they stopped up the gap with packed snow and punched a small ventilation hole through the top. ‘‘All that digging … I’m perspiring so much,’’ said Tormam.
‘‘Me too. Quick, lah, we must stay dry,’’ said Sum Sum. ‘‘Reach into the bags for change of undershirt. We have to get out of these or we will freeze to death.’’
Elbows and knees banging, they wrestled into fresh clothes. They jammed yak hair under their garments for added insulation and held on to one another for warmth, legs entwined, hands pressed into armpits. ‘‘Tormam, if I died up here, would you eat me?’’
‘‘I would think about it … not for long … but I would pause for thought.’’
‘‘I bet your hind loin is damn tasty, lah.’’
‘‘And I bet your shoulder joint would be delicious roasted over a fire.’’
They giggled over this for some time. Short of breath and shivering from head to toe, terrified that the walls might collapse and trap them underneath the weight of ice, they dared not close their eyes. They listened to the wind and the shifting snow make eerie screeching noises overhead, until eventually, exhaustion claimed them.
The following morning, with the Himalayan sun breaking through the clouds, Sum Sum and Tormam dug free of their shelter. Their throats were parched with thirst and their lips crackled with dryness. Sum Sum, squatting, flattened the ground with her hands and lit a small fire to melt some snow. The snow water tasted good. They ate the last of their dried meat and butter. Yawning and grumbling they shouldered their packs and continued south. Sum Sum set her eyes on the horizon; Tormam screwed up her gale-filled face and muttered long curses under her breath. Ahead of them was only endless whiteness and empty land; miles below and miles in front.
Hours and hours later, flayed by the wind and sun, they descended to a safer elevation below the treeline. As they walked down the uneven slope, the snow began to spoil. The slope grew so steep it hurt their knees and jammed their feet into the toes of their boots. Coming from the exposed upper reaches of the mountains, it took them some time to adjust to the brooding oppressiveness of the forest.
They foraged for food, pulling aside lichen and rotten tree branches. They searched hidden animal holes. But all they found were earthworms and grubs.
Extracting leaf mould and dirt from their supper they settled down to eat. T
ormam held up a grub. ‘‘You swallow first.’’
Sum Sum, eyes wide with mischief, chewed with her mouth open, ready to spit it out. ‘‘Tastes like stale English Stilton.’’ She grinned at her. ‘‘Try, nah.’’ They ate, moving their jaws mechanically, squatting with arms wrapped round shins.
They gathered dry sticks, twigs, moss and pine pitch from the ground and built a ring of rocks. Using the abbess’s firebag, they lit the tinder with a match and added kindling and bark resin, carefully blowing on the fire to build it up. Gradually, they added firewood to the flames, building a teepee of sticks around it.
Sum Sum warmed her pink, stiff fingers by the flames, wondering aloud if she’d ever be able to feel her fingertips again. She looked into Tormam’s eyes. Both refused to admit how lost and hopeless they felt.
14
In the OR Mabel switched on the monitoring equipment at the head of the operating table and laid out the various surgical knives, scoops, scalpels and specula on a sterilization tray. She tested the hand-operated blood pressure sphygmomanometer. She fiddled with a knob on the ventilator and checked the infusion pump. Next she prepared the necessary blood bags, volume expanders and intravenous drips. Finally, she grouped metal clamps and clips in a line and positioned Sklar forceps with angled heads next to a severe-looking set of flat-handled curved scissors.
Having prepared the patient’s skin, Mabel set down the dish of iodine swabs and looked at the surgeon. His expression was unreadable through his surgical mask but she guessed he was contemplating the best angle of entry. He reached out his hand, flat and expectant, to receive the scalpel from her. She pressed it into his palm as he stood over the patient and watched him make a long careful incision in the upper right part of the stomach, just below the ribs. The scalpel tip sank into the skin, slitting it with a clean, silky sound.
The blood oozed out, black and tarry. Immediately Mabel wiped it with an absorbent swab so he could proceed. An hour later, after cutting the bile duct and blood vessels leading to the gall bladder, the surgeon clamped the skin and with needle holders stitched it tight with suture thread.