The Hills of Singapore

by Dawn Farnham

  Noan hoped this child would be a son. Zhen had spoken of his wish for a son, and she desperately wanted to give him this gift. Things had improved between them. His anger had died away at the announcement of the pregnancy. He came more often to the house at Market Street. She had been quite sick with this pregnancy. A boy, all her aunts told her. Sickness means it will be a boy.

  The rashes had gone. Zhen had brought a salve, and his presence at the family home and in her bed reassured her. The problem with Lilin would not go away, however. She knew Zhen had talked with her father, but he did not want to deal with Lilin. Her father had been unwell recently. He had passed much of the business to Zhen and Ah Teo. He went every day to the godown or the sago factories, but he seemed happy to pass the decisions to his sons-in-law.

  Noan prayed often for her father. Her mother was very healthy and enjoyed her social round of cards and lunches, chewing the sireh, gossiping. The third concubine waited on her hand and foot. Sometimes Noan felt sorry for this girl. She was still only eighteen. She had been married to Noan’s father at thirteen, had three children, three boys, in quick succession and now, as her father had grown unwell, she was abandoned to servitude. Despite the sons, she occupied a low place in the household, especially as her father paid less attention to her.

  Lilin’s presence at the family gathering was obligatory but she did not join the other women. Ah Teo, Zhen, her father, her uncles and cousins, all the men, were sitting on the verandah watching the maids with the children in the garden and chatting. Lilin watched them from the living room. Ah Teo had taken to smoking cigarettes, and she smiled. Gaston gave her cigarettes, and she smoked from time to time. She had entirely given up chewing the betel. Gaston disliked it. Actually all the Western men disliked it. It was a custom of her aged relatives, and she had come to hate it, too, almost as much as she disliked wearing this shapeless baju and sarong. She looked down. Her figure was entirely concealed.

  Noan came out onto the verandah with the maid, bringing tea to the men. Her belly was big and the men said something to Zhen and they all laughed. Noan blushed slightly and served the tea. Zhen smiled too, but tenderly, Lilin could see, at his wife. She felt a coldness and a desperate wish for them all to be dead. Especially Ah Teo. He had taken up with the whorehouse keeper in Amoy Street. She had found out through one of the girls who worked there. This woman, Min, was disfigured and low, but Ah Teo had rented a house for her in Hong Kong Street. A whore for god’s sake! Zhen knew of it, she was sure, for this Min was a crony of his and the loathsome Qian. What filth they all were. She turned away.

  The men ate lunch together in the formal dining room, the women separately from them in the room off the kitchen. After lunch the men napped or talked. Her old aunts and uncles went home. Her mother and father too, were napping. Lilin was sitting in the garden in the deep shade of a mango tree. Noan went up to her and sat down. Lilin did not look at her. She looks pale, Noan thought.

  “Lilin, we see you so little. The children miss you. Lian particularly.”

  Noan stopped. She had no idea what Lilin did all day and most of the nights. There had been a time when Lilin was kept in the house. She had had a guard, was not permitted to go out. It was horrible. Lilin was crazed, screamed and ranted all day, upset the children. She had been sent briefly to her aunt and uncle in Malacca, but within weeks they had sent her back. Ah Teo was told off, told to deal with his wife, but he could do nothing. Nobody could. So they had let her be. Zhen and Ah Teo had spoken to her. No scandal, and she could come and go as she wished. And an allowance, she had said to Ah Teo, smiling. He had agreed. Now Zhen said nothing, Ah Teo said nothing, her father had given up.

  Noan took a deep breath and said boldly, “Lilin, what do you do every day? What do you do at night when you do not come home?”

  Lilin looked at her sister. “Are you sure you want to know?”

  Noan hesitated. She was a little afraid of what Lilin might say, but she nodded nevertheless.

  “I fuck a white man. I drink wine and smoke cigarettes. I am free.”

  Noan’s hand went to her mouth. Her sister had spoken like a man, in the language of a man. Her voice was empty, hollow.

  “Shocked, big sister? Ah Teo has his whore and I have mine. No one knows. I am very careful. The aunties and uncles, the cousins, they know nothing. They live in Malacca, in any case.” Having said as much as she seemed to want to reveal in this place, Lilin looked at her hands, took up her bag, rose and beckoned to her sister. “Come, walk with me to the big pond.”

  Noan fell into a slow step with her sister. When the house disappeared from view, Lilin took out a pouch of tobacco and paper and deftly rolled a cigarette and lit it with a lucifer, inhaling deeply. Noan was fascinated. She had seen Ah Teo smoke. How did it not burn the mouth? she wondered, but she did not ask.

  Lilin looked at Noan and the bulge at her waist. “You know, if you do not obey, they can do nothing. It has taken me a long time to learn it. Maybe in China they can send you somewhere, but here in Singapore, if you do not obey, they can do nothing. We live in our father’s house, we are given possessions. When I married Ah Teo I received jewellery and furniture. It is mine. I have sold some, you know, but now they give me money to shut me up.”

  Noan was silent. She had never heard such scandalous talk but somehow it made a kind of sense. “Does my husband know?” she asked quietly.

  Lilin laughed. “Know? Of course he knows. Well, not exactly what I do, but about the money.” She stopped and turned to her sister. “He expects obedience from you but he has a woman, you know it. I’ve told you. A white woman.”

  Noan turned away. She wanted to hear no more. She began to walk back to the house. Lilin stood, smoking, watching her sister retreat. Noan could not face the truth, she thought, but perhaps it was better that way. She had a child to bear; what did the truth matter?

  Lilin wandered towards the pond. The wind had risen suddenly and was moving quietly around the trees. She dropped her cigarette underfoot. Then, on the breeze she heard voices and turned. There was a pavilion by the pond, a Chinese pavilion with a green tiled roof and upturned eaves: her father’s conceit, a touch of old China in his garden, a China he had never even seen, a country he knew nothing about, with a language he could not speak. How despicable they all were with their ridiculous pretensions!

  She moved slowly between the trees and listened carefully. It was Zhen and Qian. Lilin was surprised. Qian here? She had not seen him come. That was not surprising, though. It was possible easily to come to the gate at the garden.

  She moved very close. The back of the pavilion was screened with lattice against the rain and anyone could approach without being seen, for the view was of the pond. They were speaking, she realised very quickly, in English. In Hokkien she would have understood nothing, but in English she did.

  “ … see her.” Zhen was speaking. Lilin crept forward. She was intrigued. Why were they talking in English when both were Hokkien?

  “Are you sure?” This was Qian. “To start again, Zhen Ah.”

  “It is too hard to be without her.”

  Lilin stayed very still.

  “I love her.” Zhen hung his head.

  Zhen was hurt. He was talking about the white woman, she realised. Lilin’s eyes narrowed. She hated her, this woman with power over Zhen, the man she wanted more than anything.

  “I must meet her. Qian, will she agree?”

  Qian looked at his friend and put his hand on his arm. Years before he had helped Zhen to meet Xia Lou, had taken her to the orchard of nutmeg trees behind Bukit Larangan, where they had their first kiss. Their love had truly begun from that moment, and that it was enduring was no longer in doubt. When she had left Singapore, Zhen had mourned her like a dead wife. Qian had helped Zhen write to her in Batavia. She had never answered but Zhen never stopped writing. Zhen knew now that she had not received his letters, but that was not what mattered. For all the years before they met again, he had never st
opped writing.

  “Yes, Zhen Ah, she will agree. I will ask her. She will remember.”

  Zhen looked at Qian gratefully. Yes, if Qian asked, she would agree. This memory, the moment in the orchard, with the leaves falling slowly around them as they had tried to speak to her; this they all shared. It seemed strange now that he could speak English so well, strange that he had not been able to talk to her. He remembered that first kiss as if it were a moment ago: the feel of her in his arms, like a soaring ascent to heaven, the rush of his blood as he put his lips to hers; lifting her tight against him, her arms entwining his neck, their bodies locked together, the world blotted out.

  Zhen smiled at Qian, patted his friend’s shoulder and they both rose and left the pavilion. Lilin watched them go, her heart filled with bile. Zhen would never be hers. The realisation came like a lightning bolt. She had been waiting; she understood it now. The English merchants, Gaston—they had been ways to spend her time until Zhen saw her, wanted her. She had convinced herself it was only a matter of time. Her beauty would capture him. Suddenly he would see her, notice her and everything would be instantly wonderful.

  But she understood it now, with a hideous clarity: he would never want her. Years of absence from this English woman had done nothing to dim Zhen’s feelings. He wanted her more now than he ever had. Lilin sank to the ground and tears of frustration and anger poured out silently, staining the leaves. Anger at this longing she had nurtured for so long, anger at him for loving another, anger at her blind stupidity. When she could cry no more, she crawled to a tree and sat against it.

  She opened her bag, took out the pouch and slowly made a cigarette. Gaston had showed her how to do it, supplied her with tobacco. She had smoked opium, but she did not like the deep drowsiness it caused. Tobacco was different, relaxing without the stupefaction. She lit the cigarette and inhaled deeply. It calmed her and she contemplated the information she had just acquired. The time for stupidity was over. She knew, in her deepest part, that she would never stop wanting Zhen, but she would no longer long for him, build dreams around him. Now different objectives began to surface in her mind and the most satisfying was revenge. Revenge on Zhen and revenge on the white whore.

  She crushed the cigarette into the ground, grinding it into the earth. Then she rose and walked back to the house.

  21

  The night was particularly warm, and all the efforts of the punkah wallahs to create coolness were of little use. The men gathered at the house in Armenian Street were waiting, sweating gently, for their leader to arrive for a meeting of Lodge Zetland of the East, the gathering of Freemasons in Singapore.

  On the agenda tonight was fundraising for the Chinese Paupers’ Hospital and the Seamen’s Hospital which Mr Thomson had built on Pearl’s Hill. Also to be addressed was the progress of the proposed building of the Horsburgh Lighthouse on Pedra Branca. But most of what would be dealt with was the most pressing of problems at present, the Chinese secret societies.

  The Worshipful Master of the lodge was late. Robert was chafing slightly at this delay. He enjoyed the lodge meetings, the conviviality of the company of old friends, but tonight his arm was hurting. Robert Woods, The Straits Times new owner, was talking vehemently with Catchick Moses. Catchick had recently sold the newspaper to Woods, a man who liked crusades. Probably he was still ranting on about James Brooke, the white rajah, against whom he had decided to direct his particular ire. Robert did not like Woods very much. He preferred The Free Press over the verbosity of Woods’s The Straits Times, but he tried to maintain cordial relations with everyone in Singapore. And, of course, here in the Lodge, the temple of brotherly love, everyone kept strict control of their tongues.

  The Master of the Lodge finally made his entrance, bedecked in his regalia of office, his sash and apron, which brought the conversations to an end. He called on the Wardens as to those present in the south, west and east, then called the deacon to see the door tyled. The Tyler guarded the door throughout the meeting of the lodge. The Tyler and other officers of the lodge recited their duties, and the Master called on the brethren to assemble around the altar. The men gathered, going down on one knee and holding hands. They bowed their heads as the Master recited the verses of the psalm. Then he too came forward to join the circle, and they lifted and lowered their hands six times. This represented, Robert knew, the sign of astonishment of the Queen of Sheba on first viewing Solomon’s Temple. At first Robert had thought all this terribly queer, but he was used to it now. Of course his wounded arm precluded any Sheba-like raising and lowering on this occasion, and this was understood.

  The assembled men returned to their places and the Master took his seat on the throne. “Brethren, attend to the signs,” he said. When the assembly had performed the signs of the various degrees of the lodge, the Master began the Charge of the Opening.

  “The ways of virtue are beautiful. Knowledge is attained by degrees. Wisdom dwells with contemplations: we must seek her. Let us then, Brethren, apply ourselves with becoming zeal to the practice of the excellent principles inculcated by our Order. Let us ever remember that the great objects of our association are the restraint of improper desires and passions …”

  Robert ceased to listen. He knew it by heart anyway, but these last words seemed to be cast at him. It was as if a light shone down into the dark recesses of his heart and read what lay there. His improper desires and passions for Shilah, the woman he had possessed and should have kept. His love for Teresa had not been love; he saw it now. He had been hasty in marrying her. She had had other suitors, and he had been afraid to lose her then—and she wanted him so very much, he knew. She had been suitable. He dwelt momentarily on the word. “Suitable”, a suitable wife from a respected family.

  Robert shook his head. That wasn’t fair. He had been happy with Teresa. Until … the Master was still intoning. He was head auctioneer at one of the firms on Commercial Square and loved all this pompous ritual, the oath-taking, the signing, the almost boyish secrecy. But at least, Robert thought, he wasn’t carrying on with …

  With what? he caught himself quickly. Shilah wasn’t a “with”. She was lovely, sweet-natured and loving, filled with intense passion still for him. She had demanded nothing of him, merely his presence in her life, in Amber’s. He had come to enjoy the quiet, pleasant time they spent together with Amber. She never blamed him, not a word of reproach passed her lips. Even after … he remembered that awful time. She had been found in a pool of blood, unconscious but still breathing. Amber had been two years old. He had been married only a week. A miscarriage, Dr Little had pronounced. Shilah had been pregnant when he got married, for he had continued to sleep with her even during his engagement.

  Robert had had the decency then to be mortified. She had lost a great deal of blood. Later Dr Little had confided to him that he suspected an intervention. Future children might be difficult. Probably just as well, he had said, if Robert planned … he did not say any more, but it was clear what he was thinking. Cheeky blighter, Robert had thought, and told him to mind his own business.

  In good time, Shilah had recovered. She had seemed to get over it. She had survived. All had seemed well, and Teresa knew of this old liaison and the child. Robert had ceased to visit Shilah, and since it was over, his wife had accepted it, with reasonably good grace.

  But then he had gone to see her in the pretty house on Queen Street that he had purchased for her and Amber. He had climbed the stairs. The house had seemed empty. He could hear the sounds of Amber playing in the garden with her amah. He had turned to join them outside when there had been a noise from the big front bedroom. It was Shilah, singing. Her melodious and husky voice he had always found attractive.

  He had gone to the door and seen her. She was dressed only in a sarong, fresh from a bath, and the folds clung to her figure. Her long black hair was down to her waist, gleaming and wet, her fine brown skin damp. He had not seen her like this for years. She turned and saw him, her black eyes, in this
unguarded moment, full of soft longing. The same look in her eyes as the night when, a virginal fifteen-year-old, she had come to him in his bed at the police house on the seaside.

  His vows, his good intentions, disappeared and he had locked the door behind him and gone to her.

  Robert sat musing on this when he realised that the opening charge was ending.

  “Let us act with dignity becoming the high moral character of our venerable institution.”

  He shook himself from his reverie. Dignity and high moral character. Yes, well, at the moment he wasn’t a fine example of these virtues, he knew, but he could do nothing about any of it. He had found a renewed love for Shilah which was far more powerful than when he was younger. This feeling had depth, the depth of young love remembered and rewrought. She had been his first woman and he her only man. They were both gripped by this rediscovery. She had told him he must not worry. She wanted nothing from him but this moment, this love. She would never interfere with his life with Teresa, would never expect more than this. She had been to hell, she told him as she lay in his arms, and it was not a good place. He need not fear, she would never go there again. And he pulled her to him and kissed her and looked in her eyes and knew it was the truth. She was stronger than she had ever been, and he found this strength irresistible and inflaming. What Teresa would do if ever she found out, he did not know.

  The meeting was called to order and open for business. He fell back firmly into his role as policeman. More than his own welfare depended on him. The state of law and order in Singapore was in tatters, and this was far more serious than any personal concerns.

  The first order of the meeting was the subscription for the two new hospitals on Pearl’s Hill. The European Seamen’s Hospital was finished and the Chinese Paupers’ Hospital was almost complete. Acknowledgement was made of Tan Tock Seng whose generous donations had made the building possible, of the services of Hoo Ah Kay, known as Whampoa, as Treasurer and to Seah Eu Chin, who kept the wards supplied with food. The government supplied medicines and medical attendance.