The Hills of Singapore

by Dawn Farnham

  “That is how I feel about you. I would like to be sure you and I want this for a very long time. Can we do that?”

  Charlotte smiled. She would teach him, slowly, the ways of love, as Zhen had taught her. She chased that image quickly from her mind, for another displaced it: that of a wedding, she in a wedding dress with him at her side. She looked at him. He was a man she would like to be married to, support in his work, even perhaps give children to, share a life with. He was a man of substance, an English man with whom she had so much in common. These other, more intimate, pleasures would surely come.

  She slipped her arm through his. “Yes, Charles,” she said, and he looked down at her with a smile.

  30

  Charlotte and Isabel took their places in the canoe to cross the river. Two Dyak men, part of the Rajah’s Rangers, were to row them to the other side and accompany them to the house of Frank and Harriette McDougall. Isabel, fresh faced and refreshed, chattered gaily. The proximity of two young, copper-skinned, muscled and half-clad men seemed not, now, to have any effect on her. She had confided to Charlotte at breakfast that she had never enjoyed anything so much as the previous evening. Being the centre of attention in a place starved of white female companionship clearly suited her, and Charlotte understood. Here, away from her extensive family and the pressures of her mother, Isabel shone. Her natural, kindly and exuberant nature had free rein.

  The river was filled with activity of all kinds. Fishermen were casting nets on the shores of the stilt villages. Canoes were constantly passing across the river carrying passengers, for this was the sole means of transport from one side to the other. The Rajah was anchored further upriver, near Julia, one of Rajah Brooke’s gunboats. A constant debris of logs and leaves floated by, carried by the rains down to the sea, and the ferrymen dodged them with consummate ease.

  They set foot ashore near the Chinese market and spent a few minutes examining the wares, under the stares of the inhabitants. Then, accompanied on either side by their Dyak warriors, they made their way up the slope. It was a moment Charlotte hoped she might be able to describe to Robert and Aunt Jeanne.

  Charlotte liked Harriette McDougall immediately. She was a slight woman, perhaps thirty years of age, with narrow lips and a slightly sallow complexion. She was pregnant, but that did not seem to stop her exhibiting the most lively energy, and she welcomed her guests with open arms, kissing Charlotte on her cheek and enfolding Isabel into her arms.

  “Wonderful, wonderful, to have some English visitors, and not men. Men are all very well, but I tire of them sometimes. Do come and sit in the verandah.”

  Tea was poured. Harriette told Charlotte of the Rajah’s great library at the Lodge. He was a great reader. They discussed the latest books and found a common affection for Wuthering Heights and The Count of Monte Cristo. She invited Charlotte and Isabel to visit the grounds of the church, which was still only half built. The children were at school in a hut next door, little abandoned half-caste children gathered in to the church, and they sang a hymn, somewhat out of tune and lyrically uncertain but with all the charm of the young. A long hut which served as a hospital ran along the wall on the river side.

  Charlotte learned that Harriette’s husband, the Reverend, was somewhere she did not catch, ministering to the natives, for he was a preacher but also a doctor. Really, Charlotte thought, what a marvel they all are. What is this faith that drives them to these extraordinary and dangerous exertions?

  As they left the school, Harriette called to a man in the act of sawing large planks of wood. “Tomas Stahl,” Harriette said, “our indispensable carpenter. He built our house, you know, and now builds the church. Bless him.”

  Tomas stopped working and came forward. He was a great bear of a man, some thirty years old, powerfully built, his tanned, muscular arms bare, the golden hairs of his chest bursting from his shirt. His head was a shock of red-gold. He was striking in every way and must have struck a kind of awe, Charlotte imagined, in the imagination of the tiny, wiry Dyak men.

  He stood shyly and silently as introductions were made, then with a nod, departed back to his work.

  “Tomas is German. He was a ship’s carpenter, but after the ship foundered, fortunately with all aboard safe, he landed up here. He is rather godless, but we should not know what to do without him.”

  Charlotte could not help but notice that Isabel’s gaze lingered on him long after Harriette had turned back to her house.

  The view from Harriette’s house, high on the hill, was splendid. It swept down over the town and along the river to the backdrop of the mountains which surrounded Kuching. Around the house was a garden of great beauty. A deep hedge of scented gardenia ran around three sides. Great bushes of the hibiscus, scarlet and buff, glowed in the sun. Charlotte relaxed as Harriette talked about her garden.

  “The hibiscus are called shoe-flowers, for they are used instead of blacking to polish shoes. The pink one-hundred-leaved rose blossom all the year round. The golden allamander are a great temptation to the cows if they stray into the garden. The plumbago is one of the few pale blue flowers which like the blazing heat.”

  Lunch was a surprise that only the English in the Orient could produce: shepherd’s pie with curried minced pork and plantain, followed by mango custard. With promises of renewed meetings, Charlotte and Isabel returned to the Rajah’s compound. They parted, as the blistering heat of the afternoon began its reign on the day, to the cool of their quarters.

  At six o’clock the sun had fallen below the mountains, its rays casting a halo of orange and pink around the peaks. A sleep and a bath had restored them, and the cool of the evening made life bearable. A servant came to accompany them to dinner, and arm in arm, Isabel and Charlotte climbed up to the verandah of the Lodge.

  As Charlotte entered the drawing room, her eyes were instantly drawn to two men engaged in conversation with the Rajah. To her absolute amazement she realised that one of them was a man she loathed more than any other. It was Captain Palmer, the man who had tried to violate her so long ago in Java.

  She stopped so quickly and dropped her arm from Isabel’s so abruptly that Isabel looked at her with alarm. Palmer turned his grey eyes onto Charlotte, and she was thrown into confusion. She sought Charles, but he was nowhere to be seen.

  Before she could move, James Brooke saw her and came forward with both hands held out to her. “Charlotte, my dear. You are radiant as usual. The air of Sarawak clearly agrees with you.”

  Charlotte smiled as best she could, and fortunately the Rajah’s attentions immediately turned to Isabel. “Miss Isabel, will you play again for us tonight?”

  Isabel laughed, delighted at these attentions and curtsied to the Rajah. Captain Palmer and his companion came towards them, and James turned.

  “Ah, Helms, Palmer. Ladies, allow me to introduce Ludwig Helms, my managing agent, and Captain Joseph Palmer. Gentlemen, this is Mrs Charlotte Manouk and Miss Isabel da Silva.”

  Both men bowed, and Isabel bobbed a curtsey but Charlotte did not move.

  “Delighted, ladies,” Palmer said, keeping his eyes on Charlotte. “And what an unexpected pleasure to meet you again Mrs Manouk.” He smiled.

  “Do you two know each other?” the Rajah said and laughed. “Capital, capital, we shall all be a merry band. Come on, Helms.”

  He took up Isabel’s arm and wrapped it in his own, turning with her and leading her to the piano. Helms trotted after them.

  “Well, well, Charlotte Manouk. This is extraordinary. Still as beautiful as ever.” Palmer moved next to Charlotte and bent his head towards hers. She moved away and took out her fan.

  “Captain Palmer, this is not a delightful meeting. Leave me alone or I shall not hesitate to tell the Rajah and all his acquaintance what a cad you are.”

  Palmer smiled slightly, his arrogance and assurance undimmed.

  “Do not underestimate me, sir.” Charlotte added, “I can easily have the ear of the Rajah, and he would be sorry to lose
my patronage.”

  Palmer’s face changed. Gone was the smile, gone the pretence at charm. His eyes narrowed and he bared his teeth. Charlotte paled slightly but was determined to hold her ground. Palmer was about to speak when suddenly Charles came up and took her arm.

  “Charlotte, shall we go in?” Charles moved forward, nodding at Palmer.

  “What is it, Kitt? You look pale,” he remarked as they moved away.

  They made their way to the chairs in a corner of the room. Isabel began to play, a folk tune of some sort, and the midshipmen began to gather around her.

  Charles’s attention was still on Charlotte, his eyes full of concern. Charlotte hesitated, uncertain how much to reveal. After some moments she said, “I met Captain Palmer in Batavia. He is a man who has a reputation for keeping women, slave women, you understand.”

  Charles frowned. Slavery was a vicious and unacceptable practice certainly.

  “Captain Palmer is not an honourable man and is not to be trusted around women, you understand. I tell you this to put you on your guard and to make sure he goes nowhere near Isabel.”

  Charles nodded and rose, taking Charlotte’s hand. The gong sounded, and Isabel stopped playing.

  Talip appeared, dressed in impeccable white, his brown and gold batik sarong around his hips. “Dinner, Tuan Rajah.”

  “Dinner,” James shouted and gathered Isabel onto one arm and Hoddy Doddy on the other and set off for the dining room.

  “Kitt, don’t worry. I will not leave your side, or Isabel’s, until the fellow has gone,” Charles whispered.

  Charlotte smiled into his eyes. Charles stood by her, the strength of his body, the might of his sword, at her service. He had never been more attractive, and she rather wished that they were alone.

  To her relief, Palmer kept to himself throughout the meal. He was seated with two of his shipmates, and after dinner they all took their leave.

  Charlotte was so glad she agreed to several dances with the midshipmen and Ludwig Helms, a convivial and cultured man. Charles and several of the young men accompanied Isabel and herself back to their lodgings and Charles came to her door.

  “Safe, dear Kitt. Helms is MacEwen & Co.’s agent here for the Rajah. He trades through them. Apparently Helms engaged Palmer’s ship to bring him here, and Palmer is seeking to go into business with MacEwen & Co., or some such thing. The Rajah is intent on wresting control of the antimony mines from the Chinese syndicate. I’m afraid I understand little of this sort of thing. I’ve set a guard to keep watch on the ship. St. John tells me Palmer and Helms will go upriver to see the mines at Bau tomorrow. They will be away for days, rest assured.”

  “Thank you, Charles, I am assured.”

  They stood together before her door, and a small silence filled the verandah. Somewhere in the forest a night bird called. The silence lengthened into awkwardness, and Charlotte turned and put her hand on the handle of the door.

  “A trip, Kitt. Would you like to come with me? See something of the country?”

  He had blurted it out, and Charlotte turned to face him. A chance to be alone with him, far away from everyone else. As if this bizarre outpost on a headhunter’s river were not far away enough. She sighed. Perhaps he needed this to declare the feelings he seemed to be having trouble acknowledging.

  “Yes, Charles, I should like that.”

  She saw the flash of his smile in the darkness. He took up her hand and kissed it, then turned on his heel and left.

  Charlotte shook her head and locked her door. Really, Charles Maitland, you are hard work, she thought.

  31

  Lilin waited while the servant arranged the food into the porcelain containers and wrapped them ready to carry. She was taking lunch to Ah Teo and Zhen today. Noan was in bed, and Lilin had supervised the cooking. She had even made her own personal favourite dish, assam laksa, a spiced mackerel soup with thick noodles. She knew both men liked this dish, and just knowing she was cooking for Zhen gave her pleasure. Despite everything, she could not help herself. She hated him and she loved him, the two emotions so closely entwined she could not separate them.

  She took her favourite kamcheng pot out from the cupboard. It was a deep turquoise, covered in a profusion of yellow, lime and pink symbols of longing. The symbols of beauty, wealth and status: the king of the birds, the phoenix, with its rainbow of trailing tail feathers and the luscious king of flowers, the rose-pink peony. Hovering above the peony were two bright-winged butterflies for conjugal bliss, the joys of summer, the spirits of the forefathers, a long life. Also, she knew, the butterflies near the peony meant the romantic desire of a man for a woman. She touched the two butterflies with her finger. A ring of magpies, the bird of joy, ran around the rim. The cloud-shaped ruyi, “as you wish” symbol of one’s heart’s desire, adorned the lid and the fu, the protective lion dog of the boodha, was its handle.

  She ladled the soup into the dish with infinite tenderness. The cooks had looked in astonishment, for the sight of Lilin handling food in the kitchen was one they had never seen. When the dishes were ready, Lilin sent for Lian.

  Lian was dressed in pink silk pyjamas covered in white flowers. Her hair was plaited and arranged under a rose-and-pale-lime hat with small beaded tassels that swung around her face. Lilin had made this little hat and covered it with butterflies and peonies. Lian looked lovely, as Lilin had intended. Lian came up to her aunt with a smile, and Lilin bent and kissed her cheek. Then she took her hand, and they went out through the elaborate carved swinging doors of the house and onto the street.

  The walk from Market Street to the riverside was short, but Lilin sent the servant ahead with the dishes. She and Lian wandered slowly along, and the heads of several women turned. The sight of Lilin with her niece was one which was rare on the streets, but they had heard that her sister was unwell. It was good to see her taking care of the family. There had been gossip about her for a long time, for she did not come to temple or attend the usual round of social functions. There had been malicious talk of her carrying on with white men, but no one could say for sure, and no word of this had reached her mother’s ears. The husband had taken a second wife, when his first was still young and fair. Well! But then she had lost a child, and no pregnancies since. It was quite understandable. Bad luck for her to be barren, a pall on the family. They nodded as they passed, and Lilin nodded back, unsmiling.

  Lilin had chosen this day and this hour to come to the quayside. She knew that the white whore had left Singapore in her ship weeks ago. She had set spies to tell her if Ah Soon or the English boy came to the river, but for a long time there was no news. She began to be worried, for she did not know how else to show Lian to this Ah Rex, as she now knew he was called. This was merely the first step in her plan. She wanted Ah Rex to see Lian, and she wanted Zhen to see Ah Rex and Lian together. Finally, today, the boy had told her that the English boy was at the river with the Malay cockle-shell boys and with his Chinese friend.

  Lian skipped ahead of her, and they emerged onto the riverside. Lian knew the way to her father’s godown and turned, following the servant. Lilin followed, keeping her eyes on the boats.

  Then she saw him. He stood out, a European child in the crowd of Chinese, Malay and Indian coolies. Next to him she saw Ah Soon, Qian’s son. She knew he was Zhen’s friend and that there was talk of Lian being betrothed to Ah Soon. Not from the men, of course, but the servants heard everything.

  The boys were practising guiding the cockle-shell boats with the Malay boys, all laughing together. The servant disappeared into the godown further along the quayside to deliver the food. Lian was about to follow him, and Lilin called to her. She came skipping back, and Lian took her hand and gazed at this boy, this Ah Rex who was Zhen’s son.

  He was very handsome, well built, his long hair swinging around his face as he manouevred the boats. He was skilful, she could see. He was concentrating on his task of bringing the boat to shore, but suddenly he struck one of the tongkangs, and
the boatman shouted at him and threw out a string of curses. Alex looked up and answered him in kind. Everyone burst out laughing. Alex laughed too. He did it purposely.

  Then he felt eyes on him. Ah Soon was busy tying up the cockle-shell boat and trying not to get wet, and Tarun was helping him. He looked away from his friend and up towards the quayside. A woman was standing there. She was a Nonya, he knew by her clothes, a pretty woman, and next to her, holding her hand, was a pretty girl.

  When his eyes met hers, he was somewhat surprised to feel a recognition, as if they knew each other. But he did not know this girl at all; they had never met. Then the woman bent and said something to the girl, and the child waved her hand at him. He smiled and waved back, and then she, too, smiled. It was a smile of radiance so brilliant that he was struck. Then he turned as Ah Soon came to his side and looked at the woman and the girl.

  “That is Lian. I know her. My father and her father are great friends. That is her auntie.”

  They both started to make their way through the boats and up the quayside. It was time to go home. Tarun had moved off to chat with the Indian boatmen. They had been allowed to cross the river. Alex had come to Ah Soon’s house for lunch with him and his father. Alex liked Ah Soon’s house, so different to his own, and he liked Ah Soon’s mother, who always made delicious dishes for them to eat in the quiet, shady courtyard with chopsticks, which Alex had now mastered. Afterwards they had begged to be allowed to go into the town.

  Since his mother had left, he had not been to the Chinese town, and he missed it. He enjoyed the kite flying of, course, and being on the river at the Bugis kampong, but now he wanted to go over the river. Qian did not mind, for he knew that Tarun would take care of them both, and he had business himself over there with Min and later at the graveside of his father-in-law.