The Red Thread

by Dawn Farnham

  Zhen had just finished his talk with Ah Liang, the master of the kongsi, who had agreed that, until the ceremony of initiation, he and Qian should go with other coolies to one of the bangsals run by the kongsi and work at the headman’s gambier and pepper plantation. Ah Liang had assessed this young man and felt that, though he was healthy and clever, he might just be too headstrong to be an obedient son-in-law for his master. His friend, Qian, was much more suitable material, more timid and malleable. He would make his recommendation, but what Sang might do he could not say. Sang was a gambler and not always predictable.

  When he saw Charlotte through the clouds of incense smoke, Zhen could not believe his eyes. He stopped so abruptly that Qian walked on several steps before realising that his friend was not beside him. Turning back, he too noticed the foreign woman and, guessing what his friend was thinking, pulled at his sleeve.

  Zhen paid him no attention. Her eyes had widened when she saw him. Even through the swirling billows he could see they were a deep violet blue, the shade of a late evening sky. He had seen her confusion and was glad that his face showed no emotion. He took a step towards her but she turned suddenly and disappeared. Qian pulled again at his sleeve and he looked down at him.

  ‘Are you crazy?’ he hissed.

  Zhen turned and left the temple without a backward glance.

  8

  Charlotte was glad to return to the bungalow. Lunch with Mr and Mrs Crane had been pleasant, with some unusual Portuguese dishes. Robert had, at first, seemed uninterested in young Miss Crane but appeared to warm to her after a while. She was a pretty girl, with deep chestnut wavy hair and large brown eyes, which she used to excellent effect, raising and lowering her long lashes whenever Robert addressed her. Charlotte was amused by this as well as by Isobel and Isabel’s obvious annoyance. She had not observed it before, but clearly there was some interest in Robert on their parts as well. How they thought they could divide him up was a mystery, but she was determined to rib him about it when she got the chance.

  Now, in her room, lying on her bed with the shutters closed, she turned her attention to the encounter at the temple.

  What on earth was the matter with me? she thought. There are Chinamen all over the town. Why should this one have any effect? The incense probably, disturbs the brain.

  But she did not find these thoughts convincing. Gradually she began to remember the night she had arrived, the young man calling to her from the junk. Had it been him? She grew tired and the moonlight, the man, the junk all became a swirling dream as she slumbered.

  When Robert returned for dinner she was refreshed, and they passed a pleasant evening. He told her of a robbery which had occurred at one of the European houses.

  ‘Auch, really it’s their own fault. Why, you can walk through almost every European house on the beach at Kampong Glam at certain times of the day without meeting a single inmate or being challenged. The Chinese thieves know this. They carry fictitious notes, you know. If they meet someone they present a note and get told the person does not live there, and off they go, having made a good observation of the house. If not, they pocket whatever pretty baubles, clocks, watches and jewels they can see and depart scot free. Other times it’s their own servants that are the thieves.’

  A tiger hunt was to be organised, for attacks were getting more frequent. A man had broken into the godown of Mr Balestier, the American consul, and a body had been found floating at the foot of Coleman’s new bridge works. The corpse turned out to be an American crewman from one of the opium clippers in port who had been reprimanded and fined by Mr Balestier. He seemed to have broken his neck in a fall from the window. Two houses had been broken into in Kampong Glam. A Chinese gang of men had attacked and released some Chinese prisoners working on a road site. Two had been recovered; the rest had fled into the jungle.

  ‘Such a lot to do with so few men. Can’t ask policemen who are paid a pittance to go off searching in the jungle. We must do our best. I shall try to speak to the Chinese headman, although I suspect him of turning a blind eye. Only the Chinese can keep these gangs under some kind of control.

  ‘Tonight I have a class with my men. I’m teaching them to read, you know, for until they can read and write I cannot promote them. We’ll talk about patrols. But I don’t expect any man to stand up to a gang of armed thugs. Also, I may be out late tonight. I want to check on the police station out on the road to Hurricane House. It’s good to drop in on them to see if they’re paying attention.’

  Charlotte was alarmed. ‘Is it not dangerous, Robert, going alone? Is it far from town?’

  ‘A mile or two. Auch, well, I shall take Jemadar Kapoor. He is an excellent shot. We shall take our swords, and I have a pistol. I may stay the night at Hurricane House, at the plantation of Captain Scott. He is the harbour master; you met his niece. There is a peon here on duty, so you need not fear. If you like, tomorrow morning he can bring you out there. William’s plantation is worth a visit.’

  ‘I think I would like that very much. Now I must go to bed. When that gun goes off I never feel like getting up.’

  Yawning, she rose and kissed Robert resoundingly on the forehead.

  Robert poured himself a small glass of whisky. There was the sound of footsteps on the verandah, and George appeared around the corner. He sat down and took a whisky with his friend.

  ‘Come walk with me. I’ve news for you,’ he said.

  They left the verandah and strolled out in front of the courthouse. George looked up at the building.

  ‘You know this was almost the first house I built here in Singapore. I designed the residency house on the hill entirely in the hope that Raffles would take it up. I waited here for four months for him to come from Bencoolen.

  ‘That was a time, I can tell you. I stayed for a while with a man called Nicholson, a trader. He’d been in the East a long time. We shared a basic attap house along the beach. It was my first time here, and the view was like magic. Anyway, he had this little dark nyai who swept up, did the domestic work and shared his bed. He was like a damn rabbit. There was no sleep until the nightly ritual of huffing and grunting had been completed. The fact that I was a plank’s width away from them didn’t seem to bother him. Then he’d snore like Thor. You’d have thought that’d be the end of it, but Nicholson was a generous man, and apparently had ordered his young woman to cater to his guests. She’d come in completely naked and get into bed and start—well, you know. No matter what I said to Nicholson, or what he said to her, in she’d come every night and we’d go through this ritual until it became comical. “Tuan, I come play jolly-jolly,” she’d say.

  ‘Can you imagine? Nicholson called the act of bliss and wonder between a man and a women “jolly jolly”. So, I’d say “no jolly jolly”, which made no difference. She’d get into bed, me pushing her out and insisting “no jolly jolly” like a demented child, Nicholson’s snores practically drowning out my words.’

  Robbie was laughing, and George looked at him.

  ‘Well, so I understand what you’re getting at Robbie, of course I do. I’d met Takouhi by then, so this creature was of no interest at all. My head was filled with her.’

  George looked down at his shoes, and Robert detected a slight embarrassment, as if he’d said more than he had intended.

  ‘Anyway, I was saved by Bonham, who was in a humbler position then. He took me in, and I’ve been grateful to him ever since. Thank the Lord, Raffles liked my plan. Even gave me a commission for a garrison church. I had designed the residence in brick and tile, but Raffles had it made up in wood and attap. That was common in those days. I’ve added to it greatly over the years, changed the wood for brick and so on. It’s really a pleasant house now.

  ‘When I came back from Java I built David Napier’s house next, but this building was my first real design. The first time I turned my hand to something new and unusual, yer know, something classical but which suited our tropical climate. It was truly born in Singapore. Maxwell wan
ted the grandest home in the settlement, and I enjoyed building it, sure I did. Maxwell never lived in it, for this part was reserved for government buildings. Somehow he had wangled a lease. Smart devil, he rented it back to the administration before it was even finished for five hundred rupees a month. None of my business that. It did the job though for me. It impressed the merchants enough to get me plenty of commissions. I hope it will stand hundreds of years. I’m well proud of it, and for a long time now I believe it has given our young town a certain class.’

  Robert said nothing. When they reached the landing stage they stopped and contemplated the far bank. The glow of red lanterns and yellow oil lamps reflected brightly in the river. A ramshackle theatre had been thrown up out over the river near Monkey Bridge, and the high-pitched whine and clashing cymbals of a Chinese opera could be heard. Cheering and clapping erupted occasionally.

  ‘That’s the powerhouse. We may be the wheels on the carriage, but the engine is over there, driving us forward like Mr Stevenson’s Rocket. Then I came here, the river was a meandering mess of swamps and marsh. Still is up river round the sago factories.’

  He stood silently for a moment, and Robert grew curious. After Raffles had died so suddenly, his wife Sophia had published a book of memoirs of her husband, a collection of his copious correspondence. In the face of Singapore’s evident commercial success, this had had the remarkable effect of lifting him out of the obscurity into which he had fallen, and he had become an instant celebrity, his deeds re-evaluated by the East India Company, memorials commissioned. Robert knew that George had been asked to submit plans for a Raffles memorial but that, in the end, the public subscription had gone to improve the institution, a project close to Sir Stamford’s heart. This information, and Crawfurd’s success with the temenggong and the sultan, formed the sum total of his knowledge about Singapore’s past.

  ‘George, what was Raffles like?’

  Coleman looked at him and smiled. Such curiosity in Robert was unexpected.

  ‘Raffles was not an easy man. Ambitious, but that’s not unusual. He was very short in stature, and short men can be difficult. Raffles was governor at Bencoolen then, but he had been Lieutenant Governor of Java for five years during the brief British administration. Well, anyway, Raffles felt his position keenly, I’m sure. Bencoolen was given up for Malacca a few years later, after the Dutch and English drew a line on the map. North is yours, south is mine. That sort o’ thing.’

  George looked at Robert. He wasn’t sure how much history he was interested to know.

  ‘Left Farquhar in charge, told him to make it all work on nothing and then gave him hell. Farquhar was a great man, had the touch. Without him, no one would have come, for every man who traded—Malay, Chinese, European—knew him and liked him. Flint, Raffles’ brother-in-law, was here then, always in Raffles’ ear, though he was far away in Bencoolen.’

  Coleman pointed to the fort. ‘His house was there where the fort is now. Big building on a nice high hill, best bit of land in the place. Flint was made harbour master by Raffles, who legitimised his monopoly of the lighter trade and the port services. No goods arrived from the ships except by lighters, and all ships needed water and supplies so, of course, he grew rich. By the saints, he was a nasty character, dishonest and untrustworthy, greedy, sly. Took Crawfurd to get him out, point out fraud, make him sell his boats, make things fair. Great days, he was furious.

  ‘Raffles never saw the advantages of the river. Ordered the godowns and jetties built on the beach. Hopeless. It was either mud flats or monsoon swell banging the boats around. Made it impossible to land goods. Most people saw the obvious role of such a naturally sheltered river and started to build on it, even though it was a lake at high tide. When he came back he made such a lot of trouble for Farquhar because of it and then quietly revised his plans. I know because he consulted me, amongst others, and we saw the advantages of the river all right.’

  He lit a small cigar and stood looking at the quay.

  ‘I recommended filling it up on the south side, and Raffles agreed. Perhaps he took too much to himself, I don’t know, but he was the decision maker after all, and history isn’t written by coolies.’

  Coleman smiled wryly and looked at Robert.

  ‘By the saints, I still remember the effort it took to fill in the land, pick and shovel, Chinese, Indian and Malays labouring for one rupee a day. Whatever is written after I’m long gone, it was other men than Raffles who built this town, no matter what his madame says. It was a great and exciting enterprise. Where we stand was the temenggong’s kampong. Look at it now. Soon I shall have completed the new bridge and will open up the road in Kampong Chulia.’

  He extinguished his cigar underfoot.

  ‘Perhaps it is fair to say that Raffles was a clever man, energetic certainly. It was said he could write one letter while dictating two others! His attempts at economic reform in Java were muddled and ill-conceived, though, to be fair, he had little time to see them through. I suppose he was a man of ideas; carrying them out was his shortcoming. He was not cut out for administering a fledgling colony, despite his letters to Milady Somerset. Farquhar was, Crawfurd was, Bonham is. Really, Raffles was at his most petty in his attacks on Farquhar. Well, all water under the bridge now. Fortunately he spent little time here and departed soon enough that no harm was done.’

  Robert had never heard Coleman so voluble.

  ‘Bejasus, I love this town, I really do. For a man on his mettle the possibilities are great. Singapore is like no other place in the empire. It will survive not through imperial patronage, for we shall surely have none. Not a single taxpayer in all his vastness needs fear that he shall pay for us. No, by God, we shall thrive entirely by our own efforts and industry.’

  Robert knew what he meant. Singapore had given him the chance to make his name and fortune. Fatherless and without influential relatives, a man such as himself would have stood little chance anywhere else. Its very newness, its simple imperatives, its total lack of importance to the powers in India and back home: all these things meant men like him had a chance.

  They wandered back to the fives court and sat on a stone bench facing the river. George lit another small cheroot and they sat in companionable silence. When George had finished, he flicked the cigar away and turned to Robert.

  ‘Well, lad, Shilah’s not pregnant, yet. Seems like a blooming miracle to me. I’ve had a talk with her and so has Takouhi. She seems adamant that you’re the one.’

  In fact Coleman had tried to frighten her off. He had explained what she could expect from this relationship with the white policeman. She could not expect marriage; she must put that thought out of her head. As for children, they would have to be got rid of or raised in some out-of-the-way place. Eventually he would certainly take a white wife. Takouhi, too, had tried to change her mind. But there was nothing for it. So she had given Shilah a bottle of neem oil and told her how to use it.

  ‘There you have it, lad. So next week we should go over to Middle Road and look at some of my new houses. In the meantime, do me the favour of leaving her alone. She won’t be pleased, but she knows she can’t be coming over to your bungalow and, as sure as sure, I don’t want to see your ugly face skulking around my place. Within a fortnight everything should be settled. Can you do that, Robbie?’

  Robert beamed. ‘Auch Aye, I can, George.’ And grabbing Coleman’s hand he began pumping it up and down. George slapped him on the back and, waving, began to make his way back to what was, nominally and literally, his street.

  9

  Long before dawn a group of a dozen coolies were gathered together and began a march out of the town. The track took them along South Bridge Road, past the jail, over the canal and across a rickety hump-backed bridge. Turning onto a wide street, they had their first glimpse of the European town. The path followed the contour of the hill, then branched off into the jungle. Here a guard gave them some bamboo twine to tie on their straw shoes for, he told them, the
going would get a little rough.

  A little rough, thought Qian after only ten minutes.

  Rain overnight had made the ground muddy, and they all slipped from time to time or tripped over the ropey roots of the trees. Everyone was slick with sweat in the humidity. Fat raindrops dripped noisily, hoots and calls erupted, sticks cracked, and the forest breathed a hot, fetid breath.

  Going over and under trunks of trees, zigzagging through swamps and standing water, they slapped constantly at insects. One of the guards showed them how to put mud on their hands and faces to protect themselves from this pestilential barrage and how to tie their trousers tightly to their legs to keep off leeches. The two beaters in front slashed incessantly at the undergrowth or into the puddled water to frighten snakes but, nevertheless, they saw several long green shapes slither slowly, seemingly fearlessly, away. One guard killed a sleeping six-foot-long snake, black and mottled, with his long-handled axe. Holding it up over a stick, he told the coolies that this was the most poisonous snake on the island, after the sea snakes, which were all deadly. Later he pointed out a massive python fast asleep on a small hillock, its middle engorged with its last dinner.

  When they crossed rivulets, the guards would check on both sides of the muddy banks for crocodiles.

  Qian realised that such a track was impenetrable for police, soldiers and white men. Out here, the Chinese ruled unchallenged. From time to time they passed other men coming and going, carrying baskets on their heads or slung from shoulder poles. Zhen was silent, although the other coolies chattered to each other to keep up their spirits. The sun had got up in the sky, and the humidity was rising as steam from the jungle floor. After a couple of hours they were called to stop, and a group of men appeared through the trees in a clearing. Hearing the noises, a pack of dogs rushed out, barking and snapping. Confusion was finally allayed, and the men called for them to proceed.