The Red Thread

by Dawn Farnham

  All this discussion of physique and clothes turned the baba’s mind elsewhere, and he decided to visit his concubine that very evening. First, though, he sent a note to his wife to send round the tailor for Zhen.

  23

  Qian was full of misgivings as Zhen prepared for the meeting he had waited for since arriving in Si Lat Po. He voiced a few, but Zhen eyed him severely, and he shut up. Zhen was nervous, he could tell. He had bathed a long time in the back tub. They had visited the barber, and his face and half of his head were as smooth as glass. Qian was braiding his freshly washed hair and running a red ribbon through it. When he had finished, Zhen began to dress. It was a pleasure, Qian thought, to watch him strip to his undergarment and begin the process of dressing in his shirt and silk coat. He had learned to disguise the erection he often got when he was around his friend, but today, faced with Zhen’s semi-naked body, it was proving difficult.

  Fortunately Zhen was so preoccupied he noticed nothing. When he had pulled on his high-soled boots, he stood up, and Qian laughed with delight. His friend looked every inch a Prince of Qing, a mandarin of China. Zhen smiled nervously. Then Baba Tan arrived and he, too, laughed at the extraordinary transformation. Secretly he was proud that this handsome and intelligent young man would be his son-in-law; it would give him enormous face.

  Tan’s personal sampan carried them over to the landing stage on the opposite bank. The police house was only a short distance, but as they walked Zhen felt his legs begin to buckle. The Englishman. The girl with the violet eyes. Quietly he said to Tan, ‘I do not know how to act with the ang mo. You must guide me.’

  Baba Tan looked at him and, with a slight smile, said quietly, ‘I will speak and shake hands. You will bow when you are introduced, in the Chinese style. They do not expect you to be English. This meeting is so you can recognise Robert Mah Crow, the police chief, and we can agree a route for the funeral cortège. Also, you will meet Xia Lou, his sister, who will be your teacher of English.’

  Xia Lou. Her name was Xia Lou. Tan continued to speak, but Zhen understood little else after this revelation. It was lovely, as lovely as her. He searched his mind for the soft sounds of his mother’s northern dialect. Xia, summer, yes, and dew, loushui de lou, summer dew. Xia Lou, yes, perfect. It was as if she had been named for this island, where the dew was warm and where it was perpetual summer. More than ever it seemed that the Way was leading them together. He smiled slightly, relaxed and composed his face into an expressionless mask.

  They climbed the steps of the police office. Robert came to the door, and Zhen bowed to him. Baba Tan tipped his hat and shook Robert’s hand. They entered a room where some drink and strange-looking food had been laid out and immediately began making plans for the cortège. Although Zhen was somewhat distracted, he tried to forget his possible proximity to this Xia Lou and concentrate on their business. After an hour, the route and security arrangements had been agreed: Zhen would have a patrol of some trusted men to keep order; there would be strict instructions, and the police should keep out of sight unless needed. He showed Robert a drawing of the uniform and regalia he would wear and the flags that would be carried by his men. These had been invented for the occasion and bore no resemblance to the real kongsi flags, but they carried one sign which all the members would recognise on the day.

  Zhen decided he liked Robert, although the Englishman smiled too much. Perhaps this was the ang mo way. In China, if a man smiled too much he was considered effeminate, but Zhen noticed that Baba Tan was completely at ease with them and laughed and smiled more in their company than when he was with the Chinese.

  When the negotiations had been completed, Robert offered his guests some Porter beer from the jug on the table. Zhen had never tasted this before but seeing Baba Tan drink his with gusto, he tried a sip. To his astonishment it was delicious and he drank to the bottom of the tankard. However, neither of the Chinamen partook of the strange bread objects on the table. The baba explained they were called ‘sandichies’, and very popular with the English. Finally Baba Tan rose to take his leave, and Zhen rose with him, his heart sinking. It seemed he would not meet this man’s lovely sister, this Xia Lou.

  As if reading his thoughts, Robert said, ‘Before you go, would you please say hello to my sister?’ He opened the door of his office and called her softly.

  Zhen heard her move down the hall, the swish of her gown against the floor. It was if all of his senses were heightened, like a hare in the woods. He thought he could hear her breath. Then, suddenly, she appeared in the doorway, as light and lovely as a breeze in the warm night air. He did not notice what she was wearing; he was simply and dumbly transfixed.

  Then Robert said something, and he woke and bowed very low. When he straightened up, she was standing just as she had been, her eyes fixed on him.

  She advanced slightly into the room and, smiling, curtsied lightly to him. His heart beat so hard he thought it must be heard outside his chest. Robert and Baba Tan were speaking as if from deep under some vast ocean. He stood completely still.

  Charlotte knew it was him immediately, the man from the temple, and a deep joy spread over her. He was here, a friend of Baba Tan’s; her new student was this man. They would know each other. She hadn’t realised how much she had longed to see him again.

  He was beyond handsome; he was the most beautiful man she had ever seen, tall and elegant in his silk jacket. She sensed the power of his body beneath his clothes. His face was perfect, his slanting eyes deep and dark. She wanted to go quietly up to him and run her fingertips gently over his full lips, feel his smooth, brown skin. Why was she not outraged at such a thought?

  Robert frowned, somewhat taken aback at her stillness, and prompted his sister to greet her new student. He had introduced him to her but she had not taken in a word he had said.

  ‘How do you do?’ she said obediently, realising she must recover her poise immediately. She dragged her eyes off the man’s face and curtsied also to Baba Tan. Then, smiling again, she apologised for being somewhat tired. She would be delighted to be able to teach English to this new student. A moment later, with every semblance of cool-headedness, she wished them all goodnight and left the room.

  Qian was waiting when Zhen returned and quizzed him mercilessly, but Zhen would say little, except that she was lovely. He would talk about it tomorrow. He undressed to his undergarment and lay down on his cot, his mind filled with her. What poetry could he recall to describe her beauty?

  ‘Fair is the pine grove and the mountain stream

  That gathers to the valley far below

  The black-winged junks on the dim sea reach, adream

  The pale blue firmament o’er banks of snow

  And her, more fair …’

  He had acted like a stupid country bumpkin, not saying anything. She had been cool, unaffected. He could not bear it. She did not remember him. At their next meeting he would not be so awful. He must learn to be with her. Why was he thinking this way? How could they ever be together in the way he now wanted more than ever? For heaven’s sake, she was the sister of the foreign police chief.

  The weight of this fact began to sink in. Before he had met her, she was an illusion, a thrilling, erotic dream of a white woman, beyond his experience. Now, she was real. He came thumping down to earth, stood up again and started pacing the floor. Any liaison would be vastly dangerous. It would put his prospective marriage in jeopardy and ruin his chance to save his family in China. Qian was right; he was crazy.

  Charlotte, too, was lying on her bed. It was hot, and no breeze stirred the humid air. She rose and bathed slowly, pouring streams of cool water over her hair, and returned to her room. Luckily Robert was out tonight on a patrol round Kampong Glam. She wanted to get outside, go sailing or walk along the sea path, but she knew it was dangerous at night. Instead she went out onto the verandah and sat in the dark; here there was at least a small breeze. She poured a little glass of whisky from a bottle which Robert always had on the ta
ble. It seared as it went down her throat, but she had drunk whisky many times before; her grandmother enjoyed it, and it had preceded every meal. The drink relaxed her body, but her mind was in some considerable turmoil. Well, he is beautiful, of course, but he’s Chinese. What on earth could come of these feelings? She watched the torchlight and the flickering figures of the soldiers on duty in the fort opposite, gazed at the lights on the ships in the darkened reaches of the harbour.

  She took another sip and recalled his face, his parted lips that she had wanted to touch. She thought about what she knew of relations between men and women. More than most, she supposed. From a dictionary of materia medica in her grandfather’s library she had a pretty good knowledge of human anatomy. As a child on the island, when roaming and playing with the local children, she had seen native men and women together. When she asked, her mother had explained that this was the way people showed their love for one another and how a baby was made. Her mother, a woman of the islands, considered it natural. Now she realised how fortunate she had been in acquiring this information, for in Scotland the subject was taboo.

  Her first kiss had been a rather tepid business with Lonnie, a friend of her cousin, Duncan, when she was fourteen. More kisses and fumblings with Lonnie at fifteen. Things had got a bit better at seventeen, when she met Will, the good-looking, thoroughly unsuitable son of a farmer. She had not cared very much for him—he was somewhat arrogant and sure of himself—but boredom and curiosity combined to bring them together. Knowing the consequences, she made sure it all stopped short of losing her virginity, but she had enjoyed their secret meetings. She had learnt some local slang. His erect penis was called a fearchas. He had become quite enamoured of her, and she learned quickly how the power of a man’s desire could overwhelm him for he often came stickily in her hand. She had not minded, had even licked her fingers once to taste the salty stuff. This act had so inflamed him that, alarmed, she had never done it again. Had it gone on much longer she might well have been in danger of succumbing, so she was glad it came abruptly to an end when he had been sent off to join the navy. How free I was. The thought suddenly came to her. Left to her own devices she had had experiences far beyond those of most young Scottish women.

  From eighteen she had been constantly thrown into the company of so-called eligible young men from the Aberdeen gentry, but none had caught her fancy and, thankfully, Aunt Jeannie had successfully defended her from her grandmother’s increasingly insistent demands. She had been saved by coming to Singapore, of that she was in no doubt. Here, with no elders to exert pressure, there was no hurry to marry, though she was definitely considered eligible in many quarters and might have her pick of several men. So how on earth could she entertain the idea of a dangerous liaison with a man from a country and culture she knew nothing about? That he felt a powerful attraction to her, she was very sure.

  24

  In Baba Tan’s house, another woman was running her hands mentally over Zhen’s face and body. Tan’s eldest daughter, Noan, was sitting in front of her mirror daydreaming. She was a pretty girl, with deep brown eyes, a button nose and a plump, round face. Except for her skin which was a shade too dark, her looks were perfect. Moon-shaped faces and short noses were the height of Peranakan good looks.

  She was brushing her black hair preparing for bed. She had dismissed her maid, an act so unusual that the girl had looked terrified.

  Now, putting down her brush, Noan rose and began to take off her baju panjang, the long coat all nonyas wore over their sarongs. Underneath was a bodice which she slowly raised over her head, releasing her breasts. She stood contemplating her image in the mirror, turning to the side and front, pulling her long hair over her chest and flicking it back. She was pleased with what she saw. Her breasts were large and firm, everything to please her new husband. At this thought of Zhen, she raised her hands and touched her nipples, which immediately became erect. Slightly ashamed, she put on her nightdress and removed her sarong.

  She was not entirely naive. She had married cousins, and she often heard them talking when they didn’t know she was around. She knew men liked to touch women’s breasts. Since the news of her betrothal had been announced, her mother had begun to talk about what she should expect on her wedding night. Noan knew that they would lie in the same bed together and that her husband would put his ‘appendage’ into her. That’s what her mother had called it: the appendage. How this would happen was something of a mystery. She had seen her little male cousins naked and knew what this appendage was, but how such a little floppy thing could go into her she had no idea. Once this happened, her mother said, it might hurt a little bit and there could be a small amount of blood. Noan was rather scared of this but her mother reassured her. The sheets would be kept as proof of her maidenhood and the consummation of the marriage. This was all perfectly routine.

  Then, her mother said, he would move around until he had finished and put a seed inside her. This seed would grow and eventually become a baby. Noan wanted to ask her mother what it had been like on her first night. She had so many other questions, too, but she did not dare ask. The subject was already embarrassing enough.

  She raised her nightdress and took off her underclothes and examined the lower half of her body. She frowned. She was shapely; her waist was small, but she didn’t like her ankles which she felt were too thick. She began to touch herself and, raising her leg onto a chair, examined herself in the mirror. With a moue she lowered her nightgown and sat down on the chair. Her mother had told her that it was best to just let her husband do whatever he wanted. Not all women liked it, she said, but it was part of her duties.

  She let her mind roam over Zhen’s face. She was so lucky to know what her future husband looked like. She had mentioned this to no one. She was sure she would quite like whatever he did because she already knew she wanted to kiss his lips and touch him. At this thought, a little pulse began to throb between her legs. Raising her skirt, she parted her legs a little and contemplated this sensation. It had happened before but, this time, it felt much stronger, and she instinctively put her hand down and began to rub between the lips. This felt very good, and she let out a low moan. Horrified, she stopped. Moving away from the mirror, she went to her small embroidery table and began rather furiously to bead the mungot kasok, the shoe face of the extra slippers she was making for her wedding day.

  The freedom of her early childhood had ended abruptly at twelve years old. Since then she had spent her days in this house preparing herself for marriage. She had learned how to pound the spices for the hot dishes, bake the nonya cakes and become expert at embroidery. She had made exquisitely beaded slippers for her husband-to-be for the exchange of gifts ceremony. She had sewn the phoenixes and peonies, the down-turned bats and the butterflies on the red curtain of the wedding bed. She had just put the finishing touches to the heavily embroidered handkerchief she would carry attached to her ring finger on her wedding day. This would display her skills publicly, and she was proud of her workmanship, which she dedicated to Zhi Nu, the fairy daughter of the Emperor of Heaven and Goddess of the Loom. Noan kept a painted image of Zhi Nu, the weaver maid who spun the silky robes for the heavenly hosts, made the gossamer clouds in the sky and wove the tapestry of the constellations.

  She knew exactly how to prepare the sireh for her mother and old aunts from the gold-and-lacquer set her mother had been given when she herself had been betrothed to Noan’s father. She knew how to take the betel leaf, cut the areca nut, put in the lime paste and fold the quid. She had been permitted to chew since she had turned fifteen but had not much liked it. However, this practice was so central to a nonya’s social life that she was given no choice. The men never took sireh, which was considered a feminine prerogative, preferring tobacco.

  When the old women gathered for games of cherki and gossip she was kept busy keeping them supplied with sireh and emptying the porcelain spittoons which soon filled up with the red spit which emerged with regularity from their m
ouths. Many of the older women had stumpy teeth and mouths that looked like they were filled with blood. Some could no longer chew, and for them she had to pound the mixture in a pestle until it was soft. In Peranakan society, white teeth on a woman were considered to be animal-like. Obedience to her mother and constant practice had reconciled her to it, and she was pleased that her mouth and teeth had become stained pink.

  Now the marriage for which she had been preparing for the last four years was nearly here. The horoscopes of herself and Zhen had been passed to the sinseh, the diviner, and the union had received his blessing. This was a huge hurdle, for nobody dared risk defiance of an unfavourable horoscope. Tan had paid the sinseh very well. There would be no obstacle to the marriage. The sinseh had chosen auspicious dates for the pre-nuptial rituals, and the wedding itself which was some months away.

  The mistress of ceremonies, the sangkek um, had been booked. Eventually Noan’s mother would choose the various bridal gowns to be worn over the ceremony, which would last twelve days. The sangkek um had a large array of richly embroidered and beautiful costumes for this special event. She had jewellery, too, for less well-off families, but Nonya Tan did not need it. Her household had the finest jewels in Singapore.

  The bridal room in Tan’s house had been selected. The elaborately decorated wedding bed would arrive from China within weeks. Tan’s own wedding bed had come from China, and he had ordered his first daughter’s when she had turned fifteen.

  Noan put aside her beading. As she lay on her bed she began to cry. She had spent years preparing for just this event, but now she felt like a small child, alone and afraid. She turned and buried her head in her pillow.