The Red Thread

by Dawn Farnham

  Before long the chair was back. The bride dismounted onto a red mat covering the ground and stepped over a saddle which had been placed on the threshold for ‘saddle’ and ‘tranquillity’ had the same sound. As she did so, an attendant flashed light on her from a mirror. Now Qian could separate the curtain of beads and take a first look at his future wife.

  Swan Neo, from behind her beads, had contemplated him as she entered the room, this male she was offered to like an egg at breakfast. He looked all right. He was slight—she would have preferred a bigger man—but it did not matter, he was not repulsive, and she did not have to care for him. All he had to do was give her a son.

  He walked towards her and, hands trembling slightly, separated the curtain and looked at her. She was pretty, he could see. Her face was thin, almost boyish. She had lowered her eyes but now looked directly at him before he let the curtain fall together. This was the man that would change everything in this filthy house, she thought. With the death of her old husband and the arrival of Qian, Sang’s first wife’s position had altered. With neither husband, son or grandson, she was reduced to a side role. Now it was the daughter of the second wife who would hold sway, especially if a son was born to them. Even without this, Qian would be the man in the house after today.

  Zhen could only see her from the back, but she looked slender. His mind flashed to his own marriage and what his bride might look like. He thought of Charlotte, couldn’t wait for tomorrow. If she was not at the chapel, he would go by her bungalow and find out what was going on.

  The couple now left the room, followed by all the guests, and were conducted to Sang’s family altar where they paid homage to heaven and earth and bowed to each other. The marriage was complete. Next they were led to the bridal chamber. Again all the relatives and guests followed them, ribbing them good-heartedly as they both sat on the ornately carved marriage bed covered in red silk pillows and coverlets bearing huge embroidered double happiness characters. Zhen could see Qian looking embarrassed and joined the others in making ribald remarks.

  Finally the wedding banquet began in the great hall, all the men seated as dishes of shark’s fin soup, pork, chicken, fried vegetables, rice and noodles succeeded each other. The women were eating in another hall towards the back. Servants ran around bringing dishes and taking plates like an army of ants. Zhen knew Ah Pok was helping out in the kitchen.

  As the day drew to a close, Qian and his new wife were finally accompanied, once again, to the bridal chamber. This time the bride had removed her phoenix crown and its glassy curtain, and Zhen saw her face for the first time. She was thin and quite pretty, but her skin looked tired. He reflected that she was in for a bit of a shock later on.

  Zhen said goodbye and left. He was a little drunk from the rice wine at the banquet. Suddenly, in the midst of nuptials and bridal beds, he couldn’t wait any longer to see Charlotte. It was only a short distance down the street to the river. There were other guests leaving and moving towards the river, and he joined them until he saw the police bungalow on his left.

  He let the group go on and dropped back. Slipping into the garden of the bungalow, he climbed the back steps from the servants’ quarters. Azan came out immediately. Zhen’s Malay was quite bad, but he asked to see Miss Mah Crow. Azan eyed him suspiciously but went to the door and called his mistress.

  Charlotte’s breath quickened when she saw him. How had he dared come? Thank the Lord, Robert was out and there were only two peons on duty in the office. Reassuring Azan, she motioned Zhen to come.

  As soon as he got inside, he took her waist and quickly looked into one of the rooms, moving her inside and closing the door.

  His lips were on hers in seconds. His arms were on either side of her, holding her against the wall, imprisoning her. She returned his kiss, casting reason to the wind.

  Holding her in this kiss, he began to pull up her skirts. Charlotte, at first alarmed, succumbed and pulled up her petticoats, revealing her pantalettes with the long slit. He slid his hand between her legs, into her, still kissing her. As his hand moved, Charlotte started to moan, and then suddenly remembered where she was. She pushed his hand away and pushed down her skirt, put her fingers to her lips. She could hear movements. She was sure Azan or Mo was spying.

  Whispering, she told him she would come to his house. His lips tasted of rice wine, and she could see he was a little drunk. She remembered that today was Qian’s wedding day.

  ‘Go now. I’ll come in half an hour.’

  She drew on her hand the Chinese signs for three and ten and minute. Zhen was pleased and understood. He nodded and redrew the characters for thirty on his hand and looked at her fiercely. ‘Come,’ he meant. ‘I can’t wait.’ As if to underline this longing, he took her once again in his arms, kissing her mouth, her neck, putting her hand against his erection. She felt her legs get weak, basking in his need of her, wanting him.

  Then she put her hands on his shoulders, pushing him away from her, smiling. She put her fingers to her lips and opened the door, peeping into the hall. Azan was seated just outside the back door, peeling garlic and trying not to look as if he was peering inside.

  Charlotte fixed her hair quickly and in a loud voice thanked Zhen and showed him out through the front door by the river. Zhen was still hard, and he had trouble walking, but he went slowly down to the landing stage and sat for a few minutes before getting a sampan across to the quay.

  His house was empty. How long Ah Pok would be away Zhen was not sure. Really, Zhen thought, this is so complicated. All he wanted to do was make love to the woman he loved, and it needed all this secrecy. He sighed, remembering the feel of her, anticipating her arrival. When she arrived he would bolt the door. After the last time, he had had a manly chat with Ah Pok and explained the situation. He had a woman. She was a mixed-blood girl, half Chinese, but she dressed in English clothes. She might visit him sometimes. When she did, he would want Ah Pok to disappear for a few hours. If the door was bolted he should stay away until the following morning.

  Now Zhen was impatient for Charlotte to arrive, waiting by the open door, watching for her. She had been clever this time. How smart she was. She was wearing a sarong and a shawl over her bodice. Her hat was new; he did not recognise it or the veil that covered her face.

  Charlotte had left the police house with the sarong under her skirt, her hat in a large cotton bag. Once on the other side, she had paid the boatman and walked down by Mr Johnstone’s old rickety and cavernous godown, where she knew there were dark corners. Here she had slipped out of her cotton skirt and pushed it into her bag. She wore nothing under the sarong or her bodice. She felt utterly bad. She had, to her surprise, become devious, like the wanton island woman her grandmother imagined her mother to be. Just walking through the streets like this made her excited, and she almost ran to Zhen’s house.

  ‘Make me mistress to the man I love;

  If there be yet another name more free,

  More fond than mistress, make me that to thee!

  Oh happy state! when souls each other draw,

  When love is liberty, and nature, law;

  All then is full, possessing, and possess’d.

  No craving void left aching in the breast;

  Ev’n thought meets thought, ere from the lips it part,

  And each warm wish springs mutual from the heart.

  This, sure, is bliss (if bliss on earth there be)

  And is the lot of this man and me’

  He pulled her inside and shot the bolt across the door. He was naked to the waist, his beauty displayed. He pulled off her hat as she threw off her shawl and undid her bodice, showing him her soft skin. He drew her against his chest. She pulled the cord on his trousers, which slithered to the floor. He was ready for her, naked, burning hot, starved, and she looked at him, her eyes glittering, smelling the oil on him. She raised the sarong. There was a low stool by the door, and he sat, pulling her. Her legs straddled his hips and she sighed as she sank onto him
, reaching for the thick queue on his neck, dropping her mouth to his, possessing and possessed in the dimming light.

  36

  Noan had put the final touches to the embroidered slippers. The red curtain of the bridal bed was complete, covered profusely in embroidered pink peonies, blue and yellow butterflies, flying purple phoenixes, white cranes and pink peaches. The gold-and-red bed of nam wood was carved from canopy to floor with flying bats, double fish, vases, flowers, deer, the eight Taoist immortals, the eight Buddhist symbols and a dozen other animals and plants. The silk curtain was held back with big gold and silver hooks, and small delicate baskets of filigree silver hung from the central post, holding tiny silver pomegranates and Buddha’s hand. Other silver hangings of the eternal knot and the tai chi surrounded the canopy. Covering this shrine to fertility and wealth was a red silken bedcover and numerous embroidered cushions and bolsters, finished off with exquisitely worked chased-silver pillow plates.

  Every inch of the bridal room was covered in carpets of red and gold. A washstand in these same colors stood between the windows, which were covered in thick curtains of white Portuguese lace. The an chng bed-blessing ceremony would take place after the betrothal day, which was now only a week away.

  Noan looked at the beautiful bed, longing already to be lying next to Zhen, wishing the next three weeks to simply fly away. She had hardly eaten a thing since the wedding date had been fixed, desperate to slim down her legs and bottom, to be appealing to him. She was worried about her period. It had finished only a few days ago. She was now hideously anxious that it might begin again before the wedding night, imagining him repulsed by the sight of her blood, not wanting to touch her.

  Her mother came and locked the room. After the betrothal, the whole house would be cleaned from top to bottom meticulously. This room in particular would be utterly spotless for the blessing.

  Noan went downstairs with her mother to help the cooks prepare the dishes which her father had ordered. It was time to introduce Zhen to Peranakan cooking. From today, Tan would take lunch with his prospective son-in-law at the godown, introducing him to the dishes he would encounter on his wedding day and thereafter at family meals. That he should enjoy their food was important to Tan, for the spices and tastes of this cuisine were central to the identity of their multi-facetted culture, and he knew the men from China did not always appreciate it. He would begin with something relatively anodyne.

  Today Noan was making chap chye, bean-thread vermicelli with mushrooms, soya beans, cabbage and garlic. She spooned this dish into the pink, green and yellow kamcheng pot covered with peonies and butterflies. In another she poured the bakwan kepiting, the soup of pork, fish and crab balls, with garlic and bamboo shoots. She added a covered dish of spicy sambal, made from shrimp paste, chillies, salt and sugar. Her mother had let drop that this food might be shared by ‘a young man’, for she, too, was eagerly looking forward to this union and was happy to see the pleasure in her daughter’s eyes.

  Noan had paid particular attention to the food and ladled it lovingly, willing Zhen to sense her feelings in the dishes she had prepared. These dishes were tied into a bundle for delivery to the godown. She added fluffy white rice and small, dried fish, black lacquered chopsticks and two bowls, white with blue flowers. She imagined him taking the food with the chopsticks, putting it in his mouth, holding the bowl, and she closed her eyes. Her mother called the delivery boy, and Noan watched as the food left the house, wishing more than anything she could go with it, then flushing at this naughty thought. Then she began to prepare her mother’s meal.

  Zhen’s head was full of Charlotte. He could still taste her on his lips, even as he took up the chopsticks and tried the food from Tan’s house. The food was good; he recognised that—even tried the spicy sambal to please Tan. It was too hot and sour for him, but he tried not to show it, wanting to please his future father-in-law, happy that he trusted him and was putting no obstacle between him and Xia Lou. For Zhen was in no doubt that Tan knew he was seeing a woman.

  Tan was delighted at Zhen’s reaction. Actually, he thought the food was especially good today and ate heartily.

  He was leaving the woman business alone for the moment. However, he would speak to Zhen as the wedding night approached. It would not do to have Zhen too depleted to fulfill his duties to his daughter. Tan had invested in this man and expected a swift pregnancy.

  For the moment, they shared the food and talked of Qian’s recent wedding, so quiet, so short, so different from what Zhen could expect. The Peranakan marriage lasted twelve full days, and each day required a different costume. Zhen’s were almost complete. All that was left was the preparation of the pair of white silk jackets and trousers cut from the same piece of cloth, which the couple would wear the night of the vowing ceremony and which would be their nuptial garments. This cutting ceremony would take place at Zhen’s house directly after the betrothal. The old woman who would cut the cloth had already been selected. She was perfect, Tan confided to Zhen, for her family was intact: husband, son, daughter and grandchildren all alive. It was by no means an easy matter to find such a woman here in Singapore. In fact, he was bringing her from Malacca. Tan still maintained a large house there, where his two old aunts lived. They would all be coming for this happy occasion.

  As Tan babbled on happily, Zhen thought about Charlotte. Although he had wanted her to stay, she had not dared, worried that Robert would return. She had left after an hour with slow reluctance, tearing her lips from his, dragging herself away. Then she had come to the godown this morning, ostensibly to see Baba Tan. She was relieved, though to see he was not there. The place was full of coolies loading and unloading the lighters at the front, but Zhen had taken her through to the dark back of the godown amongst the bales of Indian cotton, not caring what the coolies thought. The old man wasn’t here, and Tan’s chief clerk was at his sago factories upriver. Charlotte had followed him, watching the movement of his naked back, the beads of sweat that gathered in the small of it. He was always half-naked when he worked in the day. How clever the Chinese were not to bother with clothes in this climate.

  She had not expected this time, but she was so totally transformed by him now that she thought nothing of pulling up her dress, exposing herself. Do it, do it, here in the dust and dark. He smiled at how shameless she had become, knowing he had created it, liking it, loving her. She climbed up and leaned back on the bale, parting her legs, looking at him through half-closed eyes. He put his fingers to his mouth, sh, then put his mouth to her, and she watched him as he brought her to a sigh, holding his face in her hands, feeling his breath, the sensual movement of his jaw. He pulled her into his arms, kissing and kissing.

  ‘Give me a kisse, and to that kisse a score;

  Then to that twenty, add a hundred more;

  A thousand to that hundred; so kisse on,

  To make that thousand up a million;

  Treble that million, and when that is done;

  Let’s kisse afresh, as when we first begun.’

  When he released her, breathless, she told him that she would come in the evening to his house and stay all night.

  Aiya, Zhen thought, filled with anticipation. There would be time for everything.

  Robert had told her he would be spending time with Shilah, so not to expect him. He had looked at her then quite intensely, and she could see he knew. She wondered if Robert had brought it up with George.

  ‘Be careful, Kitt, and use this,’ was all he said. He had given her a small bottle, and, to her amazement, she saw it was the same oil Zhen used with her, although Robert’s smelled more strongly of oniony earth.

  So she had come to Zhen last night, all night, and he had given her food on his chopsticks from all the little plates the hawker had brought, trying to explain each dish, she laughing at his awful English, he laughing too at his awful English, saying the Chinese words, laughing at her awful Chinese. They were joyful at being alone together, anticipating the night to co
me. Then he made her the good tea, asking her to smell the aroma, share in his pleasure. They had washed each other langorously, taking their time, kissing and touching on the cool wet tiles. Then they had made love and slept and made love again until the gun woke them all too soon. As he kissed her at the door, he held her, lifting her, not wanting her to leave. He did not know when they would meet again.

  Tan was still babbling on about the wedding. Then in the doorway appeared Qian. Zhen bowed to Tan and excused himself, thanking him for the delicious meal. He was dying to find out how Qian’s wedding night had gone. Tan magnanimously offered to let the two men sit on the verandah for a while. In any case, he felt like a visit to his concubine and, telling his chief clerk he was leaving, he called for his carriage.

  After Tan left, the two friends went to the cool, dark interior of the godown. The day was very hot but felt stormy. Sweat trickled off them both, and Zhen removed his jacket. Qian could not help getting an eyeful but now felt strangely unaffected.

  Zhen looked his friend in the eye.

  ‘Well, you big girlie, how did it go?’

  ‘Fine. Mind your own business. You’re next, eh, thunder head?’

  Zhen shook his head and laughed.

  ‘No, you don’t. I’ll have no problem on the wedding night; don’t you worry. My bride will be purring. What about yours?’

  Qian reflected on the night of his marriage and the morning after. It had been unexpected, to say the least. They had sat on the bed as the final visitors departed and closed the door.