The Red Thread

by Dawn Farnham

  ‘Do not stand at my grave and weep

  I am not there. I do not sleep.

  I am a thousand winds that blow,

  I am the diamond glints on snow,

  I am the sunlight on ripened grain,

  I am the gentle autumn’s rain.

  When you awaken in the morning’s hush,

  I am the swift uplifting rush

  Of quiet birds in circled flight,

  I am the soft starshine at night.

  Do no stand at my grave and cry,

  I am not there. I did not die.’

  Yes, she had said, and felt its strange consoling power. For all the history of grief an empty doorway. She was relieved that George had accepted his daughter’s death now, moved through the empty doorway and found somewhere on the other side to ease his heart.

  George’s passage was booked. As soon as she had said farewell to him, she would write to Takouhi.

  Thinking of this, she said firmly, ‘Zhen, no. I cannot come.’

  He looked at her, stricken to the heart. His emotion was so visible on his face—a face which rarely showed expression—that she could not help herself. She moved into his arms, put her head against his chest, holding him. It would always be like this, she knew, for as long as she stayed in Singapore.

  ‘All right,’ she relented, ‘tonight.’

  He kissed her hand, holding it against his cheek, loving her, amazed that three words could take him from the blackest cave to the wide, blue sky.

  When Charlotte got home, she opened the little box with the nutmegs she had collected on each visit to the orchard. They had withered now, lost their black-and-red brilliance, but the scent was so potent it conjured up images of him on the air.

  She put the box away and went out to the verandah, looking down past the fort to the Chinese town. Robert was not at home, and she knew that if she left him a note, he would not be concerned for her.

  Azan brought her some rice, curry and tea, and she sat, quietly, watching the sun go down. She thought of Robert’s house at Katong and wished she could have spent a night with Zhen, there by the sea, only the birds to hear them sighing.

  One of the pantuns the munshi had given her came to mind:

  ‘Last night, about the moon I dreamt

  And tumbling nuts of coco palm

  Last night with you in dreams I spent

  And pillowed lay upon your arm’

  Then she suddenly recalled another:

  ‘Twere better not in dreams to trust

  For where are dreams when comes the morn?’

  Yes, thought Charlotte. Where are dreams when comes the morn? Taking a slip of paper she wrote a note to Robert.

  As she crossed the river, the light left the sky, and she saw the moon, full and bright. The moon. She could never escape it, and so she could never escape the memory of him.

  He was waiting for her by the door and smiled, lifting her inside and throwing the bolt.

  43

  The entire town seemed to have turned out to wish George farewell. Bonham had held a banquet in his honour at Government House, a splendid affair, for he was truly sorry to see Coleman depart. They had known and liked each other these twenty years. Every person of any importance had come from all over the settlement. From the hill they had looked down on the town and harbour, every ship, every boat, every road, every house lit with a profusion of lamps and flaming torches, so that George might see what he had built.

  Boat Quay was ablaze with yellow lamps and scarlet lanterns. Now fireworks began, their myriad colours fizzing and whizzing, exploding on the night air. The Chinese community had spared no expense in their wish to honour the man who had worked so tirelessly for them and built them their elegant palaces of trade. It was a sight so beautiful that even the governor had a small tear in his eye, remembering Coleman’s time with him when they had both been so much younger. He had watched George build this town into the Queen of the East. George was touched, and could not, for once, find anything sardonic or witty to say.

  The barque Midlothian awaited him, and thousands of people had gathered on the plain, the band of the Madras Regiment and all the officers lined up to offer the salute. All the boats from the river, decorated with a rainbow of fluttering flags, had come out and in lines three deep from the jetty to the ship formed a guard of honour for the cutter which would carry George to the barque. Bands had formed on the different boats, playing Malay, Javanese and Chinese music, so that a general cacophony filled the air.

  The night before George had said farewell to Robert and Charlotte, John and Billy and several of his other close friends in a quiet way in the sitting room of Tir Uaidhne, sharing memories, recalling good times. For John Connolly it was a double heartbreak, for he was sure that Charlotte, too, meant to go.

  Today it took George two hours to shake the hands of everyone who had gathered, and he was overcome with this rousing farewell. Then George smiled and waved and got into the cutter. As it pulled away from the jetty, the regimental band began to play. When he passed, the boatmen cheered and banged their oars, almost drowning them out. Gongs banged, guns and firecrackers went off. The uproar was deafening. As the anchor was raised and the barque turned to depart, Colonel Murchison gave the order and the eleven cannon at the fort boomed a salute. A mighty cheer went up from the town. Charlotte strained to see her friend, watching long after the town had returned to its occupations and the ship was a mere smudge on the horizon.

  From the rocks below the fort, Zhen watched the ship. He knew that Charlotte’s friend was leaving today and felt sad for her. Baba Tan was amongst those who regretted this man’s departure, so Zhen presumed he must have been a good fellow. He respected Baba Tan’s opinions of others, for he had found a deep affection for his father-in-law which far surpassed that for his daughter.

  His spirits were light, for his last meeting with Xia Lou had been passionate beyond his wildest dreams. In the morning, she had woken him with kisses and made love to him langorously, half asleep still, moving her body on his. She had come to him again two days later; he could not believe his good fortune. She had promised to come again, but two weeks had passed. He was impatient about this, but so busy now, too, with his new business, and there would now be celebrations in the Tan house. This morning Noan had shyly told him that she was pregnant, and he was so delighted that he had taken her in his arms and held her, knowing that now he could safely leave her alone. With his obligation fulfilled, his sleeping outside the Tan mansion would find no objection. The only problem in the house was the second daughter. He had said nothing, but she had come to him one evening, finding him in the robing room, and, like a shameless minx, had lifted her sarong and put his hand between her legs. He had stopped her and pushed her out of the room, but he knew he must be sure never to be alone with her.

  Charlotte finally turned and went into the bungalow. In her room she sat looking at her reflection in the mirror. Then, taking pen and paper, she began to write to Takouhi.

  When Robert came home that afternoon, she told him she was leaving. Robert felt a little guilty at his relief. The visits to Zhen had become too frequent. John Connolly had been to see him, asking about Charlotte’s whereabouts on certain evenings. Robert had not known what to say, had lied as best he could, but he knew this could not go on.

  ‘Robbie, will you tell him after I’ve left? I cannot bear to say goodbye, and he will surely be half-crazed and may do something we would all regret.’

  ‘Aye, Kitt, I will. It’s the best course of action. When things have settled down and you feel calmer, come back, eh, for I shall sorely miss you.’

  Tan was so pleased with Zhen’s news that he had left the godown and gone home immediately. He called Noan to him, and she had bowed to him, ‘smiling. This was a splendid day, Tan thought. A grandchild on the way, and the negotiations almost complete for the second concubine. He thought he might bring this one into the house, for he did not want to be out and about at all hours of the nig
ht every time he wanted to lie with her. His wife would just have to put up with it. Anyway, she’d have enough to do with the grandchild. To make things even better, he had a prospective husband for the second daughter lined up, for Zhen had recommended a young coolie working in one of the European godowns.

  Zhen had not seen Charlotte for weeks. She no longer taught at the chapel. Father Lee said she had been indisposed, which turned out to mean sick. Alarmed, he had gone to the police house, but she was not there, and the brother had rather stonily told him that his sister was better, thank you. Then, one day at the godown, he saw Robert talking to his father-in-law. Robert had heard the news of the grandchild and come to congratulate Tan. Zhen moved towards the small office and listened.

  ‘Yes, that’s right. I’m surprised you’ve heard.’

  Tan said he had heard rumours about Robert’s sister departing from John Connolly, who had appeared distraught. Obviously the man had some inclinations in that direction. He liked Charlotte, expressed his sadness but did not dare ask more.

  Robert left then, rather annoyed at John’s ill-thought-out comments. It was all very well having designs on his sister, but he ought to keep his tongue inside his head. Charlotte had seemed better recently. She had been quite low for a while, but Robert assumed that it was as much sickness of the heart as of any other part of her.

  As he moved along the quay over the canal bridge, he was astonished to be confronted with the man who was responsible for this heartsickness.

  ‘Can I speak to you?’ Zhen demanded.

  Robert pursed his lips. Really the fellow had done quite enough mischief. He would have liked to put a fist in his face, but still he was the baba’s son-in-law and might one day, who knows, be useful as a contact in the secret societies. Robert’s policing instincts got the better of him and he asked, ‘What is it?’

  ‘Sister leave Singapore?’

  Well, he certainly came straight to the point. What a cheek; none of his business. Well, perhaps it was, in a warped kind of way. And he had saved her life. Robert knew he should say nothing, had promised Charlotte only to speak to the fellow after she had left, but, well, here Zhen was, asking him a direct question.

  ‘Aye, yes. My sister is leaving Singapore soon.’

  If Robert had expected a reaction, he was disappointed. Zhen’s face was impassive. Really, he thought, you could never tell what these Orientals were thinking. Made them hard to deal with, especially the ones from China.

  Without a word Zhen bowed, turned and disappeared down a small lane leading to Circular Road.

  Extraordinary. Perhaps if Charlotte knew how little he cared, it might do her good, thought Robert, angry for her, wishing now he had never agreed to the whole thing. Women were terribly vulnerable to blackguards like this. He should have seen that, taken better care of her. But at bottom Robert knew he would never have been able to impose authority on his sister.

  Zhen walked along Circular Road to South Bridge Road and turned past the gaol, then went as far as the Indian temple, his mind a complete blank. He stopped, a feeling of desperation coming over him. He turned and began to walk back the way he had come. Clouds scudded overhead, casting darkness on the ground as they passed over the sun.

  Tan had not seen Zhen depart, and only when he called for him did one of the coolies tell him he had gone down the quay. Putting on his black top hat, he went outside and gazed the length of the promenade towards the bridge, but there was so much traffic and activity there that he couldn’t see anything. Then, just as Tan was about to turn back into the godown, he saw him. Zhen was in a sampan which was sculling quickly down river. What by all the gods was his son-in-law doing on the river?

  He watched as Zhen got out at the landing and walked quickly along the bank and disappeared towards the European town. Tan could not understand what Zhen was doing and, curious now, began to walk along the quay towards the fort. As he got to Tanjong Tangkap, he stopped. Now he could see Zhen in conversation with a fellow at the police office. Suddenly Tan’s mind began to make connections. Miss Mah Crow was leaving, and Zhen was at the police office, suddenly disturbed. Could it be—?

  All at once, Tan knew it. The woman Zhen had been seeing all this time was Miss Mah Crow! The devil!

  Tan was not especially annoyed. Rather, he was impressed at this young man’s prowess. Tan had sometimes wondered what it would be like with a white woman. Well, carrying on with Miss Mah Crow and getting his daughter pregnant! He certainly had energy. Still, it was probably just as well that the sister was leaving. That could have become very complicated. He would have had to put a stop to it at once. He continued to watch until Zhen abruptly turned and walked around the police office, and Tan lost sight of him going along High Street.

  The man had said Miss Mah Crow was at her friend’s house, Miss Mah Nuk. Zhen was confused. He thought the friend had left with the sick child. He walked until he saw the white house, which looked completely deserted. He went into the garden and under the huge porte-cochere. The white men had amazing buildings, was his first thought. Every one a palace. One day he would like a house like this. Build it for her.

  A bolt of lightning fizzed and crackled across the sky. A great roll of thunder boomed overhead, and he ducked involuntarily. Zhen sensed a bad squall and knew the boats out on the harbour would be turning tail and racing to the river mouth before they became deluged by the storm. Certainly by now Tan would be wondering where he was, but he did not care. He’d given the blasted man a grandchild.

  He could see a dense black cloud rising from behind the distant islands and quickly overspreading the sky.

  The door to the mansion was locked, and he began to circumnavigate the building. He heard a clack of shutters closing. Someone was inside. Convinced it was Charlotte, he went to the back of the building and found a door slightly ajar. As the first drops of rain fell, he went inside. It was dark, but he could make out a corridor. This led to a storeroom and kitchen area.

  He continued deeper into the house and came to a tiled hallway. Several rooms led off this hallway, and he peered inside each of them. There was furniture, stores of some sort, but no living person. Now he came to the large main entrance hallway and looked up the great height to the chandelier. There was a room off to one side, where the door stood open and he could see light. Going quickly across the hall, he pushed the door open and saw her.

  She was packing some of Takouhi’s china into a wooden chest. Tigran was coming personally in his ship to take her to Batavia. With Takouhi’s welcoming response to her letter had come a request to bring with her personal items and gifts from George. Charlotte hoped against hope that when time had passed, Takouhi would return to him.

  Hearing the movement in the doorway, Charlotte turned.

  She was so surprised to see him standing there that she almost dropped the little crystal vase she was wrapping.

  He crossed the room and took the vase out of her hand, throwing it to one side. She heard the glass shattering as it crashed onto the tiled floor. He swept her into his arms and went out into the hall. He said not one word, and she suddenly didn’t care what happened. She dropped her head on to his shoulder.

  He went up the marble staircase and onto the long landing. There he found a big room with a huge bed standing in the middle of it. The shutters let in a little watery light. Zhen moved through the gauzy netting and lay her down. Lightning and thunder sizzled and rippled across the sky, and the rain began, blotting out all sound but its own watery lament.

  44

  The Queen of the South stood waiting in the harbour. It was not yet dawn, and the sun was still below the horizon like a tiger waiting to pounce on the day. She and Robert had watched as it sailed closer, threading through the squat Siamese craft, half square-rigs, half junks, the sleek English vessels and the long-prowed Sumatran ships. Charlotte could see the oculus, the eye, large, black and white, keeping a close watch on the steely cobalt of the deep ocean. She was certain that Tigran was on boar
d.

  The anchor fell into the sea. She felt the splash she could not hear, and her heart sank down with it to the depths. The hour had come. She could already see the cutter being swung out over the sea, ready for lowering, quivering, as if impatient to be where she was waiting.

  She had made her brief farewells to her acquaintances. She was on a visit to Takouhi, to pay honour to Meda’s resting place. Miss Aratoun had smiled coldly and wished her Godspeed. Mrs Keaseberry had been sad, liking this young woman with whom she had spent many hours in conversation. Charlotte, too, was sad to leave this other Charlotte, for Mrs Keaseberry had been ill, and in the tropics lives were precarious.

  The da Silva girls had cried briefly, then asked her to write with all the news of Batavia. Charlotte realised how little she had seen of these women over the last weeks and months. Her greatest sorrow was leaving Evangeline, and she had made promises of rapid return she was not sure she could keep.

  There was a knock at the door, and Robert went out. For ten days Zhen had watched, knowing this ship and its purpose.

  Every day he had searched in his mind for wisdoms to deal with this hand of ice creeping round his heart, the bleak and passionless future which lay ahead without her.

  ‘Double curtains hang deep in the room of Never Grieve

  She lies down, and moment by moment the cool evening lengthens

  The lifetime he shared with the goddess was always a dream