Pelangi Haven

by Karen Van Der Zee

  'Well, hello there. I didn't see you coming.'

  'Hi. Boy what a mess!'

  'It's not so bad. You're lucky. From what I hear some people lost their

  entire roof, not to speak of all the damage to the crops.'

  She nodded. 'I won't complain. Did anybody get hurt?'

  He shook his head. 'Not seriously. Just minor scrapes and bruises.'

  Linden surveyed the mangled steps and overhang. 'Do you know

  someone who can fix this?'

  He rubbed his muddy hands on the side of his jeans. 'Not

  immediately. I checked. Everybody is busy right now. The roofs

  obviously have priority. But we can get you a bamboo ladder so you

  can at least get in and out of the place.' He surveyed the rubble

  around him. 'First we'd better get that palm out of the way. I'll get an

  axe and chop it into manageable pieces.'

  She frowned. 'Are you sure we can't find someone to do that? You

  have work to do. I don't like to take your time.'

  He shrugged. 'It'll be a lot faster if I just do it. Besides, some hard

  physical work will do .me good.' He grinned and flexed the muscles

  of his back and shoulders. 'It might help me get rid of all the knots

  from sleeping on the damn couch. The thing is only about three feet

  too short.'

  She looked pained. 'I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Please don't give me a guilt

  complex.'

  'All right. Make me another cup of coffee and we'll be even. Dry

  yourself off first. There's another sarong in the closet in my bedroom.

  Second shelf from the top. I'll be up in ten minutes.'

  She flip-flopped back through the mud, the soaked sarong clinging to

  her. She'd pay a small fortune to be able to get into her house and get

  some decent clothes, or at least a bra and a shirt. She must look a

  sight.

  The mirror in the bathroom confirmed her suspicions. Her hair had

  dried while she slept and looked wild and unkempt, sticking out in

  weird waves and peaks. And now it was wet again from the rain. I

  look like a madwoman, she thought, and couldn't control a chuckle.

  If that didn't turn Justin off romantically, nothing would.

  With Justin's brush she tried to make some order out of her unruly

  mane, but it was a hopeless endeavour. There had to be a rubber band

  somewhere, so she could at least tie it back. But short of digging

  through his every drawer, she didn't find one any place. In the

  kitchen she discovered a piece of pink raffia packing string. She tried

  to tie it around her hair, but it wouldn't get a good grip and kept

  sliding down as soon as she moved. Well, it had to do for the

  moment.

  She felt like an intruder looking in Justin's closet for a sarong. Not

  that there was anything exciting to be seen there, but it seemed such

  an indiscreet thing to do, even on invitation. Several sarongs were

  right there next to a stack of coloured undershorts. On a shelf below

  were some tee-shirts. Hesitating only for a moment, she picked up

  the one from the top and looked at it. It was much too big for her, but

  at least she wouldn't feel so naked. She pulled it over her head, tied

  the sarong around her waist, pushed up the string in her hair, and set

  off for the kitchen.

  A few minutes later Justin came in, dripping wet, and sat down at the

  small kitchen table which she'd just cleared of his breakfast dishes.

  'I've got the axe,' he announced, drying his hair with a towel Linden

  handed him.

  She placed the coffee in front of him. 'Can I do something?'

  He shook his head. 'It's not much of a job. I'm just going to chop the

  thing in a few pieces so I can move it out of the way. It shouldn't take

  very long.' He drank his coffee gratefully. 'What you can do, if you

  wouldn't mind, is fix us some lunch in an hour or so. Ramayah didn't

  show up this morning, so I expect she has problems of her own

  today.'

  'In an hour? What time is it?'

  He glanced at his watch. 'Eleven-thirty almost.'

  'Good heavens, I just got up.'

  'You did seem to be sleeping peacefully.'

  'You checked up on me?'

  'Just peeked in for a moment before I left.'

  'Hadn't you seen enough?' she asked, mildly mocking.

  He shook his head solemnly, but his eyes were laughing. 'It's never

  enough, don't you know that?'

  She picked up the empty coffee cups and turned without answering.

  'You have a beautiful body, Linden,' he said to her back.

  'Shut up, Justin, I don't want to hear about it.'

  'Very beautiful,' he persisted. 'I had a hard time keeping my hands off

  you last night.' A slight pause. 'You didn't seem to mind. Even asked

  me to stay.'

  'You're a liar.'

  'I'm not. Boy scout's honour.'

  'I don't remember a thing.' She washed the coffee cups, gritting her

  teeth.

  'Who's a liar, sweet Linden?'

  The cup handle snapped off in her hand. 'Damn,' she muttered. 'I

  broke your cup. I'm sorry.'

  He was standing behind her back and put his arms around her, taking

  the cup out of her hand. She stiffened in his embrace.

  'Let go of me, Justin.'

  'You liked it last night. You were all soft, sweet and willing.'

  'I had a belly full of whisky, what did you expect?'

  'Not a belly full. Only one meagre shot.'

  'Well, whatever.' It was hard to try and not move, to try and not feel

  anything.

  He kissed her neck. 'If one shot of whisky is all it takes, we could try

  again tonight.'

  'You can forget it. The rain has stopped, by the way. Why don't you

  take your axe and work out your frustrations on the coconut palm?'

  He straightened and released her. 'You really know how to make a

  guy feel good,' he said sarcastically, and strode out of the kitchen.

  'I try,' she said, smiling sweetly at his retreating back.

  Linden positioned herself in front of the small Chinese temple and

  examined the subject. The temple was on the other side of the village,

  and she'd hired Faisal and his bicycle to transport her easel, stool and

  paints. She'd watched him fearfully as he'd taken off with easel

  balancing precariously on a small platform attached to the back of the

  bike, wondering if the thing would fall off and break in half. It wasn't

  collapsible, which didn't make it an easy object for moving around.

  She'd been feeling better lately, less depressed. Maybe purging her

  misery out on poor Justin's shirt front a few days ago had helped, she

  didn't know. But painting the small temple seemed a good thing to

  do. It certainly was cheerful enough with its red and gold paint and

  colourful carved dragons that sat patiently on the roof waiting for

  who knows what.

  The sun was white and blinding, the sky an endless, brilliant blue.

  Not a cloud to be seen anywhere. It was incredible that only

  yesterday morning she'd woken to the ravishes of the worst storm

  she'd ever seen. That same afternoon she was back in her house,

  climbing a rickety bamboo ladder Justin had found for her.

  Everything had been the way she had left it the night before. The

  kitchen floor was wet, but had been quickly drie
d. A carpenter would

  come tomorrow morning to build new steps and replace the

  overhang. At least she had enough money to pay for the repairs from

  the sale of her painting to the miserable Marinozzi.

  With some quick strokes she drew the outline of the temple on the

  canvas. It would be a challenge this, but she felt up to it today. She

  worked with concentration for a long time, trying to ignore the

  curious onlookers who came by now and then. The faint smell of

  incense was in the air, even here, out in the open. Through the open

  temple doors she could see the glimmer of the huge brass pot that

  held the smoking joss sticks.

  When she got tired, she stopped for a while, sitting down in the grass

  in the shade of a clove tree. She'd brought coffee in a thermos and

  she sipped it slowly, looking around. From where she sat now, the

  angle was different, and with a sudden leap of excitement she noticed

  the simple little church spire with its cross on top poking up into the

  sky behind the ornately carved dragons on the temple roof.

  'Perfect!' she said out loud. She jumped up, almost spilling the coffee,

  and rushed back to her easel. From here she couldn't see the church

  spire. If she moved in order to get the church into view, the temple

  would be seen from a different angle. For an artist no problem. She

  moved the easel, painted in the spire, leaving the temple the way it

  was. After all this was not a photograph. Stepping back, she

  examined her work, chewing at the end of her brush. It was good! It

  still needed a lot of work, but she was getting there. She was filled

  with elation. She wanted to go home and show Justin. Now, before it

  was even finished.

  As she stood there, scrutinising the painting, a momentous realisation

  came to her. I want to show it to Justin, she'd thought. Not I wish

  Waite could see this.'

  For a moment she was overwhelmed by a strange mingling of

  emotions—an utter sense of relief and a deep sorrow.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  JUSTIN was not at home. She couldn't believe it. He was always home

  around this time. It was only half- past twelve. Normally he was at

  his typewriter until one, then had lunch. She felt a deep

  disappointment, out of all proportion, she knew.

  'Where did he go,' she asked Ramayah, and the woman shrugged.

  'He went out in his boat.'

  Out in his boat. 'When will he come back?'

  'Later this afternoon.'

  Linden turned dejectedly and went home. Maybe he had writer's

  block and had decided to clear his head out on the open water. Maybe

  he'd gone to Penang— not that that would make much sense. They

  were going there for Christmas in three days. She stood on her

  verandah and peered out over the sea. At the horizon there were a

  few boats, but they were all fishing trawlers. There wasn't a small

  motor-boat in sight.

  Shrugging, she went inside and had her lunch. Nazirah had made her

  laksa, a sourish fish soup with rice noodles and vegetables, one of her

  specialities. She had sprinkled on the top slices of an edible pink

  flower that made the dish look beautiful and elegant.

  After lunch Linden washed her hair, rinsing out the last of the mud,

  wrote a letter to Liz and another to her sister. Then she picked up a

  Wilbur Smith novel, soon losing herself in the story of pioneer life in

  South Africa—gold mining, elephant hunting, family life in the

  empty bush.

  A loud knocking jerked her back to the present and she jumped up to

  see who was there. The door was open to facilitate the movement of

  air through the house and Mr Marinozzi stood in the doorway with a

  sickly sweet smile on his unshaven face.

  'Good afternoon.'

  She did not smile back. 'Good afternoon. What can I do for you?'

  His eyes slid over her body and a cold shiver ran down her spine. She

  tossed her still-damp hair back over her shoulders and gave him a

  stony look. He kept smiling, unperturbed and gestured at the temple

  painting in the middle of the room. 'I see you are working on another

  masterpiece.'

  She nodded without replying.

  'Do you have any others I could see?'

  'I'm sorry, no.' She wasn't going to show him the ones she wasn't

  happy with. She didn't really want the man in the house at all.

  'None at all?'

  She shook her head. 'No.'

  'What about this one? How long will it take to finish?'

  With a certainty beyond any doubt, she knew she didn't want him to

  have the painting, not this one. 'It's not for sale.'

  'Surely for the right price.. . .'

  'Not for any price, Mr Marinozzi.'

  'Well, think about it. Do you mind if I have a look at it when it's

  finished?'

  'Not in the least, but don't count on my changing my mind, Mr

  Marinozzi. I won't.'

  'We'll see.' He smiled indulgingly and she felt like slapping his

  flabby, stubbly face. He was a man who was used to getting what he

  wanted, she was quite sure. All he had to do was open his wallet.

  Well, he wasn't buying her painting.

  He left then, much to her relief. She went back to the verandah and

  brushed her hair. She heard someone whistling and looking up she

  saw Justin coming down the path towards her house, a package in his

  hand.

  'Come on up!' she called right before he rounded the house and

  disappeared out of sight. A moment later she heard his steps on the

  creaky floor boards of the living room, then they stopped. He was

  looking at the painting, she realised and came hastily up out of her

  chair and went inside.

  He looked at her as she entered and by the expression on his face she

  could tell he liked what he saw.

  'That's going to be one hell of a painting,' he said.

  She felt immensely happy with his praise. Then she noticed the small

  frown and wondered what he was seeing.

  'You know,' he said thoughtfully, 'I've walked by the temple a

  hundred times and I never noticed the church behind it.'

  'It isn't.'

  'It isn't?'

  'Not if you look at it from the road. You know the clove tree on the

  right of the temple? I was sitting there when I noticed the church

  spire above the temple roof. But the angle for painting the temple

  from here was all wrong, so I took a few liberties, and voila.'

  He nodded. 'Artistic licence. Very well employed, I must say.'

  She curtsied. 'Thank you kindly, sir.'

  He looked down on the package in his hand as if he had forgotten he

  had it. 'For you,' he said, handing it to her.

  'For me?' She took it, surprised. It was heavy and solid. She

  unwrapped the paper, curious. 'Cheese! Cheddar!' She looked at him,

  feeling more touched than she wanted to admit. 'Where did you get

  it?'

  'Penang.'

  So that's what he'd been doing today. Half an hour to Telok Bahang.

  Forty-five minutes or so from the wharf to George Town, to a

  supermarket.

  'You went all the way to George Town for a piece of cheese?' she

  asked incredulously, and he laughed at her expression.
<
br />   'No. I went to Batu Feringghi, to the Hotel Rasa Sayang. Had some

  lunch in the coffee shop. When I was finished eating, this sweet

  young thing asked me if I wanted anything else. I said yes, one pound

  of cheddar cheese please. You should have seen her face.' He grinned

  at the memory.

  'Did she give it to you?'

  'Eventually. The manager is a friend of mine, so it wasn't any

  problem.'

  'Thank you.' The cheese felt like a block of gold in her hand. 'That

  was very thoughtful of you.' She looked away, suddenly embarrassed

  by what she was feeling. 'Come, let's have some.'

  They went into the kitchen, filled a woven bamboo tray with a knife,

  plates, sliced mango and papaya and some crisp shrimp crackers left

  over from lunch.

  Linden examined the contents of the refrigerator. 'There's a ripe

  avocado. Shall I cut that up too?'

  'Sure. I'll go home and get a bottle of wine. I'll be right back.'

  He returned with a bottle of Bordeaux and a small cassette player.

  'Where did you get the wine?' she asked. 'The Rasa Sayang?'

  He laughed. 'No. Once in a while I go to George Town and do some

  shopping. This was left over from my last spree. I'm afraid I do not

  own any wine glasses, though.'

  'Neither do I.' She placed two water glasses on the tray. 'These will

  do just fine. Even hold more.'

  They carried the tray to the verandah and settled down to eat the

  feast. Justin switched on the cassette player and the mellow sounds of

  old jazz wafted into the air. He pulled out another cassette from his

  pocket. 'Beethoven, if you prefer.'

  'I like jazz. This is wonderful.' She sighed with delighted

  contentment. 'Let's eat. I'm starving.' She tossed her hair back over

  her shoulder and took knife to cheese.

  'I checked on our reservations for Christmas,' he commented after the

  first of their hunger was appeased. 'I sent a message last week, but

  since I was there I thought I might as well check out our rooms.'

  'Where? At the Rasa Sayang? Justin, you can't do that! It'll cost a

  fortune!'

  'I get a special discount. Besides, all my socks are getting full of

  royalty money I'm not spending. What am I going to do when I run

  out of socks?'

  'You're crazy!'

  'Don't look so worried. It's only two nights. It's hardly going to break

  me.'

  'Justin, that's not the point! I can't accept it. I want to pay for my own