A Flash of Water

by Chan Ling Yap

  “No,” wailed Rohani. “You go. I cannot bear it if it is true.”

  ***

  After breakfast, much of which was left uneaten, Rohani returned to her room. Her outburst had left her exhausted. Li Ling was asked to go with her and to keep her company.

  The siblings found themselves on their own, sitting across the table still littered with the morning’s meal.

  “So how did your trip go?” Siew Loong asked his sister.

  Not wishing to speak across the wide expanse of the table, Shao Peng stood up to go to Siew Loong. The room swam before her. The weariness of weeks of travel caught up with her. She had hardly slept the previous night. She was fine earlier in the morning helped by the rush of adrenalin that was fuelled by her anxiety. She had been so worried about her brother’s reaction to her return. Later, her concern over Rohani had pushed aside her own fatigue. Now the tiredness came upon her suddenly. Her head spun. She sat down.

  “Stay there! Don’t get up!” Siew Loong ran to her side. He crouched down, dropping one knee to the floor.

  “Aunt Heong Yook died,” she said, her voice was so low that it was hardly a whisper. Her lips trembled and a tear rolled down her cheek. Everything had become too much for her. She needed to talk and unburden herself. She wanted her brother to understand why her aunt was so important to her, why she had gone to China. She didn’t want him to view her badly. “You have not met her. She took care of me when I was little and, as you know, she brought up father.”

  However, the mere act of unburdening brought out another torrent of tears. She had lost two people she loved in quick succession. She did not know which of the two losses hurt most. Her aunt who had loved her so unreservedly or her father from whom she craved love and who she was never sure returned it, until now when it was too late.

  “I brought aunt’s ashes home with me. May I place them in the ancestral hall alongside father?” Shao Peng was worried that she had been presumptuous in bringing the ashes home. Her brother did not know the aunt, having never met her. There was a period when her father forbade any mention of Heong Yook because of a misunderstanding between them.

  “Of course. Father did talk about her after you left for China. I shall speak to the temple priest about it.” He felt a flash of relief. He had expected there to be more serious matters that his sister wished to bring up. He had so many worries; he could not bear to have another added to them.

  “There is something else I have to tell you,” she said.

  Siew Loong saw the trepidation in her face. “What is it?” he asked with concern.

  “Nothing...” She hesitated.

  He raised an eyebrow. “Nothing?” he echoed.

  With a start Shao Peng saw, for the first time that morning how the weight of responsibility had aged her little brother. He spoke like one with cares that extended far beyond his eighteen years.

  “Aunty Heong Yook left me the pottery and the house in Beiliu. They sound grander than they are,” she hastened to add. “The buildings are run down and business is almost non-existent. There are no workers, no production and no buyers. I just thought that you should know.” Siew Loong had been bequeathed the entire Ong estate. As a girl, she had received nothing. She was expected to marry and leave home. Yet she wondered if her brother would mind her small inheritance from an aunt. Would he mind being bypassed? She wanted his approval, his blessing. She couldn’t bear to be estranged from him again. She wanted him to hear of it from her and not from someone else.

  “Let us talk about it later. I have to rush.” He got up, again relieved that it was not an important matter; his hand brushed her shoulder as he readied himself to leave.

  “I also want to talk to you about...”

  “Later, I promise,” he said already striding off.

  “Jack. I want to talk to you about Jack,” she whispered lamely to his departing figure. Shao Peng sighed with exasperation. “Is there no one in the house who has time to listen? Is my future now in the hands of my little brother?” she asked aloud.

  “I think so.”

  Shao Peng whirled round. She saw Li Ling. The girl had emerged out of nowhere and stood now at the doorway.

  “What did you say?” Shao Peng’s voice was sharp. She had not expected the girl to be there and certainly not to express a view on such matters.

  “A girl is like a flash of water, insignificant, born to serve and obey the men in the house.”

  Shao Peng went to the girl. She regretted her brusqueness. Li Ling was trembling, her body poised to dash away. Someone must have told her and she was repeating by rote. “No, that cannot be my fate,” Shao Peng said more gently this time. “And it will not be yours. Go! Go to your room. I’ll come for you after the funeral procession.”

  Li Ling turned and ran. Horrified that she had offended Shao Peng, she skidded through the polished hallway in her hurry. She ran up the stairs taking two steps at a time. Once in her room, she sat on the bed. Taking the corner of her tunic top, she stuffed it in her mouth and chewed. She regretted speaking out loud. She wished her mother was with her. No one wanted her around. First they asked her to stay with the plump dark lady who spoke Chinese in a strange accent. She sent her back to Shao Peng. She didn’t understand why the dark lady they called Rohani spoke so sharply to her. And now Shao Peng sent her back upstairs. Tears rolled down her cheeks. They splashed on to her blouse top leaving dark patches. She sank into the bed and drew her knees up and sobbed. What did they intend to do with her? Would they send her away? Her mother had explained her fate. If that were not to be, then what would be? She thought of home. She longed for the wide-open paddy fields and the seamless sky overhead, the freedom to play and run. Most of all she missed her brother and her parents. She wished she could go home. She was frightened. She did not want to be alone in the house. She thought of the coffin in the parlour. The man, Ah Sook, had talked of returning ghosts. She could not stay in the room. She scrambled out of the bed and ran down the stairs.

  ***

  Downstairs, in the front parlour everything was quiet. Plumes of smoke spiralled from the stubs of the remaining white candles and the scent of joss sticks was everywhere. Servants glided soft footed on the marble floor, refreshing the wreaths and flowers strewn all round the coffin. It was a moment of quiet before the funeral procession.

  Shao Peng stood at the threshold of the parlour. She looked across to where the coffin stood; her legs were like lead. She felt as if she was in a dream. Even now she could not believe that her father was no longer. All her life, he had been the epicentre of her being, even when she was not with him and under the care of Janidah and Uncle Grime in Singapore. His words had been the unwritten code for her to abide by, even though she rebelled against it. Now she was lost. Her chest tightened with remorse and sadness. She felt crushed by the weight of it all. If only ... if only ... she hadn’t said those harsh words. She clenched her fist and bit her lips to stop herself from howling aloud and rushing to the coffin. Forgive me, she wanted to cry. Yet no sound came, just a shudder that shook her body until her teeth chattered.

  She felt the gentle touch of a hand on her shoulder. She turned. “Uncle Grime, Janidah!” she exclaimed. They took her in their arms, cradling her with the warmth of their bodies, three bodies folded together. She allowed herself to be petted, hungry for the comfort they gave her, reminded once more of the time she spent with them in Singapore. Her formative years, her father had said with a heavy sigh. “No wonder you are so argumentative. Remember, you are Chinese, not English. Have you not heard of the word guai? You listen and you obey.”

  “I...,” she began, disengaging herself from their embrace.

  “We know,” Janidah said. “There is nothing that cannot wait until the funeral is over. We’ll talk then.”

  Chapter 8

  JING-JING WAS DISAPPOINTED. After the long journey, she had expected to be welcomed and made much of by her husband. Instead, she hardly saw him. She blushed with shame. She recall
ed her loud boasts on board the ship. She had told everyone how she would be feted when her husband saw her. Of course, she reasoned, she had only just arrived. He could not just leave off work and be with her. Still, to go off for one month just one day after her arrival was too much to bear. How could she occupy herself? The house she was left in was just a tiny room, with walls made of woven bamboo strips. The kitchen, bedroom and sitting area were rolled in one. All it had was a wooden bed, with a chamber pot tucked underneath, two wooden chairs and a wood burning stove that served as her kitchen. She looked up at the ceiling. Sunlight streamed through the hastily put together dried thatch that he called attap. A lizard scrambled across a rattan beam as though aware of her scrutiny. Before Cheung left, he had promised that he would mend the roof when he returned. He said he would give it his first priority, smiling sheepishly at the large drops of rain that splattered into the bucket placed strategically below the roof aperture. He explained that he had to work and that her ticket had cost his entire savings. He was not allowed leave; the one day he took was already a compassionate gesture from his boss. He could not ask for more. He must earn if they were to live.

  Jing-jing sighed. She could hardly recognise her husband after three years. He had grown so old and troubled as though the whole world’s worries were on his shoulders. She took a broom and stepped out of the hut. Perhaps she could sweep away the debris and dried leaves in their small compound to while away the time. She mustered a smile and hummed a tune to cheer herself up.

  She swept, quick deft strokes. Clouds of dust rose. Soon she was covered with it. Her hair, clothes, arms and face were grey with dirt. The jubilance that she tried to muster seeped away. She stopped and wiped her forehead with the back of her hand.

  Someone called. “Heh! Are you new here?”

  Startled, Jing-jing jumped. Standing opposite was a woman with a basket of clothes tucked under one arm. Jing-jing had not noticed her presence until she spoke. How had she come into the compound?

  “I have not seen you before,” the lady continued, her eyes crunched up tight against the hot sun and a smile on her face. “I am your neighbour. People call me Ah Kum as in the word gold. Huh! I wish. If I was truly kum, I would not be living over there.” She pointed to a group of wooden plank houses beyond a grove of trees some distance away. “I am on my way to the river. A boat is expected any time from Port Klang. It will bring fresh supplies from the coast. Would you like to come? We can draw water for washing from the river. You certainly look as if you need a wash,” she teased.

  Jing-jing found herself smiling in response. Cheung, her husband, had warned that she should be careful whom she befriended. “The community here,” he explained, “is a mishmash of people thrown together from all walks of life, some of which are less desirable than others. Just be careful with whom you keep company. If you have a problem, the best thing would be to contact the old retainer in my boss’s household. We all call him uncle, Ah Sook, as a mark of respect. Ask any one. They will know him. He would help you.” Then he had taken her in his arms, giving her little time to air her misgivings.

  Jing-jing tossed her head, recalling the way he had held her, reassuring her that she would be fine. It was all well and good except that she could not be expected to keep to herself without anyone to talk to. Shao Peng had promised that she would visit yet had made no contact. It was for the best. She wouldn’t want Shao Peng and the others to know of her present circumstances. She should have kept her mouth shut and not boast during the journey on the ship.

  Jing-jing returned her attention to the woman. After a moment’s hesitation, Jing-jing decided that she would make up her own mind as to what was best for herself. She didn’t need Ah Sook to tell her that the woman, Ah Kum, was harmless. “I have some clothes that need washing. I’ll come with you. Wait here! I’ll fetch them,” she said.

  To Jing-jing’s chagrin, Ah Kum followed her into the house. She plunked down her basket of clothes on a wooden chair. “You should do something about this place,” she said, pointing to the hole in the roof. “You can have all these fixed easily. It won’t cost much. Come, let’s go and I’ll tell you.”

  Jing-jing eyes lit up. Her earlier annoyance at the woman’s audacity disappeared. It would be good if she could make improvements to the place. Cheung would be proud of her. She grinned. At last, she had a chance to prove her worth. She dreamt of the letters she could get Cheung to write home to his mother. She’ll show her mother-in-law; make her eat her words for saying such nasty things about her laziness.

  ***

  Two miles away, across the river Klang, the sparsely scattered ramshackle wooden huts gave way to two-storey terrace brick buildings with tiled roofs. They lined the network of narrow streets that wove and meandered through the town centre. Shao Peng’s house stood apart from these terrace buildings. Fenced off by its own high brick walls, it overlooked a road that linked it to a nearby rice and tapioca mill. The mill was one of the many ventures her father had built during his lifetime. From there, the road joined the main streets of the town centre. As the funeral possession moved slowly out of the gate of the house into the mill compound and then into the main street, it gathered in size. More and more people joined it until it resembled a human throng moving ponderously across the town.

  Li Ling watched the procession from the porch. She heard the clashing of the cymbals and the loud wailing that followed it. She stayed on her feet until she could not see any trace of the procession nor hear any of the loud music. The last of the stragglers had gone. All that remained were the white banners and lanterns hung at the top of the gateposts. They swung lazily in the warm breeze saying their own farewell.

  She was reluctant to return to the house, reminded still of the servants’ tales of ghosts and spirits that might be lingering within. She sat down on the steps and drew her knees up, resting her chin on them. I’ll wait here, she thought, until Shao Peng returns.

  Time passed. The sun moved steadily across the sky. By midday, it shone with such fierce intensity that every corner of the ground was filled with its penetrating heat. The road shimmered, throwing up a haze of warmth that played tricks with her eyes. Hunger gnawed. She stood up and made her way to the back of the house where the kitchen lay. There would be someone in the kitchen, she thought. She shivered despite the warmth. She didn’t want to be in the house alone.

  The kitchen was cool and dark. The servants had drawn down the wooden slats in the window. Large vats of water stood by the doorway. Next to them was a row of wooden clogs. She recalled the servants wearing them the previous night when they swept the ground of its litter of ashes left over from burnt effigies and paper money. Now they stood like miniature sleeping sentries on the grey concrete flooring of the kitchen. This was not a part of the house visited by the master and mistress. A servant had explained that to her when she tried to flee to the kitchen earlier in the morning in search of company. “You shouldn’t be here,” she had smirked. Then slyly, she added, “that is, if you are not brought here to work.”

  Li Ling took a step over the wooden threshold. She hesitated and then brought her other foot in. She had nowhere to go. She didn’t know if she was brought here to work. In fact, she did not know what her position would be, especially after this morning when she put her foot in it by venturing her personal opinion. She wandered to the table in the middle of the room. A conical woven cover of red, yellow and blue matting was placed in the centre. She lifted it revealing a dish of stewed beef brisket. She gulped. Her stomach grumbled. She had eaten nothing at breakfast. The beef glistened invitingly in its dark sauce.

  “Aiyah! Sooi nooi pow! Cursed bun of misfortune! Are you trying to steal food?”

  Li Ling turned. Ah Tai, the maid that had shooed her away that morning stood with both hands on her hips. Her lips were drawn tight with disgust.

  “If you want to eat, you need only ask. Why steal? Mistress Shao Peng has already left instruction that you were to be fed. Where were you? I
went in search of you.” She roughly shoved Li Ling into a chair manhandling her arm. “Sit,” she commanded.

  Li Ling could feel a flush of heat that rose from her neck to her cheek. She was ashamed to be so accused, guiltily acknowledging that perhaps she would have taken a piece of meat from the dish if the maid had not come in. The thought made her flush with contrition. Yes, perhaps she would have ‘stolen’ though she had not lifted the cover with that intent. What would her mother say?“

  There! Eat!” The maid slammed down a bowl filled with rice and stewed brisket in front of her.

  Li Ling hesitated, still smarting from shame, made even more so because she realised that Ah Tai had deliberately slammed down the bowl and manhandled her to show that she was not an important guest.

  “What? Not enough? Not good enough for you? Huh!” Ah Tai sneered. “I have a lot of work. I don’t need you around my feet. Eat! There is nothing else. Until Mistress clarifies your position, don’t expect to be served hand and foot.” She ran her eyes insolently over Li Ling, from head to toe and back again. She grumbled, not caring that her grumbling could be heard. “Can’t see why Miss Shao Peng says we are to treat her well. She cannot be of any importance. Look at her clothes! Rags! If she was important, they would have included her in the funeral procession, just like they had included Master Siew Loong’s intended. Why, that girl is as pretty as one would wish any bride to be. And so beautifully turned out as well. Did you see the lace she wore! Those beaded slippers must have cost a fortune.”

  “You mean Miss Suet Ping?” asked another woman that had just stepped into the kitchen. Li Ling saw that it was Ah Kew, the other maid in the house. “The engagement is not official, just a wish expressed by big Mistress. She likes her because Miss Suet Ping speaks beautiful Malay and that suits Mistress. No wonder! Her grandmother is a Malay, just like Mistress.” She hurried over and spoke in Ah Tai’s ear, a conspiratorial whisper that was nevertheless loud enough for Li Ling to hear. “It seems that Master Siew Loong does not like being coerced. He wants to choose his own bride. I overheard their heated exchange the other evening. So nothing is fixed.”