“Yes,” May agreed, “no regrets. As one wiser than me said, ‘A regret now is for the regret tomorrow for having felt regret today’.”
One year ago, 1959
In the mellowed golden light of the family room, May leaned back in the crook of her husband’s arm and stretched out her legs. They had the whole house to themselves. Except for the ticking of the clock utter silence surrounded them. It was bliss. The maids were away; Lin was asleep in her cot; Craig and Libby were on a school trip and Ruth had gone out with Omar. Such moments were rare.
“I am so happy for Ruth,” May whispered, breaking the silence. “She had been poorly for such a long time.”
Hugh drew May closer to him until her head was on his chest. “Yes! She is a different woman from what she was when Mark died. I still see traces of melancholy every so often, though. Let’s hope they disappear completely. You have done such a wonderful job with her.”
“Not just me. Everyone, particularly Omar, don’t you think?”
“I was suspicious of his intentions initially. I am slowly getting round to the idea that he loves her.”
“Of course he loves her. Ruth is meeting his parents today! That could only mean he is very serious. I am keeping my fingers crossed. His parents are old-fashioned. It is well known that they wish him to marry someone of standing, of their own culture and religion, someone who would enhance his ability to rise to the very top in politics. I had never expected this day. To take Ruth to see his parents must surely mean that Omar is certain that they will accept Ruth.”
A frown appeared on May’s face. She pushed herself up and sat bolt upright. “Oh Hugh, I hope everything goes well for them. It would be disastrous if the meeting went badly. Ruth was so excited. She changed five times. I just don’t want her to be disappointed.”
Hugh crushed May to him and kissed her soundly on the forehead. “I worry about Ruth too. However, this is our evening and I would like to have my wife back. You can’t fret all the time. We’ll know soon enough.”
***
When the car swept into the grounds, Ruth caught her breath. The house was huge. She reached out and placed her hand on Omar’s arm. “You didn’t say,” she accused him, “that it was so grand.” The car whizzed past the long line of trees and entered into a parking area near the front portico.
“It is not mine, it is my parents’. If I had my way, I would not live here. For me it is a monstrosity. Look at the architecture!”
Omar took Ruth’s hand in his. “I had better tell you a bit about my parents to prepare you. The house is their status symbol. They built it to impress. They want to show the world we have done well without our former Colonial masters. My father, you see, was closely involved in the nationalist movement. As for my mum...” he shrugged with an apologetic grin, “she is a bit of snob.”
“It does not sound like they are likely to accept me. I am English! Perhaps you have forgotten.”
“Be on guard!”
“What?”
He smiled at Ruth, his eyes softening at her shock and discomfort. “I am teasing. I don’t see you in that way. I see you as the woman I love, the one I want to spend my life with.”
“Have you told them that?”
“I have had a long talk with my parents. I confess they were not pleased initially.”
Ruth recoiled. He held her fast. “Don’t worry,” he said quickly, “I won’t let their objections stand in my way. They know. After my talk with my mother, she seemed reconciled to the situation. It was she who suggested I bring you here. She would like to meet you. My mum can be difficult. But generally her bark is worse than her bite.”
“You didn’t tell me they weren’t pleased. You should have done.” A shadow of doubt crossed Ruth’s eyes and she looked at Omar reproachfully.
“Then you wouldn’t have come. In any case, my mother promised she would behave. She is slowly coming round to the fact that I will not change my mind where you are concerned.”
They sat in the car. Ruth took a deep breath. “Can we leave? I don’t think I am ready to face them.”
“Come! It will be fine. I am here with you.”
“How do I look?” She smoothed the skirt she was wearing. It showed off her elegant legs.
“Beautiful,” he replied and reached over to open the door.
They got out of the car. From behind the curtains of the tall window on the upper floor in the west wing, Siti stood watching in silence. Her lips curled as she saw a flash of bare legs and then a head of blonde hair followed by a slim body emerge from the car. “So this,” she said to herself, “is the woman my son wants!”
***
The interior of the house was even grander than its facade. Ruth saw her reflected image in the polished black marble floor. Behind her the reflection of Omar shifted as he came alongside. The hallway opened up to another room. Chandeliers hung from high ceilings and the furniture was gilded. She walked in with Omar by her side. Her high-heeled sandals made a loud clacking noise; it resonated across the room. It made her self-conscious. She turned to Omar, uncertain if she should have taken them off. May always walked barefoot at home. Ruth had attributed it to a wish for comfort. Now she wasn’t sure. She suddenly remembered what Fatimah said about not wearing shoes. She looked across the room and saw maids similarly barefooted. She looked down and saw that Omar was wearing socks. When had he taken his shoes off? Panic-stricken, she bent down to take off her sandals. It was too late. Omar’s parents were already upon them, a strained smile on their faces as she stood one foot bare with the other sandal in her hand. They were dressed formally. Omar’s mother was covered from top to toe. Ruth felt under-dressed; her skirt, just skimming below her knees, seemed too short and her neckline too exposed. Omar was oblivious.
“Ibu, mother. This is Ruth.”
“I am Siti,” Omar’s mother said, “and my husband, Zikri,” indicating the short portly gentleman next to her. She smiled but her black currant eyes held no warmth. “Come! Leave your shoes on. You are not expected to know our custom.”
“I am sorry I didn’t tell you,” whispered Omar. “It is the custom of Malay households to take off their shoes because wearing shoes in the living room would soil the floor, making it unbefitting for prayers. In May’s house, I see you barefoot and therefore it did not occur to me to tell you. Mother wouldn’t think anything of it. As she said, you are not expected to know.” He grinned. “In any case, we do not normally pray in the living room and our western guests do not take their shoes off.”
Ruth turned bright red. She sensed what Siti was really saying. Ruth was not expected to know because she was a foreigner and didn’t belong. She saw Siti’s eyes on her. Ruth tried hard to keep her smile in place but the tightness in her chest and face made it difficult.
Omar placed his lips close to her ears. “We do not call an older person by their names, even though my mother told you hers’. It would be a sign of disrespect if you did. It is specially so when they are titled. So call my father Tun and my mother, Toh Puan until, of course, we are engaged. You’ll soon get to grips with our customs. We do it without thinking.” He squeezed her hand. “You are doing fine.”
This piece of information unnerved Ruth even more. May had primed her with basic Malay etiquette. She had not come to grips with it, especially the arm length of titles that people in Malayan high society might hold. Everything, even the little that she had grasped, had flown from her head. Her tongue was dry. It stuck to her palate
They sat down. A maid pushed in a trolley laden with silverware and fine porcelain and with it an array of cakes and dainty sandwiches.
“For you my dear. Omar has said how much you like English tea.” Siti gestured to the maid to pour the tea.
“Thank you. You are most kind.”
“I fear that you might not like our cakes. I have instructed the kitchen to make English pastries. I assume that this is what you normally have.” She pointed to the vast array of delicately iced ca
kes, éclairs and sandwiches.
“Oh this is more, much more than what we have.” Ruth thought of the steaming mugs of tea and crumpets she shared with her father at the farm and the shop-bought cakes when she was teaching. She wished she were back home in England, sharing tea with her father. She found the grand formal drawing room stifling. She crossed her legs and, conscious that the hem of her skirt had slid above her knees, uncrossed them again. She tugged at the hem. A faint film of moisture appeared above her lips. Suddenly it felt overwhelmingly hot.
“Oh!” exclaimed Siti, her face seemingly incredulous. “What do you have for tea then? Toast?” She turned to her husband, stretching her lips in a parody of a smile. He, silent throughout the meeting, met her eyes and nodded imperceptibly.
“Mother!”
“It is all right.” Ruth stared straight back at Siti. She was aware of the undercurrent hostility, of the frostiness behind the smiles and of being examined and found lacking. Suddenly she was not nervous. She was not going to try to please. She would be herself; she would not make herself out to be what she was not. “We do not have help in the house. I do all the housework. Tea is usually served in mugs with a biscuit or two, or a cake if we have time or when there is something to celebrate. I do not come from a well-off family. We have always to count our pennies.”
“My dear, do have a cake, then,” Siti said handing a plate of delicately iced fairy buns to Ruth. Once again she glanced at her husband. Her expression was one of satisfaction. She was right about her perception of Ruth’s background.
Ruth bit into the bun. Siti seemed to be examining her relentlessly. Nervous, her teeth caught the corner of her lips and tears sprang to her eyes.
“I believe you were previously married and your husband passed away not long ago. It must be hard for you. I am so sorry for your loss, as you must be.”
Ruth dropped the cake onto the plate shocked by the sudden personal observation sprung out of the blue. Icing scattered on to her skirt to cover it with a dusting of white.
Siti continued without any preamble or change in tone. “I do not wish to be rude but do you not think that people would gossip if you were to remarry so quickly? Would it not reflect badly on my son? You know that he has a brilliant future...”
“Mother! Stop it.” Omar jumped to his feet. “This is not an inquisition. You promised! We will leave now if you continue in this way.”
“I am merely stating the obvious. Surely you cannot object to that? She should know what she would have to confront should she continue to pursue you.” Siti said all this without looking at Omar. She directed her gaze only at Ruth, hoping that Ruth would see the folly of her behaviour. If she could not get her son to stop seeing Ruth, perhaps Ruth could be stopped instead.
Ruth, speechless, held on to her plate, suspended in time. The plate tilted and crumbs spilled onto the floor.
“Well I can object and I am objecting. Remember this. I will marry Ruth whatever you say.” Omar stood up and stretched out his hand to Ruth. “Come!” he said.
Siti’s face crumbled wiping away her previous show of confidence. She rose to her feet; her breath came in quick gasps. She had not expected this response from her son whom she had nurtured and had placed such hopes. “But Omar, I say this only out of love for you and to protect you. You have no future with her. Tell him, Zikri,” she pleaded her husband.
“I don’t care!” Omar pulled Ruth to her feet. Together they left the house and headed for the car. Ruth tried to walk with her head held high. She stumbled and Omar caught her by the elbow. She was numbed with shock. The minutes before were like watching a nightmare being played out. What began as a tea had quickly deteriorated into a battle. How had it happened? They were there for less than fifteen minutes. Once in the car, Omar gathered Ruth in his arms. She was shivering from both anger and bewilderment. She did not know which was worst.
“Listen to me. Nothing matters except for you and me. Nothing! We’ll marry with or without their consent.”
“And your future?”
“My future will be of my making. Not theirs.”
‘But.”
Omar kissed Ruth to stop her from protesting. “Listen. It will be all right.”
Chapter 34
IT WAS QUIET except for the night sounds of the jungle. In the spare bedroom in Ruth’s bungalow, the wooden windows were thrown wide open to allow in breeze. The air under the mosquito nettings, however, remained stubbornly warm. May couldn’t sleep. Seeing Ruth and baby Michael earlier that evening had unsettled her. She knew how hard it must be for Ruth to leave him with Fatimah. May pushed aside the thin cotton covering. Her skin was damp with perspiration. She could hear Hugh’s deep breathing and the little snuffling noises Lin made in the cot. Gently, she parted the netting and swung her legs to the floor and got out of bed. She tucked the netting back in place and, quietly, tiptoed out of the room, into the sitting room. Here in this larger area, the air was cooler. Craig and Libby were bundled up in their bedding fast asleep. They had no nets. Instead, Ruth had lit coils of incense to keep mosquitoes away. The scent hit her nose and May sneezed. The children remained oblivious; their chests rose and fell in a steady rhythm. She walked across the sitting room into the tiny hallway; then gently she pushed open the front door. She placed one foot gingerly in front of the other, worried that the wooden planks would squeak and wake the household. The planks held firm. A sigh of pleasure escaped her. At least, out in the open, the night air was cool. She sat on top of the steps that led down to the garden, the same steps she sat on earlier that afternoon before lunch, before Ruth had sent Omar away.
Ruth did not explain why she had sent Omar away. In fact, Ruth had never given any specific details about her breakup with Omar, just generalities. May hoped that they would make up. She wondered if she should ask. She hadn’t because she knew Ruth valued her privacy. She hoped that with time Ruth would confide in her. She couldn’t begrudge Ruth keeping information away from her. She too, had not told Ruth everything. Craig was her big secret. Fu Yi’s words came immediately to her mind. “Nei mn ho kah yeem, kah choh,” telling Ruth about Craig, Fu Yi said, would only add salt and vinegar to her wound. Ruth had been distraught when she found out about Mark’s infidelity with May. Telling Ruth about Craig would rekindle Ruth’s hurt and jeopardise their relationship, one she had worked so hard to establish. Yet May felt uneasy. That was then. Things had progressed. Perhaps the time had come for her to tell Ruth. The longer she kept it a secret, the more difficult it became to tell the truth. Craig and Libby were inseparable. The two confided that when they grew up, they would marry. May was alarmed. Hugh, however, laughed. “They are just children playing. It will pass.” Still the idea took root in May’s mind. The worry ferreted and grew. She couldn’t shake it off.
The only way was to separate them. Yet how could she send Libby away? Libby could not stay with Ruth in this tucked-away place, a little kampong without even a secondary school for older children. This little hamlet had little to offer in terms of education. She couldn’t ask Ruth to return to Kuala Lumpur; Ruth wouldn’t be able to leave baby Michael. This place was Ruth’s sanctuary.
An owl hooted startling a flying fox gorging fruits on a nearby tree. May shivered. The morning dew was heavy dampening her skin. She drew her feet closer and hugged her knees, resting her head on them. She saw a pair of bare feet standing by her. She looked up.
Hugh sat down by her side and put his arms around her. She felt his warmth. “I was woken by your absence. Not worrying are you? Do you want to tell me?” he asked.
May snuggled into the crook of his arms. “It’s Craig and his attachment to Libby and she to him. They do not know that they are half-siblings. I worry that their attachment might grow into something more.”
“Craig is only just coming up to ten. Boys of that age say all sorts that they forget. Soon he will be going to school. Remember, we spoke about the possibility of his going to a boarding school in England?”
> May caught her breath. She remembered the conversation well. She thought that the idea had been shelved until they returned to England as a family. Hearing its imminence was a shock.
“We have to prepare ourselves. The political situation in this country is changing fast. The emergency is over. However, I hear of new developments on the horizon. An idea is growing that Malaya could expand from just a peninsula to one beyond its present boundaries to include Singapore, Sabah and Sarawak. Sabah and Sarawak are rich in resources, oil and timber, just what Malaya needs. This has caused alarm and resentment amongst the neighbouring countries. There is most likely to be a period of unrest. Also we are needed less and less. Malaya is flexing its muscles. I do not know how long my post will continue in this country.”
“What about Ruth and Libby? Can they stay?”
Hugh sighed, “It is my belief that Ruth should not stay in this little hamlet on her own forever. She is not a Malayan, no matter how much she likes it here.”
***
Ruth lay still in her bed. She too was restless. Bits of Hugh and May’s low murmuring floated in through her open window. Her room overlooked the veranda and her window shutters were also thrown wide open. She wondered if she should tell May that Libby was not Mark’s. It would allay May’s fear. May had been wonderful to her. Yet Ruth held back. Telling meant revealing her shame. More importantly, she didn’t want Libby to find out. She could not bear Libby’s hurt knowing her mother was an adulteress and that Mark, the person she had looked up to as a father, was not her father. A time might come when she should tell May. This was not the time.
Ruth buried her face in the pillow, smothering her desire to scream. She wanted to rail at herself, inflict pain on her own body. How else could she absolve herself from the hurt she had caused to all those she loved. No wonder Omar’s mother had seen through her. The tension in her head became unbearable. She shut her eyes tightly. Tears welled up behind her swollen eyelids but they did not flow. With infinite care, she rolled to one side and got out of bed. She tiptoed to the chest of drawers by the side of the window. She looked out. May and Hugh were getting up, readying themselves to return to their bedroom. Ruth ducked under the window and held her breath. She waited until all was quiet and the soft murmuring of May and Hugh were no more. Then she rose to her feet and drew open the top drawer. She rummaged under the pile of neatly folded clothes. She drew out a small box. She slid down to the floor, her back against the chest, and opened the box. Inside was a razor. It gleamed, a metallic grey. With shaking hands she placed it against her forearm. It felt cold, a whisper against her flesh. Gritting her teeth, she cut herself. Relief rushed into her body. She watched the blood gush out on to her lap, turning her white night dress crimson. This was punishment for all the wrong she had done. She hadn’t cut herself for a long time. She should have, for she was no good. Siti’s words rang in her ears.
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