“Aiyah! It is too hot! Wear a hat! Why you let your boy roast in the sun? Look at the freckles on his face! All of us want to have white skin and you let him go brown!! Craig-ah! Wait! I make this for you. Eat! Eat!” Fu Yi reached into a tote bag. She drew out a bun filled with sweet roast pork. “Char siew pao! Your favourite.” Fu Yi grinned with pleasure. “May! You don’t feed your boy enough. Look he so thin!”
“Yes, Mum doesn’t feed me enough,” shouted Craig cheekily as he hurried away grinning, his mouth full of the bun.
“You very lucky, May. Craig good boy. Hugh wonderful husband. Now this beautiful girl. Ho choy! Look how things turn so well for you. That is why you have to do good,” Fu Yi said with a sage expression on her face. “Buddha says life a cycle, what you do to others, you will also reap yourself. Do bad things, next life you reincarnate into a cockroach.”
“I wish that things would turn out well for Ruth. I am worried about her. I am sure she has started to inflict harm on herself again. She denies it. I do not know what to do.”
“Love and security. That is what she needs. I go to the temple tomorrow and pray for her.”
“Ruth likes and trusts you, Fu Yi. Would you move in with her? You could keep her company and look after Michael. If she can have Michael with her, I am sure she would put him first and not contemplate harming herself. But he can only be with her if she has someone to look after him when she is teaching.”
“What would people say? The reason why the baby is with Fatimah is to prevent any gossip that the baby is Ruth’s.”
“Well that might not be a problem. Ruth is planning to adopt Michael if she can get Libby to agree.”
Chapter 36
“DAMN!” OMAR SLAMMED the report on the desk and walked to the window. The street was packed with people and cars. Ever since independence, the country had been expanding its support for rice farmers in the quest for self-sufficiency. Today’s report showed that they were nowhere near their goal. Malaya was still heavily reliant on its neighbour Thailand to provide the grain. Far from growing more rice, farmers were migrating to the cities. If it were not for the successful diversification to palm oil and the modernisation of its rubber industry, the economy would have faltered badly. The price of natural rubber had fallen in the world market. He shook his head. He could not bear the thought of the consequences if planters had not replanted with higher-yielding varieties. Replanting had at least allowed the country to match its natural rubber prices to synthetic varieties. But now, it must look further afield to strengthen its coffers.
Omar returned to the desk and picked up the report, flipping to the last page, which contained a list of proposals. Manufacturing and electronics offered one possibility. That on its own, he believed, would not be enough. Malaya needed to expand its borders. The formation of a bigger entity with Sabah and Sarawak, with their oil, gas and other natural resources would be better; it would provide the country with the catalyst it needed. He will have to make the case for this tomorrow when Parliament met.
He placed the report back on the desk and buzzed his secretary. It was well past six o’clock. He remembered that he had given the secretary permission to leave early. Omar picked up his jacket and briefcase and made his way out of the building. The driver would be waiting. Tonight he would see his parents. He had not seen them since that fateful day when he had brought Ruth to meet his mother. He was willing to sacrifice everything for Ruth. Why had she sent him away? He was sure she loved him. With a heavy heart he went out of the main entrance of the building and stood at the top of the flight of steps.
He hoped the meeting with his parents would not be confrontational. He knew they had his interests at heart. Obviously that did not include his wish to marry Ruth. His mother had sent him a letter some months ago. She had suggested he took Ruth as a mistress if he must have her but on no account was he to marry her. She had not minced her words. She called Ruth a string of names. He had not replied. He wondered what Ruth was doing? What could he do to convince her of his love? Something must have caused her violent reaction to his visit to Port Dickson. He had been upset when she rounded on him. Yes, he had been angry at the rejection and had driven away in fury. He regretted it. If he had stayed on, shown some patience, could he have coaxed her to tell him what was bothering her? Was it his mother’s doing?
A car slid smoothly into the drive. He got into it. “My father’s house,” he said.
***
“I don’t like leaving Ruth on her own.” May turned on her side to plump up the pillow. “Something is troubling her. She must be lonely all on her own. Libby wouldn’t speak to her. Didn’t you not notice the tension between Ruth and her daughter before we left?”
Hugh turned over. “Stop worrying. Ruth is a grown woman. You’ve done all that you can. You can’t follow a person twenty-four hours a day.”
May wished she could tell Hugh about baby Michael. She longed to unburden herself, to tell him that Ruth had cut herself deliberately. She daren’t. Mentioning Ruth’s recent self-harm might lead Hugh to insist she seek medical help. As far as May knew, there were no such facilities in the country. There were only asylums for lunatics and even those were scarce. In fact she knew of only one. Ruth would be considered insane. She would be pronounced unfit to teach. Ruth was not insane. May was sure that Ruth was not a danger to anyone. She just needed love.
“Come here,” Hugh said, drawing May into his arms. “Can we talk about something else? I only get to speak to you at bedtime. I have been so busy with affairs in the office.”
***
The dinner with his parents went more smoothly than Omar expected. Throughout the meal, no mention was made of Ruth. Lulled by the convivial atmosphere, Omar loosened up. They adjourned to the family room. He knew his parents were hurt by his long absence and neglect of them. He wanted to make amends. He complimented his mother for the wonderful dinner she had arranged. Pleased, she responded with alacrity on how she had ensured that the meal had included all the dishes he liked.
“Come home,” Siti said. “The house is empty without you.” She touched her chest as though in pain; she missed her son terribly. She did not understand how he could place Ruth above his own family.
Omar shifted in his chair. He could tell from the tone of his mother’s voice and the expression on her face that the conversation would take a turn for the worse. He was not wrong.
“Are you going to allow an orang putih to come between you and your family?” Siti also, lulled by her son’s genial smiles, could not help herself. An only child herself, she was too used to getting her way.
“Siti!” Omar’s father uttered sharply. They had agreed that they would not do anything to jeopardise the reunion. And here was his wife doing exactly what she should not do. Would the woman not learn?
“Son, you do what is best, “ he interrupted. “This house is yours, your home. We would like you to come back of course. We are getting old and life can be lonely. I enjoy discussing things with you, my son, and there is much to discuss with the pending formation of Malaysia.”
Tun ignored his wife’s blazing eyes. If looks could kill, I would be dead, he thought to himself. He wished Siti would stop being so confrontational. She would do much better with a softer approach.
“I miss our discussions too, father. I am, however, a grown man, too old to remain at home.”
Siti sniffed and glared at her husband. “I told you not to send him to England to study. His head is filled with strange ideas!” She rounded on Omar. “Here in this country, we think differently. We believe in extended families. When I married your father, we lived with his parents. It is normal. When they were old, we had them with us. You should be proud of yourself. Remember, we are the indigenous people of this country. Why do you wish to dilute our race by marrying a foreigner?”
“Mother, my great-grand father was from Sumatra. One of our ancestors came from the Middle East. I am like most people in this country, mixed in some ways. Of
course I respect and value our culture. Marrying Ruth does not mean I don’t value our culture and traditions. Not remaining at home does not mean that either.”
“You do what is best, son. As long as you come back to see us.” Tun Zikri tried to stop Siti from saying more. He flashed her another look of warning. “Times have changed,” he said sharply to his wife.
Omar could see his mother fuming. He had had enough. “I have some work to complete this evening. It was good to see both of you.” He stood up to leave.
“Wait! I have something for you.” Siti hastened out of the room and was back within minutes. She thrust an envelope into Omar’s hands. “Read it! Open your eyes!” Then, suddenly, she burst into tears. “We love you so much and this is what you do?” She clutched at her heart, her chest heaved as she sobbed and wailed. “Tidak bersyukur!” Ungrateful!
But Omar had already left, banging the door behind him.
***
The silence was so compelling that Omar fancied he could hear a fly buzzing, a gecko chirping on the wall and his own heart. It was pounding hard, just like the pulsing in his temples. He had not meant to upset his parents. He knew they loved him. He knew their disappointment and was filled with regret and guilt. But he couldn’t give in to his mother’s incessant criticism of Ruth. He wouldn’t have her dictate whom he married. Was it his education and the time he had spent abroad that made him what he was?
Omar switched on the light. The room was simply furnished, a contrast to his parents’ house. He had wanted to set up home with Ruth here and had not bothered to furnish it. He wanted Ruth to do it; had waited for her to do it. He had waited months to no avail; he had not been able to find her until last week in Port Dickson.
He went over to the lone armchair in the living room. He sank down in the seat. Ruth! A picture of her came into his mind. He closed his eyes. He saw her blond curls, the freckles on her cheeks, the way she smiled with her lips curling up and her blue eyes sparkling with joy. Then a bleaker image took over, a Ruth immediately after her husband’s death, a Ruth, so ill and sad that she was like a ghost. He remembered holding her. Her arms were stick thin and could have belonged to a half starved child. It was her fragility that clutched at his heart. Then the recent Ruth, a calm, self-contained Ruth. A woman who sent him away. What had made her change?
He shrugged off his jacket. An envelope fell out of its pocket. He picked it up. He had forgotten it. Slowly with infinite care he opened the envelope and took out the sheaf of papers within. The words, ‘Confidential Report’ blazed on the top sheet. He settled back in his seat and read.
***
All afternoon Ruth cleaned. It was strange how empty the house felt after May’s departure. She returned the chairs to their original position and unfolded a mat that had been rolled and pushed aside to make way for Libby and Craig’s makeshift sleeping bags. She picked up the bedclothes that were strewn to one side. Then she swept and mopped. May had wanted to tidy up before she left. Ruth had refused her help. She needed to keep busy. The mundane jobs kept her occupied. She sang a bar from a song she heard on the radio. It echoed and bounced off the walls, emphasising the emptiness of the house. She started again. The song and her voice sounded free. Her chest swelled and she sang even louder. She hit a warble in her throat and stopped. She bundled up the bed sheets and dropped them into a basket. Fu Yi insisted that she sent the washing to the Chinese ‘dhobi man’ who had recently set up a laundry in the village. Fu Yi assured her that he would do it for very little because his child went to Ruth’s school. It was a one-man laundry. Any one going into the village would not fail to see the multiple rows of starched white sheets hanging around his compound. Fu Yi claimed he was doing very well. A small hotel, sprung up a couple of miles to the north, was keeping him well supplied with dirty bed sheets. Soon more shops would open up. More shops meant more Chinese traders. Fu Yi was very happy that there would be more shops, more Chinese people in this otherwise predominantly Malay kampong. At the moment, she felt outnumbered and she longed to speak Cantonese.
Ruth missed Fu Yi’s chatter. It helped to distract her. She broke into a different song. Her voice soared. She forced herself to think randomly. Fu Yi! The dhobi! White sheets! Anything, except that which was troubling her most. Her head spun. She sang louder still. But she could not contain her sadness. Her voice broke.
“You don’t love me,” Libby had accused her. Ruth wanted to reassure her that she did. But Libby had turned and run away. Libby had been unapproachable after that incident.
No matter how much she tried, Ruth could not shut away her worries. She could not leave Michael with Fatimah for ever. She had to bring him back even at the risk of hurting Libby. Then what? she asked herself. The small income she received from teaching could hardly cover her own maintenance, let alone Fu Yi’s wages. Libby was right. May had helped out with everything. She couldn’t possibly expect May to help out indefinitely. She must go back to England. Yet there was nothing in England to return to. She had no one, no job and no savings.
She began to panic. She told herself to breathe deeply. Someone tapped her arm. She turned.
“Here, hold him,” said Fu Yi handing baby Michael to Ruth. She had witnessed Ruth’s maniacal singing and cleaning.
Ruth did not hear Fu Yi enter the room. She wondered how long Fu Yi had been in the kitchen. She looked beyond Fu Yi and saw the kitchen back door open. She looked at the baby in her arms.
“You will feel better. May told me to come and stay with you. Tomorrow school starts. You go teach. You feel better. Hold him. He yours, make you feel good. You make him feel good also. May will talk to Libby. Everything will be fine.”
Ruth took the baby and buried her face in his little body. Fu Yi made things sound so simple. If only they were so.
“You sit there with baby. I make tea.” Fu Yi grinned showing a gap in her front teeth and a mass of wrinkles like little grooves that radiated from around her eyes. “Chinese tea!”
“I can’t pay you a wage you know and I can’t allow May to pay on my behalf.”
“I am retired. I don’t need pay, just food. I help grow vegetables, get cheap fish from Fatimah. No worry.”
“Oh Fu Yi. What can I say? How can I thank you? I don’t deserve such kindness. I am not a good woman. I have done beastly things.”
“You are a good woman. I saw how you loved Master Mark. Everyone makes mistakes. Stop blaming yourself. You just like May. She say my fault, I am guilty all the time. I go to the temple and pray. You be fine.”
Chapter 37
MAY STEPPED INTO the hotel’s foyer. She was meeting Hugh for lunch. He had warned that he might be late. She stood for a moment on the large expanse of marble floor in search of him. She looked from one corner of the lobby to the other. There was no sign of him. She didn’t want to loiter around the lobby or the reception area. A lone woman’s presence could be misconstrued. A man in a western suit tried to catch her eye. She turned hastily away and headed for the Dragon Court. The restaurant was famous for its afternoon dimsum. Hugh would know she would be there.
The waiters showed her to a table. They brought her Chrysanthemum tea. It was her favourite brew. She loved the flowery aroma. She took a sip and toyed with the menu. The restaurant was fast filling up. Waitresses in long cheongsams pushed trolleys of dimsum around. The aroma of sweet and savoury dumplings wafted through the air. Families gathered around tables, chopsticks poised in the air. Businessmen discussed deals between mouthfuls of dumplings. It was a typical Chinese restaurant. Snatches of conversation floated by. A woman was comparing the merits of the dumpling she was eating with the one she had in another restaurant. Someone began talking about his mother’s cooking. May settled back to listen and watch. It always amused her that conversation at a Chinese meal would always focus on food, food that had been eaten previously and food that was about to be consumed. Perhaps it could be traced back to the years of poverty and famine that most families had experienced in the past
. She took sips of tea, letting the steam warm her face. The trolley had stopped by several times and each time she had to wave it away. “I am waiting for my husband,” she apologised. She looked at her watch. Hugh was half an hour late. She knew it was an important meeting. If he did not arrive in the next fifteen minutes she would be obliged to order some food. She looked at the queue of people waiting for a table. Many were looking her way, impatient for her to leave.
She grew uneasy. From across the room, a man waved. Hugh! He was smiling.
“Sorry I am late,” he said giving her a kiss on her lips when he arrived. May blushed and glanced quickly around. Chinese people were not demonstrative and kissing in public was still rare although she knew from Hugh that it was a common form of greeting in England.
“I am ravenous.” He waved a waitress over. He gave her a disarming smile. “One each of everything that you have. Perhaps two of those,” he pointed to a bamboo casket of steamed prawn dumplings.
“How did the meeting go? What was it about? You didn’t say, just that it was important.”
“I didn’t say because I knew you would be worried.”
“And not telling me helps?” May smiled indulgently at her husband. He was popping a whole crab and pork dumpling into his mouth.
“It is official. We are cutting down our office here. We are to return to England.”
May dropped the dumpling she was about to eat. She felt ill, light-headed.
Hugh took her hand in his and brought it to his lips. “We’ve talked about returning to England frequently. It is just that recent events have precipitated the decision.”
“Why? I don’t understand.” May was very pale.
“The reason is we are not doing well in Malaya and we are cutting our losses. Our firms have tried to support the Malayan government’s objective to expand the local manufacturing sector. However, we are just not able to compete with the US and especially Japan. They too are intent on setting up joint ventures with our Malayan counterparts. The red tape and bureaucracy frustrate our companies. They complain of the lack of consistent criteria for the award of pioneer status. The Malayan government in turn criticises the British for their slowness in making investments. So it has been hellish, a vicious cycle. This is not helped by the Japanese being always at the side, ready to take up virtually any project suggested by the Malayans. Our chaps are just not willing to take the risks. Of the hundreds of investment projects proposed by the Malayans, we have only taken up a handful. The Japanese have won the contest! The Malayans are now fast looking to the east to bolster their economy. So as I said, we are cutting our losses. Our office here will be significantly diminished.”
Where the Sunrise is Red Page 24