by Yangsze Choo
Chapter 19
I spent the night on the hillside, not feeling up to the task of going into the town and trying to spend my limited hell money on some kind of conveyance. There was an enormous tree with buttress roots rising like low walls, and I huddled against it like a timid pelandok, or mouse deer. We have many local stories of the mouse deer, so tiny that a man could pick one up and stuff it into a bag with ease. It is no bigger than a cat with delicate, twig-like legs. They are reputedly among the easiest game to hunt, for all you have to do is drum upon some dry leaves with a pair of sticks. Eventually a male pelandok will appear, thinking it is some rival, and will respond by rapidly drumming its own legs. The hunter then shoots the deer with a blow dart and carries it home for supper. I always felt it was a most unfair way to trap an animal and not at all in keeping with the mouse deer’s fabled reputation for cunning. *
As I hugged my knees, I thought that in the grand scheme of things, I was no more effective than a mouse deer, hiding my defenseless self here and there, called out by the drumming of information in dribs and drabs. Was Er Lang to be trusted? While he was with me I hadn’t considered it, but now doubt and weariness clouded my mind. In the end I decided that I would trust him, for now. After all, it wasn’t as though I had much else to fall back on.
The noise of birds woke me. It was cold and a pale mist lay heavily upon the grass. From the broken and swaying branches above, a troupe of monkeys had passed overhead. At some point, Amah had changed my pajamas again. Hurriedly, I felt my garments, fearful that the scale that Er Lang had given me might have vanished, but it was still tucked in my pocket. Last night it had shone like mother of pearl, but in the morning light its gloss was even brighter. The creature that had shed it must have been a marvelous sight, and I speculated anew whether Er Lang hid the pouting face of a fish beneath his hat, or more frighteningly, the head of a great serpent. Putting these thoughts aside, I started toward the town below. The huge trees gave way to waist-high undergrowth, dense enough to make passing through it a struggle for me.
The sun was high in the sky, but I was still far from my destination. I groaned inwardly as I gazed at the way before me. Malaya is a land of perpetual green. Under the hot sun and torrential rains, any dwelling that is abandoned is quickly covered with vines; any path untraveled reverts to the jungle. All around me rose the monotonous chirring of cicadas. It was so loud that I didn’t hear the clink of a harness until it was almost upon me. Bewildered, I looked around but there was nothing to be seen. At last, I said timidly, “Is there someone here?”
There was no reply, just a soft whicker.
I tried again, feeling even more foolish. “Is there a horse here?”
When I pronounced the word horse, I suddenly saw it. It was a small blocky horse the color of sandalwood. Bright dark eyes, like custard apple seeds, peered from under a thick mane that was plaited into bunches. The horse was gaily caparisoned with a blanket and saddle and it was these that I recognized, for it looked exactly the same as the wooden carving Tian Bai had held in his hand. I knew then that Tian Bai had burned it for me. The horses in Lim Tian Ching’s grand stables had been static and lifeless, for they were only made of paper. But this horse, carved from a block of wood, moved like a real animal. There were no words for my delight.
“I shall call you Chendana,” I decided. It is the Malay word for sandalwood, for the original carving had been done in that fine-grained, fragrant wood. Riding her was easy. Far easier than a real horse, for she stood docilely while I clambered up, and her broad back was as stable as a rocking horse. Chendana didn’t tire and she neither ate nor drank. We passed swiftly through the undergrowth; the grass didn’t even quiver. It was by these signs that I knew that she was more of the spirit world than I was.
It was afternoon when we entered Malacca. Now that I had found my transport, there was no reason not to find Fan and ask her to show me the way to the Plains of the Dead. Feeling cheerful for the first time in a great while, I found my way to Fan’s shop house just as the pigeons were fluttering to their nests. At the front door, I paused, wondering whether to wait until darkness. The family was sitting down to an early dinner and I smelled the tempting aroma of salted fish.
“Fan!” I called.
There was no reply. I squeezed myself through the wooden door with some difficulty. The corridor was lit by the last rays of the afternoon sun and didn’t seem as frightening as it had the other night when I had been led blindly through the house by Fan. I walked up and down, calling her name despite the family who was eating dinner. They of course had no idea I was there, though once when I passed close by I thought I saw the old man blink. In the end, having found no trace of her, I made my way back to the front door. While I was contemplating the uncomfortable task of trying to pass through it once again, I heard a faint voice.
“What are you doing here?”
Peering around I found Fan at last. She had been hiding in a shadowy corner, pressed into the door of a cupboard. It was very hard to see her in the last glittering motes of sunset.
“I came back. You said you would take me to the Plains of the Dead.”
“Oh, I can’t possibly go now,” she said weakly.
“Why not?”
“It’s not convenient.”
“Couldn’t you at least point out the way to me?”
She said something unintelligible, then finally, realizing that I could not hear her, she shouted faintly, “ . . . after dark . . . ”
Not entirely sure of what she had proposed, I nodded and said, “I’ll wait for you outside until nightfall.”
To my relief, Chendana was still where I had left her. I was afraid that someone might steal her, so precious had she become to me in a relatively short period of time, but I remembered Fan’s words about spirit items needing to be freely given. Otherwise, I supposed, there was nothing to stop hordes of hungry ghosts from pillaging. As it was, I leaned against her side, inhaling the sweet scent of sandalwood, that precious wood from which incense is made. We waited for a long time. The sharp sickle moon rose and still Fan did not appear. I had begun to wonder whether I had mistaken her meaning when she finally materialized through the front door. From her sullen expression, I suspected she had been hiding on the other side. As soon as she saw Chendana, however, her eyes lit up. “You have a steed!”
I couldn’t help a tinge of smugness. “Yes. I’m ready to go to the Plains of the Dead.”
“But how is it—?” Fan walked around the horse, staring closely. Then she glanced sharply at me. “This is good quality. Very good, indeed. Did you get one for me?”
“I’m afraid that heavenly dispensation only provided transport for me.”
“But I’m to be your companion! You should have asked them to provide for me as well.”
I hesitated. “I’ll pay you when we arrive there. I didn’t think you wanted the authorities notified about you.”
“Oh.” She looked crestfallen. “I suppose you’re right.”
“And didn’t you say you already had transport?”
“I do. But my servants are very shoddy in comparison.” She sighed enviously. “Well, when my lover joins me, I’m sure I shall have a grand palanquin at my disposal.”
I stifled the urge to roll my eyes, wishing I liked her better. It was difficult to think of enduring a long journey in her company. “Are you ready to leave?” I asked. “If you’re not willing, I’ll find another gu
ide.” Though even as I said this, I wondered how I could possibly manage.
“Whoever said that? Of course I’ll go. I have some business there of my own anyway. Still, I need to make preparations.” She hemmed and hawed, went back and forth into the house several times but emerged without looking any different. At last, when I was seriously considering riding off on my own, she came out. “Let’s go.”
I noticed then that her fingers were pinched as though she was clutching something invisible, and guessed that she had gone to retrieve the thread that bound her to the old man. Glancing at me she said almost apologetically, “I dare not go out without it. I would get lost.”
Immediately, I felt guilty for harboring such unkind thoughts toward her. She was, after all, a ghost and it was true that she made her way forward with difficulty. She advanced in a mincing manner, subject to sudden gusts of wind and stray shadows. I followed, leading Chendana by the reins. It was not entirely dark yet. The sky was still a deep blue, but already I could see the soft glow of spirit lights. I felt like hurrying Fan along, but she grew increasingly dithery the farther we went from her shop house. At one point she turned round and round as though unable to break out of her perambulation.
“I told you I don’t like to go out much,” she said petulantly. “It’s so much trouble. And it gets worse as the years go by. I’m losing substance, I know I am.”
I didn’t remind her that it was her own choice to overstay her time in this plane of existence. We crept along at a snail’s pace, keeping always to the shadows and avoiding any spirit lights. Fan was terrified of running into border guards and her nervousness was infectious.
“How far away is an entrance to the Plains of the Dead?” I asked.
“I could have sworn there was one right around here,” she said. “At least, that was the one I used. Don’t tell me that they moved it!”
“The entrances shift?”
“There are many ways to go there,” she said irritably. “Sometimes they move for no good reason.”
In silence we fumbled around, peering down one dark alleyway after another. I had no idea what Fan was looking for, but when I laid my hand on Chendana’s neck, I felt calmer. If I ever returned to my body, I thought, I would ask Father to buy me a horse. Thinking about my father and his troubles, however, made me feel gloomy again. My hand crept toward the pocket in which I had stowed the scale that Er Lang had given me. Its hard edge imbued me with a little more resolve. At that moment, Fan stopped.
“It is here.”
I couldn’t make out anything except an old doorway in the wall, gaping like a hungry mouth. There was nothing different about it other than the quality of its darkness, which seemed, if possible, even blacker than the gloom around it. Fan passed her hand around the lintel and a faint red light kindled within, as though the door led to some subterranean passage that was fathoms deep. I didn’t like it at all, and neither did Chendana. The little mare backed away, prancing hesitantly.
“How do you know?” I asked Fan in a whisper.
“It calls to me,” she said, turning to look at me over her shoulder. The crimson light cast a faint glow on her face, accentuating the shriveled, mummified aspect of it. “Can’t you feel it?”
“No,” I said, not mentioning that it actively repelled me. Well, Er Lang had mentioned something about that. Perhaps I wouldn’t be able to pass, and for an instant I hoped that I need not go after all. But Fan was already ducking into the doorway.
“Come!” she hissed. “This is the way to the Plains of the Dead.”
Part Three
The Plains of the Dead
Chapter 20
Fan ducked her head and slipped through the door, even as I hesitated. There was no time to say another word. Far down in the depths of the doorway I could see the glow of a crimson light, but there was no sign of Fan. I took a deep breath and tightened my grip on Chendana’s reins. As we passed through the doorway, the faint night noises of the street vanished and all that remained was a silence so profound that it felt as though my ears were ringing. It was like entering a tomb.
Holding on to Chendana’s mane, I groped my way forward. The ground beneath was smooth and flat, the darkness so thick that it clung like velvet, making it impossible to make out my feet. Far ahead, the red light glowed though it seemed to shed no illumination on anything else. Turning to see if I could find the way back, I was overwhelmed by the sensation of blindness. I was about to panic when I heard Fan’s voice close at hand.
“Well?” she said impatiently. “Shall we go?”
“Where are you?” Fan’s spirit light, which had announced her presence to me in the shop house, was indiscernible.
“Can’t you see me? I can see you quite clearly.”
“What does it look like to you?” I asked.
“It’s a tunnel. A passageway to the Plains of the Dead.”
“Is it lighted?”
“Certainly! There are lanterns hanging from the walls. Do you mean to say that you can’t see them at all?”
“No, only a faint red light in the distance.”
“How odd,” said Fan. “Perhaps it’s because you’re not a ghost. I suppose few from the heavenly realm come here.”
“We’re not accustomed to these conditions,” I said with some embarrassment at keeping up this pretense.
“Well, at least you can see the end of the passage,” she replied. “That light is the entry down to the plains.”
To me, the darkness seemed cold and dead, the light less like a welcoming beacon than a warning, a dull red eye staring unwinkingly from some far cavern. I hoped that the rest of our journey wouldn’t suffer from this strange dichotomy or I should make a very poor spy for Er Lang.
“Come along, then,” said Fan, sounding pleased with her advantage. “Can you follow me?”
By following the sound of Fan’s chatter and aligning myself with the faint light, it was easier to advance. I asked her to describe what she saw. “It’s very grand,” she said. “There are tiles underfoot and the lanterns are of colored silk.”
Despite Fan’s lyrical description, the ground felt as though it was made of hard-packed dirt and the air was still and breathless. I couldn’t shake off the feeling that we were descending into a mausoleum. Only by lacing my hand in Chendana’s mane could I force myself onward. She didn’t balk again after that first refusal at the doorway but walked quietly by my side. In this manner too, she was unlike a real horse, but I was grateful for her company.
“How do you find your way back?” I asked Fan after a while.
“Oh, from the Plains of the Dead the passage is quite clear. You can’t miss it. You just have to remember which door you came in by.”
“Did you ever try to go out through the other doors?”
“Once or twice. I know there are a couple of exits in Malacca. One goes to the merchant quarter. I don’t know where the others go, though,” she said carelessly.
The merchant quarter was where my own home lay. I squirreled this information away with a sinking feeling, as I hadn’t realized that getting out would be so difficult. Now it sounded as though I would need Fan’s help more than ever, for Er Lang had said he could not come to this place.
We’re almost there.”
I peered ahead at Fan’s words. The light spread like a burning haze to my eyes, which had become accustomed to the dark, and I began to see that the walls of the passage were rough-hewn rock as was the floor, as though some giant creature had wriggled its corkscrew way through the rock. It was nothing like the genteel corridor that Fan described to me. As we walked around the final curving bend of the passage, the light became a blaze that momentaril
y blinded me. And at last, I saw where the tunnel opened out.
As far as the eye could see was a barren plain. It was so dry that the grass had shriveled into white stalks of dead vegetation, barely covering the crumbling earth, like a thin coarse pelt. Above it rose a burning sky. Accustomed as I was to the lush jungle of Malaya, I stared in wonder and horror at this wasteland.
“You see what I meant by needing transportation?” asked Fan.
Turning, I saw that she now appeared more substantial. Her skin was no longer shriveled and even the details of her dress had taken on the appearance and weight of cloth. She looked out at the grassland with an incongruous expression of pleasure.
“The first time I saw all these flowers, I thought it was paradise,” she said. Clearly, things appeared differently to her. I kept my own observations to myself. Next to me, Chendana snorted and stamped a hoof. She didn’t seem at all daunted by the endless stretch in front of us.
“We should wait here for my servants to arrive,” said Fan. “Whenever I get to this point, they eventually show up to escort me.”
“I suppose you could walk,” I said.
“Walk? There are settlements across the Plains of the Dead, but they’re very far apart.”
“And what do they look like?”
“Towns, villages. They roughly correspond to the places above. There is a kind of Malacca, where you find those ghosts who used to live in there, and then there are the outlying villages. But the dwellings come and go as the ghosts move on to the Courts of Judgment. It’s always shifting.”
“And are there other towns too?”
She shrugged dismissively. “I heard there was a ghostly Penang, and a Singapore too. But I don’t know where they are.”