by Zhang Yueran
Once, after making love, his voice thick with sleep but still uneasy, he said, “Have you really lost your memory?” He held her arm with both hands, as if in pain, as she nodded in fear. His disappointment was palpable as he drifted off. On nights like these, Chun Chi took a long time to find sleep. Unease nibbled at her. She felt she might lose him soon. And all she could do was throw her arms even more tightly around the sleeping man.
6
Seven days later, she lost him.
Roasting a wild rabbit for dinner, he said: “You should learn to hunt and cook.”
His expression was stern. She asked, timidly, “Aren’t you going to do it for me?”
“When I’m gone, you’ll have to take care of yourself.”
She wasn’t ready for this. Her eyes filled with liquid. She lay down at his feet. Her voice trembled as she asked, “Are you leaving me?”
“I’ve been here so many days, and still haven’t found my brothers. I can’t wait any longer.”
“Can’t you take me with you?”
“I live amongst the native tribes. You’re a Chinese girl, you couldn’t live where we do. “Each sharp word chiselled straight into her. At the time she didn’t know how much the Baba despised the Chinese, but already she could hear the disdain in his voice.
“What should I do? Where will I go? Do you expect me to go back to the refugee shelter, join those other women working on the ships?”
“I haven’t thought about it,” he responded coldly.
“You want to see me become a song-girl, flirting with men?”
“Don’t all you Chinese girls do that anyway?”
She felt a bolt of pain straight through her heart. She nodded, smiling in her distress. “Yes. It’s the only way we can survive.”
At that moment, sitting by the fire in a hut that might not last many more days — assaulted as it was by sun and wind — palm fronds drooping overhead, glimpsing the sea through her tears, Chun Chi knew how this story would end. She would kneel and beg him again and again to take her with him. Even if it meant serving as his lowliest slave.
Perhaps he took her in his arms one last time, stroked her face, breathed in her tears. She could not remember afterwards. She cried herself to exhaustion on his body. Even in her sleep, she wouldn’t let him go.
7
The next day, Camel sailed away. The corpse-seekers had brought the boats ashore, waiting for their leader. Chun Chi followed him aboard, clutching at his sleeves. When the boats were ready to leave, she continued to cling distractedly to him. The men grew impatient and dragged her to the edge. She ignored them, her eyes passing through them to Camel. She thought: how can he bear to leave me, seeing me like this? But he let the men go ahead and shove her overboard.
She swallowed two mouthfuls of water before finding the surface again. Pawing the side of the boat, she stared straight at Camel. Streams of water poured off her hair and she swiped at them, unwilling to let anything blur her vision of him.
“Why are you abandoning me?” These were the only words left in her.
Camel didn’t take his eyes off her. Bending down, he made each word clear. “Because you’ve forgotten the past. I was good to you. We were together. Now that’s all gone. I can’t forgive that. We can’t start again at the beginning, doing all the things we’ve already done. Now do you understand?”
She understood. His departure was a punishment for her forgetfulness.
As they stared at each other, his face suddenly softened. He removed her small knife necklace from around his neck, where she’d placed it for safekeeping. “Go, think about the past. When you remember something, bring the small knife back to me.”
He was so warm, even stroking her hair. His kindness touched her, and she was calm again. She needed so little, even this crumb would keep her happy for a long time. She took the corner of his sleeve and touched it to her face. Suddenly, she was tired enough to fall asleep in the middle of the ocean. Her body began to sink. The boat was moving, and still she clung to it. One of the men walked over and stamped on her hand until she let go, dizzy with pain, biting her lip to keep from screaming.
Struggling to stay afloat, she shouted, “Where will I find you?”
“Lombok Island. You’ll find my tribe there, the Shom Pen. Tell anyone you’re looking for Camel and they’ll bring you to me. Now will you let me go?” His voice was very reasonable, as if humouring a small child.
She knew there was no point going on. He might begin to hate her. She looked at him one last time before letting herself sink, staying under water until the boat was out of sight. Salt water dribbled from her mouth. Fortunately the water was shallow here, the shore not far away. Clutching the small knife, she made her way to land.
Different ideas kept flashing through her mind. Where would she find her memories? She was weak now, sodden clothes leaching the heat from her body. She hurried back to the small hut — home, if she could call it that.
Lying on the hammock alone, she found it unstable, wobbling alarmingly. His breath was still in this place, wrapping her in warmth. She felt her shrunken body wrapped like a soft cocoon. Wet as she was, she fell into a deep sleep.
That day, a line cut across Chun Chi’s life. From this point on she would be in stasis, endlessly spewing silken illusions to wrap around herself. As long as her love lasted, she would not run out of illusions. Wrapped tightly in her cocoon, she nourished herself on dreams. The great love of her life had ended, and yet only just begun.
8
It was more than a year before they saw each other again.
During this year, under Camel’s leadership, the Shom Pen fought a series of battles with neighbouring tribes, until they were surrounded by carnage on all sides. Camel came out on top, controlling an even bigger territory: apart from Lombok, he held neighbouring Sumbawa, Flores, and other islands. Now he possessed true power.
Chun Chi knew the geography of Lombok extremely well, even though she had never set foot there. From her home on Banda Island, she could see it across the water. If Camel hadn’t led his men against the Onge Tribe and occupied Banda, it would have been a lot longer before they met again.
Even while his men were massing and moving, she could already sense his approaching breath, mingling with the smells of blood and dying flesh. She began to dream about him again. Waking at dawn, she imagined she was still in the hammock, his snores rumbling beneath her. Her body began to awaken, bit by bit.
Finally, she heard his voice. She was hiding behind a giant tree fern, listening intently. Just a sneeze from him made her tremble. As she was now blind, he was no more than a tiny black seed on her retina. But who can say what energy lies inside a seed, allowing it to explode through the earth?
He stood, a leader of men, high above the island folk who now belonged to him. He didn’t notice her, of course. The people before him were no more than his captives, each branded with his mark, interchangeable.
The man at the top of the hill, a long sword in his hand, did not resemble the one she had spent seven days with. He spoke in reverberating Malay, and even without understanding a word she could tell from his tone, swollen with pride, that he was flaunting his victory.
She had never so desperately missed her sight as now. Anxious tears spilled from her, cleaning her clouded eyes so for an instant she imagined she really could see him. In the last year, he’d walked over so many islands, until the sun hollowed out his eye sockets, bleached his hair, darkened his skin. But however he had changed, his smell was still the same. She felt it coming off every part of his strange new body. And so her lover came alive again.
Her back against the tree, she sank into a squat. A soldier came over immediately, waving his blade before her a few times to indicate she should stand and listen to their leader, but she felt too weak. The blade pressed against her waist. Camel, she thought, must have looked in her direction, and then away, indifferent. He really hadn’t recognised her. She was his captive, nothing more.
She pulled herself upright and squinted. Her tears had dried, the vision gone.
Standing behind Chun Chi was Sudiah, half-Chinese. He had learnt Malay from his mother and was able to explain to her, “There are still Onge fighters alive. The battle isn’t over yet. He and his men will set up camp on the island tonight.”
She had met this tall, skinny boy six months ago, her only friend on the island.
9
Chun Chi sat on an exposed tree root, exhausted, supporting herself on one arm. Sudiah approached from behind andtapped her shoulder. “I overheard the solders saying they’ll garrison on the beach. We may not be able to go out to sea.”
Chun Chi made a sound of acknowledgement, sadness creeping into her voice.
“But we still have shells left from yesterday. You can use those.”
“Mm.”
Sudiah helped her stand and supported her to their hut. Six months ago he’d taken her in, and she’d lived in his little house made from pomelo wood. Banda Island’s soil was so damp that dwellings had to rise on stilts to be secure. Behind the house was a thick jungle, where she frequently accompanied him on his trips to bury another dead animal — rabbits, wildcats, lizards. This eighteen-year-old boy, orphaned as a child, had now devoted his life to Buddhism, so pure he refused to take life. Since being with him, Chun Chi had also stopped eating meat. This new life was quiet, so still that her waking hours were no different to sleep. Time slipped through her fingers.
Sudiah pushed open the door and lit a torch. Chun Chi unfolded the rattan screen and crossed to her side of the hut. Her grass sleeping mat was given over to seashells of all shapes and colours; the blanket next to it was where she spent her nights. With Sudiah’s help, she had sealed the windows. She needed constant darkness, day and night.
When Camel left her on Lian Yan Island, Chun Chi’s every thought turned to dust. She had no idea how to get her memories back, all she wanted was to escape this place where his smell was everywhere. On the day she was due to leave, she saw the madwoman at the docks, her normally sinister face unusually soft and warm, sucking on a conch shell. Her wispy, insubstantial body saddened Chun Chi, to think she would never see it again. Before she could stop herself, she had called out “Granny” — using the respectful term.
The madwoman’s ears were sharp. She stopped at once and turned. Chun Chi remembered there were some mangoes in the bag she held, and looped it around the woman’s wrist — such a thin, fine wrist, the skin a delicate membrane over bones. A few mangoes might be enough to snap it in two. Chun Chi sighed, “You must be hungry. No home, no family — no wonder you’re so thin.”
The madwoman shook her head energetically and pointed at the conch, laughing mysteriously. Chun Chi looked at the speckled brown shell, and realised it was so thin as to be translucent, a crystal bulge full of secrets. That day, she was as if possessed, following the madwoman deep into the jungle on Lian Yan Island, watching her rub her fingers over the shell, circle after circle, until they fluttered over it like birds. When the woman led her through the dark paths of memory, Chun Chi began to weep. Finally she knew how to get her past back. Unexpected hope, placed her midway between joy and sorrow.
Chun Chi never found out how the madwoman learnt this secret. Somehow, she had sustained herself on memories all these years.
Locked in a darkened room, Chun Chi ran her fingers over shells. Red-flowered spirals, scarlet conches, tri-colour twirls, branching rose shells — with the greatest care, she used a small knife to scrape small sea creatures and flora off, and then washed them again and again. A prepared, shiny shell, prominent ridges vibrating under her finger like instrument strings, producing a pleasing sound. She shut her eyes to listen, and a flash of light dropped into a long tunnel, narrow and deep. Walking down it, she felt every footstep echo, water dripping on rock, flowers opening around her, laughter, tears — her fingers sped up, unable to stop. The memories she retrieved were seldom complete, sometimes beginning halfway through childhood, sometimes from youth, sometimes well into a marriage, even old age. They gripped her and she hurtled on.
When Sudiah met Chun Chi, she was already half-blind, her eyes scabbed over. She was afraid of light and couldn’t stay in the sun for too long, or her eyes would begin oozing tears. She was temperamental, sometimes full of sorrow, sometimes rage. She seemed soft, but could whip into a fury without warning. After Sudiah took her in, she spent her days collecting shells from the beach. If pickings were slim there, she took a boat out to sea. Her eyes gleamed with some of their past vitality whenever she came back with a new haul of shells. As for what she did with those shells in her half of the narrow hut, Sudiah had no idea. It wasn’t until she lost her sight completely, when finding and polishing shells became too difficult, that she was forced to tell him her secret — and what a secret, leaving him wide-eyed, tongue-tied. Puzzled, he asked the obvious question. “The ocean is full of shells. Even if you spent the rest of your life, you’d never get them all. And all the shells you’ve found — how will you know which one contains your missing memories?”
“That’s why I need to absorb all the memories from every shell, “she said with determination.
He stared at her for some time. “Are you crazy? How could one person’s mind hold so many memories?”
“I have no other choice.”
“This is insane. No normal person would try this.”
“Maybe so.”
“Is it worth it? Just because of what that man said? What if it was just an excuse? He’s a Baba, and a tribe leader. How could he be together with a Chinese girl?”
“I understand that. But it’s the only scrap of hope I have, so I want to try it. I’ve lost the memories that belong to both of us — and now I owe him. If I find them and he still doesn’t want me, then he’ll be the one in my debt.”
“It might take years, even decades. What good will it do, knowing that he owes you? Will you spend your whole life to get this answer? Is it really that important?”
“To someone who has nothing — of course it’s important.”
Sudiah liked watching Chun Chi in her trance — misty eyes, biting her lip, her determined little chin — even if that mesmeric state had nothing to do with him, was all for a man who knew nothing of what she was doing for him.
And so they left the issue of who was in whose debt. Sudiah didn’t want to put her on the spot, and changed the subject. “You’ve been collecting shells for some time now. So… is your head already full of other people’s memories?”
“Yes.”
Standing before Chun Chi, Sudiah reached out and stroked her forehead, its wide pale temples, like an ice-cold reef rock in the middle of the sea, silently withstanding the pounding waves, unmoving. Chun Chi remembered how Camel had stroked her head in the same way a year ago. Men seemed to like her wide forehead, so full of stories. She felt the breath of the boy before her quickening, and gently evaded his hands.
Sudiah turned away awkwardly. “What kind of memories?”
“I don’t know why, but hidden deep inside everyone’s memory is pain.”
“No wonder you get woken by nightmares.”
They fell into silence. Sudiah understood that Chun Chi had already gone a long way down this path, and however he called her she would not hear him. All he could do now was help her as she grew weaker with each day.
The kind Buddhist decided to help her with all his heart, to find the shell that contained her lost memories — even if that sounded like the craziest kind of nonsense.
But we have to believe in these uncertain things, these remote, beautiful magics, these faint tongues of flame. So Sudiah tried to convince himself.
Follow the spiral staircase all the way down. This buried kingdom isn’t hell. Keep going, until the sound of wind fills your ears and dust blinds your eyes and vines still your feet. Only then will the memory-keepers appear.
He was a sailor, one of Admiral Zheng He’s crew. When the ship sank, he wa
s the only one washed up on the island. The tribes here were Malay, the men in skirts, but fearsome warriors. The women were good to him, bringing him wild fruit and little cakes. Life on the island was languid. He stayed here, enjoying the peace, the good weather. When the warm season came, it reminded him of being back in Jiangnan, in China.
When the women taught him how to make wine, he became involved with one of them, a girl called Aminah. She was a typical Malay, flat nose, big eyes, lively mouth, full body. After this, he lived in her house. Her parents didn’t particularly like him — he didn’t hunt, he didn’t follow Islam. He was brought into the hills to learn how to kill wild animals, and then to the mosque to be inducted. He didn’t speak much Malay, and no one could talk to him in Chinese, so he grew increasingly silent.
He secretly made a small altar to the sea goddess Mazu in their bedchamber. When Aminah went into difficulties during labour, he knelt before Mazu and begged for her life to be spared. He prayed through the long night till dawn, but she died all the same.
10
When Chun Chi told Sudiah her secret, she left out the fact that she’d blinded herself. Sight had troubled her from the start. Light kept bursting into her vision, interrupting her journey into the shells. She wrapped thick cloth around her eyes, sealed her room, but nothing could eliminate the light completely. She needed a stronger barrier.
She sat quietly as the needles grew hot in the fire, turning completely red, little flames licking across their surface. With sleeves around her hands, she picked up the needles and moved them towards her eyes, inch by inch. As the needles approached, she could hear the tiny movements of her eyeballs turning. Her hands trembled. She stared hard at a spot on the wall, trying to fix her gaze. The instant before the needles reached, tears formed from having stared too long. She wiped them away and started again. Her head was in an unnatural position, and now she was dizzy. No more waiting. She pulled her arms back and plunged. As the needles entered the soft meat of her eyes, they was quickly enveloped, expelling small puffs of white smoke. The pain forced her to the ground, then leached out of her like the ebbing tide. She removed the needles. There was so much blood, more than she’d expected. She was exhausted. After applying some healing herbs, she fell into a deep sleep. Without daylight to guide her, she slept for a very long time. Each time she woke, it seemed as dark as midnight. Finally, she went to the door and smelt the cooking fires, and realised it was evening.