House of Trembling Leaves, The (15 page)

Sum Sum enjoyed the fresh smells of summer, the sounds of the seasonal chirping and croaking. She felt the changes in her tummy too.
My little char siu bao is growing stronger. Swimming inside me like a fish.

She tried to keep an open mind about the future of her child, tried to remain optimistic, but whenever she thought about the baby she grew overwhelmed. Freedom; that was what she wanted for her unborn child; a different kind of freedom than hers; not a maidservant's freedom.

She massaged her temples with the tips of her fingers. There were so many questions, questions with no answers.

Where would the child go to school? And who would pay for the schooling? If the baby was a boy would the Teohs sponsor him? They sponsored the wash-amah's son and helped him get an apprentice job in Penang. A boy, she thought, tapping her tummy. There might be a smiling little boy in me. For a while she imagined what he might look like.

Then she wondered about his nationality. If he is born in England will he be an Englishman? Can he not be a Tibetan? What if government here says he is neither? Maybe they say he is a stateless person, like a refugee. Not from here, not from there. What then?

They could put her on boat and tell her not to come back. They could also send someone to take her baby away. Someone bad. Someone like the man with the mole.

Thinking about the man with the mole made her shiver. It made something within her turn black, darkening her insides like a stain.

In her bedroom, she watched herself in the mirror, looking for some physical sign of her ordeal. No extra lines around the eyes. No new wrinkles by the mouth. Her face registered nothing. It was as blank as a flag of surrender.

Was she ever going to tell Lu See, she wondered, or would she keep on denying it, deny what had happened in that deserted lot all those weeks ago. Can a memory be banished, she asked herself. Perhaps in time she'd bury it in the far regions of her mind. Or freeze it dead, as a fly is suspended in ice. She felt her hands turn to fists. What she really wanted was to leave, to get away from here, where it happened. Why couldn't her brain let it go?

Sum Sum cupped her hands over her eyes.

Just then, Lu See appeared at the door with a mug of tea for her. ‘‘Is anything wrong?'' she asked.

Sum Sum shrugged.

‘‘You've been so quiet. Have you been crying?''

Sum Sum looked away.

‘‘Has something happened?''

‘‘No.'' But she blushed.

Lu See placed the tea by the side of the bed. ‘‘I know it's not easy for you in England. You feel isolated here. We both do. We're outsiders. And I'm sure you're worried about the baby. Maybe you're missing Malaya too. I know I am.''

Sum Sum said nothing.

‘‘I've been thinking,'' Lu See continued. ‘‘Do you want to go home? Once the baby's born, do you want to return to Juru?''

Sum Sum took a careful sip of her tea.

‘‘You mean the world to me, peanut-head. But if you're unhappy in Cambridge I can understand. You've no friends here. I've at least got Adrian and I've got my books to keep me occupied. I can arrange for you to return to Malaya. You can work for Second-aunty Doris. And don't worry. I'll be back once I've got my degree.''

Sum Sum turned and looked at her friend. She wanted to tell her then and there about the man with the mole. She wanted to tell her everything but the words were crushed in her throat. The hand that held the tea trembled. Her chest trembled with it.

‘‘Please don't look so sad.'' Lu See pulled Sum Sum close. ‘‘We cannot be sad, not us. Especially not us. And do you know why? Because you have me, pumpkin-head, you'll always have me, and I love you.''

Sum Sum forced a smile. ‘‘Do I look sad now?''

‘‘You cannot fool me.''

‘‘I am tired,'' Sum Sum said, eventually. ‘‘Nothing wrong. I am just tired with the baby inside me.''

‘‘You will tell me if anything's bothering you, won't you?''

Sum Sum could not find any more words. She simply looked at the floor and nodded her head once, gripping the mug in her hand, as though fearing she would be dragged away if she failed to hold on tight. Dragged away into a deserted lot.

 

June. With Lu See deep into her studies, lost in her textbooks within the Divinity library, Sum Sum grew increasingly morose. Lu See was right. She had nobody to talk to. Her world here was so constricted. And often, when she stepped out alone, she was scared she might see the man with the mole again. She still hadn't told Lu See about him. In fact she avoided thinking about him full stop.

One morning Sum Sum looked up from her copy of
Modern Screen
and was overcome by a powerful craving.
Noodles! I need a bowl of Pietro's delicious Italian noodles.

She strode down Sydney Street and headed straight into Christ's College, past the Great Gate Tower and the porter's lodge with its bowler-hatted porters, into First Court and up staircase C.

She rapped twice on Pietro's outer oak door.

‘‘Ennnnn-tarrr!''

With the bedder's permission, she let herself into his set. The walls were plastered with operatic posters and lobby cards from Tosca and Madama Butterfly. Pietro was reclined on a chaise-longue, fanning himself with an oriental paper fan. There was a hint of rouge on his cheeks.

‘‘Morning, lah. I need that recipe,'' she demanded.

‘‘Well, well, if it's not my favourite Oriental Samson, slayer of the Philistines. The girl with the beautiful hands.'' He shut the paper fan with a
clack
and looked down at his own fingernails. ‘‘If only mine could be as well maintained.''

‘‘Do you remember last week we all had dinner in college hall, no? I want you teach me how to cook that noodle dish, lah!''

‘‘My dear old sausage, I have a lecture to attend in twenty minutes and the college kitchens are still shut. Besides we don't call it ‘noodles', we call it ‘pasta'.''

‘‘Please.''

He showed her his left profile. ‘‘I'm taking luncheon at the Pitt Club. I couldn't possibly.''

‘‘It is emergency!''

An awkward pause.

‘‘I'm pregnant, with no husband and I lost my flower to a vendor of pickled delights!''

Pietro's eyes widened to the size of tulip bulbs. ‘‘Well, why didn't you say so in the first place, sausage?'' He sprang to his feet, grabbing his college gown from behind the door. ‘‘Come with me!''

Ten minutes later, down in the bowels of the college kitchen, Pietro posed in a pair of Greta Garbo sunglasses. Sum Sum, as instructed, stood on his left side so that she could be heard.

‘‘Here, slip this apron on.''

‘‘Are you sure the cook doesn't mind you being in here, lah?''

‘‘Strictly speaking only staff's allowed in the kitchens, but don't you worry yourself about Illingworth.'' He winked. ‘‘We, how should I put it delicately, we understand one another.''

‘‘I not following …''

‘‘No, you wouldn't, darling.'' He laughed his hyena laugh. ‘‘You're what my mother would call
un pesce fuor d'acqua
, a fish out of water. A bit like me really … we're both on the periphery of conventional society. Outcasts almost.''

‘‘I like being outcast,'' she replied. ‘‘I am different to everyone here. I am Tibetan. I am a servant and not a student. And soon I will be a single mother.''

Not afraid of the direct question, Pietro asked, ‘‘Tell me, so the father of your child, he sells pickled onions?''

‘‘No, lah. I only say that to get your attention.''

‘‘Spill the beans then.'' He lowered his voice conspiratorially. ‘‘Is it Adie? Oh, please tell me it's Adie. I need a bit of juicy gossip.''

She hesitated. ‘‘I do not want to talk about the father.''

‘‘Scheming Eros! Thou art such a tease! Love at our age can be so fickle. By the way, did I mention I met this pretty second year Botanist from Caius? He's got a fantastic body, slim at the hips, broad at the top. Problem is I keep staring at this V of curly black hair tufting from beneath his throat. It's so distracting, sausage, I really should ask him to shave …''

‘‘You cuckoo-clocks crazy.''

The tomato and meat sauce bubbled in a pot as the spaghetti noodles steamed on a plate. ‘‘How did Loo-seat react to the baby news?''

‘‘Very supporting, lah. At first she not notice my throwing up because she's so busy studying. Even now she doesn't notice my tummy, but I can feel it getting bigger.''

‘‘You never had much of a waist, dahling.''

‘‘
Aiyoo!
Your mouth so rude, lah. Next time I see you I knock you on the head with a chestnut pan!''

Pietro twisted off a knot of herbs. ‘‘Smell this. Recognize it?''

Sum Sum cupped his hand in hers and took in the aroma. ‘‘No, but it's damn-powerful wonderful. What is it?''

‘‘Rosemary. You won't find it in Malaya. I grow it on my windowsill. I give some to Illingworth in exchange for certain favours.''

Sum Sum gave him a look.

‘‘Don't ask.''

Sum Sum ogled the pot of sauce. ‘‘Can I take rosemary back with me tonight?''

‘‘First you steal my recipe, then you raid dear Illingworth's glamorous kitchen of all its ingredients …'' He placed the back of his hand on his forehead. ‘‘Oh, the price of culinary genius.''

‘‘I bet I can cook something like this in no time, no?''

He shot her a look. ‘‘Let me assure you, dear sausage, that any fool can make a sauce, but to make it right you'' – he touched his nose – ‘‘you need Pietro magic.''

‘‘How you learn to cook?''

‘‘I started at eight years old. I trailed my mother whenever she was in the kitchen. Her hands were always covered in parsley or batter. When she let me wear her pink apron I was hooked!''

That night Sum Sum prepared dinner for Lu See and Mrs Slackford. With the smell of marinating meat in the air, she lit some candles and set the table with Mrs Slackford's finest silver.

‘‘What have we here?'' the landlady asked, surprised to see something on her plate prepared by Sum Sum. She balanced a pair of horn-rimmed spectacles on the end of her nose.

‘‘This? This called spaghetti alla Portugal Place.''

‘‘It sure don't resemble jugged hare or suet pudding,'' said Mrs Slackford with sarcasm so thick you could spread it like marmite. ‘‘Won't see this being served in the Blue Boar.'' She dipped her fork in and tried it. ‘‘It's tasty.''

‘‘Of course it tasty, lah.''

‘‘Well, Oi am very impressed. Yew
are
a dark horse. Oi expect yew'll cook up a storm for yer husband when he's back from his tour of duty. Lu See told me he's in the Gurkha Rifles. Oi bet he's ever so pleased yer expecting a baby.''

Sum Sum pressed her lips together politely. She glanced at Lu See who was looking pensive. ‘‘You okay?'' she asked.

Lu See made a face and shrugged.

‘‘Aiyoo, what wrong, lah?''

‘‘It's the organ. I've written several letters to Conrad P. Hughes and received no reply. All I'm asking for is a progress report.''

‘‘Maybe he busy.''

‘‘Too busy to acknowledge a customer who has left him with half her money?''

‘‘How long since yew last heard from him?'' asked Mrs Slackford.

‘‘Several weeks.''

‘‘Cor blast me!'' Mrs Slackford laughed.

Lu See felt the skin stiffen on her arms. Now that she thought about it, there was something very odd about Conrad P. Hughes and his insistence on a fifty percent deposit. Just how much did she know about his reputation and reliability?

‘‘I'll go and see him personally next Saturday,'' said Lu See, gulping down a forkful of spaghetti. ‘‘Don't worry, I'll get to the bottom of this and give him a piece of my mind.''

 

The following Saturday, with Lu See in London, Pietro and Sum Sum hired a flat-bottomed punt and spent a leisurely hour on the Cam.

Pietro, wearing a straw boater with a flower tucked in its band, handed Sum Sum the long pole and reclined across the pillows he'd brought from his room. Dressed in cream linen, he looked as though he was straight out of an E. M. Forster novel. ‘‘Beautiful day, sausage, it must remind you of Malaya.''

‘‘Small bit, lah.''

‘‘You're talking into the wrong ear, sausage! My left ear not my right.''

‘‘Ai-yoo! Wear ear-trumpet, lah!''

Theatrically, Pietro rolled his eyes. ‘‘No need to shout. Tell me, what language do you all speak at home?''

‘‘Back in Juru?
Aiyo
, a jumble-mix of everything.'' She stood three-quarters of the way toward the stern and pushed the pole through the water, shifting her balance from foot to foot. The slap of water against the side of the boat was comforting.

‘‘Like a bouillabaisse.''

Sum Sum wrinkled her nose. A whispering vulgar scent was drifting across the water. It took her a moment to realize what it was. The smell of camphor. She looked about her urgently. Not far away an old lady was feeding bread to the ducks.
Mothballs
, she said to herself, relieved.
Old lady smells of mothballs

‘‘Bouillabaisse,'' Pietro added helpfully, ‘‘is a type of soup with all sorts of fish thrown in.''

Sum Sum smiled and prodded her toe at a passing mallard. ‘‘I suppose so, yes, like soup. Malay people speak
Bahasa
. The Chinese speak Cantonese and Hokkien.'' She ducked her head as they went under a bridge. Her voice echoed as she spoke. ‘‘And the Indians speak Tamil.''

‘‘A tropical Tower of Babel.''