House of Trembling Leaves, The (21 page)

Lu See hesitated. She felt her heart expand in her chest and her breath pull tight. The blood in her veins turned cold. ‘‘I have an eight-year-old daughter.''

‘‘Quite.'' He looked at her, encouraging her to go on. ‘‘But I asked you your age, not hers.''

‘‘I am 28.''

‘‘
Ahhh-so
.'' His dark eyes narrowed and shimmered with moisture. ‘‘Very young still, very young.''

He took a sip of whisky and watched her over the rim of his glass.

Lu See could sense his eyes painting patterns across her body. In the months she had worked for the Colonel, apart from the odd fondling gaze, he never once made advances towards her and for this she was grateful, but suddenly she felt a shift in him. Her face became tangled with dread. She made to change the subject. ‘‘H-how is your meal tonight, o-colonel-sama?''

‘‘Very fine, as usual.'' He placed the crystal tumbler down carefully. ‘‘So, you are 28 and you have an 8-year-old daughter.''

Silence.

‘‘You have been very protective of her since the New Order took control of Malaya.''

Lu See swallowed. ‘‘I've done what any mother would do.''

‘‘A mother's will is like iron when her child is in danger, no?'' His lips twitched, an odd secret smile.

Panic ignited in her and spread like sparks on kindling.

‘‘She will make all sorts of sacrifices, no?''

Lu See could not hold his gaze. Her eyes fell to the floor. Outside, the sultry hiss of rain fizzed the air. She thought of Tozawa's stubbly toothbrush moustache brushing her skin and shuddered.

‘‘I make you feel discomforted, Teoh-san?''

Again, she said nothing.

‘‘It was not my intention to do so. Forgive me. The reason I ask you such questions is because you are a beautiful woman. And in times like this beautiful women such as you can become very ugly so very quickly. They need protecting, you see.'' His moustache twitched with his smile. ‘‘Otherwise they might disappear. And I would not want to see you disappear.''

Lu See made a tiny pleading gesture with her hands. ‘‘Your Special Protection Certificate has helped me on numerous occasions, o-colonel-sama.''

‘‘I am certain it has. But I have not done enough personally to ensure your safety. You work for me. You are my responsibility. Tell me, how do you return to your family at night when you finish here?''

‘‘I walk down the hill.''

‘‘That must take you many minutes to reach the village.'' Involuntarily Lu See glanced at her wristwatch – Adrian's old wristwatch. It had stopped working years before, but habit dictated she keep it close to her skin. ‘‘And the road is unlit,'' he continued. ‘‘Are you not afraid of bandits?''

Lu See wanted to say that she was more scared of the Japanese patrols and the sentry who searched her person each night for pilfered food. ‘‘I am used to it, o-colonel-sama.''

‘‘And what if it is raining, like tonight?'' Tozawa stroked his toothbrush moustache with his thumb knuckle. He made a little motion with his head. ‘‘No longer will you walk down the hill. From now on I will tell one of the servant-boys to take you directly to your home. He can drive the scout car.''

Lu See blinked a few times before bowing, her hands on her thighs. ‘‘You are too kind, o-colonel-sama, but I really cannot accept.''

‘‘You must accept. I will instruct the sentry guards of the new arrangement. Now, clear my plate and bring me your sweet dish. I have waited all day to taste this pie of yours and can wait no longer.''

Tuesday evening, three days later. Lu See pulled the toad-in-the-hole from the oven and plated it up. It was hot in the kitchen and the warm breeze coming in through the open, mosquito-mesh window did not cool anything. Earlier in the day, she was told to lay out the dinner settings for two; Colonel Tozawa was having a guest for supper.

‘‘Do you know who the guest is?'' she asked the servant-boy.

He shrugged.

She placed the two Blue and White china plates on a tray together with a large bowl of boiled peas, and told the servant-boy to serve the colonel.

A moment later, as soon as the servant-boy left with the tray, Lu See adjusted her ornamental hair clips and made her way into the dining room.

She struck a respectful pose beside the mahogany sideboard as his meal was presented, ready to receive his compliments or complaints. The guest was a man, dressed in a white linen suit. He was seated with his back to Lu See. She could tell by the colour of his hair that he was either Japanese or Chinese. From the moment that she entered the room she smelled the liniment on his skin; the vulgar scent of camphor.

When he turned to look at her, she obediently lowered her eyes.

‘‘What do you think of our Teoh-san?'' asked Tozawa in English.

‘‘Pretty, but a little on the old side,'' the man answered, returning to his food.

‘‘Old? She is only 28,'' retorted Tozawa. They spoke as if Lu See wasn't in the same room.

‘‘Does she have children?''

‘‘One only.''

The man in the white suit tutted.

Lu See raised her eyes a fraction. Tozawa looked at her and smiled a thin smile. She watched the servant-boy pour three fingers of whisky into the colonel's crystal tumbler. As he shuffled across to replenish the guest's glass, the man in the white suit placed a flat hand over his glass and shook his head.

Something about him was vaguely familiar.

Lu See did not move. She watched him eat. She was silent. And then she recognized the slope of his shoulders.

The man turned his head a fraction. She tried to hide her eyes from him. Too late. ‘‘Why are you looking at me?'' he said.

She gasped. Recognition made her mouth pull taut. No, it couldn't be! Not after all this time. It couldn't be him.

‘‘You!'' she yelled, making no attempt to hide her shock. The man in the white suit dropped his fork. There was no mistaking the mole on his left cheek. It was the Black-headed Sheep.

Tozawa jumped to his feet. ‘‘What are you doing! How dare you act so disrespectfully to my guest!'' He stepped up to her and raised his hand, threatening to slap her across the mouth. ‘‘
Boujakubujin!
'' He ordered her to go out into the corridor and kneel.

She left the room and knelt in silence on the tatami mat, head bowed. She tried to listen to the conversation taking place in the dining room, but heard nothing. The silence scared her. Eventually, Tozawa appeared with a crystal tumbler of whisky in one hand. He held a
Katana
sword in the other. He was swaying a little bit. She could smell the alcohol on him.

He stood staring at her, dressed in his wooden slippers and green trousers.

‘‘Explain,'' he said in a soft yet menacing voice.

‘‘He is a Woo.''

‘‘You told me the other day, Teoh-san, that you had no problems with the Woos.''

‘‘I don't. I only have a problem with that man.''

‘‘
That man
is a very important friend to the Imperial Army.''

‘‘Years ago he did something terrible.''

‘‘We have all done something terrible in this war.''

‘‘He will cause me harm.''

‘‘I assure you, he will not. Whatever went on between you in the past is no longer his concern.''

‘‘How do you know?''

‘‘He told me.''

‘‘And now he is an informer.''

‘‘He is a loyal servant to the Emperor.''

Silence.

‘‘Just as you, Teoh-san, are a loyal servant to the Emperor, no?'' He smiled a thin smile.

Tozawa at this point might have expected Lu See to turn her eyes away timidly, or lower them to the floor. Instead, she raised her chin and looked defiantly at him. ‘‘I warn you, o-colonel-sama, I will not be in the same room as that man.''

‘‘You
warn
me?''

She kept her eyes fixed on his.

His moustache twitched. He raised his sword a fraction.

‘‘You know,'' he said with a tired sigh, ‘‘you really should not wear so many ornaments in your hair.'' He finished his whisky with a gulp. ‘‘People might think you are a prostitute.''

Cautiously, she began to remove the ornamental clips. Her hair fell around her shoulders. She felt the touch of cold metal on her throat. She flinched. Tozawa pushed some strands of hair away with the tip of his blade. She could see a quotation written in Japanese text engraved on the haft of the sword.

‘‘I was to be his ‘gift', was that it? You were going to repay him for his good work by offering him me.''

‘‘Is that what you think?'' A sadness marked his face. ‘‘You are so very wrong, Teoh-san.'' There were red cobwebs in the whites of his eyes. She could almost see the disappointment bleed out of him.

‘‘What will he do to me? I made him lose face in there.''

‘‘He will do nothing. He has bigger fish to fry than worry about you.''

The ends of his black toothbrush moustache glistened with whisky. For several moments he watched her, studied her mouth and eyes.

‘‘Go home,'' he ordered.

She went.

On a high Tibetan hilltop perch, with the wind gusting and the earth brown and hard, Sum Sum watched from a distance as her mother's body was carried in a white cloth and laid in a foetal position on the cold stones. Soaring above, in a rising current of air, a pair of vultures watched, black tip feathers extended, their wings bent forward slightly.

The village
daodeng
, the man overseeing the burial task, set alight a clump of juniper to attract more birds. The fragrant incense rose with the wind. More vultures appeared.

They landed within a few feet of Sum Sum's mother. Bristling their bushy neck plumes like feathery boas, they patrolled the corpse, circling it, hopping from stone to stone. First five or six drew near and then over a dozen arrived, followed by another dozen.

Sum Sum knew what was coming next. She held her breath. The
daodeng
raised his axe to his shoulder and brought it down on her A-Ma's spine, severing her into several parts. The vertebrae snapped like faraway gunshots. Next with a long knife he began tearing the muscles from the bones in long strips and mixing
tsampa
flour into the separated flesh. Finally, with a low whistle, the
daodeng
invited the birds to begin feasting, clapping his hands and encouraging them as he would a flock of sheep.

Throats stretched out, their pale beaks and foreheads suddenly polluted with blood, the vultures began squabbling in their squalling tones. Sum Sum watched her mother slowly disappear.

Entrails were snatched from beak to beak; guts and organs were gorged on.

She decided she wouldn't stay for the crushing of the skull.

The Tibetan sun rose above the horizon line, extending coral shadows from its copper-coin eye. Sum Sum turned away and made her way down the hillside path.

The wings of her earflap hat beat against her cheeks as she rushed to meet her brother, Hesha. A sergeant with the Gurkha Rifles, he was returning that morning from the Burmese front on four days' compassionate leave. She wanted to hug him hard to her chest and feel his heart beat against her ear. It was excitement that made her hop over the stones, not sadness. It was excitement that blurred her eyes with tears.

 

For the first time in almost seven years, Sum Sum found herself alone with her brother. They were at their family home, a house made from sun-dried bricks and timber posts. She draped a white narrow scarf, a
kata
, across his shoulder and bowed. Hesha accepted the scarf with both hands. ‘‘Look at you,'' she said. ‘‘Skinny as a skeleton in a desert.''

As they settled down on the floor, on horse fur cushions in front of a short table, sipping hot cups of butter tea from wooden bowls, she began to tell him about their mother's passing. Hesha listened in silence, dipping his head every few moments with reverence, speaking the names of deities in praise of her memory.

Hesha looked relieved when Sum Sum said that many birds came to feast on her flesh. ‘‘Let us hope that her soul has migrated.'' She wanted to tell him more but the words knotted in her throat.

He trailed a finger across his forehead and gazed out of the window, into the sky. He blew on his bowl of butter tea, eyeing the stacks of firewood and the saddle gear on the floor. ‘‘We are destined to lose the ones we love otherwise we would never realize how much they meant to us.''

Sum Sum touched him on the arm. ‘‘Here,'' she said, handing him a bowl of
tsampa
. ‘‘You need to put some extra layers of flesh on your bones.''

Hesha accepted the
tsampa,
which he ate with his hands, and together they reminisced about their early childhood before Sum Sum went to work abroad, beyond the plateau. ‘‘Do you remember the kites you used to fly in the springtime?'' she asked.

Sum Sum watched her brother's face crack into a smile. ‘‘Old widow Bayarmaa used to chase after me with a broom each time my line got tangled up with her washing.''

‘‘And do you remember the day A-Pha took you to the horse festival and you rode a Mongolian pony?''

‘‘I ended up back to front on the saddle!'' They laughed out loud.

After a quarter of an hour Hesha gave a muted yawn. The thought recurred to Sum Sum during this uncharacteristic lull in conversation that perhaps Hesha might wish to talk about his recent exploits. She asked him if being a sergeant meant he was assigned a great deal of responsibility. ‘‘Many responsibilities,'' he replied.

‘‘Like what?''

‘‘I am in charge of a platoon. I must set an example on the battlefield to my men. And when not fighting there is also equipment to maintain which I have to oversee.''