House of Trembling Leaves, The (28 page)

Her uncle winced. ‘‘Bloody no-good scoundrel, aahh! That fellow like a spider creeping behind a stone.''

‘‘Wait, there's more. It says that he conspired with the late Woo Hak-yeung, an unashamed Japanese collaborator, who had been cast out of the Woo clan years before. Woo Hak-yeung's body was discovered hanging from a tree in Juru last week in what was believed to be a retaliation killing.''

‘‘Woo Hak-yeung was known as the Black-headed Sheep,'' said Uncle Big Jowl.

‘‘The man with the mole. So it was him. He really is dead. I must have been wrong; the MPAJA did kill him. Don't you see what this means? It means an end to our feud with the Woos.''

‘‘Nonsense,'' said Mother, walnut still attached to her eye like a pirate's patch, ‘‘this feud started years before that bloody dam-bursting.''

‘‘But we can start afresh now. Forgive and forget.''

‘‘The Woos never forget. Never!'' said Mother, removing the smoking cheroot from her ear.

Lu See puffed out her cheeks. ‘‘Well, I have never had an issue with them.''

‘‘They will always see us as their enemies,'' Uncle Big Jowl said. ‘‘Look how they treat Mabel, their own granddaughter. They refuse to acknowledge her.''

‘‘Well, in order to know your enemy you must befriend him, or at least pretend to be his friend, no?''

Uncle Big Jowl fanned himself with a banana leaf. ‘‘What are you suggesting, Lu See?''

‘‘We ask them over.''

Uncle Big Jowl's chin dropped comically like an accordion jaw. ‘‘Ask them over? What, aahh, to a tea party?'' He laughed, pretending to hold a teacup with his pinkie in the air. ‘‘Cucumber sandwiches on the lawn, snooty British-style?''

‘‘I was thinking more a shot of coconut toddy.''

‘‘
Hnn
, this country in middle of a food crisis and you want to host a party, is it?'' smirked Mother.

‘‘I'm trying to mend bridges. I want to talk with Matriarch Woo.''

‘‘That stubborn old sow?
Cha!
''

‘‘You will only provoke them, aahh. Speaking of provoke,'' he said to Mother, starting one of his tangents. ‘‘Eye injury can provoke cataracts. You should remove the walnut.''

‘‘When was the last time a Teoh asked a Woo to anything?'' said Lu See, feeling a flicker of impatience.

The big man scratched his forehead. ‘‘Apart from to knock heads together like coconuts? Never. At least not in my lifetime.''

‘‘Well, there you have it. Time to put that right.''

Uncle Big jowl shrugged. ‘‘Better to have Indian pissing out of wigwam than have him pissing in.''

The next day Lu See ground her ink stick onto some water and, using a brush, composed an invitation on a Chinese scroll, carefully writing the important family names in black lettering. When she finished and dabbed dry the ink she sent a barefoot village boy round to Swettenham Lodge, the Woo compound, to deliver it.

‘‘What, lah?'' the townspeople asked. ‘‘It must be a trick.''

Within hours Lu See received a reply – a short one-word response accepting her offer of drinks.

From a cabinet in the billiard room Lu See brought out the only glasses she had in the house, a set of mismatched goblets, and set them out on the dining table. She wiped her hand on her skirt and realized her hands were sweating.

‘‘
Chee-chee!
This is how trouble starts,'' said Mother. ‘‘When you invite a cobra into your house, expect nothing but trouble.'' She eyed the mismatched goblets. ‘‘You better prepare some small chow. People come expecting food. You better pick up your socks if you want to do everything on time.''

‘‘I think the expression is ‘pull your socks up', Mother.''

‘‘You look nervous. Do you feel nervous?''

Irritated, Lu See snapped, ‘‘Yes, Mother, I am nervous. Aren't you?''

‘‘Why should I be nervous? You are the one who invite them.'' She removed her spectacles and polished the lenses against her sleeve. ‘‘All this your idea.''

‘‘Yes, I'm well aware of that.''

Mother tilted her head this way and that. ‘‘And a bad idea to boots. How many of them do you expect will come?''

Lu See took a cloth and wiped the goblets of dust. ‘‘I think we'll see the head of the family and perhaps one of his sons.''

‘‘One of Adrian's brothers, meh?''

Lu See swallowed and felt her throat catch. ‘‘I expect so.''

Her mother shook her head and scratched her palms. ‘‘You know they'll come here and start blaming you for his accident.''

Lu See gritted her teeth. ‘‘Well, I can't change that. I'll just have to swallow it.''

‘‘If you didn't run off to England he would still be alive, I bet that is what they say.''

‘‘Mother!'' She threw the cloth onto the table in protest. ‘‘Have you any idea how hurtful your comments can be sometimes?''

‘‘Hurtful? How? No, why hurtful, hurtful to who-ah?''

‘‘To me, to all of us. What is it with you?'' she challenged.

‘‘I speak my mind, that's all. And if you don't like …'' She washed her hands in the air. ‘‘… not my problem. I say what I think.'' She eyed her daughter. ‘‘Aya, don't look at me like that. Why don't you sit down? Now you are even making me anxious, pacing back and forth, back and forth like a betel nut worm.''

‘‘Please, just let me get on with this, will you? I want this to work out.''

‘‘
Cha!
Waste of time.''

Lu See shrugged. ‘‘We'll see.''

Mother couldn't resist not getting in the last word. ‘‘See, my foot.''

The following day the cookboy from the Woo house came with a box of pineapples. He bowed reverently and announced that owing to a family illness Woo-sang senior would not be coming after all and to please accept the gift of fruit as an expression of regret.

‘‘Damn-powerful outrageous!'' bellowed Uncle Big Jowl. He drew on his cheroot and smoke hung blue in the air. ‘‘We've been jilted, aahh.''

Mother tilted her head this way and that. ‘‘See? I told you, waste of time, liao. Don't look like that, Lu See, you know it's true.''

The cookboy placed the box of pineapples on a table and turned to leave.

‘‘Wait!'' cried Lu See as he drifted out the door. ‘‘Who is ill?''

‘‘Grandson number one,'' he replied.

‘‘Hold on,'' she said. ‘‘I am coming with you.''

When Lu See arrived at Swettenham Lodge armed with her father's copy of
The Household Physician
the cookboy told her to wait in the poorly lit drawing room. She'd been in the house but once before, on her return from England, to inform the family of Adrian's death. The patriarch turned her out and told her he wanted nothing to do with Mabel, his granddaughter. It had been a traumatic experience, one she preferred to forget. For several minutes she glanced about the Woo drawing room, getting her bearings, wondering how many of the objects had been here in Adrian's time, how many he had touched with his own hands.

Moments later a parade of Woo women appeared in neatly ironed dresses and stiff smiles. The matriarch of the family stepped forward and greeted her with folded hands. ‘‘How is the child?'' asked Lu See.

‘‘His condition has worsened,'' replied Matriarch Woo solemnly.

‘‘May I see him?''

‘‘Why?'' asked the child's mother, a young woman of about twenty-five, her voice crackly and breathless.

‘‘I want to help.''

‘‘Unless you are a doctor I doubt you can help. And what is the point of calling a doctor if there is no medicine to be bought?'' said one of the older aunties.

‘‘Besides,'' offered another with an intense look, ‘‘all the doctors have run off to Kuala Lumpur where the money is better.''

Lu See squared her shoulders. ‘‘I may not be a doctor but I have a book of medicine with me.''

A pointed silence filled the room. The aunties exchanged reluctant noises. ‘‘Let me at least see him.''

‘‘Very well,'' said Matriarch Woo.

They led Lu See up the stairs to a dim outpost of the sprawling house. In the child's room Lu See pulled up a chair so that it was next to the bed. She placed the back of her hand on his forehead. He had a high spiking fever and no longer recognized his own family.

‘‘Where is the pain?'' she asked the boy. ‘‘Is the pain sharp like a cut or dull like a bruise?''

When he didn't reply his mother responded on his behalf. ‘‘In his stomach and he has been wetting his bed every hour. We gave him rancid brinjal and vinegar but his fever will not break.''

Lu See knelt at the child's bedside and ran a cool, damp towel over his face. She placed her palm on the boy's abdomen and ironed it gently with the flat of her hand. Then she touched the lower right side of his tummy and pressed down. The boy barely moved. Frowning, she could feel the abdomen was distended. ‘‘Not appendicitis, otherwise he would have jerked with pain.''

‘‘His lips have turned white.''

‘‘He's dehydrated. Get him to drink more water.''

They applied a wet cloth to his mouth and dribbled water onto his tongue.

With a quiet strength, Lu See stayed by his side for several minutes unsure what she could do. She studied the young boy's pale face and the blades of his narrow shoulders and thought of Adrian.
He would have looked like, as an eight year old. He would have looked just like this.

Tenderly, she stroked his hair. She tried to recall what it was like to see Adrian's face, what it was like to hold Adrian in her arms; when he was warm, when he was whole. But she couldn't remember; the weight of grief had seen to that. She pinched her eyes shut and tried to squeeze the memories out. Her hands went to a piece of loose thread attached to her sleeve. And like a reflex her mind unspooled, taking her back to the hospital at Addenbrooke's and its institution-green walls.

 

A nurse wheeling a trolley of kidney dishes immediately abandoned what she was doing to help Lu See to a bench in a big empty corridor. ‘‘I want to see my husband,'' she said, but the nurse gave her a sympathetic look that said,
Now's not the time; he's lying on a marble slab.

She sat on the plain wooden bench, shaking in her overcoat, the sleeves of her cardigan pulled down over the backs of her hands. Every so often she stared at the wall clock, but dark spots bobbed before her like black watermelon seeds. Only when the same nurse offered her a cup of tea did she notice that over an hour had gone by. She placed her hands on her tummy, her eight-week pregnant tummy. For the first time that day she realized the child would be fatherless.

Only last night Adrian had pressed his face against her tummy. She vaguely remembered him kissing her belly button through her dress, tickling, making her laugh. And the more she giggled the more he tickled. Had that been yesterday or some other evening?

Lu See felt a panic grow within her. She looked about and hoped the nurse with the white cape and red cross embroidered on her bosom would come and sit with her. But she didn't.

She waited; she thought about the future of her unborn child, and waited.

Finally, the coroner appeared. He wanted her to come with him. He and a houseman led her into an old iron elevator that took her down to the windowless basement.

The houseman flicked a basement switch. Overhead lights sparked on. She saw a raised table at the centre of the room with the contours of a body shrouded by a white sheet. The houseman stood by her side in case she collapsed.

‘‘All right,'' the coroner said in a steady, composed tone. ‘‘When you're ready.''

She nodded.

He pulled the white sheet from Adrian's motionless frame, exposing his wan chest and small pink nipples, his arms arranged by his sides. The first thing she noticed was the bones protruding through his upper chest. His clavicle and ribs had splintered and pushed through the skin.

Lu See started gasping for air.

Adrian's eyes were closed and the overhead lights turned his cheeks the blued white of an iceberg. He was as pale as a wax model. The back of his head looked warped, caved in almost; it was where he must have struck the ground, she thought.

‘‘Is this Adrian Woo?'' asked the coroner.

She looked at him. His lips were dry and cracked, flecked with blood. The hair he was always so proud of looked sleep-tangled. She nodded.

Tremulously, Lu See touched him. She wanted to feel his warmth. There was none. He was a piece of marble, nothing but a cold shell. She leaned closer. His smell still floated on his skin. ‘‘Come back, Adrian,'' she whispered inaudibly, lovingly smoothing his hair. She pressed her open mouth onto his flesh. ‘‘Please come back to me.''

The coroner pulled the sheet over Adrian.

‘‘Please don't cover him up.''

She crumpled over her husband, her arms around him, embracing him. She wanted to cry out again and again but her throat was closed.

Her eyes remained riveted to the white sheet covering him as she was led away. It was as though her feet had been snatched from under her.

She was falling.

Some time later, Lu See found herself back in the big empty hospital corridor, on the same wooden bench. She cocooned herself in her arms and waited.

Her hands began to tremble. She felt stripped bare, like a tree ripped of its leaves. An hour passed, followed by another. Then the administrative nurse appeared with a bespectacled man from the hospital's accounts department. He carried a clipboard. Handing her Adrian's wristwatch, wedding ring and house keys, he wanted to know if she wanted them to make arrangements and pick out a casket. In hushed tones he asked her what was to be done with the remains.