House of Trembling Leaves, The (48 page)

Potholes slipped beneath Mabel's wheels. She hit a puddle and with a shout of glee sent a blanket of spray up over her ankles.

When they reached Po On Village they were amazed that the place looked exactly as it had done in the 1940s. Up ahead they saw the village square, empty now except for some dogs and the odd chicken. Beyond the Chinese Temple was the old toddy shop, the pith wood store and the mosquito-net maker. It was as though they'd been transported back in time.

‘‘Are you going to tell me why we've come back?'' asked Mabel.

‘‘You'll see,'' replied her mother. They cycled in the direction of the big house.

‘‘Are you taking me to see our old home?''

‘‘No.''

Mabel's curiosity was fully aroused now. Just as she was wondering where Lu See would lead her, they stopped by a 10-foot high wooden gate. An Englishman in a bush hat came striding out of a lodge office to greet them.

Under his hat, Mabel noticed his complexion was as glossily enamelled as a glazed roast duck – a planter's face, baked stiff by the tropical sun. He carried a bamboo switch tucked under his arm like a swagger stick. Both women smoothed their hair into place.

‘‘Mabel, meet Mr Charlie Fosler.'' Mabel alighted and shook hands. ‘‘Charlie runs one of the large rubber estates here.''

‘‘Ayup, ladies,'' he said in his gruff Yorkshire accent.

With the formalities over Charlie led them over some worn stone steps towards a curve of field and a plantation house by a copse of angsana trees.

Under the angsanas, streaks of moss glinted emerald in the sunlight. Charlie led them through his house and into the drawing room. An Anglican priest rose from a chair as soon as they entered. He was in his late fifties with grey hair and florid cheeks.

‘‘Well, hello, Lu See,'' exclaimed the priest.

‘‘Father Louis. How nice to see you again.'' Lu See placed an arm on Mabel's shoulder. ‘‘May I introduce my daughter, Mabel.''

‘‘An exciting day, what?'' said Father Louis. His long fingers folded over Mabel's outstretched hand.

‘‘Delighted to meet you, but I really don't know what this is all about.''

‘‘Nor should you. Your mother's been planning this for years, coming down to see us in secret.''

Mabel's face was a question.

‘‘No idea? Well, then, we'd better show you,'' said the priest, giving her a wink. ‘‘Let's go for a walk, shall we?''

A few minutes later they emerged from the copse of angsana trees and came to the Anglican Church, perched on the river's edge.

‘‘The Japanese used it as a rice storage facility. Left it in horrid disrepair. And of course, as you know, the pipe organs were stolen. Your mother tidied it up but the Juru Diocesan Trustees Association simply had no funds to replace the damaged floors and pews.''

‘‘We approached the Chinese Synod but they could not help either,'' added Lu See.

‘‘It was a desperate time.'' The priest placed his arm on the heavy teak doors and pushed them open. They entered the fresh, white-walled interior. ‘‘But thanks to your mother and her negotiation skills, we prevailed.''

Shafts of sunlight streamed in through the coloured-glass windows. Fans on the ceilings whirred silently.

Lu See led Mabel by the hand. ‘‘I worked out a plan, and we came to a formal arrangement with the surrounding estates.''

‘‘The tin miners refused point blank, but the plantation companies agreed to contribute.''

‘‘Grudgingly, mind you,'' said Charlie Fosler with a grin.

‘‘They agreed to donate ¼ cent of revenue per planted acre.''

‘‘And your mother put in the rest.''

‘‘You did?'' said Mabel.

‘‘Every week I took $10 from my share of the restaurant takings and donated it to the fund.'' There was a hint of quiet pride in her voice. ‘‘It took me fifteen years until we had enough.''

‘‘Enough for what?''

‘‘The new pipe organ, of course.''

‘‘Ah, that's where I coom in,'' said Charlie Fosler.

‘‘Charlie's uncle sold us the original copper pipes.''

‘‘It dint tek much for me to persuade the old bloke to cast a new set at a knock-down price. You being a return customer and all.''

‘‘And here it is,'' beamed Father Louis.

Lu See came forward and stroked the solid console base. The case work was in oak, shiny and highly-polished. The organ employed both mechanical key and stop action. ‘‘It's beautiful,'' she said. She examined the pedals and then, finally, gazed up at the pipes. The copper glinted in the sun as if coated with grease. ‘‘Absolutely beautiful.''

‘‘Thought you'd like it,'' said Charlie Fosler. ‘‘We put up the memorial tablet for you too.''

A brass plaque hung to the left of the organ. It read:

 

This pipe organ was donated in memory of
Teoh Tak Ming 1915-1935

AND

Adrian W.S. WOO 1912-1936

 

Lu See looked at it and smiled.

 

Lu See and Mabel chose a pew and sat side by side.

Father Louis folded his long fingers across the keyboard.

Just as Lu See shut her eyes a blast of sound shuddered the air – the opening bursts of Bach's Prelude in C Major. The notes swirled in circles, around and around her head. They rose and fell. The eddying swell of noise permeated the walls, shook the ground and trembled the leaves on the trees outside. It drowned out all thought and knocked the breath out of Lu See. This was what she'd waited so long to hear; this was the music she'd sung to as a child, in the choir.

When Father Louis brought his hands to a stop and the air grew still, it felt as though the church had been washed clean. Lu See dropped her chin to her chest. She felt a solitary tear slip down her face, drying on her cheek. It made her skin itch.

 

Outside the church, Lu See and Mabel stood on the stone steps.

Mabel leaned forward and whispered in Lu See's ear. ‘‘I'm proud of you.''

‘‘I've had to keep this from your grandmother,'' she admitted, looking up at the sky. ‘‘Otherwise she'd be down here every weekend, sticking her oar in.''

‘‘Grandma thought you were stealing from the till. She kept dropping hints that you might be gambling or getting secretly drunk.'' From her voice, Lu See could tell Mabel was smiling. She glanced at her daughter, half amused.

There was another long silence.

‘‘Fifteen years. I'm amazed you didn't give up.''

‘‘I needed to finish this. For my sake, for Second-aunty Doris and cousin Tak Ming's sake.''

‘‘You make it sound like an obsession.''

‘‘This church is a very important to me. It holds wonderful memories. It is part of our heritage. This is where I hope you will get married.''

Mabel smiled; she thought about her surgeon friend. ‘‘Did you ever think about throwing in the towel?''

‘‘No. After the war, even though we'd left Juru, I was determined to get the pipes replaced.''

‘‘Because you lost them.''

‘‘Because of a promise I made to Second-aunty Doris. But also because they were stolen by a man I hated.'' Her voice grew flat with disgust.

‘‘The man with the mole, yes, Uncle Big Jowl mentioned him once when I was much younger. He was the one that put the sheep's head in the ground.''

‘‘You remember that.''

‘‘Of course I remember. I was eight years old. It's not something an 8-year-old easily forgets.''

‘‘I'm sorry.''

‘‘What did he do to you? Why did you hate him so much?''

‘‘He–'' Lu See held her tongue. She was about to elaborate but quickly stopped herself. She shuddered inside at her carelessness.

‘‘He what?''

Lu See saw the impatience and hunger in Mabel's eyes; she wanted to hear the full story.

‘‘He what?'' Mabel jabbed her with the same question. The colour seeped out of Lu See's face. She tried to think of what to say, dusting her words with a sprinkling of lies. But it was like walking on thin ice. The truth would stab a hole in the frozen water and pull them under. And beneath the ice lurked something dark and wrong and jagged. Long dead. Never to be brought to light.

 

The night before she left for India, Lu See removed a letter she'd kept hidden in an inner pocket of her eel-skin trunk for almost a quarter-century. It was a letter from Sum Sum. Lu See wasn't sure why she'd kept it for so long without destroying it. Perhaps, she thought, it was because the letter had been written in Sum Sum's hand, and anything belonging to Sum Sum was sacred to her.

Lu See set an ashtray by her elbow together with a box of matches. Tentatively, she unfurled the page and smoothed it flat with the palm of her hand. The blue ink was faded, the paper a little yellowed.

My dear Lu See, my sister, my friend,

I write this from a ship I have boarded from Felixstowe and my heart is crying.

I have left you with my child, I have left you with many unanswered questions. Now is the time for you to know the truth. Soon after we both arrived in Cambridge something bad happened. Remember the day I lost the camera? I told you I had accident and it dropped into the river? Well, I lied. I not drop the camera. I gave it to a man. The same man I saw coming out of the jungle when the dam broke. The same man you saw on the Jutlandia. The man with the mole on his cheek.

He was in Cambridge. He followed us. On day you had college interview that is when he come for me. When he found me, he chased me to a place with no people around. He catch me. And then he say if I ever tell anyone about the dam he will kill you. Not kill me, but kill
you
. I promised him I will keep quiet and I told him I would do anything if he went away, do anything so that he won't hurt you.

So, I give him camera, I give him all the photographs … and I give him me.

He tear my clothes and hit my face.

For a long time, Lu See, I have nightmares. I think I see him everywhere I go. I think I can smell him. But I never see him again after that day.

Some time later, I started feeling sick with baby.

Promise me you NEVER tell Mabel about this. Never tell anyone about the man with mole. You must keep this our secret forever to protect Mabel.

As I wrote in earlier letter, perhaps Mabel's smile is not the same as your own baby's smile, the baby God took away, but I know you will grow to love Mabel. Be good to each other. Right now, you need her and she need you.

I thank the Goddess Tara for all the love and kindness you have given me.

I will always treasure you.

Sum Sum

Lu see lifted her eyes and stared at the ceiling, stared at the slowly revolving fan. And then, without hesitating, she struck a match and applied it to a corner of the page. She watched it burn like an offering to the gods.

The journey to Dharamsala involved taking two ferry boats, three commuter trains and sitting in a Leyland bus built in the 1930s for fifteen hours.

Lu See's spirits were light, full of girlish energy. She couldn't wait to see Sum Sum; the anticipation electrified her. Yet she tried not to get ahead of herself – there was no way of knowing if Sum Sum was in Dharamsala, or in Tibet, whether she was even alive at all. But somehow, in her bones, Lu See knew with an unshakeable certainty that she would find Sum Sum. She felt the pull of their friendship and an overpowering sense that fate was drawing close.

Dharamsala. She toyed with the word, rolling it around on her tongue like a salted plum. In Hindi it meant ‘sanctuary', a place for injured souls. She wondered if the city in the upper reaches of the Kangra Valley would bring her soul the peace it craved.

Earlier, in Penang, with the thick smell of the sea in her hair, she watched loinclothed Lascars with arms and shoulders blackened from the sun unload a shiny red fire engine with a heavy lift derrick. A shout went up. The fire truck swung in the air like a toy. Children playing street badminton nearby dropped their racquets and gathered about, unable to contain their excitement, whooping with delight as the engine landed on the quay. Their excitement was infectious. It reminded her of the laughter she once shared with Sum Sum.

Then, as Lu See's ship left Penang harbour, skirting the coastline, she stared out at the hills of George Town, at the fields of palm parched by the sun, at the fish farms, tin mines and coconut groves. A farmer reclined in the shade, on a makeshift bed made from coconut fibre rope and the image made her smile; it summed up everything she loved about Malay rural life; everything sleepy and calm.

Despite herself, she was touched by a sense of nostalgia.

Do you remember?
Lu See lowered her eyelids.
Do you remember, years before, standing on the deck of the Jutlandia? Watching the port recede from view, embarking on that adventure of a lifetime? You were the girl who'd never travelled beyond the Straits of Malacca. The girl who believed she controlled her own destiny
.

‘‘How little I knew,'' she murmured to herself. ‘‘How little I knew.''

She turned and walked, walked all the way around to the bow of the ship, until the barrier at the end stopped her. She gripped the handrail tight and, feeling the breeze in her face, laughed at the sun.

Her lips tasted salt. Her eyes tasted happy tears.

She was on a new adventure.

And she was going to look forward not back.

 

When they arrived in Madras, Pietro took charge, flashing his diplomatic documents. But getting from Dr. Ambedkar Dock to the dilapidated Royapuram Rail Station proved to be a trial; the traffic jam of trishaws and rickshaws and the seething mass of people made Pietro swoon. ‘‘It's like everyone's rushing for the khazi but nobody's got the key,'' he moaned. Their Ambassador cab swerved past buses bloated with passengers. Each time they hit a pothole Mabel and Pietro yelped.