House of Trembling Leaves, The (6 page)

‘‘Pictures taken from dragon boat day. We so busy with funerals and everything I forgot all about them. Only had Mr Quek develop last week.''

Lu See sat by her side. ‘‘Who's that one of?'' she asked when Sum Sum paused at the man with the mole on his cheek.

‘‘Remember I told you? Up on the hill I saw man come out of the trees with a gun.''

Lu See peered at the man's face. ‘‘I've seen him before.''

‘‘Meh?''

‘‘He's a Woo. Adrian's cousin. What was he doing up in the hills with a gun?''

The girls looked at each other. ‘‘You think he has something to do with dam explosion?''

‘‘Wait,'' said Sum Sum. She got to her feet and returned with a red tin. ‘‘Look, meh, I keep my beads in this now. It is the same tin he has in his hand. He threw away but I go back to find it.''

Lu See reached for the tin. On it were the words ‘DuPont No. 6 Blasting Caps'. She stared at the photograph; the container was clearly visible in his hand. ‘‘Adrian's talked about him before. They call him the Black-headed Sheep. They say he is connected to one of the Penang secret societies, one of the Dragon Heads.'' She looked at Sum Sum again. ‘‘Did he see you take this picture? Did he see you with a camera?''

Sum Sum shrugged.

‘‘This is serious, pumpkin-head. If he had something to do with the dam and he knows you took a picture of him that day, there's no telling what he might do. He might think there are more photographs, of him setting the charges perhaps.''

Sum Sum laced her fingers together and stretched her arms. ‘‘
Aiyoo!
Stop worrying, lah. What you think, he going to follow us? Cut out throats in our sleep? Silly, lah.''

‘‘Mr Quek developed these photographs, right? Did you talk to him about us? Did you tell him we were going abroad?''

Sum Sum looked affronted. ‘‘Of course not. I'm not stupid.''

‘‘Quek works for the Woos. Has done for years. I bet you when he saw this picture he went and told mole-face about it straight away.''

‘‘But why would mole-face blow up dam?''

‘‘I don't know.''

‘‘You really think he maybe come after us?''

‘‘The people he is involved with go to any lengths to achieve their aims. If you have any evidence that might convict him of the dam sabotage he'll find you and kill you.''

‘‘Next you going to tell me he is already here, on this ship.''

‘‘Perhaps he is. If Uncle Big Jowl found us then he could too.'' The girls felt their mouths go dry as they stared at one another.

Sum Sum got to her feet to lock the cabin door. ‘‘Should we tell anyone?''

‘‘Who are we going to tell? And what are we going to say? That there might be a saboteur on board? A man who killed over thirty people and almost destroyed an entire village? Someone who might be planning to kill us because you took his photo? Lord, we'd start a panic and before you know it we'd be on the first boat home. No, I think we should just stick close to our new policeman friends Mr Farrell and Mr Aziz.''

Sum Sum groaned. ‘‘
Aiyo
, not smelly boiled-prawns-man.''

‘‘Yes, smelly-boiled-prawns man.''

‘‘You only doing this to torture me, I know you, lah.''

 

‘‘Well now,'' said Stan Farrell at Friday tiffin, ‘‘let's see what's on the menu.'' He peered at the carte du jour. Owing to Aziz's ethnicity they were in the salon rather than the main restaurant, seated at a table for four. A string quartet played in the corner as potted palms swayed in the sea breeze. The other diners were mostly English, colonial civil servants in pale linen suits, holding up their newspapers, smoking their pipes and sipping their whisky
stengahs
– all very white and restrained.

‘‘Isn't it odd for a sahib to mix so freely with his orderly and two Chinese women, Mr Farrell?'' asked Lu See. ‘‘Aren't you concerned how others might view you?''

‘‘Well, as you said earlier, Miss Apricot, I'm a very odd man. I actually like mixing with Chinese.''

Lu See smiled at him. ‘‘Have you, by any chance, come across any other Chinese passengers on board?'' she probed.

‘‘Any with mole on face?'' Sum Sum added, pressing.

‘‘A mole?''

‘‘Yes, lah, mole.'' She prodded her left cheek with an index finger.

‘‘Why?''

‘‘Oh, it's nothing,'' said Lu See with an embarrassed flourish of her hand.

Stan returned to the menu and a deep line appeared between his eyebrows. He clearly had no idea what they were on about. ‘‘So then, Sum Sum,'' he asked, ‘‘how hot do you take your curries?''

Sum Sum beamed. ‘‘Volcano hot!''

‘‘Glad to hear it. Let's get four portions of basmati rice, some mutton randang to share, chicken Madras, Bengali potatoes, and poppadum with lime chutney. Sound good to you?''

‘‘Sound tip-top to me, lah.''

When the condiments arrived in a lazy Susan, Lu See noticed how distracted Sum Sum appeared. Her friend seemed transfixed by Aziz, staring quite unabashedly at the delicate way he manipulated his food, guiding curry into his mouth, working the fingers of his right hand gracefully through the basmati, shaping the long-grain rice into balls and using his thumb to flip the fragrant portion through his parted lips.

‘‘You eat like a swan,'' Sum Sum declared with delight.

He smiled, waggled his head and dipped his hand in a fingerbowl before drying it with his napkin.

Stan cleared his throat. ‘‘So, tell me, what's your story? What are you both running away from?''

‘‘What makes you say that?'' Lu See said indignantly.

‘‘You're either running away from somebody or you're running to someone. Which one is it?''

‘‘I don't know what you mean.'' Lu See folded her own napkin. ‘‘Why on earth do you think we're running?''

‘‘Instinct. I'm a policeman, remember.'' He tapped the side of his nose. ‘‘And my pal here rarely lets me down.''

‘‘Why can't we just be travelling, off on a European grand tour?''

‘‘At your age, without a chaperone – unlikely.''

‘‘Well, you're wrong.''

‘‘Am I?''

‘‘Yes.''

‘‘Ha!''

Lu See felt Sum Sum give her a kick under the table. ‘‘Well, all right, if you must know I'm running from someone my family wants me to marry.''

''Heading for?''

‘‘England.''

‘‘To Picalilli Circus,'' Sum Sum added.

‘‘Where I hope to get engaged to the man I love.''

‘‘You
hope
to get engaged.'' Stan tilted his head.

‘‘Yes. I also HOPE to win a place at a top university.''

‘‘University, eh? Well … good luck. And how about your cousin? Sum Sum, what about you? Are you in love with a man too?''

Sum Sum smiled, blushed, and smiled once more. ‘‘
Aiyo,
nobody to fall in love with. I'm not pretty like Lu See.''

‘‘Begging your pardon, for it is here that you are grossly mistaken, young
bibi
.'' It was Aziz speaking. His head was dancing on his shoulders. ‘‘You are vastly pleasing to the eye and if I may be so bold to saying you remind me of the village cows in Hyderabad.''

‘‘Cows, lah?''

‘‘Most engaging creatures. Strong udders and noble facets,
bibi
.'' He held his palms upwards towards the ceiling, tilting his face to one side in appeasement. ‘‘We have very pretty cattle in my home village. Their eyes are like sparkling Indus river water flowing over pebbles from an enchanted mountain stream.''

Sum Sum's mouth broke into a wide grin. She looked at the well-groomed Indian and coloured.

Stan shifted uncomfortably in his chair. ‘‘A man of fine taste is Aziz. Rarely says much, but when he does he sounds quite poetic, don't you think?''

‘‘Your skin is very pale for an Indian man,'' observed Sum Sum.

‘‘My grandfather had Pathan blood.'' Aziz wobbled his head and grinned boyishly.

‘‘Why do Indian men do that shaky-shaky with head, lah?'' asked Sum Sum.

Aziz raised a finger in the manner of a professor. ‘‘It is a quiet way of saying you may trust me, that I meaning you no harm. That I am your trusted friend.'' The finger brushed the skin of Sum Sum's hand and from some place deep inside her she felt a warm tingling, first inside her tummy and then spreading gradually to her chest.

‘‘
Aiyo Sami!
'' She squirmed. ‘‘You speaking like a snake in the grass now. Quit talking and eat, lah. Too much talk-talk causes hindi-gestion!''

 

Time drifted like the sea. During the day, full of repressed mischief, the girls occasionally slipped grapes into the shoes left outside of cabin doors and told tall stories to the Chinese cabin boys, declaring that they were Siamese princesses, running off to join a Catholic convent, becoming postulants, trainee nuns. In the afternoons they took part in shuffleboard contests and attended tea dances while at night, sipping from tall glasses of lemonade along the Lido deck, Aziz showed Sum Sum the constellations, pointing out the stars whilst singing Urdu folk songs to the moon. ‘‘If only,
bibi
, we had Galileo's tube I could show you the furthest-away planets.''

Sum Sum didn't have a clue what he meant.
A telescope maybe?
She didn't really care. They sat in the darkness for hours until Lu See, playing canasta with Stan in the salon, came in search of her.

The boat left Colombo. With Sum Sum so distracted Lu See borrowed some paints and brushes from Stan Farrell and drew nautical scenes and portraits of the stewards. When Stan craned his neck to sneak a peek at her pictures he said, ‘‘Y'know, Lucy, you're pretty good. Have you ever painted before?''

‘‘Only garden furniture!'' she replied with a giggle in her voice, before admitting that she'd had some lessons. She looked about her. ‘‘Any idea where Sum Sum's got to?''

‘‘She went off with Aziz.''

‘‘They've been gone for ages.''

‘‘He's probably teaching her a few more of his Urdu folk songs.''

Lu See dropped her brushes into a jar of water and then cleaned the paint off the bristles with a square of newspaper. She had just finished drying them with a rag when she saw a man standing by some deck chairs about twenty yards away, looking in her direction. He was wearing a hat that shadowed his face entirely. How strange, she thought, as she put her brushes away, one of his shoulders is higher than the other.

 

Nine days later the yellow basalt of the Gateway of India swept into view as a white-throated cormorant rose into the drizzling sky, wet post-monsoon rains rippling its wings.

Lu See and Sum Sum leaned against the ship's railings, waving. They threw paper streamers overboard and shouted their goodbyes to Stan and Aziz. The men waved back. Sum Sum cocked her arms like chicken wings and took several snaps with the Kodak Retina. Stan blew a kiss and smiled like a donkey as Aziz pressed his right hand to his heart and mouthed Sum Sum's name. They paused for a moment. And then they were gone. As Lu See turned and moved her hand up to her eyes to shield them from the sun, she saw the same man she'd spotted several days earlier. He was standing by the deck chairs again. His face was still hidden by his hat, but she recognized the irregular slope of his shoulders. She wheeled around and tugged at Sum Sum's sleeve. When they looked back he was gone.

Later, in her cabin, Lu See stretched into a yoga asana, into an Upward Facing Dog pose. After several minutes she relaxed, slipped into her pink terrycloth bathrobe, and picked up her book of Cambridge poetry. Then she put it back down again.

‘‘Do you really think it could be him?''

‘‘Was there mole on his cheek?''

‘‘I couldn't see his face.''

‘‘But his shoulder was same-same like this, meh?'' Sum Sum demonstrated by allowing her left side to drop away like a caved-in roof.

‘‘Yes, just like that. Do you think it really could be him? I bet he's been hiding in his cabin all this time. Maybe he's been waiting for Stan and Aziz to leave and now he'll come after us.''

‘‘Or maybe you only imagining, lah. How come I never see him?''

‘‘Well, just to be safe, I think we should stay in our cabin and take our meals here.''

As the rain sluiced down the window, she pictured Stan Farrell standing outside, his blue blazer with gold buttons drenched from the earlier downpour, his white linen trousers clinging tight to his thighs. How she'd love him to be here now. She turned to Sum Sum, who was reclining on the floor, in a lotus pose, inspecting her brass toe rings and mouthing the bars to ‘Night and Day', a melodious song she'd heard the band play.

‘‘You're going to miss him, aren't you?''

‘‘Who?''

‘‘Aziz.''

She looked crestfallen. ‘‘
Aiyo
, too much, lah.''

‘‘I'll miss Stan too.'' Lu See peered out the cabin window at the waterfront jammed with rickshaws and donkey carts and beggars with their begging bowls. The rickshaw wallahs were wreathed in waterproof capes made from palm leaves. She could already hear the vendors gathered at the gates of the Taj Mahal Hotel shrieking and shouting as bare-chested porters rushed about with bags hoisted on their heads. Lu See pictured Stan confronted by this landslide of humanity as he left the ship, and then plunging into the slow clumsy sway of the crowd, until his blue blazer was subsumed, out of reach.

As she stared into the rain, through the glass, she questioned not for the first time why she was doing this – running from her family, repudiating everything that was sacred and secure. She thought about her mother and father sitting at the dining table; their wilting, forced conversation followed by the inevitable brooding silence. Ah Ba, the esteemed banker C. M. Teoh, stabbing at his food, wondering what his employees at the bank would be thinking, what the Turf Club members would be saying about his errant daughter. And her mother, obdurate and wounded, looking more and more like a wide-eyed fruit bat; nervously scratching at her palms; blaming Lu See's brothers, James and Peter, the servants, the school, everybody but herself, for Lu See's desertion.