The Red Thread (41 page)

In front of all Tan's relatives who had pushed and squeezed themselves into the room, Zhen put out his hands to remove the veil. With the mistress helping, he lifted the black cloth and gazed for the first time on the face of his future wife.

A little pastry, was his first thought. A doughy dumpling covered in white powder. The powder was ominous, probably meant she was dark-skinned. Her lips were full and red, quite pretty. Her eyes were resolutely towards the floor. For the rest it was impossible to tell. His thoughts flew to Charlotte's delicate features and ivory skin. His inner eye began roving around in his memory. Kissing her little white feet as she slid her legs onto his shoulders. Burying his face in her hair. Watching her eyes as she—

He felt a small shove in his side. He was urged, with fierce looks, to sit in one of the embroidered chairs opposite his bride. On the table between them were twelve dishes of food and a pair of burning candles.

Zhen knew what was expected of him, and they both went through the series of movements and gestures symbolic of having a meal together without actually eating anything. For most of the time Noan kept her head modestly bowed, looking only at his mouth, from which she drew a pulse-quickening pleasure. Only once did she look up to see him watching her. He showed nothing in his eyes, and she looked down immediately, disconcerted and trembling slightly.

Then a gasp went up in the room, and Zhen looked at the gathered throng. The candle on the bride's side had gone out, a whiff of air from her sleeve stopping the flame. This meant she would die before her husband.

Her mother put her hand to her mouth. Noan had been taught so carefully to beware of this. The second daughter looked on impassively.

Noan felt tears well up in her eyes. Fortunately the time had come for her to leave the room, and she was escorted out, with the guests all following. Zhen stayed with the
pak chindek
who helped him change his clothes to a light black-and-red silk jacket and trousers. Noan returned briefly and, standing behind Zhen, took a comb and began to symbolically comb his hair as a gesture of serving him. She took in his thick, shiny black queue, the way his shoulders filled his jacket.

Then Zhen was quickly led out of the room. He would return mid-afternoon for lunch alone, while the bride rested and changed into another costume, and then he would change again and pay his respects to the altars and the elders. Normally this would be followed by the bride paying her respects to his family but, since there was no one to pay any respects to, this part had been discreetly dropped, and the groom's dinner was to be held at Tan's. Zhen was heartily sick of it all, but he had made a solemn promise that he would not spoil this day for his benefactor.

Qian came to the dinner, and Zhen was overjoyed to see a face he trusted in this crowd. The dinner went on for hours, dish following dish, all the men drinking heavily. Tan and the older men were absent, for this was the groom's party and it would be followed by the traditional ragging of the bride.

The second daughter could not wait for this part now. Noan must not smile no matter what anyone did. All the young girls hid behind a curtain as the men, drunk and noisy, entered the room. Between her teeth she had an areca nut clenched so as not to laugh, for to laugh would disgrace her husband. Fortunately, she was so exhausted and hot she had not the slightest inclination to laugh. Zhen had drunk a little too much, finally, enjoying the meal and the company of Qian and the other men. From behind the gauzy curtain the second daughter watched Zhen standing in the doorway. He raised his arms behind his head, stretching slightly, watching as the men pranced and mimed in front of his new wife. The second sister saw a flash of taut skin. From behind the curtain she devoured him with her eyes. Finally this noisy display was over, and all the men left, Zhen and Qian half-drunk, arm in arm, returning to his house. In three hours a page would come to him with a red lantern and lead him back to the bridal chamber. Eyes would peep from houses along the way and watch hidden from Tan's windows. Then he would be alone with her for the first time.

39

The door closed behind him. His wife was standing in the room, head lowered. She was wearing white silk pyjamas like him. He had followed the swaying red lantern back to Tan's house. The
pak chindek
had taken him to a small room to change and opened a side door to the bridal chamber. Now here he was. Until this moment, he had not realised how much he was dreading this, sure of his mind, his capacities. The hideous thought of failure entered his mind like a worm.

He looked at her from the doorway, a small white figure in a room filled with red. Her hair had been brushed and now hung thickly to her shoulders. The heavy make-up was gone, though her skin was dusted with a thin layer of powder, and she wore some lipstick. She stood, hands by her side, unmoving. Poor thing, he thought. He'd seen so many virgins, and felt weary of them. Xia Lou was the last one he wanted, but now here was another.

He moved to the table, where a French crystal water jug stood and, clanking the lip against the glass, poured and drank. He was dry from the rice wine. He and Qian had continued drinking at his house, and he was still half-drunk. Sitting heavily on the embroidered chair he poured a glass for her. Had to get this started somehow.

‘Eh! Come here.'

Noan looked up shyly. He was holding a glass of water, and she went up close to him and took it, sipping it delicately, wanting desperately to touch him but not daring. ‘Let your husband do everything, and be quiet' had been her mother's parting words.

He watched her drinking, her eyes lowered. Then he took the glass and put it on the table, released the silk cord at her waist, opening it, looking at her breasts. Not small, like Xia Lou's. Hers fitted perfectly into his hand. This girl's were brown, full. Despite himself, he could see she was firm and luscious. He felt annoyed at himself for wanting to touch her, felt it a betrayal. Suddenly he was annoyed at this girl as well, for tempting him. He was irritated by her passivity and down-turned eyes. He knew his powers; he could change it all, turn her into a creature of love and lust in one night, but he did not want to. He did not want her to dream of him, long for him, expect anything from him. He could not know it was all too late.

Noan stood absolutely still, waiting.

Something dark flapped across Zhen's mind. She was his property, body and soul. She had been raised correctly; he could do whatever he wanted with her. Not like Xia Lou:
she
would never be his like this. He cupped Noan's breasts in his hands, pulling her forward, and began to suckle her, running his tongue over her, burying his face in their soft fullness, his bleary mind not able to control his body's physical reaction, remembering other skin.

She was elated. She pleased him; he wanted her. She had known this would feel good, and it did. She put her hands to his head, and he suddenly stopped, pulling his head away, dropping his hands. Don't touch me, he wanted to scream at her. She tensed as he pulled the cord on the pyjama bottom, letting it slide to the floor, and began to run his hands over her backside. He turned her. He wanted to look at this wife of his. She was shapely, a small waist and swelling hips. Not like Xia Lou's willowy perfection, fitting into his body like Venus in the arms of the moon.

He shook his head. Xia Lou wasn't his wife; this one was. He didn't have to please her; the man who would please her was not in the room. No matter what he did, she was powerless. He put his fingers into the crack of her backside, spreading it, pushing his finger in slightly. She tensed as he knew she would, not expecting this, but made not a sound. He wanted to violate her. Hideous thoughts ran like dirty feet through his mind. But he stopped, shaking his head, clearing it. He was foggy still, he knew. He took another drink of water.

He stood, made her face him. Took off his clothes and let her see him. Any touching she was allowed to do would be controlled by him. He took her hand and put it on his chest over the face of Guan Di, running it down his waist and over his hips onto his half-erect penis. Noan's heart was beating out of her chest. He was so beautiful, the tattoo on his muscled brown skin unexpected but arousing. He began moving her hand, pulling her head against his chest, squashing her breasts against him, holding her there. Zhen had not the slightest desire to kiss her, though he knew that she was waiting for this.

Then, as he became hard, he swept off the coverlets of the bed and lifted her onto it. He made her lie down and pushed her legs into the air. Little voices entered his mind from far away, whispering, but they were so faint he couldn't make them out.

He pushed himself inside her, feeling the resistance, and then a hot stickness. His genitals were covered in red, the blood staining the sheet and his brain filled with fire. He began thrusting so hard he was pushing her up the bed, her head trapped against a red silk bolster. He took her arms and pinned them to the mattress. Noan was terrified. She began to cry out, and Zhen's head flew up and he looked into her face for the first time, seeing the terror, enjoying it, looking at her mouth, red lips, pink teeth, red tongue. Blood filled his eyes.

He covered her mouth with his hand, lifted her leg in his arm, trapping her, until with a great groan he came, massively pumping his semen into her to the last drop.

Listening in the dressing room, the
sangkek um
and the
pak chindek
smiled at each other. The marriage had been consummated. If the muffled cries and groans they had heard were anything to go by, both parties had enjoyed themselves. Not many families asked for this service, but when they did, it was always rather titillating. They'd known each other a long time and in younger days had been tempted, in the low light of other dressing rooms, to certain erotic activities. Their job would not end for eleven more days but the bride's parents would be pleased. A grandson was surely on its way. They retired for the night.

The room was dark when he woke, disorientated, stickily hot. The candles had gone out, and the room was airless. He felt for the edge of the bed, banged into silken and metal hangings, swore and dropped off the mattress. He felt sticky on his legs and groin. Then he remembered the night before and felt a hot flush of shame. He groped for the table and found the candle but nothing to light it with. Made his way to the windows and pushed aside the curtains, throwing the shutters open. This room gave onto an air well, and some watery light fell into the room. It was raining. He took a deep breath of this rainy air and went to the other window, opening up the shutters. He looked down at himself. In this light it looked like he was covered in grey sludge, and a slight panic rose in his chest.

He went to the washstand and began rinsing himself, the water turning grey. He couldn't understand what this was and shook his head in bewilderment, brain still befuddled with sleep. Picking up the washbasin, he took it to the window and saw the pink in the water. He put the basin back on the stand and went back to the bed. He could make out her shape huddled against the back wall of the enclosed bed, the woman's side, ensuring she stayed put, he supposed.

He had forgotten her name. Did he ever know it? Climbing on the bed he felt again the stickiness and began to get worried. There was too much blood. He turned her gently and sighed in relief. She was breathing. He stroked her face gently, but she did not wake.

He cast around for something to light a candle, remembered the dressing room, went in there but it was even darker. Throwing on the white pyjamas, he went to the door of the bridal chamber and opened it. A Chinese servant was sleeping rolled up against the door like a log. Zhen felt annoyed. Did they think he was going to run away? He prodded the man awake.

‘Bring a lamp. Can't see anything in here. Hurry up!'

The man returned in a minute and handed Zhen the lamp. He knew the household would be informed he was awake, for he was supposed to leave before the sun and return the following evening. This rigmarole for twelve damn days.
Aiya
!

He shut the door and went over to the bed, pulled back the coverlet. He drew a sharp breath. The sheet and the woman's naked body were soaked and caked with red. He had killed her, by all the Eight Immortals, and a great feeling of remorse rose in his chest. Why had he been so rough? He had never done anything like that before to a young girl. He ran his hand over his face.

He put the lamp on the table and pulled her as gently as he could towards the edge of the bed. She opened her eyes slightly, then closed them again. He spread her legs. Blood was seeping out of her. He stepped back, aghast, then ran to the washstand, taking the cloths there and putting them between her legs, stemming the flow. He quickly fashioned a loincloth, grabbed the coverlet and wrapped her in it.

By the time he had finished he heard a knock at the door. It was the
pak chindek
, he knew, to take him home.

He opened the door.

‘Get the mother quickly; there's too much blood.'

The Boyanese looked at him uncomprehendingly.

Zhen searched his brain.

‘Mother come. Girl sick,' he said in Malay. The man blenched and ran off. Zhen returned to the room, wet a cloth and began rinsing her face. The powder came off stickily. He got a glass of water and lifted her against his shoulder, putting it to her lips. At first it trickled down her chin; then she revived slightly and drank. She opened her eyes.

There he was. That face. She had longed for that face, and he was here. Without thinking she put out her hand and pulled his head down to hers, putting her lips against his. Zhen was surprised, but so glad she was not dead, wanting to apologise, make it up to her somehow for the night, that he let himself be kissed. She put her arms around his neck.

Noan's mother rushed into the room and was embarrassed but pleased to find them. The picture of a loving couple! Her heart was thrilled. She lowered her eyes. As Zhen heard her, he pulled out of the embrace, unthinkingly put his hand to his mouth, wiping off the kiss. He tried to explain.