Port Dickson
RUTH TUCKED THE blanket round Mark’s knees. It was hot, but the wind was strong, and Mark was still weak. His eyes were closed. He had not spoken the whole day, even when she prompted him. She watched his eyelids quiver. He must be dreaming, she thought. It was as though the eyes behind their lids were darting from one corner to the other, in search of something. Sometimes he jerked, his arms and legs flailing wildly as if to ward off blows. What disturbed her most was his silence. It had been nearly two months since his rescue. If only he would speak to her. It would give her an indication of how much he remembered. He did not recognise her. The doctor had warned her of it, as had Hugh. Mark remembered nothing of his previous life. His face was blank when he saw Fu Yi. He did not ask for May. For that Ruth was glad. She was not going to mention May. They could start with a clean slate again. She would pretend that the nightmare of the past had never happened. For now she would concentrate on Mark’s recovery. Dysentery, malaria and the beatings had taken a heavy toll. The doctor said that only time would tell if he would fully recover his memory.
Overhead, casuarina trees swayed. Long branches, heavy with wispy needle like leaves, trailed down to brush the beach. A swirl of patterns formed in their wake. Ruth sat back on the deck chair and looked out to the Straits of Malacca. The sea was choppy. White flecks of waves rippled through the waters and crashed on the shore only to withdraw, leaving scatterings of seashells and white froth. It was high tide. Soon the sun would sink into the horizon like a big ball of fire, red, hot and fiery. She would stay on the beach; she would wait until Mark woke up. Would he show a flicker of recognition this time when he opened his eyes? One night, she had kissed him gently on the lips to stir up his memory. He had merely smiled, an apologetic grin that tore her heart. She was a stranger to him. Would he ever remember her? Could they be the same as before? Perhaps it would be for the best. If he didn’t remember; then he would also not remember May.
She sat watching her husband, hoping, praying for the impossible. From a distance, she saw Fu Yi approaching. The Company had given them the use of the beach bungalow in Port Dickson for Mark’s recuperation. Once he was sufficiently well, they would return to England. Ruth sighed. It would be wonderful to go home. But what would Mark do when he got home? How was she going to earn a living? There were so many things up in the air.
Fu Yi waved. She seemed in a hurry to reach them. She tripped; a flip-flop flew off her foot. She stooped to pick it up and then took off the other. Her bare feet sunk into the soft white sand.
“Ma’am,” she motioned Ruth to come to her. “I have news. They’ve found May.”
Ruth placed a finger to her lip. She glanced hastily back at Mark. He was still asleep. He had not heard. She could see his head roll and jerk before his chin dropped once more to his chest. She beckoned Fu Yi to follow her and walked ahead back towards the bungalow. Her face was drained of colour behind the tan. When she reached the flight of steps that led up to the house, she turned. “Where is she?” she asked.
“I don’t know. Probably being interrogated somewhere.”
“Who told you? Who else knows?”
“The kind major that helped us. The one that asked me to call and to insist on speaking to that awful bad man.”
“You are not to say anything to anyone. Not even the Master, especially the Master.”
“But...”
“Please, Fu Yi, “ Ruth pleaded, “I will speak to Major Hugh. It is best that I take all calls from now on. You are not to trouble Master.”
Fu Yi’s lips folded into a thin line. “Yes, Ma’am,” she said.
Ruth watched Fu Yi climb up the flight of steps to the front door of the bungalow. Behind her the sun was fast sinking into the horizon. Its fading heat caressed her, filling her with a warm glow, like a lover. It made her tingle. How she had longed for such warmth during those cold winter nights in the farm in Somerset. It was beautiful in this corner of the world. On a clear day you could see the island of Sumatra across the Straits. The crashing waves, the blue sky and white sand, the riot of bougainvillea bushes that seemed to sprout in every nook and cranny, were hypnotic. It was like a painting of paradise. Being here with Mark these past weeks had been wonderful despite his illness. She felt a twinge of regret. She was beginning to understand Mark’s love of this country. But she would leave all this to have Mark back.
***
Fu Yi and the houseboy had retired to bed. It was a calm night. No rain was forecast. The sea was a sheen of darkness. A mile away, on the promontory, the twinkling town lights beckoned seductively. Mark glanced sideway at Ruth, his brow a mass of vertical furrows. He searched deeply for something he could hang on to, which could remind him of this woman called his wife. He was frustrated by the blank wall in his mind. It refused to yield up to him any clue to his past. Ruth had shown him a snapshot of herself, the one she said she had found in the bungalow. He could not recall anything. Frustration made him angry; he dreaded her asking him what he remembered. His response was silence.
He sat facing the sea. From time to time he turned to examine Ruth’s face covertly. He was ashamed of his behaviour. She had been so caring and gentle with him during his weeks in bed. He reached out and took her hand. Ruth smiled in response, a smile that lit up her face and made her beautiful. She was beautiful, he suddenly realised. He wished he could remember more. “Give it time,” the doctor had advised. “Don’t force yourself and be worked up about it. It will come eventually.” Mark drew a deep breath and squeezed Ruth’s hand.
Ruth got up and knelt by his chair. She leaned over and kissed him on his lips. She smelt of roses in a warm summer’s evening. Something in him stirred. This was the first time he associated Ruth with anything. Summer, roses! Surely, it was a memory of sorts? He drew her down again, wanting more, needing to know more. This time he kissed her back; his lips pressed urgently on hers. Ruth’s lips parted. Mark’s heart quickened; he kissed her more deeply, drinking in the moistness of her mouth. He held her head with both his hands. He felt her softness yielding to his touch. He released her and looked into her eyes. In the soft light, they were almost violet in colour. He stroked her neck and was suddenly filled with a longing. It aroused something in him, a primeval feeling in his loins that was familiar and welcomed. He half rose and Ruth rose with him. They remained locked in each other’s arms.
“I love you,” Ruth whispered.
“I still don’t remember. When we kissed, it rekindled something in me, something tucked deep inside. I feel I should know you; somehow that our kissing is right.”
“Come to bed,” Ruth said drawing him close, her body against his. Mark could feel her breasts melting into him through her thin cotton dress. Every fibre in his body tingled. He felt alive.
“Are you sure?” His voice was husky.
“Yes, I am sure.” Ruth buried her face in the nape of his neck. “If you cannot remember, we can start anew.”
***
Ruth arranged to meet up with Hugh the following day. She took the bus into town. The little bus crunched to a stop just outside Port Dickson’s market square. It was late morning. Traders were dismantling their stalls and packing goods away. Only a handful of shoppers remained. Soon it would be too hot to hawk fresh meat or fish. Baskets of green vegetables were beginning to wilt under the relentless heat. The smell of fast-ripening fruits mingled with the salty tang of sea breeze blowing in from the sea. Ruth inhaled and caught a whiff of the salted shrimps drying in the sun. She smiled. Everything pleased her that morning. She meandered through the stalls and headed for the coffee shop. Hugh assured her that she could not miss it. The town was tiny; a row of shops behind the market square was all there was to it. It had started out as a Malay fishing village. The Malays called it ‘Arang’ then, because of the charcoal. Now, he explained, it was mainly a port named after its founder, Frederick Dickson, a British civil servant. With the discovery of tin in the surrounding area of Lukut, large numbers of Chinese had flooded into the vicinity. The shops, two-storey terrace buildings, each boasting a shop on the ground floor and a place of residence on the floor above it, were all Chinese-owned. “They are called shophouses in this region. The coffee shop you would be looking for is owned by a Chinese man, nicknamed Fei Loh, Fatty. You would not miss him.”
Ruth headed in the direction she was given. She stepped out of the market square and spotted it immediately. She was aware of the curious stares of locals squatted beside stalls or chatting in the byways. Her hair, left free and flowing, fluttered in the wind, framing her oval face like a golden flame. Sitting daily with Mark on the beach had given her a tan and her blue eyes sparkled with renewed vigour. She thought of the previous night. A blush rose to stain her cheeks. I must be strong, she told herself, and I must protect the love we share.
Within minutes she arrived in front of the coffee shop. Hugh was right. She could not miss Fatty. The proprietor had positioned himself by its entrance. He was unmistakable; his girth was like a barrel and his legs were like tree trunks. He had tied a white apron around his waist. Stains of black wove into the white fabric of the apron like writhing serpents. Ruth recognised the stains from Fu Yi’s cooking. It was black soya sauce, thick like treacle and used liberally to flavour food. Underneath the apron he wore a thin white singlet and a pair of equally thin white cotton shorts. Those too were stained. When he saw Ruth staring, he pointed to the huge wok on a stove placed by the entrance. “Char kway teow?” he asked, his eyes disappearing almost into the folds of his cheeks when he smiled. “Fried with lovely blood cockles harvested just this morning.”
Ruth shook her head. She didn’t quite understand what was said but guessed it was an invitation to eat. “Thank you. I am looking for an English soldier, a Major Hugh Anderson.”
“Ahhh! Yup bin. Inside, inside,” he pointed, flashing white teeth. The toothpick at the corner of his mouth wobbled in affirmation.
***
From the dark recess of the coffee shop, Hugh watched Ruth approach. It was a different Ruth from the one he knew a mere two months ago. This new Ruth looked determined. The dazzling smile she had on her face made her vivacious, a word he would not have used to describe her when they had last met. He wondered what she had in mind when she called him late last night. The call had come through when he was in bed. She had sounded breathless; she told him not to come to the house and that she would meet him in town instead. She asked him not to speak to Mark. He had explained that he had made the journey from Kuala Lumpur specifically to speak to both of them, particularly Mark. “Please,” her voice barely a whisper over the phone, “your news about May would upset Mark’s delicate state of mind; it could push back the progress we have made. Let you and me talk first.”
He rose at her approach and drew back a chair. “Thank you,” she said, “I appreciate your seeing me.”
“You look well. How is Mark?”
“Physically, he is improving. Mentally...” she shrugged, “... he does not remember.”
“I have to speak to Mark; you know that. I have to tell him we have found May.”
Ruth fell silent. She became tense like a coiled spring ready to pounce, the smile banished from her face. It was a different Ruth from a minute ago.
They could hear Fei Loh calling passers-by to try his noodles. The sizzling of his hot wok was like the sound of electricity in the charged atmosphere of their table. The smell of fried cockles blew into the coffee shop. Ruth raised her eyes to look straight into Hugh’s. They were pleading.
“Mark does not remember anything. Telling him about May would destroy our marriage. It would fill him with guilt. He might leave me. Is that what you want?”
“Of course not. I am, however, obliged to tell him about May.”
“Why? At the moment he does not know of her existence and what she was to him. He may never remember it. Why do you wish to dig it all up and cause him pain and me, our marriage?”
Hugh sighed. He was caught in an impossible situation. “I am his friend.”
“Aren’t I your friend too? Does May need Mark’s testimony on her role in his kidnap? He can’t provide it. He doesn’t remember. It would be useless and would not stand up to scrutiny. Meantime, our private lives are exposed to the world. The newspapers will make hay out of it.”
A heavy silence fell between them. Hugh wrestled with his conscience. He was torn between doing the right thing as an officer, doing the right thing for his friends and the right thing for May. He had never had a real conversation with May until these last few days. He saw her in a new light now. She was a young girl who had fallen in love and had acted on impulse. She was a victim of circumstances, just like Ruth. There was something in May that touched him. She was like a wounded fawn. Mark should bear responsibility for her situation.
“The doctor says that we can leave Malaya as soon as Mark is able to travel. The company will release him. They do not think Mark, with his amnesia, will be ready to return to his job. This is our chance to start afresh. Remember, Mark’s testimony at present does not count for anything because he cannot remember. He may never do so. No one knows about his affair with May. Only you, Fu Yi and me. And Fu Yi has promised not to tell.”
Hugh could see that Ruth’s arguments were compelling. Mark would not be able to help May even if she needed it because he couldn’t remember. Telling Mark about May could do what Ruth had said. It could break up their marriage. Moreover May was no longer a suspect. Her injuries and her help in identifying Chun and the men involved in the raid had allowed her to be cleared. The Government had granted her an amnesty. It was part of its new policy to win the hearts and minds of the people. There was to be no trial. He remained silent thinking ... thinking. What would May want, he asked himself. She had not spoken about Mark nor had she hinted at a wish to be with him.
“How did they find May?” Ruth asked.
“A patrol found her in a ditch in the jungle. She was badly beaten up. They brought her back to a station further north. She said that she had been abducted and beaten by Chun. She gave us his whereabouts, at least up to the point where they abandoned her.”
“They believed her?” asked an astonished Ruth.
“Yes. She was able to identify his other accomplices. She blamed Chun for causing the death of her parents. They died shortly after being returned to their settlement. Her father’s heart failed. The interrogation was the last straw. May was distraught. He was already weak and sending him back to the settlement with its food-rationing programme hardly helped. Her mother died soon after. She couldn’t sustain the harsh conditions they were kept in when they were interrogated. She died of pneumonia.” Hugh remembered delivering the news to May. She had cried silently burying her face in the palms of her hands.
Hugh watched Ruth’s face as he explained. He could see that she was not convinced of May’s innocence.
“May said that Chun wanted her to be his woman and abducted her for that reason. Look, Ruth. She was very discreet. She did not mention her relationship with Mark. You should give her credit for that. She was protecting Mark. She did not disappear willingly. She had extensive injuries. Chun’s wife told us that Chun was May’s cousin. We discovered later, through our China contacts, that he made the story up to entice May’s parents to entrust May to him.” Hugh paused. “With Bill discredited, May will not face problems from that quarter. Bill has been sent back to England where he is likely to be court-martialled.”
“So she is free.” Ruth was incredulous. She was not ready to forgive May. Her face was hard. Hugh was keeping something from her. May had enticed him as she had Mark.
“Yes!”
“Then she does not need Mark’s testimony.” Ruth grabbed hold of Hugh’s hand. “Please leave us out of this. Help us.”