“LUNCH IS READY,” shouted Ruth.
May looked up slightly dazed from her deep thoughts of events in the past two years. She got up and made her way from the top of the stairs where she was sitting to the veranda where the table was laid out for lunch. The men and children were already there. She sat down. Ruth took the chair next to May, putting distance between her and Omar and avoiding Omar’s overtures that she should sit next to him. For one split second, Omar opened his mouth as though he was going to say something. He checked himself but he looked hurt. No one noticed except May. The children’s laughter and everyone’s enjoyment of the lunch Ruth had prepared masked the under current of tension at the table.
***
“That was wonderful,” Hugh said pointing to the empty plate before him. “I am going to take May and the kids to the beach. A bit of exercise would help to keep this trim,” Hugh pointed to his midriff. “Omar, Ruth, are you coming? We can help clear up after.”
“You go ahead. I’ll help Ruth clear up,” Omar replied quickly. “Don’t go,” he said turning to Ruth. He had followed her into the narrow galley kitchen. “Can we talk? Not here, somewhere no one can intrude.” He placed the dishes he had helped clear from the dining table on to the worktop by the sink. Ruth felt his closeness. In the confined space of the tiny kitchen, and with her heart beating fast, she felt overwhelmed by his proximity, the heat of his body, his scent, the memory she had of him. She took a deep breath.
“It is best that you leave. There is nothing more to be said.” Desperately, she looked out of the window at the fast-departing group that had helped fortify her through the lunch.
Omar caught hold of her waist and drew her to him. “Please, we have to talk.”
She pushed him away. “We can’t be together. Can’t you see? Can you really not see that I want you out of my life?” she hissed; her voice grew louder with each word. She threw down the dishcloth and fled. She ran out of the kitchen, down the steps and into the garden. She paused for a moment to seek out May. She saw her and raced down the path, past the flowering bushes and on to the track that led to the beach.
May heard Ruth. She had been uneasy leaving Ruth with Omar. Hugh had insisted that they should be left together to sort out matters and May had conceded unwillingly. The flurry of footsteps, the urgency of Ruth’s cry, alerted her that not all was well. She hurried back slipping on the pebbles in her attempt to reach Ruth quickly, Ruth whom she had grown to love and felt protective over despite being the younger and the smaller. The two women met.
“What happened?”
Ruth shook her head. “I told him to leave. I shouted at him.”
They heard Omar’s car, the roar of its engine as it started to life and then the sharp swish of tyres. They could imagine the cloud of dust and the scattering of pebbles that followed his departure.
May stood on tiptoe and hugged her friend. She pushed a handkerchief into Ruth’s hand. “Wipe your eyes. We’ll join the others. We’ll talk later this evening. I’ll make some excuse and ask Hugh to look after the children. We’ll find a way to go to Fatimah’s without arousing questions. You’ve told her we are coming haven’t you. She will be expecting us?”
“Does Hugh know?”
“No. I haven’t said anything. I leave it to you to decide when and whether you wish to tell. It is not my place,” said May. She kissed Ruth on the cheek. “Come!”
***
The moon was full, filling the night sky with its buttery mellow light. It was a sultry night, relieved only by the gentle sea breeze blowing in from across the Straits of Malacca. The two women held a torch each. Hand in hand they trod the roughly hacked path towards Fatimah’s house. Bushes whispered and swayed in the breeze. Their shadows lengthened and waned on the path.
“I want him with me all the time but I can’t. I feel I have abandoned him. Am I a bad woman to leave him with another family?” Ruth asked.
“No!” May squeezed Ruth’s hand. She thought of what she herself had done in the past. She didn’t know what she would do if she were to be in Ruth’s position. In life, circumstances dictated one’s actions. Sometimes it was difficult to distinguish between right and wrong.
Fatimah’s hut was lit up. The door was thrown wide open and the sound of children’s laughter floated across to them. Then a deeper cackling chuckle joined in the merriment.
“That is Fu Yi. I know her laugh a mile away. She is very happy here. I am glad I suggested she came to help. This is so much better than the maid’s kongsi where she had to share a stuffy dormitory with many others.”
“Yes! I too am so glad she came. She is invaluable. Her presence has allowed Fatimah time for her own children and to earn a little extra money for housekeeping. Fatimah makes Malay cakes for sale in the open market every Sunday. You had some of them this lunch. Without Fu Yi, I wouldn’t have been able to spend today with Libby.” Ruth quickened her footsteps, almost dragging May along with her.
“Selamat petang. Dia tidoh,” called Fatimah from afar when she saw the two women. She mimed the action by placing both hands together and resting her cheeks and closing her eyes.
Fu Yi scolded in Cantonese. “I wait whole day for you. Come, he asleep.” She held up the little bundle in her arms. “See how peaceful.”
Ruth took the baby in her arms and held him close, pressing her nose to the little face, inhaling his scent. Her heart did several flip-flops. A yearning rose from the pit of her stomach, a yearning to press him to her and never let go. The baby opened his blurry eyes. He smiled showing his toothless gums and his dimples. May reached over and stroked his dark head and the down on his cheeks. “He looks like him,” she whispered.
The baby whimpered, pushing his little fist out of the sarong that swaddled him and immediately put his thumb into his mouth. His lips closed over the thumb and he sucked. Instinctively Ruth felt her breast ooze. She held the baby close. “He is weaned but my body still responds to him.”
“It will do. Fu Yi says he has taken to the powdered milk well. At least you don’t have to worry about his feeding. Have you decided on what you should do?”
Ruth glanced quickly at Fu Yi and Fatimah. She indicated that they should walk on. “It is more private over there,” she pointed. They went to a tree trunk hacked out into a horizontal bench. They sat down close together, as though keeping close gave them strength. May saw how Ruth clung to the baby. She placed an arm around Ruth and hugged her close.
“I will adopt him,” Ruth replied. “Then Libby, the baby and I can be a family together again. I will have to talk first with Libby. She has to agree to the adoption. If I did it without consulting her, she would be hurt. She would find the proposal strange. I will tell her that the baby belongs to Fatimah’s niece. That she wants to give him up for adoption because of her family circumstances. I have spoken to Fatimah and she has agreed to my story.”
May looked hard at Ruth. “Are you sure?” she asked. “One lie leads to another; it becomes difficult to untangle them.”
Ruth turned to face May. “I can’t give him up. I just can’t. Leaving him here with Fu Yi and Fatimah hurts me even though I see him every day. I hate not being able to tell the world he is mine or to tell Libby she has a brother. I worry that if Libby knows the truth, she might inadvertently disclose it to a friend. After all she is still a child.” She buried her face in the baby and held him close. “Then, he would know. And I would lose the baby.”
She looked up, her eyes filled with sadness. “I am mortified that you have to lie for me and to keep things from Hugh.”
Fatimah and Fu Yi looked on at the two women huddled close together. They knew and shared their secret. They looked at each other. Fu Yi got up and walked over to the two young women. “Better go home. You not want Master Hugh come look for you. Here let me have the little one. Go now! Master will be worried you venturing in the dark. He sure come searching.”
Reluctantly, Ruth handed the baby back but not before she had kissed him and inhaled his scent as though she wanted to bottle it inside her. May took her hand and squeezed it. “Come,” she said, “Fu Yi is right. Hugh will be worried and it will be difficult to spin too many stories. There is also Libby. She will look for you; you have to spend some time with her as well.”
“You are right. Poor Libby! I have neglected her. I am grateful that she is settled and has a good friend in Craig.”
“Yes, they are good friends,” replied May. Ruth did not see the flicker of worry in May’s face, a worry that May kept close to her heart. Of course they would be good together, she thought, for weren’t they half-siblings? May had considered telling Ruth that Craig was Mark’s child. She held back. Telling would be betraying Hugh who claimed Craig for his own. Moreover, it might rekindle Ruth’s old animosity. At this stage, as long as Craig and Libby were just good friends, she told herself, there was no need to dig up the past. It would be necessary only if their friendship developed into something more when they grew older. Yet she worried. What if they were to fall in love in the future, she asked herself. A sigh escaped May. Hugh had warned her not to chase after worries and problems that might never occur.
“Are you okay?” asked Ruth.
“Yes. I was just wondering whether Lin would be asleep. She likes me to read to her and tonight, it will be Hugh doing it.”
“I am sure she’ll be fine. Hugh is wonderful with children.”
They retraced their steps, up the path towards the bungalow. The lights were still on and voices rang from within.
Just yards away from the bungalow, Ruth stopped. “I shall name him Michael Solomon. Michael is my father’s middle name,” she explained to May, “and Solomon, the Christian equivalent to Suleiman. I wish him the wisdom that I never had. It will be his connection to a father, whom he will never know.” Ruth paused. She took May’s hands in her own. “Yet how can I regret what happened in the past year despite everything if I have Michael?”
“Yes,” May agreed, “no regrets. As one wiser than me said, ‘A regret now is for the regret tomorrow for having felt regret today’.”
One year ago, 1959
In the mellowed golden light of the family room, May leaned back in the crook of her husband’s arm and stretched out her legs. They had the whole house to themselves. Except for the ticking of the clock utter silence surrounded them. It was bliss. The maids were away; Lin was asleep in her cot; Craig and Libby were on a school trip and Ruth had gone out with Omar. Such moments were rare.
“I am so happy for Ruth,” May whispered, breaking the silence. “She had been poorly for such a long time.”
Hugh drew May closer to him until her head was on his chest. “Yes! She is a different woman from what she was when Mark died. I still see traces of melancholy every so often, though. Let’s hope they disappear completely. You have done such a wonderful job with her.”
“Not just me. Everyone, particularly Omar, don’t you think?”
“I was suspicious of his intentions initially. I am slowly getting round to the idea that he loves her.”
“Of course he loves her. Ruth is meeting his parents today! That could only mean he is very serious. I am keeping my fingers crossed. His parents are old-fashioned. It is well known that they wish him to marry someone of standing, of their own culture and religion, someone who would enhance his ability to rise to the very top in politics. I had never expected this day. To take Ruth to see his parents must surely mean that Omar is certain that they will accept Ruth.”
A frown appeared on May’s face. She pushed herself up and sat bolt upright. “Oh Hugh, I hope everything goes well for them. It would be disastrous if the meeting went badly. Ruth was so excited. She changed five times. I just don’t want her to be disappointed.”
Hugh crushed May to him and kissed her soundly on the forehead. “I worry about Ruth too. However, this is our evening and I would like to have my wife back. You can’t fret all the time. We’ll know soon enough.”
***
When the car swept into the grounds, Ruth caught her breath. The house was huge. She reached out and placed her hand on Omar’s arm. “You didn’t say,” she accused him, “that it was so grand.” The car whizzed past the long line of trees and entered into a parking area near the front portico.
“It is not mine, it is my parents’. If I had my way, I would not live here. For me it is a monstrosity. Look at the architecture!”
Omar took Ruth’s hand in his. “I had better tell you a bit about my parents to prepare you. The house is their status symbol. They built it to impress. They want to show the world we have done well without our former Colonial masters. My father, you see, was closely involved in the nationalist movement. As for my mum...” he shrugged with an apologetic grin, “she is a bit of snob.”
“It does not sound like they are likely to accept me. I am English! Perhaps you have forgotten.”
“Be on guard!”
“What?”
He smiled at Ruth, his eyes softening at her shock and discomfort. “I am teasing. I don’t see you in that way. I see you as the woman I love, the one I want to spend my life with.”
“Have you told them that?”
“I have had a long talk with my parents. I confess they were not pleased initially.”
Ruth recoiled. He held her fast. “Don’t worry,” he said quickly, “I won’t let their objections stand in my way. They know. After my talk with my mother, she seemed reconciled to the situation. It was she who suggested I bring you here. She would like to meet you. My mum can be difficult. But generally her bark is worse than her bite.”
“You didn’t tell me they weren’t pleased. You should have done.” A shadow of doubt crossed Ruth’s eyes and she looked at Omar reproachfully.
“Then you wouldn’t have come. In any case, my mother promised she would behave. She is slowly coming round to the fact that I will not change my mind where you are concerned.”
They sat in the car. Ruth took a deep breath. “Can we leave? I don’t think I am ready to face them.”
“Come! It will be fine. I am here with you.”
“How do I look?” She smoothed the skirt she was wearing. It showed off her elegant legs.
“Beautiful,” he replied and reached over to open the door.
They got out of the car. From behind the curtains of the tall window on the upper floor in the west wing, Siti stood watching in silence. Her lips curled as she saw a flash of bare legs and then a head of blonde hair followed by a slim body emerge from the car. “So this,” she said to herself, “is the woman my son wants!”
***
The interior of the house was even grander than its facade. Ruth saw her reflected image in the polished black marble floor. Behind her the reflection of Omar shifted as he came alongside. The hallway opened up to another room. Chandeliers hung from high ceilings and the furniture was gilded. She walked in with Omar by her side. Her high-heeled sandals made a loud clacking noise; it resonated across the room. It made her self-conscious. She turned to Omar, uncertain if she should have taken them off. May always walked barefoot at home. Ruth had attributed it to a wish for comfort. Now she wasn’t sure. She suddenly remembered what Fatimah said about not wearing shoes. She looked across the room and saw maids similarly barefooted. She looked down and saw that Omar was wearing socks. When had he taken his shoes off? Panic-stricken, she bent down to take off her sandals. It was too late. Omar’s parents were already upon them, a strained smile on their faces as she stood one foot bare with the other sandal in her hand. They were dressed formally. Omar’s mother was covered from top to toe. Ruth felt under-dressed; her skirt, just skimming below her knees, seemed too short and her neckline too exposed. Omar was oblivious.
“Ibu, mother. This is Ruth.”
“I am Siti,” Omar’s mother said, “and my husband, Zikri,” indicating the short portly gentleman next to her. She smiled but her black currant eyes held no warmth. “Come! Leave your shoes on. You are not expected to know our custom.”
“I am sorry I didn’t tell you,” whispered Omar. “It is the custom of Malay households to take off their shoes because wearing shoes in the living room would soil the floor, making it unbefitting for prayers. In May’s house, I see you barefoot and therefore it did not occur to me to tell you. Mother wouldn’t think anything of it. As she said, you are not expected to know.” He grinned. “In any case, we do not normally pray in the living room and our western guests do not take their shoes off.”
Ruth turned bright red. She sensed what Siti was really saying. Ruth was not expected to know because she was a foreigner and didn’t belong. She saw Siti’s eyes on her. Ruth tried hard to keep her smile in place but the tightness in her chest and face made it difficult.
Omar placed his lips close to her ears. “We do not call an older person by their names, even though my mother told you hers’. It would be a sign of disrespect if you did. It is specially so when they are titled. So call my father Tun and my mother, Toh Puan until, of course, we are engaged. You’ll soon get to grips with our customs. We do it without thinking.” He squeezed her hand. “You are doing fine.”
This piece of information unnerved Ruth even more. May had primed her with basic Malay etiquette. She had not come to grips with it, especially the arm length of titles that people in Malayan high society might hold. Everything, even the little that she had grasped, had flown from her head. Her tongue was dry. It stuck to her palate
They sat down. A maid pushed in a trolley laden with silverware and fine porcelain and with it an array of cakes and dainty sandwiches.
“For you my dear. Omar has said how much you like English tea.” Siti gestured to the maid to pour the tea.
“Thank you. You are most kind.”
“I fear that you might not like our cakes. I have instructed the kitchen to make English pastries. I assume that this is what you normally have.” She pointed to the vast array of delicately iced cakes, éclairs and sandwiches.
“Oh this is more, much more than what we have.” Ruth thought of the steaming mugs of tea and crumpets she shared with her father at the farm and the shop-bought cakes when she was teaching. She wished she were back home in England, sharing tea with her father. She found the grand formal drawing room stifling. She crossed her legs and, conscious that the hem of her skirt had slid above her knees, uncrossed them again. She tugged at the hem. A faint film of moisture appeared above her lips. Suddenly it felt overwhelmingly hot.
“Oh!” exclaimed Siti, her face seemingly incredulous. “What do you have for tea then? Toast?” She turned to her husband, stretching her lips in a parody of a smile. He, silent throughout the meeting, met her eyes and nodded imperceptibly.
“Mother!”
“It is all right.” Ruth stared straight back at Siti. She was aware of the undercurrent hostility, of the frostiness behind the smiles and of being examined and found lacking. Suddenly she was not nervous. She was not going to try to please. She would be herself; she would not make herself out to be what she was not. “We do not have help in the house. I do all the housework. Tea is usually served in mugs with a biscuit or two, or a cake if we have time or when there is something to celebrate. I do not come from a well-off family. We have always to count our pennies.”
“My dear, do have a cake, then,” Siti said handing a plate of delicately iced fairy buns to Ruth. Once again she glanced at her husband. Her expression was one of satisfaction. She was right about her perception of Ruth’s background.
Ruth bit into the bun. Siti seemed to be examining her relentlessly. Nervous, her teeth caught the corner of her lips and tears sprang to her eyes.
“I believe you were previously married and your husband passed away not long ago. It must be hard for you. I am so sorry for your loss, as you must be.”
Ruth dropped the cake onto the plate shocked by the sudden personal observation sprung out of the blue. Icing scattered on to her skirt to cover it with a dusting of white.
Siti continued without any preamble or change in tone. “I do not wish to be rude but do you not think that people would gossip if you were to remarry so quickly? Would it not reflect badly on my son? You know that he has a brilliant future...”
“Mother! Stop it.” Omar jumped to his feet. “This is not an inquisition. You promised! We will leave now if you continue in this way.”
“I am merely stating the obvious. Surely you cannot object to that? She should know what she would have to confront should she continue to pursue you.” Siti said all this without looking at Omar. She directed her gaze only at Ruth, hoping that Ruth would see the folly of her behaviour. If she could not get her son to stop seeing Ruth, perhaps Ruth could be stopped instead.
Ruth, speechless, held on to her plate, suspended in time. The plate tilted and crumbs spilled onto the floor.
“Well I can object and I am objecting. Remember this. I will marry Ruth whatever you say.” Omar stood up and stretched out his hand to Ruth. “Come!” he said.
Siti’s face crumbled wiping away her previous show of confidence. She rose to her feet; her breath came in quick gasps. She had not expected this response from her son whom she had nurtured and had placed such hopes. “But Omar, I say this only out of love for you and to protect you. You have no future with her. Tell him, Zikri,” she pleaded her husband.
“I don’t care!” Omar pulled Ruth to her feet. Together they left the house and headed for the car. Ruth tried to walk with her head held high. She stumbled and Omar caught her by the elbow. She was numbed with shock. The minutes before were like watching a nightmare being played out. What began as a tea had quickly deteriorated into a battle. How had it happened? They were there for less than fifteen minutes. Once in the car, Omar gathered Ruth in his arms. She was shivering from both anger and bewilderment. She did not know which was worst.
“Listen to me. Nothing matters except for you and me. Nothing! We’ll marry with or without their consent.”
“And your future?”
“My future will be of my making. Not theirs.”
‘But.”
Omar kissed Ruth to stop her from protesting. “Listen. It will be all right.”