2

Following the early morning rains, the sun threw its heat slantwise over Penang port; an unyielding tropical blanket that tore the moisture from your skin like a furnace. All along the dock the Lascars sat on their haunches, chewing bhang and sucking on hand-rolled bidis to get them going, blowing the smoke downwind. And whilst the dogs barked and the roosters crowed, hawkers set up their stalls by the quay from one end of Chulia Street to the other, busily grilling stingrays and skewering satays over charcoal and cracking eggs to make oyster omelettes on cast-iron woks. Tamil, Hokkien, Bahasa, pidgin English and Cantonese pinged back and forth like flies in the tall grass.

Standing on the deck of the MS Jutlandia where the life rafts were stowed, Lu See had long ago resolved to sketch every detail of her crossing. She knew Sum Sum would be elsewhere on ship snapping photographs with the Kodak Retina, but it didn’t stop her. This, she decided, was a journey of a lifetime, especially for a girl who’d never ventured beyond the Straits of Malacca. She unclipped a pencil from her sketchbook and began folding back pages, scribbling notes and making quick outline observations – every tint of cloud and sea shimmer, each scent whether it was perfumed or putrid, every sound from the piston blast of the ship’s horn to the calls of the Mullah citing his morning prayers. Hastily she outlined a sketch of a linen-suited European, sporting a sola topi, having his shoes blackened by a bald-headed Malay.

Jim-dandy, she said to herself, adopting an American expression she’d heard at the movies, everything’s all jim-dandy now. Thrilled at the prospect of flight, a sense of liberation coursed through her. She often marvelled at what she was like before she knew Adrian, how her life had lacked adventure and meaning, how she’d lived so long without passion.

She was seventeen when she met him at the New Year’s Dance at the Selangor Club. Dressed in white tie and tails, he approached her about twenty minutes after the Royal toasts with a ceramic bowl of dried fruit in his hand. The band started playing a Count Basie number. ‘‘Did you hear the story about the man who drowned in a bowl of dried fruit? A strong currant dragged him in. Fancy a raisin?’’ he asked, proffering the bowl. She shook her head. ‘‘What about a date then?’’

‘‘That’s one of the worst chat-up lines I’ve ever heard.’’

‘‘Lime sorry, but I couldn’t give a fig.’’

He was five years her senior and attached to the Royal Anthropological Institute, one of the few Chinese in their employ. ‘‘I’ve been studying the Sea Dyaks of Borneo, spent the last seven weeks in the forests of Kuching. Most of the women I meet walk around in nothing but a grass skirt.’’ He looked her up and down and grinned. ‘‘My name’s Adrian. Adrian Woo.’’

‘‘I know who you are, Number One Son Woo. We’re not meant to talk to each other.’’

Lu See noticed that he had big, strong hands and there was this lustrous timbre to his voice. ‘‘So as an anthropologist I suppose you use your hands to dig up old bones and bits of broken crockery.’’

‘‘That’s more an archaeologist’s job. I’m more of a voyeur.’’

‘‘Sounds …’’

‘‘Naughty?’’

‘‘A little. So, Adrian Woo, as an anthropologist, can you tell me one fascinating fact about the rain forest?’’

‘‘Hmm, well let me see.’’ He thought for a second. ‘‘How about this: the male proboscis monkey can maintain an erection for over twenty-four hours.’’

Smiling, ‘‘Okay, I’ll grant you that that is quite interesting.’’

‘‘Only quite?’’

‘‘Only quite.’’

‘‘You’re hard to satisfy.’’

She bit her lip. ‘‘Not always.’’

‘‘Well, I like a challenge.’’

The way he spoke to her, so directly and openly, was irresistible. But it was when he buffed her dancing shoes that she fell for him.

‘‘Look,’’ he said. ‘‘They’re all muddy from the rain.’’

He sat her down, propped her feet on his lap and polished them with his handkerchief, using champagne froth to get the proper sheen. Watching his fingers make little circles, she felt something ignite in her chest like a bush fire. She wanted to lose herself in him, surrender to his wild, reckless, free spirit.

Later, on the drive home, her mother said. ‘‘Cheee-cheee-cheee. Why were you speaking so long to that Woo boy, hnn? What were you thinking, you thinking he wants to steal you away, is it? Have nice Teoh girl like you in his love hut shack in Borneo jungle, hnn?’’

‘‘Isn’t it time that this stupid Woo-Teoh feud ended?’’

‘‘Please,’’ her father, C. M. Teoh, said. ‘‘Let’s not talk about this now.’’ He slewed his eyes toward the chauffeur. ‘‘Lu See was only making polite conversation with him. Whole world knows she’s promised to somebody else.’’

Indeed, her parents had entered into a marriage agreement with the Chow family as long ago as 1930, promised to a boy at the age of thirteen; a young man with money and connections called Cheam Chow. They’d set an auspicious date for the end of May. And every weekend or so her mother said she should start preparing the wedding plans. There was so much to do. Even the dress was fitted months in advance: after dinner Lu See would stand on top of the tea table with her arms held out to her sides as the tailor took her measurements and pulled the silk material tightly to the small of her back. ‘‘You no become pig-blubber-fatty bom bom now, ok?’’ the tailor warned. ‘‘Otherwhy you make me look bad on wedding day when people say you spilling out everywhere and everyone say tailor Pang made a dress for Terengganu elephant.’’

‘‘I won’t go through with this, Mother!’’ Lu See hissed as tailor Pang went to gather some more pins from his storeroom. ‘‘Forcing me to marry this way. It’s barbaric and outdated.’’

‘‘I don’t care what you’re thinking.’’

‘‘You know damn well I don’t want to marry him.’’

‘‘You do as your father says.’’

‘‘Ah-Ba never talks things through with me. I can never reason with him.’’

‘‘What, you don’t want to bring wealth to our family, hnn? The day you join with the Chow family will be a proud day for us all.’’

‘‘I’m stagnating here. I have to take control of my life.’’

‘‘Cha!’’

‘‘I need intellectual freedom. I’m going to be a modern woman and enrol as a student at Cambridge.’’

‘‘Cambeech University? Don’t be silly.’’

‘‘I’m being serious.’’

‘‘This is because of Second-aunty Doris, is it? Filling your head with nonsense.’’

‘‘It’s not nonsense.’’

‘‘How many Chinese you think they take?’’

‘‘Adrian Woo for one – ’’

‘‘And how many female Chinese, hnn? Cambeech University indeed … what next, you want to raise the Titanic, is it?’’

‘‘Abdul Rahman, the son of the Sultan of Kedah, was at Cambridge.’’

‘‘What, you think you’re daughter of a sultan now, is it?’’

‘‘And the poetess Sarojini Naidu went to Girton.’’

‘‘I never heard of her.’’

‘‘She was the first woman ever to be elected President of the Indian National Congress. And then there’s this fellow Nehru, the Indian statesman, he went to Trinity.’’

‘‘Look, you can do what you want after you are married.’’

‘‘You should be helping me to foster my talent not squander it. The only person in this family who appreciates my academic record is Second-aunty Doris.’’

‘‘Cha! Don’t mention that woman’s name! Always she encourage your foolish academic pretensions.’’

‘‘It’s true.’’

‘‘The thing is to find a good husband first. Afterwards you can go join the French Foreign Legion for all I care. You marry Chow Cheam, no more talk.’’

‘‘I won’t do it!’’

Her father entered the room. ‘‘What is all this commotion?’’

‘‘I refuse to marry him, Ah-Ba!’’

‘‘You do as you are told.’’

‘‘If you won’t listen to me I’ll be forced to do something drastic.’’

Irked, his face darkened. ‘‘Your heart is young and impetuous. Go to sleep. In the morning you will realise how rash your words are. By the morning your soul will know the truth.’’

But in her soul Lu See knew that day would never come. She knew she would never marry the One-eyed Giant.

Turning to the front of her sketchbook her gaze fell on a square of newsprint that had been glued to the endpapers. Five months ago, days before his return to Cambridge, she’d been photographed with Adrian at the Swettenham Ball. The picture of them together appeared in the society pages of the Malay Mail. Their respective parents had been livid. As if in prayer she would piously bend over the hazy image and study his face, thinking how lucky she was. He was everything she wanted: intelligent, funny, fluent in three languages and so handsome that his smile lit up the darkest room.

Instinctively, she knew he was somebody to admire; a person with strong political beliefs; someone who was as adept at talking to the old dowagers at ambassadorial parties as he was to Communist Party leaders. He had the authority and dignity that other men seemed to look for. And now, as he studied for a doctorate at Jesus College, Cambridge, he commanded respect wherever he went. Five weeks, she assured herself, five weeks before I see him again. Giddy with expectation she kissed the picture lightly and pressed the book to her chest.

‘‘You know he spends far too much time on his hair, don’t you?’’ said Sum Sum, her cloth shoes making shlip-shlap noises on the deck.

Lu See sighed and shook her head.

‘‘I’m sure he keeps a hairbrush in his back pocket, lah.’’

‘‘Shouldn’t you be unpacking or something?’’

‘‘Cannot, lah. The cabin boy says he will show us to our room after the boat has launched.’’

Minutes later a thin glaze of sea spray salted Lu See’s lips. Some people tossed fragrant rice into the water, others threw flowers, or paper streamers, or bits of coconut. Amongst the cries of excitement, she watched the ship loose its moorings, watched the backwash leave the port of Penang in its wake as the tug pulled the ship out of the harbour.

And that was when she saw Uncle Big Jowl, pushing through the crowd of coolies on the dock. He was shouting and waving a stick in the air. The coolies turned from their work to gawp at him; some put down their sweat-towels and gunnysacks full of spice and peppers. Uncle Big Jowl shouted at the Jutlandia as it crept away, shouted at it to stop, his face pulled tight like a drawstring bag, flesh bulging under his shirt like mattress stuffing. He had spotted her. A fist inside Lu See clenched. She watched him smash his cane against the wooden jetty in anger, splintering it into matchwood. His face grew smaller and smaller as the ship pulled away. The fist inside her relaxed, yet she kept thinking that a hole had now formed in her middle.

Everything – the shophouses, the colonial two-storey buildings, the Indian women in yellow saris, the Muslim men in their songkok skullcaps, the Chinese children playing with paper lanterns, Uncle Big Jowl – became tiny grey specks, washed into the sea. That’s me right now, she thought, – unmoored and free. No turning back. No regrets. Hungry for adventure. She had never rebelled against anything before: this was the turning point in her life. She had crossed the Rubicon.

Having carried the guilt around in her chest for days like an undigested egg, she now felt an indisputable freedom taking hold, a self-reliance that hadn’t been there before. Her heart felt lighter, her eyes brighter; satisfaction at having defied her family stole over her.

She returned to her sketchbook and tore out a page from its middle. It was a pencil drawing she’d done weeks before of her home, Tamarind Hill. Turning away from the wind, she pulled a matchbox from her pocket and set the sketch alight.

She felt like a bird in the open sky.

Sum Sum removed her black cloth shoes at the threshold, as was the Malay custom. She stood barefoot, breasts squashed into Lu See’s tight blue sundress, feeling the cool sea air slide around her legs. With her tribal toe rings contrasting against the dark carpeting, she assessed the first-class suite. She marvelled at the luxurious sheer sea-green curtains, the marble-topped tables and the vases of pale pink coral.

‘‘Welcome aboard the MS Jutlandia. We will be calling at the Nicobar Islands, Colombo, Bombay, Aden, Tobruk, Lisbon and Felixstowe before heading for our final destination Copenhagen. And if you come this way, Miss Apricot,’’ said the Chinese cabin boy, ‘‘your bedroom adjoins your cousin’s room. Queen beds as requested.’’

‘‘Cousin?’’ Sum Sum exclaimed, looking directly at the cabin boy. ‘‘I’m not her-’’

‘‘Yes, thank you!’’ Lu See interjected, pressing a Straits dollar into the young man’s hand. ‘‘Just leave the trunk by the window. We’ll sort it out later.’’

‘‘Enjoy the rest of your journey,’’ the cabin boy said, shutting the door with a soft click.

When they were alone Lu See fluttered her eyelashes at Sum Sum – little moth wings of amusement. ‘‘What? You actually expected me to stick you in steerage, sharing bathrooms and breathing space with all those pimply-arsed men? You should be so lucky.’’

Sum Sum did a little victory jig across the carpeted floor. She felt the air escape her lungs in a wheeze of laughter and instinctively she reached out and touched Lu See’s face, whose cheekbones were so high and angular they often threatened to break free from beneath the skin. ‘‘Seven years! Seven years and you never surprised me like this before!’’

Lu See smiled. ‘‘Has it really been seven years?’’

‘‘Almost, lah. March 1929. Same year my father died.’’ Sum Sum recalled the first day they’d met, when they were both only twelve years old. ‘‘Your mother shepherded me into breakfast room and announced that I was to be the new laundry amah, remember?’’

‘‘You avoided everybody’s eyes and turned your face away.’’

‘‘Towards the door, to hide my tears.’’ She nodded. ‘‘I was so homesick. I felt like an imposter in your house. Fresh off the train, lah. I remember the long journey in that iron coffin. I came via Assam, Mandalay and Siam. Tickety-tak, tickety-tak, all night long. And you, I remember this skinny, cheeky little girl with your hair cut above the collar.’’

‘‘School regulations. All hair had to be cut above the collar.’’

‘‘Your mother said, Sit up straight, Lu See! You were always being warned by your parents, no? Always same thing: no more biting your nails, stop slouching at dinner table, never forget to wash hands after pee-peeing.’’

‘‘Which I never did!’’

‘‘And then you took me by the hand, no?’’

‘‘And I led you through the house.’’

‘‘Aiyoo! So many dark corridors! It was still gas-lit in those days.’’

They tripped over each other’s words, laughing.

‘‘We both sat down in the back, at the servants’ table to share a bowl of mee hoon noodles.’’

‘‘And you told me not to chew with my mouth open!’’

‘‘Did I really?’’

‘‘Yes, lah.’’

‘‘We played a round of Chinese chequers. Then I went to throw small stones on to the roof to chase the monkeys away, but all you wanted to do was read your letter.’’

‘‘You know, for weeks and weeks I carried that letter from my mother in my tunic pocket.’’

There was a long pause. Sum Sum remembered every word of the letter. It said now that she was a fatherless daughter she had to be respectful and clean, to live a decent life, to honour the memory of her ancestors and to not be scared of the thunder. She remembered, too, the Himalayan sun breaking through the clouds; the deer hides used as groundsheets for sleeping; her mother warming her pink, stiff fingers over the teepee of flames as Sum Sum threw more kindling and bark resin on the fire. The horse and yak caravan had taken them to within sight of the Indian border. The journey across the mountains had taken sixteen days. It was here that they would say their final goodbyes. Sum Sum felt the prayer box amulet being secured around her neck and the shoulder bags being hitched in place. She was crying so hard that when she looked at her mother her image blurred and wavered. They pressed the palms of their hands to each others’ cheeks. Then her mother pulled her into her arms before Sum Sum could see the tears streak down her face. Sum Sum tried to speak but could say nothing; it was as if someone had placed stones in her mouth. When they pulled away, her mother’s eyes shot towards the distant hills to the south and she tipped her head. It was time to go.

At the time she never thought about whether Malaya would be different to Tibet. She did not know that there might be another way to live, unfamiliar foods to eat, outlandish customs and habits and languages to comprehend. Nobody told her anything. All she wanted to do was make her mother proud.

Sum Sum shook her head forcefully at the memory. Her teeth bit into her lower lip. Seconds later she was busying herself with the unpacking, putting things away, fastening cocktail dresses and cheongsams on to padded wooden hangers, arranging toiletries, unwrapping this and unfolding that. She retrieved Lu See’s brass statuette of Ganesha, the Hindu elephant-headed god, and positioned it by the bed.

Lu See went over and rubbed his pot belly. ‘‘We’ll need all the help we can get from this fellow - God of new ventures and remover of obstacles.’’

‘‘Remover of obstacles? Aiyo, you sound like you’re constipated.’’

Lu See cracked open the window. The distant sounds of the swing band on the promenade deck floated down from above. Springboarding into a yoga headstand, she closed her eyes and waited for the enjoyable rush of blood to her cheeks. She glanced at her watch, upside down. ‘‘I fancy a walk. You want something to eat?’’

‘‘Can, lah.’’ Sum Sum sighed, coiling her prayer beads round her wrist. ‘‘But I still think we should have bought some coconut candy at the quayside. I miss my tongue-touchers already.’’

‘‘Yes and we would have been collared by Uncle Big Jowl if you had done.’’

They strolled along the Lido deck under parasols, watching a group of people play an impromptu game of shuffleboard. Three stewards with braiding on their shoulders cruised the deckchairs with pitchers of iced lime juice. Both Lu See and Sum Sum accepted a glass and sipped the cool drinks, relishing the cold against their lips.

A little further on, they came across a tall European man holding a filbert brush. He stood by his easel wearing a blue blazer with gold buttons over a white shirt and white linen trousers. His teeth looked too large for his mouth. To his left a muscular, well-groomed Indian in a khaki safari suit was holding up a holland umbrella, shielding the canvas from the sun.

Lu See stood behind the European for a while and then cleared her throat.

‘‘God, Christ! You scared me half to death.’’

She asked, ‘‘Are you the captain?’’

‘‘Do I look like the captain?’’

‘‘Yes, actually, you do.’’

‘‘Well, I’m not.’’

‘‘Where is the captain?’’

‘‘Hell if I know.’’

Her head tilted to one side to look at the canvas. She made out some curvy blue and white lines that resembled waves with a blue purple blob in the middle. ‘‘It’s obviously a boat on the sea.’’

‘‘No, it’s a picture of Edinburgh.’’

‘‘It is not.’’

‘‘Why would I lie?’’

‘‘So you’re telling me that’s not a boat?’’

‘‘No, it’s a bus travelling down Princes Street.’’

‘‘Where are the buildings?’’

‘‘I haven’t done them yet, have I?’’

‘‘Why are you staring out to sea but painting pictures of Edinburgh?’’

‘‘It’s a free world.’’ He paused. ‘‘All right if you must know, my family’s originally from Scotland.’’

At which point Sum Sum came forward and belted out a repertoire of Scottish sounding phrases she’d picked up from the Glaswegian chaplain who called on the Teohs each month: ‘‘Och, aye, the kirk roof still needs ah-mending. Milk no sugar if ye will. Thy Kingdom come, thy will be done, Amen. I’ll see ye in a wee while, lassie.’’

‘‘For the love of Rita! Bit of a fruitcake, isn’t she? Perhaps your friend could do with a hat. The hot sun, you know. Those paper parasols don’t do much good.’’

‘‘Oh, don’t mind her. She’s very excitable. My name’s Lucy, by the way. Lucy Apricot.’’

‘‘Stan Farrell,’’ he said, extending a hand. Lu See took it and felt his fingers close around hers.

‘‘We’re off for lunch,’’ Lu See said.

‘‘I don’t eat lunch.’’

‘‘Everybody eats lunch.’’

‘‘I had a big breakfast.’’ He removed a sweet from his pocket. ‘‘Fancy a gumdrop?’’

‘‘You’re a very odd man, Mr Stan Farrell. Are you getting off at Felixstowe?’’

Stan sucked his oversized teeth, disappointed. ‘‘’Fraid I get off in Bombay. I’m finishing my senior police officer training in Colaba.’’

‘‘So you’re a bobby.’’

‘‘Probationary Inspector at your service, marm.’’ He clicked his heels.

Lu See glanced at the well-groomed Indian. ‘‘And who is he?’’

‘‘This is Aziz Humzaal, my orderly.’’

‘‘Hello, Aziz.’’

Aziz wiggled his head and pressed his right hand to his heart.

‘‘Well, it was nice meeting you, Mr Farrell. Sum Sum and I are off to find some food.’’ She twirled her parasol. ‘‘See you later, no doubt.’’

As she turned to leave, Stan said, ‘‘I do, however, always partake of a midday meal on Fridays. I skip lunch every day of the week except for Friday. I saw on the bulletin board that tomorrow’s curry day. Want to join me?’’

Lu See looked at Sum Sum and shrugged. ‘‘Yes, all right. That sounds jim-dandy.’’

‘‘Jim who?’’

‘‘Jim-dandy, oh never mind. We’ll see you Friday.’’

The girls made their way towards the main dining room. Lu See smiled to herself.

Sum Sum glanced over her shoulder and pinched her nose. ‘‘He smelled of boiled prawns.’’

‘‘No, he did not.’’

‘‘I’m telling you he did, lah. Made me want to fry him in ginger and sesame oil.’’

‘‘He was quite handsome all the same.’’

‘‘Handsome? He looked like he was trying to eat a corncob through a tennis racquet. Teeth spilling out like prison escapees.’’

‘‘Aziz was nice-looking though, don’t you think?’’

‘‘No.’’

‘‘Oh really? Well if you don’t find him handsome why are you blushing?’’ she teased.

‘‘I’m not blushing. Just hot, lah.’’

‘‘Hot to trot for Mr Aziz. I can see you like him.’’

‘‘Aiyoo! Don’t put words in my mouth, lah!’’

Amused, Lu See scratched her nose to cover her smile. Sum Sum always spoke of men’s looks in this vague sort of way, as if to imply that they made no impression on her; it was something Lu See always saw through.

When they returned from lunch, Lu See found a note slid under her door. Laughing, she read it aloud to Sum Sum:

Started, Farted,

Stumbled, Fell,

See you Friday,

Stan Farrell

 

Later, still in her cabin, Lu See dipped her pen into the inkstand and wrote:

Dear Second-aunty Doris – well I’ve done it! I’m aboard ship and on my way to Europe. The money you gave me, all 2,000 Straits dollars, is safely locked up in the Captain’s personal strongbox and as soon as I reach Cambridge I will open a bank account to receive the monthly allowance you so kindly offered to wire over. Once I get settled I will begin to look into sourcing a pipe organ for the new church to be built in Po On Village. I did some research and came up with a number of firms that may be able to help us: Conrad P. Hughes in London, Brinkley & Fosler of Yorkshire, and Harrison & Harrison who were responsible for the King’s Chapel organ. Let us pray that I can find something suitable (and within budget) and have it shipped to Malaya in time for the memorial service planned for Christmas. Donating an organ to the church and dedicating it in Tak Ming’s memory is an admirable idea – I know that he would have approved.

As for my own situation, how can I thank you enough for helping me? How can I ever repay you? Thank you for believing in me when nobody else in the family did.

Wish me luck with my Girton interview. My old headmaster at Bing Hua has already received a reply from the college and I am due to meet with the Mistress and the tutors on March 2nd so fingers and toes crossed!

I will write again soon.

God bless you.

Your loving niece – Lu See

 

She replaced the pen on the writing table and looked around to find Sum Sum sitting cross-legged on the floor going through a set of photographs. ‘‘What are those?’’ she asked.

‘‘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.

‘‘Do you think what I’m doing, turning my back on my parents, is defying nature?’’ she asked Sum Sum.

‘‘Ayo Sami! Having sex with a goat is defying nature. Being born with three ears instead of two is defying nature. All you’re doing is following your dreams, lah. You always complaining how much your parents control your life and how they’re forcing you to marry One-eyed Giant, it only natural you rebel, no? By Dharmakaya heaven, I’d run like hell too from him if he wanted to marry me!’’

‘‘They’re still precious to me. I’m abandoning them, throwing my past away with a wave of a handkerchief.’’

‘‘Aiyoo! Why you being so mego-dramatic, lah!’’

‘‘I wonder if Sarojini Naidu went through all this when she told her parents she wanted to go to Cambridge.’’

‘‘Did she run away too?’’

‘‘No, her father wanted her to become a mathematician, but she was only interested in poetry. When she was 16 the Nizam of Hyderabad was so impressed by her poems he arranged a scholarship for her to study in England. Now she’s known as ‘The Nightingale of India’.’’

‘‘And you’ll be known as the ‘Mego-dramatist of Malaya’, is it?’’

Lu See paused, feeling a slither of regret. ‘‘Do you think Mama’s furious?’’

‘‘I’m sure she’s damn-powerful bloody livid.’’ Sum Sum clicked her tongue just to show how livid.

Lu See stretched her willowy legs. ‘‘I still can’t believe they wanted me to marry the One-eyed Giant.’’

The One-eyed Giant was their nickname for Chow Cheam. He lived five miles away and was the sole heir to the Chow Titt Municipal Bank. At the age of eleven he’d been blinded in his left eye whilst playing badminton. The shuttlecock had struck him before he could blink. Now, aged twenty-three, he was a squinting, arrogant, flat-footed brute, with dog-fart breath and a face studded with pockmarks.

‘‘Your father believed it was good for the family business. But deep down Mama probably understands, lah. She was in love once too, you know – she married your father after all, even though the fortune teller said he was unsuitable. Besides,’’ she puckered her lips, ‘‘it’s not the first time you’ve run away.’’

Momentarily bewildered, Lu See frowned. Then, raising her eyebrows, she tilted her head at the memory: it was the day her aunty Mimi was getting married. She was playing in the garden and heard her mother calling for her. ‘‘Come on now, we’re late! Where you gone, hnn?’’ But Lu See didn’t want to be a flower girl, standing in front of all those people, with everyone staring at her. Even then she’d yearned to be free, to be like the village children – running shoeless through the fields, hunting butterflies, climbing trees and picking mangoes. So she went and hid under the hibiscus bush. ‘‘Where are you, Lu See? Lu See!’’ Later, much later, she went and took cover down by the river. Mr Bala, the gardener, eventually found her and brought her home. It was dark by then.

‘‘I’ve disgraced them,’’ she sighed.

‘‘Could be worse, lah.’’ Sum Sum’s tone was gently teasing. ‘‘You could’ve gotten pregnant.’’