It was late afternoon of the Mid-Autumn Festival and a fortnight into the Malayan liberation.
The day had been stifling – to Uncle Big Jowl it was like being smothered by a steaming-hot towel in a barbershop. Slouched in the coolest nook of the big house, he fanned his sweaty cheeks with a banana leaf, wearing the expression of a man who had just realized he’d boarded the wrong bus.
From the garden he heard the violent thud of hammer on nail; from the kitchen he smelt the warm red-bean perfume of freshly baked moon cakes.
Mabel, in flannel pyjamas, padded across the floor in bare feet and sat on his lap. ‘‘Your mother traded some old umbrellas for a packet of red bean paste, I see,’’ he said. ‘‘Aahh, if you become as resilient as her, I will be proud.’’
‘‘Guess what?’’ said Mabel. ‘‘Uncles Peter and James are squabbling again.’’
‘‘Ai-yoo, such bloody nincompoops. In the old days we were lucky, aahh! Nobody really ever argued apart from your grandfather and Second-aunty Doris, God rest their souls.’’ Uncle Big Jowl removed a monogrammed hankie from his pocket and wiped his brow. ‘‘In those days, living in such a big home with so many others, if you didn’t like someone, aahh, it didn’t matter. You had an argument with your brother? So what! You go sit at dinner with your uncle or your sister or your nephew, or your sister-in-law or one of your five nieces. Every meal was twenty, maybe thirty people, sometimes more. And after we eat we play mah-jong.’’
Mabel stared up at the huge, glistening face. ‘‘More than thirty people?’’ She rested her face on his tummy as if it were an overstuffed pillow.
Uncle Big Jowl rocked her on his lap then winced. ‘‘Ai-yooo! Bloody arthritic knees! This fifty-eight-year-old body’s no good, lah!’’ He wiped his brow again and shook out his shirt. ‘‘Family and friends all mixing together like jigsaw puzzle in a box. After a while you forget you ever had an argument with your brother in the first place.’’
Just as he said this, two raised voices interrupted the nail-hammering.
They went to see what the squabbling was about this time, Uncle Big Jowl swaying from side to side as he walked. ‘‘Ai-yoooo! What on earth are you pair of maddos doing now?’’
‘‘What does it look like we’re doing?’’ answered Peter, hitching up his oversize shorts. He had a mallet in his hand. His gaze was bright yet glassy like a radical priest with an opium habit. ‘‘We are preparing for the second coming! I’m building James’ coffin.’’
‘‘And I’m building Peter’s. His is going to be a Toe Pincher.’’
‘‘Next, we’re going to design the lettering for our headstones.’’
‘‘But why, aahh, aahh?’’ exclaimed Uncle Big Jowl, performing a double-cock of the head.
‘‘It’s cheaper,’’ said James with a nonchalant shrug, ‘‘and it reminds us of our own mortality.’’ He stooped to plane the side of a plywood panel.
‘‘Cheaper?’’ Peter protested. ‘‘This has nothing to do with money.’’
‘‘I remember you saying it would be a good investment.’’
‘‘Yes, a spiritual investment.’’
‘‘Nonsense, you were thinking about the money.’’
‘‘Are you calling me a Cheap-Charlie?’’
‘‘I cannot believe you’re my brother, we have nothing in common,’’ James sighed.
‘‘Not true, we both like satays. And cabbage and – ’’
‘‘You are such a child!’’
‘‘Oh and you’re not!’’
Fidgeting in his oversize shorts, James pinched his kneecaps together. ‘‘Listen, can we continue this later? I need a pee-pee break.’’
Uncle Big Jowl looked at Mabel and rolled his eyes. ‘‘Pair of top-class nincompoops,’’ he muttered.
Just then Mother and Lu See appeared at the bottom of the drive, waving Union Jack banners to get their attention. ‘‘They’re coming, they’re coming!’’ Lu See cried. ‘‘Hurry! Or you’ll miss them! Drop the mallets and grab the mooncakes!’’
With several trays of mooncakes in hand, Lu See led the charge as they raced down the windy path into the village. The kampong was lined with cheering people brandishing flags, giving the thumbs up, hopping up and down in excitement. Bunting and messages of welcome hung from the upturned eaves of the village temple. A ribbon of children, arms linked, yelled like mad in front of a home-made Arc de Triomphe.
‘‘Here they come!’’ The crowd pressed forward. A convoy of heavy vehicles kicked up dust in the near distance. The rumble of engines and the rattle, clank and squeak of metal gears and steel springs grew closer. Vickers Light tanks, Bren-gun carriers and armoured cars thundered up, bouncing over ruts, arriving with the hubbub and anticipation of the carnival coming to town. As they slowed to a snail’s pace the villagers ran alongside. An officer in a jeep, with his beret folded into his shoulder lapel, made V for Victory signs with both hands. All about him people clapped with glee.
A dozen more Bedfords crawled past as teenage girls teased out their hair, beckoning flirtatiously. Everyone rang their bicycle bells and squeezed their toot-toot hand horns. The armoured vehicles slowed and wheezed to a stop to take in the celebratory atmosphere. Bringing up the rear was the infantry – The Royal Lincolnshire Regiment in berets and the Gurkhas in terai hats; row upon row of dark tropical green, chanting and whistling as their boots thrummed the ground.
Lu See stared at the lines of solid Himalayan faces and briefly thought of Sum Sum. Somewhere behind her Uncle Big Jowl waved his Union Jack frantically.
Peter and James began singing ‘God Save the King’ as others flung rice and coconut shavings into the air. Mr Ko, the shopkeeper, held aloft the village goose which gave an onk-onk of complaint. Two little boys, legs lubricated by adrenaline, ran alongside with a handful of wild flowers showering the troops sat along the turrets with yellows and pinks; one of them mounted a tank to shake their hands.
‘‘Where are you heading?’’ someone yelled.
‘‘Kuala Lumpur!’’ came the reply.
And then they were gone, like a child’s balloon seized by the wind. The last of the armoured trucks sped by, heading south towards the capital, trailing cast-iron drifts of dust to the sound of grinding machinery and lead shot grumbling in a drum. A few of the barefoot boys ran after them.
A firecracker went off in the distance. ‘‘Gung hei! Gung hei!’’ cried Lu See, passing out mooncakes to the hungry boys and girls. ‘‘Compliments of the Teohs. Enjoy them while they are warm!’’ Nearby, women from the Woo household removed round cakes from woven baskets, distributing the circular pasteboard packages to the elderly. Lu See exchanged polite nods with them.
The children danced about the village square, banging gongs and watching the sun slide beyond the horizon and oohing as the bright full moon materialized in the sky. Red paper lanterns appeared on the end of long bamboo poles – butterflies, carp and rabbits lit from within by trembling candles.
‘‘Can I play too?’’ asked Mabel, hopping from foot to foot.
‘‘Of course you can,’’ replied her mother.
Lu See watched the children skip along arm in arm. She smiled with pride, but jerked her head round on sensing others staring at her. And there they were: the men from the jungle, the MPAJA soldiers. Watching her like buzzards over carrion.
Each of them had similar hard-boned faces – square cheekbones, sharp jaw lines and dull-black hair. The tallest and oldest, thought Lu See, the one barking orders, with the bare chest and fat rubbery lips, he must be the leader.
Strutting with thumbs in belts, they swept around the village square, circling like buzzards. Lu See could smell the sweet scent of their clove cigarettes. She counted their weapons: two of them held parangs; the others all carried rifles slung across their shoulders. And then there was the boy too, the one she’d spotted only days earlier, the ten-year-old with the Japanese service pistol stuffed in his belt.
A drunken river fisherman stumbled towards Le See. His dishevelled face resembled a shipwreck with eyelids lowered at half mast. She happened to be right in his line of vision.
‘‘You!’’ he yelled, spraying spittle and lurching like a boxer on the ropes. Lu See’s features pulled tight. ‘‘I know you!’’ She took a step backwards, but he followed. The alcohol made him daring and he was spoiling for a fight. ‘‘You are the treacherous woman who sided with Tozawa.’’ Faces pivoted in their direction. The children stopped dancing and banging gongs. Laughter ceased.
The celebratory mood vanished.
‘‘You think just because you are a Teoh you are immune? We dealt with a Woo the other day. Don’t think we won’t do the same to you.’’ The drunken fisherman, wagging his finger, was joined by the woman from the pith wood store and a barefoot goat herder.
‘‘When we had nothing to eat, she would go and buy him black market sugar!’’ the woman accused. ‘‘I saw with my own eyes!’’
‘‘And when she finished her work, his car would drive her to her home, like she was big city concubine!’’ cited the fisherman.
The goat man began to whip up the crowd, chanting, ‘‘Japanese friend, we will find you in the end!’’ His matted, stringy chin-beard swayed as he strode up to Lu See. She could smell him now, rank and stale like a wet towel in a bag. ‘‘What should we do with her?’’ he bellowed. ‘‘Thought you could get away with it, eh?’’
Lu See held his gaze, calmly. ‘‘Get away with what, exactly?’’
‘‘Leave my daughter alone!’’ cried Mother, clutching Mabel close.
The drunk hiccupped: ‘‘Tear off her clothes! Shame her!’’
The goatherd pulled a pair of shearing scissors from his knapsack. ‘‘We cut the wool from goats and whores,’’ he said.
Uncle Big Jowl, sucking in his stomach, tried to muscle his way in but was seized and held back by several of the villagers as others, a large boisterous group, formed a ring with Lu See at its centre. Lu See felt a woman’s nailed hand reach forward to grab at her top. The cloth ripped, exposing her bare shoulder.
‘‘Let’s teach her a lesson!’’ yelled the drunken fisherman.
Just then James stepped forward. He pointed a hand to the moon like an Old Testament prophet. ‘‘The upright are the ones that will reside on this earth. The wicked will be cut off from the very world, and as for the treacherous, they will be torn away from it.’ Proverbs 2:21. This woman is innocent, leave her be.’’
The goat herder arched his eyebrows with surprise and glared at James’ clean-shaven face, taking in his pop-eyed gaze. ‘‘Who the hell are you?’’
‘‘I am a lamb of Jehovah.’’
‘‘Lamb?’’
‘‘Yes, lamb. Baa-baa, lamb.’’ James smiled a beatific smile.
Temporarily nonplussed, the goatherd fluttered his hand to shoo James away.
‘‘Happy are the mild-tempered ones, for they shall inherit the earth.’’ James beamed with eye-bursting gusto. ‘‘I strongly advise you to leave my sister alone,’’ he said. ‘‘She has committed no crimes. And you really ought to shave off that beard. Beards sprout from the forelock of Satan.’’
‘‘Precisely!’’ howled Peter from within the melee, finding his voice.
The goatherd shoved James to one side. Lunging, he snatched at a length of Lu See’s hair and pushed her to the ground amongst the chicken droppings. She fought back, but the years of grappling with livestock had made the man strong. A strip of teeth and upper gum flashed as he snared another handful of her mane.
‘‘Renounce!’’ he insisted. ‘‘Renounce what you did.’’
She saw a glint of metal by her left eye. The jaws of his shearing scissors bit into her hair. She let out a short sharp gasp. Black clumps of hair fell to the ground like scorched wheat.
She grasped his wrist, holding him at bay. People, their expressions grim and fortress-like, made clicking sounds of encouragement. They jostled forward, eager to witness the Teoh woman being punished. She waited for someone to cry out that she was innocent, that all this was a huge mistake, but nobody did.
‘‘I’ve done nothing wrong.’’ Her voice was small and did not sound like her own. ‘‘Get Mabel away from here,’’ she heard herself say. The very thought of her daughter watching this made her chest jump and rear. She’d once read about a village in Borneo that apprehended offenders by doping a parrot, taking it to the identity parade and urging it to fly onto the shoulder of the guilty party. Usually the parrot landed on an innocent who, wrongly accused and powerless to do anything about it, was hanged or beaten with bamboo canes. Lu See’s predicament felt exactly the same.
Lu See clenched her teeth. Whatever happened she was going to maintain her dignity.
Women tugged their earlobes in consternation. Men watched with the serpent stares of moneylenders. Somewhere in the background she heard Mother objecting vociferously and her brothers pleading.
A momentary stillness settled. And then a gunshot cracked the air.
Lu See looked to see the MPAJA leader with the rubbery lips by her side. Bare-chested, the tall old man aimed his firearm between the goatherd’s eyes.
Lu See focused on the leader’s smooth, sinewy forearm. She saw the tendons contract as he thumb-cocked the hammer of his revolver; muscles like walnuts pushed under the dark skin. She watched as he adeptly pressed the muzzle a fraction above the goatherd’s eyebrows.
His sweat-shined knuckles twitched.
The goatherd’s mouth opened and closed like a dying goldfish. The crowd watched transfixed. The goatherd dropped his shearing blades.
Nobody moved; it was as though the entire village had stumbled into the centre of a minefield and didn’t know where to place their feet.
All of a sudden Lu See heard herself speak, surprising herself as words tumbled out of her mouth. ‘‘Please don’t hurt him,’’ she said. ‘‘I can see why he is angry, but please don’t shoot him.’’
The tall old man ran a tongue across his rubbery lips. The goatherd’s eyes darted about as if for a place to run. But his legs had set with cement.
The old man’s finger kissed the trigger, caressing it lightly
‘‘Hum gaa chaan! Open your eyes, you miserable lot of satay suckers. You see how this woman is? You accuse her of treachery yet forget how she gives out mooncakes to your children. You threaten her yet when the tables are turned she begs for mercy on your behalf.’’
The MPAJA leader lowered his revolver and gave the goatherd a kick in the arse to help him on his way. Watching him scuttle off, he threw out a calloused hand, which Lu See clutched. The sky came rushing at her too quickly as he pulled her to her feet; she put a hand on his shoulder to steady herself. ‘‘This woman is neither a traitor nor a colluder; she is an asset to this village,’’ he added. ‘‘I expect you to treat her as so. Sai yun tau! Dead man’s head!’’
Gasping and almost rigid with shock, Lu See glared at the sea of faces. Her voice trembled. ‘‘We have all been through a terrible war,’’ she said. ‘‘Some of us have suffered more than others, but let’s not kid ourselves - everyone suffered at the hands of the Japanese.’’ Her insides shook like a reed. ‘‘Everyone lost someone or something dear to them. We have all swum in the same water, but we are all different; we each have our own personal moral code. Mine was to do whatever I could to protect my family. I worked for Tozawa; it’s true; I cooked in his kitchen. But every day felt like I was sacrificing a piece of my soul. In return he paid me a small amount of money. I never gave myself to him. I never revealed any secrets. I never passed him any of your personal information. If you think that is a crime then so be it, but I know I have done nothing wrong. I can hold my head high.’’
Lu See snapped her mouth shut; she wanted to wail angrily at the crowd, wanted to wave a fist at them. But she just glared at them. The woman from the pith wood shop backed away. The drunken fisherman scratched his throat and beat a retreat to the toddy shop. Ko, the shopkeeper, stared at his feet. Gradually, with embarrassed coughs and guilty collar-tugs, the rest of the squirming throng dispersed.
Mabel rushed up and leapt into her arms. The force of her body sent Lu See back a step.
Lu See buried her face in her daughter’s neck. She looked at the tall man and thanked him.
‘‘My name is Foo. My friends call me Fishlips. And this here,’’ – he ran a hand through a boy’s straggly hair – ‘‘this here is my grandson, Bong. His parents were taken by Kempeitai. They never returned.’’
Lu See smiled at the boy with the Japanese service pistol stuffed in his belt; a boy with thirty-year-old eyes in the face of a ten-year-old. ‘‘Hello, Bong. This is my daughter Mabel.’’
‘‘Hello,’’ he replied, looking Mabel up and down. ‘‘You ever held a gun before?’’
‘‘Come now, grandson, enough excitement for one day. Time we made camp.’’ He spun on his heels and marched off.
As he turned into the jungle foliage Foo smiled at Lu See as if to say, You owe me one. And then he vanished.
Only later, having returned to the big house, when reality set in, did Lu See retreat to the back garden to throw up long pink strands of half-digested mooncake. With a violent shaking she leaned her weight on the wall to recover and realized that her mother had been right all along.