The misty silence of the country lane shattered in a hail of pebbles under her horse-drawn gharry, hurtling towards the temple in Bandong. The grey sky was tinged pink. She leaned out of the window and took a deep breath of the cool clean air. Fragrance of ripening jackfruit. Patchworks of young rice plants in the fields. A lone buffalo lowed its sad notes. Nam moh or li tor fatt, “Lord Buddha bless us,” she prayed. Her husband’s fate was hanging over the family like an executioner’s sword.
Her eyes feasted hungrily on the scene rolling past her window. She might never see this again. For who could tell what the days ahead would bring. The rice fields, fringed by coconut palms, banana trees and brown huts on stilts were different from the rice fields of Sum Hor. She would love to see Sum Hor again. But not as a deported criminal.
“Mistress, drink this. You haven’t eaten anything.”
“I’m not hungry.”
Ling placed a silk cushion behind her head and served her a cup of tea. If she had remained in China, she’d never be able to have a maid to serve her tea, not even in a hundred lifetimes. Here in Malaya, she had two maids and five amahs to see to her comfort. What more could a woman want?
She’d travelled ten thousand li across the ocean to marry a stranger in a strange land. A lifetime ago. What did she hope for then? Two bowls of rice and a roof over her head. But expecting little, she’d found much. A home, a family, respect, abundance and so much more than she had ever dreamed was possible in a woman’s life.
“Take charge of the medical hall.”
“Cannot, cannot! I’m a woman.”
“This is the twentieth century. Young women in Kwangtung and Hongkong are already studying and teaching in schools.”
“But I’ve no education.”
“You know how to read and write.”
“But I’ve no experience.”
“No experience, can learn. Ah Weng, the accountant, can teach you. I can teach you.”
She smiled. At the heart of each man sits a teacher who likes to teach women. And because she’d shown timidity, Tuck Heng had encouraged and taught her the rudiments of running a business.
“The world is changing. Those who can’t change won’t survive. Clinging to tradition will make us lag forever behind the foreign devils. We have to aim high to help others.”
How could she disagree with his noble sentiments? Tuck Heng was forward-looking in some ways and backward-looking in others. Like the fingers of her hand, his faults and virtues were of different lengths. A wife, if wise and patient, accepted her husband’s hand and did not seek to cut off one of his fingers. Marital fidelity was not in the nature of man. Marriage was about mutual dependency, duty, loyalty and devotion.
“Here’re the ledgers and accounts. Ask Ah Weng if you don’t understand the figures.”
She took the books and sat down with the accountant. A few days later, he asked, “What do think of Ah Weng? Can he be trusted?”
Surprised that he sought her opinion, she told him what she thought. The next time, he asked her about a house he wanted to buy. One thing led to another. Sometimes he spoke of his doubts and misgivings. Sometimes he sought her advice. And so, gradually, without either of them noticing it, the countless infinitesimal exchanges of small talk between them turned into a friendship.
A friendship because they seldom came together as man and wife. And how did she feel about this? Feelings were clouds across the sky. They would change and pass. It wasn’t important how she felt. It was more important what she could make out of her life in this country.
She began to pay attention to the men’s talk, the traders and merchants who visited Tuck Heng. She served them bowls of bird’s nest and shark’s fin soup, all the while listening to their talk to pick up useful nuggets about the trading world. Through long hours of patient listening, she gathered, in minute fractions, knowledge of how things worked in business and details about life in other parts of Malaya. In this way, without moving out of Ipoh, her knowledge of Malaya grew. None of the men minded her presence. She was quiet and unassuming and was no trouble to them. Nothing could be gained by asking questions or appearing too eager. Seeming indifference, deference and patience got her what she wanted to know.
Soon she was able to show Tuck Heng a healthy profit from the medical hall. Then she started a letter-writing and reading service for illiterate coolies and amahs. For a very small fee, an illiterate coolie could send a letter home to China or have a letter read to him. She liked to sit behind the counter for a few hours each day and watch their faces light up when their letters were read out. It was magical and wonderful that she, a woman of humble origins, could help these people. Just like a man.
She became bolder. She found out that the coolies were reluctant to enter a government post office because the clerks spoke only English.
“Ah Weng, we help them send money and letters home.”
“Mistress, it’s against the law. Only the government can open a remittance service.”
“Ah Weng, your ears need cleaning. I said we help our friends to send money home. Helping friends is not against the law, right or not?”
Ah Weng grinned. Soon coolies and amahs knew where to seek a friend’s help. Would she be able to do these things if she were back in China?
The sun had cleared the mists covering the hills. Her gharry stopped outside the temple gates. The old monk ushered her into the inner sanctuary of the Hall of Ancestors and lit the oil lamps to announce her offering to the gods. She kowtowed and poured out several libations of rice wine upon the floor.
“Parents-in-law, I beg you to protect your son and grandchildren from banishment and deportation. A good horse never grazes on old pastures. Let him stay and prosper in this new land.”
The old monk shuffled in with a pot of tea.
“Si-fu, help me. Save my children’s father. He’s in great trouble with the red-haired foreign devils.”
She knelt before him.
“Mrs Wong!” Gently he raised her and helped her to a seat. “Mrs Wong, I’ve been praying for him ever since I heard the news.”
“Thank you, Si-fu. What should I do now?”
“Master Tuck Heng’s destiny has brought him to this part of the world. Your destiny brought you to him. Pray and trust in the Lord Buddha.”
“I’m taking the train to Kuala Lumpur tonight with my son and two daughters. My husband’s adopted brother is in Kuala Lumpur. He doesn’t speak Cantonese and I don’t speak the foreign devil’s tongue. What am I to do among all these foreigners?”
“Mrs Wong, since I came from China many years ago, I’ve met men and women of many tongues. But as the Lord Buddha is great and merciful, all of us, even the foreign devils who speak in strange tongues, have hearts capable of goodness.”
“I’m worried, Si-fu.”
“Heaven will not block all his routes. Your husband has friends and relatives. They will help him ...”
“Si-fu, please don’t judge me too harshly if I complain. My heart has too many secrets.”
“What you tell me will remain within these walls.”
“Thank you, Si-fu.”
“Have some tea, please.”
She sipped her hot tea meditatively. After a while she plucked up courage again and asked the monk, “Si-fu, is it wrong to want to stay on in this country? Am I betraying my ancestors in wanting to stay?”
The old monk shook his head.
“Betray is a very strong word, Mrs Wong. We have a saying in China, ‘Enter earth, sprout roots.’ Do you understand my meaning?”
“Are you saying that I’ve entered the earth of this land and sprouted roots, Si-fu?”
His eyes twinkled with gentle humour as he gazed at a weeping willow he had planted next to a coconut palm. Then speaking in a low soft voice, he turned to her.
“From sunrise to sunset, from one day to the next, till our black hair turns white, we eat, we sleep, we bear children and we watch them grow. We watch them get married and in turn bear children of their own. How time flies, we say to ourselves. Then one day, we look down at our feet and we’re surprised. Roots have sprouted in the ground of our daily living.”