SOME TIME AFTER ROSE and Howard returned to Belvedere, Mei Lan and her amah rode in a rickshaw up the shady avenue of Bukit Timah. Lanterns burned before the wrought-iron gates of Lim Villa, and Sikh watchmen stood to attention. The gates swang open and the rickshaw proceeded up the long drive to the turrets and towers of Lim Hock An’s great mansion. Already, shadows were dense amongst the trees, although a streak of pink still clung to the darkening sky. Marble statuary gleamed dimly on great swathes of lawn. The day’s experiences settled uncomfortably in Mei Lan like an over-rich meal. She rested her head against Ah Siew’s flat breast, glad to return to Lim Villa where she slept in a bed of soft down pillows and not upon a wooden shelf in a dark smelly room, like Ah Siew’s sisters in their kongsi fong. Her mind was so full of the fong and the exciting things she had seen and learned that she had almost forgotten the shouting men and police with guns that had delayed them at Kreta Ayer.
It was Mei Lan who had requested the treat of a trolley ride; a chauffeured car usually ferried her about. The day before, her parents had sailed for Hong Kong, and Second Grandmother had been glad to agree to the outing as long as she was with Ah Siew. Once the trolley was free of Kreta Ayer and had begun to move again, they soon reached their stop. Mei Lan had been hungry and so they walked towards People’s Park for a bowl of steaming noodles. Mei Lan sat on a stool at a small table beside a stall and watched the mee stirred and tossed in a huge pan, pork, noodles and vegetables all jumping around together. At the other tables half-naked coolies and rickshaw pullers played cards and rattled dice; as she ate, an acrobat turned cartwheels beside her. Mealtimes at Lim Villa were nothing like this. Mei Lan must eat decorously and keep silent, sitting at a separate table from the adults with her brother, JJ.
After the noodles they walked past the house in Chinatown where Ah Siew said Mei Lan had been born; she stared at it in amazement. They had moved to Lim Villa when she was a baby and she remembered nothing of it. After the soaring façade and endless lawns of Lim Villa, it seemed a poky place with a confusing number of courtyards and gates. In the road before the house two watchmen sat on upright chairs just as they had when the family of Lim Hock An lived there. They allowed Mei Lan to peer through the gate into the house where she had been born.
‘First Mistress was still alive when we lived here,’ Ah Siew murmured. Mei Lan looked up in surprise; no one ever spoke of First Grandmother. Mei Lan knew only Second Grandmother who lived with Grandfather in Lim Villa and had feet as small as a doll.
‘Did Second Grandmother also live here with First Grandmother?’ Mei Lan asked and Ah Siew nodded.
‘First Mistress died in this house; it was before your grandfather, Ancient Master, built Lim Villa,’ Ah Siew said softly and her face grew sad. Mei Lan was eager to hear more about First Grandmother but Ah Siew fell silent.
Ah Siew’s kongsi fong was not far from People’s Park and she took the short cut through Sago Lane to the room she had once shared with the friends she called her sisters. Sago Lane bustled with the business of death and the discordant clamour of funeral parlours. Cymbals and gongs accompanied the droning chant of priests; percussion bands led wailing mourners seeing off the dead. Shops selling candles, joss sticks, coffins and wreaths lined the road and above these the dying awaited their time in Sago Lane’s many Death Houses. Next to the coffin maker, whose deep boxes were stacked to the ceiling of his shop, were paper effigies of worldly things the dead would need in the afterlife. Sleek limousines, many-windowed mansions, beautiful women, a boat, servants, a bicycle, a mah-jong set and stacks of paper money would be consigned to the flames for transition to the afterlife. Mei Lan ran ahead along the narrow street towards the big Death House that Ah Siew had earlier pointed out.
It was not easy to run in Sago Lane so thick was the traffic of the bereaved, vagrants, lepers, hawkers of food, stray dogs, beggars and keening women singing the Song of Mourning. Food stalls and confectioners catered to the road’s never-ending wake and smells of sugar and roasting pork floated on the perfume of incense. At the rickshaw station the big-wheeled carts were clustered closely together, hoods erect like an army of spiny insects. The runners smoked and chatted, washed their vehicles or sucked on bowls of noodles. The odours of food and sewage and joss sticks filled Mei Lan’s nose; she had never been to Ah Siew’s fong before.
‘Slow down,’ Ah Siew panted but Mei Lan ran on.
The mouldering buildings, infested with cockroaches and human suffering and festooned with laundry on bamboo poles throbbed with a pulse that excited Mei Lan. Hardened undertakers and red-eyed mourners turned to stare at this manifestation of starched pink linen, complete with black patent pumps, clean white socks and shining well-brushed hair.
When at last Mei Lan drew to a halt before the big Death House its grim façade, devoid of colourful laundry, appeared suddenly daunting. A grey-haired coolie slept on a bench outside and through the open door a yellow-robed priest could be seen moving about. The dark interior was filled with rows of wooden bunks upon which lay the sick and dying. As Mei Lan wondered if the departed spirits who roamed the house were visible to those inside, Ah Siew came running up to take her hand.
‘Not here, little goose. We have not brought sister Ah Pat here yet,’ Ah Siew said and pulled Mei Lan into a narrow alley leading off Sago Lane.
They entered a slim opening in a dank wall, and climbed the steep stairs to Ah Siew’s fong above, Mei Lan clinging tightly to her amah’s hand. The stench of garlic, urine, fermenting rice and all manner of vile effluvia enfolded her in a greasy blanket of odours. Eventually, they reached the top of the stairs and in the half-light filtering through a broken shutter, Mei Lan saw a long, grimy corridor with cubicles lining each side. A rat moved in the shadows and she stepped closer to Ah Siew who now walked briskly ahead, the pleasure of homecoming filling her step. She turned suddenly into one of the grimy cubicles, ducking under a ragged strip of curtain to a chorus of greeting. The sisters were seated in a group about the dying Ah Pat who lay upon a sleeping shelf in the dark and tiny room. A narrow rack stacked with boxes and jars ran along one wall; light filtered through from the corridor. Baskets of foodstuffs hung on long strings from the ceiling beyond the reach of rats. Ah Siew thrust Mei Lan forward and began the introductions.
‘This is Ah Thye, Ah Ooi, Yong Gui and Ah Tim. And that is Ah Pat,’ Ah Siew smiled at the invalid.
Ah Pat’s face was as yellow as old parchment and her hair unravelled from its knot. A pillow of rolled up clothes supported her head, a swelling deformed one side of her neck. The shelf was shorter than her legs and her bare feet protruded over the end. Mei Lan observed the sisters apprehensively. She knew they were not real sisters, yet they all bore a resemblance to Ah Siew. Each had hair pulled into a neat bun and wore identical black trousers and high-necked white blouses. The sisters were from the Pearl River Delta where the women were useful and did not bind their feet. They had met in the nui yan uk, the Girls’ Home near their village. Such homes were found only in the Pearl River Delta, a region of China where women refused to be slaves, Ah Siew boasted. They came one by one to Singapore, meeting each other off the boat, living together in their rented fong until employment was found.
The sisters rushed to make Mei Lan comfortable, chattering excitedly. A box was found for her to sit on; a cake filled with bean paste and a small tangerine were given her to eat. They stroked her hair and examined her hands; there was debate about her birthmark. Mei Lan hung her head, ashamed, trying to hide the hated mark of which she was always conscious. She had once overheard her mother discussing it with her mah-jong friends; it was a sign of ill luck and because of it few men would want her for a bride. Already, it seemed her fate was sealed. Yet Yong Gui, who the sisters said knew about these things, was not of this opinion. She lifted Mei Lan’s chin with a finger to observe the birthmark better.
‘A little nearer the mouth and it would denote greed, a little further away and it would bring ill luck. Instead, it is aligned exactly beneath the eye. This means it is a lucky mark; a mark of protection,’ Yong Gui decided.
The sisters laughed, and began to prepare some tea. Mei Lan returned her attention to the tangerine, filled with relief to hear her birthmark might not be a stain on her life. She began to eat the cake, holding it carefully in her palm while the sisters sipped tea, exchanging memories of their homes in China.
‘Each month we ate different vegetables. In March long beans, in August taro, sweet potatoes in September. Onions were all year round,’ Ah Ooi remembered.
‘Our house had mud and reed walls and a patched roof that disintegrated whenever it rained. We froze in winter; every year someone died,’ Yong Gui recalled.
‘Father bought silkworm eggs.’ Ah Siew spoke suddenly with a smile. ‘They hatched into worms as thin as a hair, I picked mulberry leaves for them. Once the cocoons were sold in the market, the worms were fried, dipped in batter as a treat.’
‘My sisters and I all wished for bound feet and the good marriages this brings, but we were needed for work in the fields. Now I am glad; our ugly feet have given us independence. Where would we be without them?’ Yong Gui joked
‘Kwantung and Kwangsi were always at war. The soldiers came and killed our pigs and chickens. They took our men away as pack-bearers and raped the women. We had no means to resist,’ Ah Ooi remembered.
‘There were fifteen of us,’ Ah Pat croaked hoarsely; because of the swelling she could only swallow liquids. ‘Each New Year my father would line us up to count how many of us were still alive. The numbers in the family were always changing. However bad times were, my parents resisted selling us girls.’ Ah Pat gave a sigh and fell back exhausted upon her pillow.
For a moment the women were silent. Memories washed through them as water passes over rough pebbles. Mei Lan returned her attention to the last of the bean cake; some crumbs still lay in her palm. Transferring them to her mouth upon a wet finger, she followed the progress of a cockroach negotiating the string of a hanging basket. From the road the call of hawkers, the trundle of carts, the barking of a dog and the screams of a baby rose up to her. A rat scuttled past the door of the cubicle. Such sounds were not heard in Lim Villa where there was only the silence of the garden filled with the whirr of cicada and the swish of the gardener’s scythe.
‘They say it is better to raise geese than girls.’ Ah Siew began to speak. ‘In our village there were always floods and famines. My father sold two of my sisters to agents scouting for brothels in Nanyang; he got three silver pieces for each girl. Another year when we were all starving, he sold another two as mui sai to passing rich families and got a few kati of rice for each. They did not want to go and screamed and clung to me, for I was the eldest. The brothel woman slapped their faces and Mother told them if they wanted to eat and to stay alive, they must go. After that, each new baby that was a girl Mother drowned in the river as it took its first breaths. Where my sisters are now, whether they are dead or alive, I will never know. I still hear their cries in my dreams.’
Mei Lan’s heart gave a lurch. Ah Siew had never spoken like this before. That girls could be sold for a kati of rice or three pieces of silver turned her blood to ice. Mei Lan stared at Ah Siew, imagining the tunnel in her mind leading back to a past of dark images. She wanted to ask what a brothel was but thought the sisters might not approve; it must be a place even worse than the Death House or they would not look so aggrieved. Second Grandmother owned three mui sai that Grandfather had bought for her on a visit to China. Had he paid for each girl in silver or rice, just as Ah Siew’s sisters were bought as slaves?
‘Why didn’t any of you get married?’ Mei Lan asked. The sisters looked at her in surprise and then began to laugh. They laughed until the tears ran down their faces. Mei Lan scowled and bit her lip, it was all she could do not to cry. Finally the sisters wiped their eyes.
‘I’m too ugly to find a husband. Even brothel keepers took one look at me and turned away.’ Ah Siew pointed to her face, pitted like old bark. A flange of crooked teeth protruded and her eyes, almost lost beneath the fold of her lids, were slightly at odds with each other. Only the humour in Ah Siew’s broad face saved it from complete disaster.
‘The truth is, Little Goose, we did not want to accept the Second Obeying. That’s why we all took the vows of Sor Hei before the Goddess Kwan Yin,’ Ah Siew said and the sisters nodded in agreement.
‘The First Obeying is to a father, the Second Obeying to a husband and the Third Obeying is to a son after the death of a husband.’ Ah Tim leaned forward to explain.
‘I was afraid of childbirth, I’d seen what my mother went through,’ Yong Gui announced.
‘Who wants to be a servant to parents-in-law and brothers-in-law?’ Ah Thye said.
‘My sister was carried to her husband’s village in a red sedan chair. Her bridegroom was away at the time working in a tin mine at Ipoh, so a cockerel took his place at the marriage ceremony, as was the custom in our parts if the husband was absent. Her husband died in the mine before he could even see her. After that my sister always said she was married to a cockerel. I didn’t want the same thing to happen to me.’ Yong Gui shook her head.
‘A missionary sent me to the nui yan uk, the Girls’ Home. I learned how to cook and sew there. The other girls told me I could work in Nanyang, all those places beyond China, and be independent,’ Ah Tim said and the sisters nodded agreement again.
Eventually, Ah Siew looked at the pocket watch she kept in a pouch about her waist, and saw it was time to go. The sisters accompanied them down the dark stairs of the fong and into the busy road where a rickshaw was summoned to take them back to Lim Villa. Mei Lan waved until the sisters vanished from sight, filled with a sense of loss. However dark and smelly the fong had been, the sisters’ warmth had dispelled dreariness, and their talk was a revelation.
‘How did you become “sisters”?’ Mei Lan asked, wanting to prolong the Sago Lane interlude.
‘We were all determined to leave the village and earn our own money. We had arranged for a sisterhood ceremony at the local temple,’ Ah Siew explained as the rickshaw rattled along.
‘We had to promise before Kwan Yin, the Goddess of Mercy, that we would have nothing to do with men and that the bond with our “sisters” would be stronger than with our own blood sisters. After we lit joss sticks a nun passed a comb through our hair and tied it up into a bun. This is sor-hei, the “comb up” ceremony. It meant we were not alone when we left our village to find work in the world, our sisters would be with us,’ Ah Siew explained.
‘Sor-hei.’ Mei Lan giggled at the strange word.
‘There is nothing to laugh at. Unmarried girls wear their hair in a plait. Married women tie it up in a bun. Sor-hei is like a marriage ceremony: we sisters are married to each other and our work. If women are not married nobody knows what to do with them. They don’t fit in anywhere, they are without a use or a place.’ Ah Siew was so serious that Mei Lan fell silent.
‘We were saved in this way from the nunnery or the brothel, which is where we would have to go if we refused to marry,’ Ah Siew added in a low voice.
Mei Lan stared at her in confusion. If what her mother’s friends said about her birthmark were true, she too might never marry. Then, people would not know what to do with her, she would be of no use to anyone and could not escape the nunnery or the brothel like Ah Siew.
‘What is a brothel?’ Mei Lan demanded, but Ah Siew was disinclined to answer and turned her gaze to the road.