“It’s not a call-out. I have this client who asked me if I could find a few girls to dance at a private party. And he promised, no hanky-panky.”
“There’s no such thing as a private party with no hanky-panky.”
Rose smiled. “What a grandma you are! I wasn’t too keen, either, so I told him we’d have to get the dance-hall Mama’s permission—to put him off, you know. But he went and asked her and she said yes!”
“She did?” I had a hard time believing this.
“Well, she’ll get a nice commission, and she said she’d send one of the bouncers with us and hire a car. They want four or five girls because there are lots of bachelors and they want to dance. It’ll be in Batu Gajah.”
I paused. “At the hospital?” If it was, I couldn’t go. I’d no intention of revealing my seedy part-time job to Shin.
“No, a private residence in Changkat.”
I’d heard of Changkat, a prime residential area situated uphill of Batu Gajah. “Does that mean they’ll be foreigners?”
“Do you mind?”
Most of the customers at the May Flower were locals though there were always some Europeans in the mix. Not as many as at the glamorous Celestial Hotel, but a fair smattering on any given afternoon. They were mostly planters or civil servants, servicemen, and policemen. I’d danced with a few myself, though to be honest, they made me nervous.
But that explained the Mama’s swift acquiescence, as well as the extras like a bouncer and a hired car.
“Hui will come, too, and it pays double.”
That would be enough to cover what I’d missed. And if Hui, who was always so canny about taking care of herself, was willing to go, then I would as well.
* * *
By the time I’d finished work, the orange sun was low on the horizon. Pearl and Rose did the evening shift, so I was alone when I left by the May Flower’s back door. I didn’t know how they managed to stay on their feet for so many hours, but they would dance on till past midnight.
Pearl had a son, and Rose two little girls. Did the children wait for them to come home, watching the oil lamp burn down in the darkness? If my mother hadn’t remarried, that might have been my fate as well, though I couldn’t imagine her working in a dance hall. She was too timid, too gullible. Even now she’d managed to run up debts from simply playing mahjong. I wondered, for the hundredth time, whether she’d really lost all those games or had been cheated.
When it was all paid off, I’d save up and train to be a teacher. It didn’t matter what my stepfather thought. I was sure that eventually he’d rather have me out of the way than deal with a spinster at home. Besides, I’d said I wouldn’t get married, even though my mother had started nudging me towards matchmakers. The promise I’d made with Shin, so long ago when we were children whispering in his room, still held true. I didn’t see what marriage could do for me, especially if the one I’d wanted was going to marry someone else.
But there was no point hoping for Ming anymore, though in my most evil moments I imagined his fiancée deserting him. Or perhaps he’d suddenly realize he’d made a terrible mistake and propose to me instead. I pictured him coming up the dusty street on his heavy black bicycle, his unruly hair standing up. “Ji Lin,” he’d say, looking embarrassed yet serious in his bookish way, “I have to talk to you.” And I’d come running—no, walking demurely down the stairs—and listen with a beating heart. But at this point, I always ran out of steam even though I managed to think of lots of quite good things for Ming to say. It simply wouldn’t happen. He’d never looked at me the way I’d seen him gaze at his fiancée.
The May Flower was on the outskirts of Ipoh, quite far from Mrs. Tham’s. Having just missed the bus I decided, despite the falling dusk, to walk partway. It was dinnertime, and I could smell fish frying, hear the scratchy sound of a radio playing Chinese opera. Crossing the street, I narrowly avoided a bicycle that swished past. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a man follow across, though the light was too weak to make out his face.
Hui and the other girls had warned me to expect the occasional customer who’d wait outside. Pearl said once a man pursued her all the way home, and her mother had threatened him with a kitchen knife.
“And did he leave?” I’d asked.
“She chased him off, shouting that my husband was a pork butcher!”
We’d laughed about it then, but right now I wished heartily for pork-butcher relatives of my own. Whoever was following me did so at a cautious distance. When I walked faster, he did, too. When I stopped, he slipped behind a pillar. I ducked under a hanging bamboo chik, or blind, into a dry-goods store, crowded shelves packed with glass jars of sweets, cast-iron woks, and wooden clogs. It was almost closing time as the shopkeeper, an elderly man in a white singlet, informed me.
“Please,” I said, “do you have a back door? There’s a man following me.”
I must have looked frightened for he nodded. “Go through, past the kitchen.”
I hurried through the long shophouse, apologizing to his startled family who were sitting down to fish soup and fried tofu. The back door led to a narrow alleyway between the shophouses. The wise thing, of course, would be to leave as quickly as possible, but it was too good an opportunity to pass up. Silently, I peeked round the corner.
My pursuer stood staring at the dry-goods store. The shutters were now being closed, and he was clearly puzzled as to why I hadn’t emerged yet. I recognized him right away. As I feared, it was the young man with the narrow face who’d asked me about the finger: Y. K. Wong. My shoulders tensed. One way or another, I’d better not return to the May Flower for some time.
Cutting back to the dusty street behind, I hailed a trishaw, leaving my pursuer still waiting fruitlessly in front of the store. I hoped he’d stay there a good long time. Listening to the crank of pedals, the wheels humming in the falling velvet dusk, I closed my eyes and wished fiercely that I could leave this place. Leave everything and start over somewhere else.
* * *
To my surprise when I got home, Mrs. Tham was waiting for me in the front room. She looked both excited and a little put out, an expression that I recognized with a sinking feeling.
“Where have you been?” she asked.
“Just finishing up.” It was no later than my usual time on a Friday.
“One of the rules of this house,” she said, her little bird face alight with indignation, “is no male visitors. I can’t imagine what you could have been thinking, Ji Lin, to tell a man to come and wait for you here!”
I flinched. I’d left the mysterious Mr. Y. K. Wong standing in the street at the other end of town. How was it possible that he’d found the dressmaker’s shop? It was like witchcraft; the man was a demon. Or perhaps he had a twin, a doppelg?nger that heralded death.
“He stood outside for the longest time. I thought he was waiting for a customer, peering into the shop the way he did, but finally he came in and asked for you. When I said you were out, he left right away. Though I must say he was very good-looking.”
“Oh,” I said, understanding dawning. “Was it my brother?”
“Your brother? You don’t look anything alike.”
Not wanting to explain any further, since Mrs. Tham had obviously heard bits and pieces of my family history and was eager to ferret out more, I simply said, “People often say that.”
“If he was your brother, why didn’t he say so?” she said indignantly. “Making me worry like that!”
I’d no idea, to be honest. Had my mother given Shin this address? And why was he here so late in the evening? There were too many mysteries today.
11
Batu Gajah
Saturday, June 6th
Ren is waiting anxiously at the door when William returns. “Selamat datang,” he says. Welcome home. That is the correct way to greet his master; servants should be lined up at the door for arrivals and departures. Ren had always done it for Dr. MacFarlane. The old doctor used to joke he didn’t feel right leaving home without Ren’s quiet goodbye. Today, Ah Long has joined him, his usually taciturn face animated as he takes William’s medical bag.
“Tuan, is it a tiger?”
“Probably,” says William. “I want the doors locked at night. And don’t go out in the evening or early morning alone. That goes for you, too, Ren.”
Ren nods. He thinks the new doctor looks ill. His face has a fish-belly pallor and his eyes, behind the thin-rimmed glasses, are bloodshot. There are so many questions that Ren wants to ask, but he hesitates, wondering how to broach the subject.
Ah Long asks, “Who died?”
“A plantation worker.” William passes a hand over his eyes. “I need a bath and a drink. A whisky stengah, please.”
William goes off to the tiled bathroom, where he’ll rinse himself off with a bucket dipped in a pottery jar of water. Ah Long turns to Ren.
“Know how to make one?”
Ren looks dubious. Dr. MacFarlane drank things from bottles, but he never asked Ren to mix them for him.