The Ghost Bride (10 page)

Startled, I drew my hand back. The thread emerged
from a corner of the room and by kneeling on the floor, I saw the glint of brass
that was Tian Bai’s watch behind the heavy
almirah
.
I had been unable to retrieve it since I had flung it at Lim Tian Ching’s shade
that evening, so long ago it seemed. The fine filament originated from the
watch, drifting up to span the room until it was lost in the dazzling sunlight
outside. I couldn’t understand how I had missed seeing it before, and wondered
with dread whether I had become closer to the spirit world.

Yet, the thread drew me. It held a strange
attraction so that I couldn’t help sliding my hand along it, following its path
out of the window. On an impulse, I climbed onto the sill. The thread hummed
like a captured bee in my palm. I glanced back at the girl on the bed, her eyes
closed and her breathing regular. I knew that Amah would take good care of my
body. Then I jumped.

Chapter 12

D
espite my fears, the spell paper on the window didn’t hinder my exit. Instead, I drifted slowly down until I stood in the side alley looking back at our house, the glistening thread still clasped in my hand. When I released my grip it floated up a little, blowing with the wind like spider silk as it stretched on out of sight. Without it, I might well have lost my nerve and returned home, for never in my life had I been alone outside like this.

I started to walk, passing the familiar houses of the neighborhood. There was hardly anyone about; it was too hot to go visiting and too late in the morning for the peddlers who went from door to door, selling fresh tofu in buckets of water and live chickens. Now that I could wander around freely, I felt a great curiosity to explore other people’s houses and see how they lived, but the thread in my hand reminded me that I had other things to do. I didn’t know where it was leading me, but it was all I had to go on.

I walked a long way, tracing the thread as it wended its way into a more commercial district. There were rows of shop houses bright with signboards and banners, so closely built that each one shared walls with its neighbors; a
kaki lima
, or five-foot way—the cool, shaded walkway created by the overhanging second story of each shop house—ran in front. Here pedestrians haggled, old men dozed in rattan chairs, and stray dogs sprawled, their sides heaving in the heat. There were various sundry shops: an ironmonger; a
kopi tiam
; an Indian moneylender girdled in his white cotton
puggree
with three wavy caste lines painted on his forehead. When I was a child, Amah would bring me here during the Moon Festival to choose from the ranks of celluloid paper-and-wire lanterns, bent cunningly into the shapes of butterflies and goldfish. Afterward, I would wait while she pored over packets of needles and wooden clogs.

As I stood there surrounded by people hurrying about their business, I could almost pretend that I was merely another passerby. That I was still safe in my body. Tears filled my eyes. I felt utterly desolate, far from our familiar house and anyone who knew and cared about me.

I had been sobbing for some time when I gradually became aware of a beggar approaching me. Beggars were a common sight, but there was an unnatural air about this one. He dragged himself along, so broken down that his ribs protruded through his leathery skin. Even as I watched, a man walked unseeingly through him as though he were no more than a shadow. I shrank back in horror, but the beggar was now so close that I couldn’t avoid him. When he lifted his face from beneath a tattered hat, I saw little more than dried skin and exposed bone, the eyes like shriveled fruits in their deep sockets.

“Who are you?” His voice was thin and weak, as though there were not enough air to pump through that collapsed rib cage.

He seemed so frail that I plucked up my courage. “Can you see me?”

His head lolled on his withered neck. “Only from certain angles.” His gaze wandered. “You have no smell of death. Are you from heaven?”

“You are mistaken,” I said. “I’m not a deity.”

“Give me food, then.” His mouth yawed like a grave. “I am starving!”

“What are you?” I whispered, but I think I already knew.

He was groveling now, making weak grabs at the hem of my clothes. “I don’t remember. Nobody buried me. Nobody knows my name. Now give!” the wretched creature moaned. “Give me but a string of cash to buy something to eat.”

Overcome with pity and horror, I fumbled blindly at my pockets and found myself clutching a few strings of antique copper coins strung together through holes in their centers. This must have been part of the funeral money that I had burned for myself, but I had no time to think about it, for he pounced on the money with surprising swiftness. Clutching it with skeletal hands, he began to drift dispiritedly away. To my dismay, I saw other shadowy forms begin to gather about him with interest. Even as I watched, two more hungry ghosts appeared behind me. One was even more tattered and demented-looking than the beggar I had spoken to. It moved in slow fits and jerks, and I wondered whether in time such creatures simply wore away into nothingness. The other, however, must have been more recently dead for he pushed forward.

“A girl was here, giving money!”

I shrank from his furious, unseeing gaze. In life he must have been a corpulent man for he was only just beginning to show signs of starvation. But when I moved, he gave a shout. “There she is!”

I fled down endless alleyways, plunging through the warren of shops. Hungry ghosts seemed to appear from all directions, detaching themselves from walls and fluttering out of passageways. Too late, I realized that I shouldn’t have run. If the dead could only see me from certain angles, then it would have been better to stay still. As it was, I found myself far from where I had started. The sun was high in the sky when I stopped at a dreadful realization. In my flight I had let go of the gauzy strand that had led me out of the house.

For a second time that day, I stood in the road with tears in my eyes. This time, however, I dared not make a sound for fear of drawing attention to myself. The salt stung my cheeks and my swollen eyelids throbbed. Exhausted, I sat on a stone and wiped my face with my sleeve. My feet were sore and I checked them for blisters. It seemed utterly unfair that the spirit should suffer the torments of flesh without having any. But perhaps that was the whole point of the afterlife.

Well, there was no point crying. After a while, I began to look around, realizing that the road seemed familiar. I had passed this way before in a rickshaw, when I wore my best clothes to visit the Lim mansion. And from here, I could also find my way home. For a long moment, I struggled with temptation. It would be so easy to return, to slip back into our house. But there was another option, even without the strange thread that had guided me. Since Lim Tian Ching had come uninvited to my house, I might as well return the favor. Perhaps I might discover something to my advantage; anything was better than meekly waiting for him to come for me.

Although I had been tired, my steps were light and I found I could walk more swiftly than in my physical body. There were a few advantages of my spirit form, though I dreaded to think what price I was paying. Was I hastening my starvation like a hungry ghost? I dared not think too much about it.

The great gates of the Lim mansion were closed, though I could see the winding carriage drive through the ornate ironwork. I tested myself against it and was relieved to find that I could pass through with some effort. A porter dozed in the noon heat and the hibiscus blossoms by the gate barely quivered as I went by, as though I was merely some errant breeze. As I approached the house, I was struck anew by its old-fashioned air. Many of the rich were now building mansions in the British colonial style, with wide verandas and open ballrooms like the great houses in India and Ceylon. But the Lim mansion was uncompromisingly Chinese, its walls concealing warrens of rooms and courtyards. I wondered if Tian Bai’s new bride would demand renovations, but shied away from such thoughts.

The heavy ironwood front door was mercifully ajar, no doubt to admit a cool breeze. I entered with some trepidation as I was no longer a guest but a trespasser and, even worse, a spirit. Averting my eyes from the looming family altar decked with offerings and wreathed with incense in the front room, I walked hastily to the inner courtyards. There, amid the cool marble tiles and glossy leaves of potted plants, I came upon two servants. One was the woman who had escorted me to the washroom before. She and a young girl were busy watering the plants and wiping the dust off their leaves. I meant to pass them, but as I approached, the girl started and dropped her pitcher.

“Look what you’ve done!” said the woman. The girl was only ten or eleven and she bit her lip with consternation. Instinctively, I made a movement to help with the broken pieces, forgetting I had no physical presence.

“I felt something,” she said. “Like someone passed me!”

The older woman looked at her sharply. “You know that Madam Lim doesn’t like talk about ghosts.”

The little maid bent over the broken pieces. “But she’s always burning funeral goods, isn’t she? Maybe it’s her son’s spirit come back.”

“
Tch!
Who would want him to come back?” Intrigued, I hung closer. “You’ve only been here three months. You never met the young master.”

“Was he nice, like Master Tian Bai?”

The woman couldn’t resist gossiping. “Oh no! There were times when we could do nothing right. But the mistress doted on him. She couldn’t accept it when he died.”

“Was it sudden?” The girl paused, enjoying this respite from work.

“He had a fever, to be sure, but he was just as demanding as ever. And then in the morning he was dead. The doctor couldn’t believe it. He even wanted to know what he had eaten the night before, but there was nothing amiss. He ate from the same dishes as everyone at the table, which was a good thing.”

“For who?”

“For all of us, you goose. We might have been blamed for it. Madam was very upset. She wanted to know if anyone had served the young master tea before bedtime, but nobody had. And all because his teacup was missing. He had a celadon cup, a family heirloom, but we couldn’t find it anywhere. The mistress had all sorts of odd notions after his death.”

“How strange.” I could see the little girl’s fancy was taken by this morbid tale.

“What’s strange?”

Both servants started guiltily. It was Yan Hong. She frowned at the older woman. “My half brother died of a fever. I don’t like to hear you repeating such gossip.” I had never seen Yan Hong look so fierce, so different from the gracious, smiling hostess I remembered. When she turned on her heel, I hurried after her.

For the rest of the day, I shadowed Yan Hong as she moved purposefully about the house, at ease in both the grand drawing rooms as well as the cavernous kitchen. Although she was only the daughter of the second wife, she seemed to command a great deal of respect, often making decisions that should have fallen to Madam Lim. She had mentioned to me that she was merely visiting for a while, but she seemed so at home that I couldn’t imagine how they would manage without her. Of Madam Lim, I saw little. She looked more ill than before, her feathery voice scarcely audible and her listless manner a great change from a mere few weeks ago.

I dared not approach her too closely, afraid that Lim Tian Ching would somehow sense my presence. In fact, I was terrified that he might return at any moment. Despite my earlier resolve, I no longer felt up to confronting him. The rooms with their tiled floors and stiff rosewood furniture, the long dark corridors and hurrying servants, reminded me at every turn that I was an intruder. Yet I couldn’t quite tear myself away, for I noticed that in contrast to my own home, my presence here seemed to exert some influence. Remembering the oppressive atmosphere during my earlier visits, I wondered whether the Lim household had, in fact, been sensitized by Lim Tian Ching’s ghost, for more than one person flinched if I stood too close, and the conversation invariably turned to spirits. This was not a particularly happy realization for me, but there was no doubt that it provided some useful information.

I had been following Yan Hong with no reason other than that she was the most familiar person to me. And she had been kind before. She seemed to take her duties as the eldest daughter of the house seriously, despite her marriage, and was firm with the servants, friendly with the other women, and solicitous of her stepmother. I remembered Amah’s tale of how Yan Hong’s mother had died to ensure her daughter’s marriage, and was surprised that she could be so cordial to Madam Lim. There was no sign at all of Tian Bai. I had to admit that I had been half hoping to see him again. No matter how many times I told myself that he cared little for me, and was possibly even a murderer, I couldn’t help but think about him. The sight of the lotus pond where we had first met produced a painful sensation, and the sudden chiming of a clock made my heart leap.

The more I observed Yan Hong, the more I began to feel that she was under some strain. She was careful to maintain her calm manner in front of others, but when alone she gnawed her lips, an anxious expression stealing over her face. She could scarcely sit still, jumping up to do one task after another. I wondered whether Yan Hong had always been this way, or whether it was a new development.

The afternoon whittled away until the shadows lengthened in the long passageways, stealing into rooms and dimming the gay patterns of the Dutch tiles on the floors. My spirits seemed to fail with the dying light and I was weighing what I should do that evening, when the porter came in and murmured something to Yan Hong.

“A man outside the house?” she asked. “What does he want?”

The porter ducked his head. “He didn’t come close, but he’s been standing there for some time.”

“Why didn’t you ask him?”

“I thought he might leave if I approached him. But you did say to tell you if anything unusual happened.”

Yan Hong frowned. “Let me see.” As she made her way down the curving drive, her pale
kebaya
fluttered ahead of me like a moth in the fading light.

“He’s gone,” said the porter as they reached the gate. Yan Hong peered out and shrugged in exasperation. But with my new sharp sight, I glimpsed a figure standing deep in the shadow of a tree. I could make out a bamboo hat and the glint of silver embroidery on the hem of his robe. With a start, I recalled the stranger who had consulted the medium at such length while Amah and I had waited. Even as I considered this, however, the man turned abruptly and disappeared into the dusk.

As we headed back to the house, my heart sank. I didn’t want to meet Lim Tian Ching here, when I felt so weak and defenseless. Even as I hesitated, Yan Hong entered the house, which was now ablaze with lamps. Madam Lim was in the entrance hall.

“Where did you go?” she asked querulously.

Yan Hong patted her arm. “It was nothing,” she said. “I’ll join you for dinner in a moment.”