The Red Thread (37 page)

The herbalist nodded. He would speak to the whorehouse keeper.

Within minutes the baby was born. By the time the herbalist returned with his medicines, daughter and wife, the cord was cut and the placenta delivered. The birthing woman was cleaning up the mother, tying a cloth on her. The baby was swaddled in a
sarong
still covered in blood and liquids, but crying lustily.

Zhen had never seen the wife before. She was very dark and, he thought, hugely ugly, but she took the baby tenderly, and he saw the goodness of her heart, the pearl inside the shell, and felt ashamed.

The mother of the newborn swung her legs down from the table and, with the birthing woman's help, hobbled away.

Zhen left Min in the cubicle as the herbalist began to care for her, his dark-skinned, almond-eyed daughter seated at his feet.

He went down to the gaol on Canal Street to speak to two men who worked as carpenters. The man who had beaten Min would be inside. Zhen knew there would be little punishment for the white sailor. Beating up a Chinese whore would probably get him a fine paid to the
ah ku
house and he would be back on his ship in no time. It was just another drunken episode in the sleazy life of a man who probably fucked and beat women all over the world. Zhen's eyes narrowed. If the English law wouldn't deal with him, the real law here,
kongsi
law, would. The police would find his body, drugged and drowned, floating in the river; just another hard-drinking, opium-smoking sailor who had lost his footing. With the number of deaths while the English troops were here, no one would pursue the matter.

Suddenly he wanted to see Charlotte. Tomorrow was Qian's wedding day, and he would have to be part of that. Then he would return to the chapel for lessons. Two more nights, and he would be with her. Two more nights. They seemed like years.

Charlotte had taken her class and gone from the chapel disappointed. She walked down the road to Takouhi's house, thinking of her friend, and then turned into Coleman Street, into George's garden. One of the servants told her he was with the horses, and she went around the house and walked over to the big paddock and stables.

George was standing next to his favourite horse, brushing her down with long, smooth strokes. This pretty mare was his pride and joy, bought from the Australian horse dealers in the square at a recent auction.

As Charlotte approached he looked up.

‘She's a brumby. They're the wild horses of Australia d'yer know. There's a nice story attached to their name. A Sergeant James Brumby, farrier and farmer in New South Wales, departed one day for other parts, leaving his horses to run wild. When some inquisitive beggar asked the locals who owned them they simply said, “They're Brumby's” and so the name has stuck. They interbred with later stock, so they come in all shapes and sizes. Bit like the people on this island. Isn't she a beauty.'

Charlotte nodded as he stroked her soft black muzzle. The horse really was a lovely creature, pale golden with a pure white mane and tail and a little black mouth.

‘Hardy, strong, agile and quick to learn. I'd rather a brumby than any other horse. She's called Matahari. It means “sunrise” in Javanese. Meda named her.'

He leant his forehead against the horse's head and stroked her.

‘I was shipwrecked once, yer know. The day was fine, and then, in a blink, there were dark clouds, and suddenly the wind and waves just picked the ship up and threw her into the air, splintering the wood like a hand crumples paper. We were swamped and half-drowned within minutes. From a clear, blue sky.'

‘The stars be hid that led me to this pain

Drowned is reason that should me consort,

And I remain despairing of the port.'

Charlotte put her hand on his arm, and he took it and put it to his cheek. When Robert had left, Charlotte had turned to the healing power of poetry for solace. She was moved by the universal, never-ending power of the words, speaking across generations, bridges between times and places.

‘Silent as the sleeve-worn stone

Of casement ledges where the moss has grown

For all the history of grief

An empty doorway and a maple leaf …'

She took George in her arms and said the words which had helped her, and he stared emptily at the ground, listening.

‘Our two souls, therefore, which are one

Though I must go, endure not yet

a breach, but an expansion,

Like gold to airy thinness beat …'

After a time he released her and, taking a handkerchief, wiped her eyes.

‘Sure, and we're a fine pair.'

Charlotte smiled wanly and took Takouhi's letter from her purse, letting him read it.

‘A hundred million women.'

He smiled and thought of her face as he had kissed her goodbye on the quayside. Then he had been angry, not looked back as he boarded the ship. He felt an awful premonition that he would never see her again. Handing Charlotte back the letter, he looked into her eyes and said quietly, ‘I don't think I can stay in Singapore, Kitt, my sweet. Without them here it's too bitter. To wake every morning and see her house there opposite my window. If they don't return, I shall have to leave.' He ran his hand through his hair.

‘It's hard, for I love this town more than any place on earth. I know it will sound arrogant, but I feel it belongs to me in a strange way, feel like I've nurtured it like a good father, groomed and beautified it like a good mother. But without them both, it would be like there is dust in my mouth and ashes under foot, every street and tree reminding me of what I've lost.'

Charlotte nodded.

‘Robert and I shall miss you terribly, but they need you. And Batavia is not so very far away.'

‘No, not Batavia. If Meda dies, Takouhi will not come back and will not let me go to her. You don't know her. She is a fatalist. The will of the gods will be hers, too. Takouhi is more Javanese than Armenian and, for the Javanese, life is like a kind of religious experience. There is an acceptance of misfortune which must be dealt with in quietude so that the cloudy waters of life can grow clear again. Fighting against it causes
isin
, imbalance. I would simply keep the waters cloudy for her.'

He brought his hands to his temple, rubbed them, then covered his face. Charlotte did not know what more to say. She could almost see rays of pain like shards of glass emanating from his body. She felt if she spoke or moved he might shatter.

Finally, George dropped his hands, led Matahari to the stable and closed the door.

Then he began to walk towards his house, waving a sorrowful hand at her.

35

Qian's wedding day had arrived. He sat in Zhen's house dressed in a long red, embroidered coat and skirt, red shoes on his feet, red hat on his head, looking anxious. It had been decided that, for the occasion, Qian would spend the night with Zhen and depart from there with the retinue to the bride's house. In the absence of male relatives, Zhen was called upon, with the master of ceremonies, to carry out some duties which would normally fall to the father or an uncle. An altar had been set up in the empty downstairs shop area, with the tablets to heaven and earth, the Kitchen God and Qian's ancestors arranged on it. He had kowtowed before it. The engagement contract had not stipulated that Qian take Sang's name. This was not necessary for him since there was a living son, but he had agreed that the first male child would bear Sang's name. Now he sat contemplating the fact that offspring by him would require a miracle.

The
cha-li
(tea presents) had been exchanged and he looked at what remained of the little bridal cakes—one decorated with a phoenix and the other with a dragon—which lay on the table in front of him. These bridal cakes had been distributed to Sang's family and friends as invitations to the marriage. Ah Liang had invited men from the godown and around the town to celebrate on the groom's side. Now Qian had to wait for the procession to the bride's home to begin. The satin-covered blue-and-yellow sedan chair stood ready outside the door.

Zhen came to his side. ‘Well, the big day, eh? Let's hope there are no cockups!' He began to laugh. ‘What have you decided to do tonight, eh? And by the way, you look ridiculous.'

Qian smiled wanly. ‘I dunno. Wait until I see her and make up my mind then. After all, she probably has no idea what to expect from me in any case.'

Zhen shook his head. Poor woman. Stuck with a guy who would never get it up for her. He thought of Charlotte.

Ah Liang came into the room and motioned Qian to come. A small boy, looking terrified, was sitting in the sedan chair, for tradition decreed this was a good omen for future sons. As he settled himself into the sedan chair beside him, Qian patted him on the head. The poor child would never know how useless was his role on this particular day.

The chair was lifted from the ground, and the sudden and raucous noise of fireworks, drums and gongs broke out. The procession set off, crackers going off on every side, followed by two red lanterns swinging from poles, a dancing lion cavorting and snapping and a band of musicians playing as loudly as they could.

Down the street they went, turning into South Bridge Road, following the path by the river to cross New Bridge, then back into High Street, arriving finally at Sang's house. Here Zhen got into some good-natured haggling over the red packets which it was his duty to distribute to Sang's relatives and guests as the surrender price for the bride. When the agreement was finally made, Qian descended from the chair and stepped across the threshold of his new home.

Before the assembled relatives, Qian took a sip of some soup which contained a soft-boiled egg. Breaking the yolk symbolised the breaking of the bride's ties with her family. Of course, no such break would take place in this marriage, and the bridal procession from her home to the groom's would only symbolically be made by going over the river and back.

The bride's red sedan was waiting under the eaves of the gate. Then she appeared, dressed in red from head to toe, a phoenix crown of silver covered in dancing red pom-poms on her head and a thick curtain of glass beads hiding her face.

Qian's first thought was that she was not fat. He could not have borne a woman with big breasts and hips. Zhen craned round the gate to get a glimpse of her but could see nothing. She came out of the door on the back of the good-luck woman, shielded by a red parasol. A woman was throwing rice at the sedan. From the back of the heavily curtained chair hung a sieve to strain off evil and a metallic mirror to reflect light and good luck upon her. The sedan chair set off on its little journey, with firecrackers and other attendants scattering beans in front of her.

Before long the chair was back. The bride dismounted onto a red mat covering the ground and stepped over a saddle which had been placed on the threshold for ‘saddle' and ‘tranquillity' had the same sound. As she did so, an attendant flashed light on her from a mirror. Now Qian could separate the curtain of beads and take a first look at his future wife.

Swan Neo, from behind her beads, had contemplated him as she entered the room, this male she was offered to like an egg at breakfast. He looked all right. He was slight—she would have preferred a bigger man—but it did not matter, he was not repulsive, and she did not have to care for him. All he had to do was give her a son.

He walked towards her and, hands trembling slightly, separated the curtain and looked at her. She was pretty, he could see. Her face was thin, almost boyish. She had lowered her eyes but now looked directly at him before he let the curtain fall together. This was the man that would change everything in this filthy house, she thought. With the death of her old husband and the arrival of Qian, Sang's first wife's position had altered. With neither husband, son or grandson, she was reduced to a side role. Now it was the daughter of the second wife who would hold sway, especially if a son was born to them. Even without this, Qian would be the man in the house after today.

Zhen could only see her from the back, but she looked slender. His mind flashed to his own marriage and what his bride might look like. He thought of Charlotte, couldn't wait for tomorrow. If she was not at the chapel, he would go by her bungalow and find out what was going on.

The couple now left the room, followed by all the guests, and were conducted to Sang's family altar where they paid homage to heaven and earth and bowed to each other. The marriage was complete. Next they were led to the bridal chamber. Again all the relatives and guests followed them, ribbing them good-heartedly as they both sat on the ornately carved marriage bed covered in red silk pillows and coverlets bearing huge embroidered double happiness characters. Zhen could see Qian looking embarrassed and joined the others in making ribald remarks.

Finally the wedding banquet began in the great hall, all the men seated as dishes of shark's fin soup, pork, chicken, fried vegetables, rice and noodles succeeded each other. The women were eating in another hall towards the back. Servants ran around bringing dishes and taking plates like an army of ants. Zhen knew Ah Pok was helping out in the kitchen.

As the day drew to a close, Qian and his new wife were finally accompanied, once again, to the bridal chamber. This time the bride had removed her phoenix crown and its glassy curtain, and Zhen saw her face for the first time. She was thin and quite pretty, but her skin looked tired. He reflected that she was in for a bit of a shock later on.

Zhen said goodbye and left. He was a little drunk from the rice wine at the banquet. Suddenly, in the midst of nuptials and bridal beds, he couldn't wait any longer to see Charlotte. It was only a short distance down the street to the river. There were other guests leaving and moving towards the river, and he joined them until he saw the police bungalow on his left.

He let the group go on and dropped back. Slipping into the garden of the bungalow, he climbed the back steps from the servants' quarters. Azan came out immediately. Zhen's Malay was quite bad, but he asked to see Miss Mah Crow. Azan eyed him suspiciously but went to the door and called his mistress.