The Red Thread (42 page)

Noan's mother bowed, asked him to leave, and began examining her daughter, questioning her, looking at the bloody bed.

When she emerged she called Ah Pok to translate into Hokkien, for he was in the house.

Zhen began to apologise, but she bowed her head.

‘We are so sorry. Noan has been silly by trying not to bother you. She started her monthly cycle and did not get up to deal with it. It is the most unfortunate timing.'

So that was her name. Noan.

‘So she is all right?' Zhen asked.

Noan's mother inclined her head. She had no wish to pursue this subject. The wedding night had been a failure, and it was the silly girl's fault. He had done his duty, very well according to the somewhat salacious reports she had received. It was ominous: first the candle and now this. Bad luck, bad luck. She would go to the temple today. The husband should go away, and the
sinseh
would know how to proceed.

Zhen was taken to the wardrobe room and changed. Within ten minutes he was following the pageboy back to his house.

He ran upstairs, throwing off his clothes, and sat on the bathroom floor, lathering the soap, dousing himself in water, washing himself clean of sweat, blood and this vicious and muddy deed.

He bent and flexed his body to form lotus. Clean the dark mirror of the mind. He relaxed into meditation and contemplated the void.

40

The worst has happened,' he told them. ‘She has relapsed. Takouhi has brought in another
dukun
, do you know what the
dukun
is? for heaven's sake he's a bloody witchdoctor for god's sake why did I agree to let her do it eh? why jesus Tigran's with them he's brought the priest from his chapel it's in the grounds of his mansion pretty little building in the Dutch style what was I saying? yes the priest he's an Armenian ha! the priest and the witchdoctor that would be worth seeing eh! poor Meda stuck between the two what were they both thinking anyway she was baptised here in St Andrew's Church the church I built with my own hands, what? yes baptised by me so she's a Protestant for the love of god no? perhaps I should send out the Reverend White to do battle for her soul eh poor little Edward smiting the heathen with his cross of righteousness for my daughter's soul.'

George sank down into a chair putting his face in his hands.

‘Her poor little soul. My poor little girl.'

He sat as if suddenly robbed of breath, heartbeat, powerless to move, struck dumb. Charlotte felt hot tears like sharp hooks in her throat: tears for Meda, for George, for herself, for loss and hopeless love, for an unjust and unfeeling God.

Robert rose and went to George's liquor table. He poured half a glass of whisky and, taking one of George's hands, put the glass into it.

George looked up, drank it down in one gulp.

Charlotte moved to his side, took his other hand. ‘Is there no hope, George?'

He put her hand to his lips. ‘Sweet Kitt. No hope. The letter from Tigran said that she was very sick. The
dukun
is waiting to prepare the
selamatan
if it becomes necessary. It's the feast that's held after— ' He stopped, unable to speak the words.

He rose, and they followed him on to the wide verandah. The evening was drawing in; the sky was filled with faint clouds starting to turn rose. He looked over to Tir Uaidhne.

‘I suppose the Javanese ceremony is as good as any. They believe the spirit passes over, yer know, then returns now and again to see if everyone's all right. That's when they hold a feast. The
selamatan
is beautiful; I've been to several. Not sad yer know; happy almost, wishing a safe journey, good luck in the future, as if she had just sailed away on a ship for a visit somewhere.'

He leaned his head against the edge of the opening.

‘She won't come back. They hold
selamatan
regularly up to the thousandth day after … death. Takouhi will be there for them all, well and truly in the world of the spirits. Happy even to be there. Whether she'll think of me, I don't know.'

He stopped, gazing at the window opposite. ‘I think I'll sleep in our bed tonight with a few of Meda's things around me.' Turning, he smiled at his friends, went up to Charlotte and hugged her. ‘I'm all right now. Ol' Shakespeare said it all, didn't he, eh?'

‘There's providence in the fall of a sparrow …;

If it not be now, yet it will come, the readiness is all …'

He accompanied them to the door of his house, out under the porte-cochere, calling for his carriage to take them to the bungalow. As they stood waiting, he turned to Robert. ‘Robbie, my boy, will you help me do something? I'd like to build a memorial for my two girls, in the cemetery, under the banyan tree. I'll sort it out with White. Then they'll always be with me d' yer see. Can't think of anything else to do.'

He frowned, as if the act of thinking was like moving a leaden weight inside his head, and rubbed his temples.

‘I'm a builder, so I'll build something for them. A tangible memory of their brief moment on this earth, a reminder that love is everything. We shouldn't forget, eh, “that all is small, save love, for love is all in all”.'

He shook Robert's hand, kissed Charlotte distractedly and left them.

When they got back to the bungalow Robert led his sister to the verandah and poured them both a little whisky.

‘Are you all right, Kitt?'

She knew what he meant. ‘Yes, Robbie, I'm all right. Don't worry. I know it will have to end, but just not right now. He takes precautions; it's all right. I haven't seen him for weeks in any case.'

Robert put down his glass. He had his own worries, but still, he worried about this as well. Where would it all end?

Baba Tan looked at himself in the long mirror. He had taken special pains with his appearance today, the fifth day of the marriage, the day he would welcome his foreign guests to meet the bride and groom. He took a little of the blackening his wife used to cover her bald forehead and put a few spots on his greying temples. The
nonyas
all had the same problem. Pulling the hair back so severely into the traditional bun always resulted in thinning and baldness. It was one of the reasons he had taken a concubine with thick tresses and made her always wear it loose. If he had ever truly felt any passion for his wife, the site of her bald pate would certainly have withered it. He had not been near her in years and, with the marriage of his daughter, was contemplating taking a second concubine or even another wife.

He ran his hands down his body, over the silk coat. He had grown bored with the first concubine. The thought of grandchildren had unsettled him. He was still young enough to please a woman, make more children. A young woman who inspired him to new passion. That was what he wanted. He had his eye on the third daughter of Baba Tsang by his second concubine, a beautiful Balinese woman. The family had fallen on hard times, for both Tsang and his old first wife were incorrigible gamblers. A price could be arranged. The father had taken some pains to make sure that he had seen her. And why not? He had plenty to offer. Lovely creature, nearly fifteen years old, with a mouth like a bud and eyes like midnight.

He completed his toilette, placed his silk cap on his head and, with a last look, left the room and made his way downstairs. His wife had told him of the wedding night, the unfortunate menstruation. It was bad luck for Zhen. He looked gloomy, and no wonder! He had come every night to eat the special dinners prepared for the couple and sleep with his new wife. Hopefully he was getting some pleasures, even if he had to put off for a while the making of the first grandchild. Birds' nests in syrup, spring chicken with herbs, steamed pigeons, mushrooms and ginseng, herbal soup—tonic food—then a little fondling and a good night's sleep. He'd be ready when Noan was clean again. He must be feeling a little frustrated, though. He'd been getting plenty from that woman of his before the wedding. Tan had often wondered who this woman was. Ah Pok had never seen her, and he didn't like to ask too many questions, alert nosy neighbours. Of course, he was curious. His son-in-law was a virile devil, and Tan had no doubt he could satisfy many women—much like himself. It must be irksome to be so confined. Still, it was not for much longer.

Tan went into the main hall, where the two embroidered chairs and footstools had been set up. After presenting their red packets and paying their respects to him and the other male relatives, the guests would gather here to meet his daughter and her new husband. This was his favourite day: the day the governor and his English guests would honour his family and his position in this society.

He went into the long dining room to inspect the little English cakes, the
kueh
pastries, the elegant English silver tea services, the porcelain tea sets in the English style he had ordered in China, covered in exotic pink flowers the English called ‘roses'. These, he thought, were a great success, with their wavy lips and little curved handles. He had asked Miss Mah Crow to find him an example, and she had given him a sketch of a cup and saucer from Mr Kuliman's house. They were not exactly the same, but certainly good enough to impress his guests. He anticipated their surprise with pleasure.

Zhen was at his house. In half an hour he would have to go back to Tan's mansion, submit to yet another inspection, this time from the
ang mo
. He had only this minute begun to think that Xia Lou and her brother might be amongst the guests. Now this idea took hold, and he found himself at the same time desperate to see her and desperate for her not to come.

The time spent locked up with Noan was irksome. He now treated her with kindness, regretting his actions of their first night together. But he had nothing to say to her and, in any case, she spoke absolutely no Hokkien, while his Baba Malay, though improving, served only for the exchange of the most banal of communications. They ate in silence. The bridal chamber had been abandoned until Noan's period was over. It was inauspicious to have menstrual blood in the room during the nuptial period, and it had been scoured, the mattress burned and replaced with a new one. For now they slept in another, similar room which shared the wardrobe chamber. This room had been shut up, and though it had been cleaned, it smelled faintly of mould and damp. When it came time to get into bed, he motioned her to get in and then spent an hour drinking the bottle of rice wine he brought in each evening, staring into space. She watched him silently from the bed, sitting by the flickering candle, the shadow of his arm on the wall rising and falling with each drink, pretending to sleep when he joined her. He slept immediately.

Then she cried quietly to herself. She did not expect him to touch her while she was menstruating, but surely they could kiss. He had not even kissed her once. It was her fault; she wasn't pleasing enough. The assault of the first night had receded in her mind. She had nothing to compare it to. And he had been kind ever since, too kind. He changed in the robing room, not again showing her his body, not wanting to look at hers. Lying next to him, not touching, was exquisite torture, but she did not dare move towards him.

In three or four days she would be clean again. They would return to the bridal chamber. Everything would be different. Her heart lightened a little when she thought of this. And today she could show him off to the foreign guests, this beautiful man who was her husband.

Robert and Charlotte made their way across the bridge in George's little carriage. George had been invited but had declined. Charlotte worried for George. He had lost weight, did nothing but work and refused all attempts by his many friends to join them for evening entertainments.

Now brother and sister rode, not speaking. For his part, Robert was concerned about the effect this meeting would have on his sister. He had begged her not to go; it was not necessary. Any excuse would do. Unwell, indisposed, it didn't matter. But Charlotte knew she needed to see this—needed to see Zhen and this wife, see the woman who would have the right to hold him in her arms forever. She needed to look into his eyes, feel the knife in her heart.

They arrived at Tan's mansion, and his servant took their horse as they crossed the doorstep. Robert deposited his red packet with the chief clerk, who wrote his name in the book. They entered into the inner courtyard, where Baba Tan was talking to the governor. The guests continued to arrive; then Baba Tan opened the doors of the dining room and ushered them inside for refreshments.

Charlotte could hardly concentrate. She smiled emptily at her acquaintance, waiting for the moment, dreading it, wanting it. Tea was served, and the governor complimented Baba Tan on the extraordinary tea service. Bonham was careful not to smile, for the cups were small, with dragon-curled handles and roses that resembled misshapen peonies. From China? Really? Why, it looked so English, he said. Baba Tan beamed.

This tea party seemed interminable to Charlotte. Robert stayed close by her side, and they stood slightly aloof, looking into the inner courtyard, with its pretty lotus pond and pots of delicate bamboo. She should have enjoyed this opportunity to see the wealth and opulence of a Chinese merchant prince's mansion, but all she could do was stare at the golden fish flitting below the surface of the pond and the intricate patterns of the green-and-white Malacca tiles.

Eventually Baba Tan called them to give him the honour of greeting the new bride and groom: his daughter and her husband. The governor left the room first, with his host. He stood in front of the married couple, bowing his head slightly, congratulating them and wishing them great happiness and good fortune in the future. It was a pretty speech despite the stuttering, and when it was over, he took his leave. Now the rest of the guests entered in order of importance. Robert and Charlotte waited, finally approaching the door to the main hall.

As she passed the doorway, her eyes sought him. She could see Mr Erskine, the sitting magistrate, and his new wife, presenting their congratulations. Then she saw them, the young woman in a heavily embroidered gown of pink, blue, and turquoise, covered in jewels, her face round and white, her lips ruby red, eyes lowered, a golden crown on her head.