Sharp pains had begun to assail my body, followed by interims of numbing weakness, as though someone had sucked the marrow from my bones. Examining myself, I saw no visible wound, but I couldn’t deny it. I had suffered some kind of harm. If it hadn’t been for my little horse I would never have made it back, but she bore me onward when I was too weak to lift my head. These exhausting episodes came and went, though they weren’t the only thing that worried me. My clothes had begun to change as well.
Instead of the usual pajamas that Amah used to dress my inert body in, I began to notice sam foo, and loose cotton dresses that I used to wear around the house. At times the garments became even more formal. Baju that I rarely used, even my mother’s kebaya once. When that happened I was terrified. Were they preparing me for burial? But the clothes continued to change and I still remained in this world of the living. Still, I was anxious, very anxious.
As we drew nearer, warehouses began to appear and I realized that we were very close to Tian Bai’s office in the Lim family godown. The temptation to stop and see him was irresistible, so I turned aside. When I’d last seen him, it had been a slow, torpid afternoon, but now it was midday and the fierce tropical light beat down. The warehouse was swarming with coolies laden with crates and sacks. I stopped in the narrow pathway outside, invisible to the gaunt men who, half naked, toiled under the burning sun. Their rib cages stood out in stark relief, their toenails were black and broken. Some had cut their hair in the new Western style, just as Tian Bai did, but the majority still bore long greasy pigtails, the front of their skulls shaven like a new moon. A rank smell of sweat rose from their bodies as they passed close to me.
Slipping off Chendana’s back, I made my way through the stream of people, shuddering at how they avoided me instinctively like a plague-ridden dog. At the doorway, I was struck by another bout of weakness. Reeling, I crossed the lintel and knelt on the floor. I heard orders being barked and the heavy tread of feet. Despite my lack of substance, I had an instinctive fear of being trampled and tried to rise. It was then that I heard Tian Bai’s quiet, steady voice.
He looked thin and there were shadows under his eyes that I didn’t remember. Still, he passed through to the rear office with the easy gait that I remembered. I stumbled after him. Tian Bai seemed graver, not so quick to smile as I remembered. The conversations he had were all business related. I was impressed that he could speak so many different dialects of Chinese: Hokkien, Cantonese, and Hainanese, as well as Malay and even a little Tamil. But why should I be surprised? Most people could speak at least two or three languages here. My estimation probably stemmed from the fact that it was Tian Bai, and I was inclined to admire all things that he could do.
Midday turned into afternoon and I told myself that now that I had seen him, I should go home. Still, I lingered. I watched him anxiously, wondering if there was any deceit in that open face. Tian Bai had tiffin delivered to his desk as he pored over paperwork. He negotiated contracts and made abacus calculations with swift flicks of his wrist. Observing his competence, I could easily imagine how his uncle would favor him over his own spoiled son. Surely Lim Tian Ching’s accusations were pure jealousy, although my doubts remained. Now that I had journeyed to the land of the dead and had seen that desires and feuds lingered even after death, I couldn’t say such things were impossible.
Late in the day, an older man came in with a stack of papers.
“Not done yet?” he asked Tian Bai. He shook his head. “Your uncle works you too hard.” The other man had a sly manner that I distrusted, and hearing the turn of the conversation, I drew closer until I stood at Tian Bai’s shoulder. “I’m sure he’s glad you came back from Hong Kong,” he said. Many people said you would never return.”
Tian Bai frowned. “Who said so?”
“They said you liked it better there.”
“They were wrong.”
“Really?”
Tian Bai lifted his eyebrows. “A Chinaman is still a second-class citizen there, even if he’s a member of the Commonwealth.”
His interlocutor raised his hands and laughed. “Ah, why so serious? Anyway . . .” He paused. “I wanted to congratulate you on your upcoming marriage. When is it?”
“In two months’ time.”
“I’m sure your uncle is anxious for you to be married, now that you’re the only heir.”
“He’s been good enough to agree to it. Officially, the family is still in mourning.”
Marriage! So he had agreed to the marriage, I thought. Miserably, I paced up and down after the man had left, passing so close to Tian Bai that I brushed his jacket with my sleeve. He didn’t look up. It could only be to that horse-faced girl. Who else would be so acceptable to his uncle? I leaned over in front of him; I plucked at his sleeves with my insubstantial fingers, but to no avail.
“Tian Bai!” I cried. “Can you hear me?”
There was no response, but after a while he pushed his chair back with a sigh. In repose, his face was closed, the expression distant. I looked at the windowsill where his collection of curiosities was still arranged. Among the carved wooden animals, I noticed that the horse was missing and my mouth quirked. I knew where she had gone. And there was my comb at the very end of the row, almost like an afterthought.
A thin silvery line still ran from it, that insubstantial filament that had originally led me to Tian Bai. I walked over and plucked it between my fingers. Perhaps it was a trick of the light, but it seemed darker and less translucent than before. Still, it hummed to my touch like a live thing. I glanced over at Tian Bai who was still deep in thought. Sleep, I thought. Sleep, so I can talk to you. My will carried through the line, or it might simply have been the effects of a long day, for soon Tian Bai’s eyes closed. When I was sure that he was asleep, I pressed the thread lightly into his chest, just as I had done before.
I was standing in the front hall of the Lim mansion in Malacca. Long shadows stretched over the black-and-white tiled floor, and the house had a gloomy, watchful air. Tian Bai was walking away from me and as he turned down one passageway after another, I hastened to keep up with him in this dreamworld of his making. At length he reached the room with the clocks and began to wind them. He did this with great precision, yet as fast as he wound, he never finished the task. The clocks appeared to multiply under his fingers. I stole a glance at his face. It was set in concentration.
“Tian Bai!” I said. At this, he looked up.
He seemed utterly unsurprised, even pleased. “Ah, Li Lan. Give me a hand here.”
Obediently, I began to wind the clocks. “What are we doing?” I asked.
“Making sure they don’t run down.”
“Why does it matter?”
“Of course it matters.” A shadow creased his brow. “We don’t want time to stop.”
“What would happen if it did?”
Perplexed, he looked up. “It won’t stop. It mustn’t.”
I couldn’t understand him, but I had a terrible feeling that my own time was running out. Concentrating, I changed the scene to the courtyard with the lotus pond where we had first met.
“Tian Bai!” I said urgently. “I need to talk to you.”
With the disappearance of the clocks, the tightness left his shoulders and he finally looked up at me. The warmth in his regard made me color.
“I haven’t seen you for a long time,” I said after a pause. “I’d like to know how you’ve been.”
&n
bsp; Tian Bai shook his head, amused. “What do you want to know?”
I opened my mouth, wondering whether I should ask him whether he had murdered his cousin. The question rolled back and forth on my tongue, like a weighty glass marble. And yet, I felt reluctant to waste this moment with him. The languid sunlight, the soft gleam of the lotus pond. I could have cried with the relief of it, even if it was only the figment of a dream.
“I heard you were going to be married,” I said at last.
He took a step toward me, then another. “Yes, that’s right.”
“Oh.” I was crestfallen. “Congratulations, then.”
“Thank you.” There was a glint in his eye, as though he was enjoying a private joke. Then he slipped his arms around me, drawing me against him. “I think there are better ways you can congratulate me, don’t you?”
Dazed, I couldn’t resist. I lifted my face to him and felt the touch of his breath, then his lips as he brushed them against my neck. At the very last instant, I twisted away. “But your fiancée!”
“What about her?” He buried his face in my hair and ran his hands through it, discarding the few hairpins that were left. My hands slid across his chest, then stopped.
“Wait,” I said breathlessly. “Don’t you care what she thinks?”
“Of course I care.”
“Then why are you doing this?” I pushed him away with an effort, but he was still smiling. It was beginning to make me angry. “You’re just like your cousin!” I said. “I suppose it doesn’t matter how many concubines you have.”
“What are you talking about?” He looked surprised.
“I mean, what do you think your fiancée would say if she saw you?”
“I don’t think she would mind.”
“Well, I mind,” I said angrily. How could he behave like this? As though I were a mere side dish for the main event of his wedding. Tian Bai tried to take me in his arms again, but I stiffened despite the temptation to forget my sorrows in his embrace. No wonder Fan had chosen to continue her ghostly existence for years, if this was what it meant to enter a lover’s dreams. But I wasn’t Fan.
“Let me go!” I said through gritted teeth, though it took all my willpower to disengage myself.
“What’s the matter with you?” he said.
“I don’t even know who you’re marrying.”
A strange look appeared on Tian Bai’s face. “You know who I’m marrying.”
“Then say it! Just say it!”
“I’m marrying you, Li Lan.”
Dumbfounded, I could only stare at him. Tian Bai pulled me close and caressed my hair, murmuring endearments. “How is that possible?”
“I told my uncle he should honor the agreement he made with your father. And he finally acquiesced. But you know all this.” He glanced sharply at me.
“When did this happen?”
“About a week ago.”
“A week ago? And did I talk to you?” I asked, stupidly.
“I went over to your house as soon as I got his permission. They said you were sick, but you came down to see me. Don’t you remember?”
“No. It’s just not possible,” I said. Anxiously, I shook him. “Are you sure?”
“Of course! We started planning the wedding right away.”
“What did I look like?”
“Why, you looked like yourself. A bit pale, perhaps. And you were a little confused in the beginning. But no more than right now. Are you not well?” he asked.
“You don’t understand,” I said. “You can’t have talked to me last week. I was very sick.”
“I know,” he said patiently, as though humoring a child.
I bit my lips. “Listen,” I said, “whoever you spoke to last week wasn’t me.” But even as I spoke, I could see it was a lost cause. I entreated him to take me seriously and told him that he must only trust what I said to him now. He nodded, but as I could scarcely believe such a tale myself, I could hardly expect him to either. Panic threatened to engulf me. I had to get back to my body as soon as possible.
“I have to go,” I said.
“So soon?”
“Yes, I really must. But I have one more question for you.”
He smiled. “Oh? You’re really in an odd mood today.”
“Did you murder your cousin?”
The light went out of his eyes. “Why do you ask me this?”
“I just wanted to know,” I said desperately. “I’m sorry.” I hadn’t meant to be so blunt, but anxiety made me stumble onward. “He died so suddenly, people said it was the tea you gave him.”
“That? I gave it to him before he died. I also gave some to my uncle at the time.”
“Then why does Yan Hong have Lim Tian Ching’s teacup? She kept it after his death.”
Tian Bai looked bewildered. “I don’t understand you,” he said. “And how do you know all this anyway?”
My pulse was racing irregularly. There was a buzzing in my head. His surprise seemed utterly natural; I wanted to believe him so badly. As if in response to my agitation, the world around us began to crumble and dissolve. The lotus pond shattered like a glass plate, and the courtyard around us wavered as though a wind had blown through it. Tian Bai had been studying me with a strange look, but now he glanced around. “What’s happening?”
I could no longer hold on to the pretence of reality. The very flagstones beneath our feet were melting away into nothingness. “Is this a dream?” Tian Bai asked. I wanted to say something, to question him further about Yan Hong. But as soon as he uttered those words, the dream broke and I was falling, twisting, despite my best attempts, until I found myself staring down at Tian Bai’s sleeping face once more.
Chapter 32
I had to get back home. I didn’t know why I was unable to sustain the dream conversation with Tian Bai. It could have been due to my exhaustion, or that our spirits had become too troubled. Whatever it was, I didn’t have the luxury to speculate right now. Chendana needed no guidance as I told her to go home. Quickly, very quickly, indeed, we passed the Stadthuys and the town square. The sun had almost set, but though I looked for my friend the Dutchman, we cantered by so swiftly that I could not see if he was still there. Oil lamps were already being lit by the time I reached our house, their warm glow so different from the cold lights of the dead. Our street looked almost shockingly normal, after the winding, shifting distances in the Plains of the Dead. Standing in the white dusty road before our heavy wooden door, I felt a shiver of relief as though I had never left it.
I had been afraid that an ox-headed demon would still be standing guard, but the quiet street was empty. Perhaps it was merely out on patrol, but another detail arrested me. The yellow strips of spell paper that Amah and I had painstakingly pasted over every door and window were gone. I could hardly imagine that Amah would do such a thing, or that my father would rouse himself to remove them. Perhaps it was a good thing, for it now meant that I could enter freely into the house, something I had feared would hinder me. Yet, my hands trembled as I loosed Chendana’s reins and slid down.
I passed easily through our front door. Too easily, to my dismay. It seemed that I had woefully little substance left in this world since my return from the Plains of the Dead. The hallway of our house was oddly small to my eyes, yet achingly familiar. I started up the stairs, my heart hammering in my chest. I could find no sign of Amah, but I almost ran down the corridor to
ward my room, so great was my anxiety. The door was ajar, and I considered for a brief moment if Amah was inside, but when I entered, there was nobody there. The bed where my body had lain was empty; the sheets smooth and unwrinkled as though no one had ever slept in it.
Gasping, I sank to the floor. A wave of weakness rolled over me and I silently cursed it. Now was not the time to be incapacitated. With an effort, I forced myself to look around. Nothing appeared particularly out of place. A few trinkets stood on the dresser; and when I peered under the almirah, Tian Bai’s brass watch still winked in a dark corner. Presumably, no one had discovered it yet, which didn’t say much for Ah Chun, our maid, and her housekeeping skills. Even as I thought this, Ah Chun herself appeared in the hallway outside with a bundle of laundry. I ran out after her. She didn’t see me, of course, but so strong was the urge to speak to her that I had to clasp my hands together to prevent myself from grasping her shoulder. She walked downstairs, muttering under her breath, “Wash the clothes at night? I never heard of such a thing. Really, she’s too much!” As she passed by the atrium, then the dining room downstairs, I heard voices. The family was sitting down to dinner, and to my horror, I heard among my father’s measured tones, the familiar sound of a girl’s voice.
The round marble-topped table was laden with food. Bowls of rice, platters of vegetables, even a steamed fish. Gathered around it was my father, a familiar-looking older woman with a plump face, and myself. At least, the physical form was mine. I stared at her disbelievingly, this stranger wearing my face. She was dressed in rather gaudy clothing, garments that I didn’t recognize at all, and demurely picking at her food. From time to time she tilted her head to one side and, when spoken to, let out a fatuous little laugh. I would never have giggled in that way, I thought angrily. Yet no one seemed to notice. My father had lost a great deal of weight and his pockmarked skin was chalky and uneven. Still, he was in good spirits, glancing at his false daughter and smiling weakly from time to time. The other woman was speaking.