The Ghost Bride (28 page)

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.”

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.”

D
umbfounded, 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 toward 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.

“So, Li Lan, we were happy to find out that you
recovered. What a fright you gave your father!”

My impostor simpered and cast her lashes down.

“She was very confused when she came to,” said my
father. “She didn’t even recognize me for a while.”

“Let alone me!” laughed the woman. “Well, I haven’t
seen you for quite a few years, Li Lan, but I thought you might remember your
own aunt.”

No wonder she looked familiar. This aunt was one of
my father’s sisters who had moved away with her husband to Penang. Her daughter
had been my dearest childhood friend. I hadn’t seen her for years, but life in
Penang must have suited her, for she had put on a great deal of weight.

“I came when I heard you were sick, but what a
surprise to find you up and about, and engaged to be married, no less!”

“Yes, it was quite a shock to me as well,” said my
father. “The young man had been coming round, even though I told him she was
sick and couldn’t see him, but suddenly last week he barged in and said he had
permission to marry her. Luckily, Li Lan had just started sitting up the day
before, otherwise I don’t know what we would have said to him!”

His smile was genuinely happy. I was surprised at
the lump in my throat.

“It’s a good marriage, then,” said my aunt,
approvingly.

“Yes, very good.” My father helped himself to some
stir-fried
kai lan
. “It’s that boy from the Lim
family. Do you remember him?”

My aunt frowned. “You mean the one—”

“The one who was originally betrothed to Li
Lan.”

“Oh, I thought they had broken it off!”

“Isn’t it lucky that they changed their minds?” The
girl at the table—that other me—gave a little laugh and reached for the steamed
fish. Avidly, she scooped out the succulent cheeks, the best part, for herself,
with no thought of offering them to her elders. I was consumed with icy rage. I
knew that laugh.

Advancing toward the table, I shouted, “So this is
how you repay me, you wretch!” But no one paid any attention to me. They
continued to eat and talk calmly, as though I didn’t exist. She did, however,
lift her head from her plate momentarily, and that was when her eyes widened.
The color briefly drained from her face, then a small, secretive smile appeared.
From within the eyes I could see Fan’s spirit peeking out at me. And clearly,
she could see me too.

Dinner was a torment. In agony, I stalked round and
round the table, shouting and pleading with her, but she paid me no heed. It
became apparent that although she could see me, she couldn’t hear my voice. Fan
sat smugly, clad in my physical body, eating like an ox and giggling like a fool
whenever anyone spoke to her. After dinner she went upstairs, pleading
indisposition. I went after her, trailing angrily in her wake and berating her
until my voice was hoarse. She went into my bedroom and shut the door in my
face. When I forced myself through the door, I found her sitting at the mirror,
combing her hair and staring dreamily at her reflection. After studiously
ignoring me for a while, she turned around at last.

“So you found your way back here. I’m surprised.”
She yawned. “Oh, there’s no point in shouting. I can’t hear you anyway. I’m sure
you want to know how I managed this. Well, it was very simple. I was always very
curious about you, you know. Why you were so different. And of course, I didn’t
really swallow that story about you coming from heaven.”

I ground my teeth in rage.

“Well, maybe in the beginning,” she conceded. “But
when we got to the Plains of the Dead, I followed you and found your ancestral
home. Afterward, I talked to the old concubine, the one who was screaming about
your family and your mother. I found out all about your situation, although I
still didn’t understand how you were so different from the rest of the ghosts.
But I lost you then; I had no idea where you went, but while I was wandering
around town a few days later I met this awful old man. He called himself Master
Awyoung and he was very interested in what I had to say about you.”

The hairpins she was playing with had been my
mother’s, and it stung me to see her casually toying with them.

“Anyway, Master Awyoung didn’t tell me much, other
than the fact that he suspected you were half dead. I had the feeling that he
dismissed me. Most people do, you know. But I had my own ideas. You really are
stupid,” said Fan. “I would never have left my body alone like that. Especially
such a young, beautiful body. Don’t you know anything about spirit possession? I
hate to say this, but you’re far better looking than I ever was. It’s a pity
that I won’t see my lover anymore, but physically he’s too old for me now. I’m
going to have such fun with this body.”

I stood before her, so angry that tears streamed
down my face. Fan grimaced. It was strange to see my own features move in
unfamiliar ways, but I could clearly discern Fan’s spirit behind my face. It was
utterly infuriating.

“Oh, don’t look like that! I have to admit, I
almost lost my nerve at one point. When that man with the bamboo hat appeared
right when I was about to enter the tunnel. If it hadn’t been for him, I would
have left without you, but he frightened me. But then you said that he was
devoured by the birds. So everything worked out well for me, even the exits from
the tunnel. When I told you there was a door to the merchant quarter, you looked
far too interested and of course, once I knew where your house was in the Plains
of the Dead, it was easy to find it here.” She turned dismissively away from me.
“Now I think you’d better go. There’s nothing you can do here. And your spirit
is only going to get weaker and weaker until you fade away. I’m not going to
talk to you anymore.”

I lunged at her, hoping that I could somehow
dislodge her alien spirit from my flesh, but nothing happened. Fan merely closed
her eyes—
my
eyes—and lay down on the bed. After a
while, I realized that she had fallen asleep.

T
hat
night I stayed by my body for hours, watching Fan sleep the untroubled sleep of
those with no conscience. I tried again and again to sink into my body, to lie
cradled within that comforting flesh that had, even after my dislocation, still
welcomed my weary spirit and given me respite. But it was not to be. My body now
behaved like any other live person’s body. It repelled me. I paced round and
round until I grew so exhausted that I collapsed on the floor, filled with grief
and self-recriminations. Why, why had I ever left my body alone? Fan was right;
it had been stupid of me. I had thought I could solve my own problems; I had
never even considered the possibility that another spirit might possess it.

I couldn’t understand how Fan had managed to take
over my body when I myself could not. And how too did she enter our household,
which had been shielded with spell papers against spiritual intrusions? Did she
know some arcane art that I did not? A thought jolted me upright. I should have
gone to the medium. The medium at the Sam Poh Kong temple who had given me the
spell papers in the beginning. She had said she could see ghosts. Maybe she
could help me. I had been so distracted when I was first severed from my body
that I hadn’t considered her, thinking only of following the thread that led me
to Tian Bai, and one thing had led to another. I ought to see her as soon as
possible. After all, even Er Lang had had need of her services. Thinking about
Er Lang plunged me into fresh misery. Fan said he had frightened her in the
Plains of the Dead, and I wished with all my heart that he were still with me.
If he were, I thought bitterly, she would never have dared to do such a thing.
But he was gone, and it was my own carelessness, my own stupidity in leading Fan
to my house. Er Lang would no doubt have pointed that out, though if I could
only hear his voice again, I would gladly welcome even the most caustic
comments. Pulling out his scale, I blew on it but as usual there was no answer.
My eyelids drooped inexorably; I was so tired that I curled up in the corner
like a dog and fell asleep.

When I woke up, the room was empty. Fan had left
but there were traces of her presence. Face powder was spilled carelessly, and
the clothes she had worn the night before lay strewn around the room. I would
never have done that. Amah had trained me since young to be neat and tidy. Even
as I thought this, Amah herself came trotting into the room. The sight of her,
so tiny and withered, gladdened me more than I could express. I had missed her
more than I could have imagined. Even her grumbling and nagging were dear to me
now that I was so far removed from her. Like my father, she looked more
careworn, shrunken as though she was steadily progressing toward dollhood.

“Amah!” I said, following her around. But she paid
me no heed, merely picking up the clothes and straightening the bed. She wiped
the dressing table clean of face powder and put away the pots of rouge and
hairpins that Fan had left. The corners of her mouth turned down disapprovingly,
but she made no comment aloud. Did she know that there was an impostor? I hoped
fervently that she did. Then I remembered someone else who might help me.
Quickly, I started down the hallway after Amah’s retreating form, but I had
scarcely taken two steps before another bout of weakness overcame me. With
trembling hands, I forced myself to stand up, only to be transfixed by the
sunlight streaming in from the window. My fingers were now completely
transparent. I gave a cry of despair.

How long I stood there, clutching my hands, I do
not know. The sun moved overhead but time stopped for me. My existence had been
brought to a single point, a mote of dust glimpsed through the unraveling
substance of my hand. At that moment, it didn’t matter whether or not I had a
past, or who had wronged me. All that consumed me was that I had no more future;
my spirit was dissipating like vapor. It was a long time before I returned to my
senses, and when I did, retching and shuddering, I was terrified by the loss of
time. It reminded me of the hungry ghosts and how they stood motionless for
hours, even days. Alone, unburied, with no funeral rites because no one knew my
spirit was wandering. I would be lost forever, doomed to drift unanchored until
the end of time.