The Hills of Singapore (29 page)

32

The two crickets faced each other, their antennae waving. Qian and Zhen stood behind their respective boys and their champions. The two selected had been fed and nurtured for a week, given ground worms, mosquitos and ground nuts. Zhen had investigated the medical needs of the cricket and discovered ginseng and other potions which would enhance their strength.

The boys had discovered a lively passion for these creatures. Zhen had looked for the black-faced crickets which were said to be the finest fighters in China, but they were not available in Singapore. If he wanted them, he would have to place an order. It was expensive and would take a long time. So he had bought these two, and was glad he had.

The black-faced crickets, he had been told, would fight to the death, biting off legs, gouging each other with their powerful jaws until nothing remained. It was too much for young boys to watch. The two crickets he had bought showed a certain aggression, but one always backed down after about a minute, with little damage done.

Alex and Ah Soon loved their crickets and kept them in little bamboo cages with small dishes for water and food. Alex's was called Jinling—Golden Bell—and Ah Soon's was Zhuling—Bamboo Bell. Alex smuggled his home and kept it in his cage by his bed. Adam liked him too, and both boys played with Jinling, tickling him with a grass blade to make him sing and bringing him treats of honey.

Jinling and Zhuling, urged by the boys' prodding, began to fight, hopping forward and retreating. Zhen had discovered from the man who sold the crickets in the market that a fighting cricket should mate with two or three females before a fight, as it increased his aggression and his strength. He was not sure how he was to introduce this aspect of cricket life to the boys and rather thought he would not bother. These two cowardly crickets would serve their purpose.

Jinling took a big hop forward, and Zhuling retreated, then suddenly moved forward, biting and waving his antlers. A small tussle ensued; then Jinling retreated and the match was over. The crickets were put inside their cages and given their dinner, and the boys ran off. Zhen and Qian sat in the courtyard.

“What do you think you are doing?” Qian looked at his friend, who said nothing.

“Every other day for a week, you come here to watch two pathetic crickets put on a display of bravery which would shame a girl. Why?” Qian asked. He knew the answer, but he was not sure if Zhen did. He could not tell him his thoughts on the matter of Ah Rex. He was Charlotte's son.

“I like to spend time with the boys, you know. Ah Soon is a good boy.”

Qian nodded. “Yes but I don't think it is Ah Soon you come to see, eh?”

Zhen looked over at his friend. “Perhaps not entirely. Ah Rex is an interesting boy, don't you think?”

“I think he is her child. I think he is Xia Lou Mah Nuk's child, and that is enough.”

“Well, what is wrong? I like him, and I think he likes me. He speaks our language to a degree which is remarkable. He is a remarkable boy.”

Qian shook his head. “He is her son, and if she finds out, she will not be pleased, I think. You take advantage of her absence.”

Zhen rose. “Her absence, yes. Doing what? With whom?”

Qian stood too. “Is that it? Is Ah Rex only a means to her?”

Zhen glared at Qian. “No. Yes … I don't know.”

He began to pace the courtyard, then stopped. “No, I like this boy very much, that is all.” The he turned and left the courtyard, and Qian sat down. He felt a shiver of premonition.

The day was fine, and filled with gusting wind. Alex had brought his Malay kite to show Ah Soon, and they had walked through the Chinese town and up onto the winding path to the top of Mount Wallich. Ah Soon had a Chinese kite, a red and gold dragon with a long, long, tail, and both boys were keen to show off their skills. Zhen walked behind them. It was strange to be climbing this hill, the one on which he had stood watching her ship depart, on which he had hurled his misery into the wind. The hill had no memory of his pain; it stood as a sentinel, unchanged by the feet which passed about it.

From the top, the view extended down to the town and the bay, out along the river, into the harbour and out, far into the hazy sea where the islands lay. Ah Soon and Alex looked at this view, an aspect of Singapore they had never seen before, pointing out the ships and the temples, trying to find their homes. Then they forgot it in the excitement of raising their kites. Alex was first; he had more practice, and without a thought he launched his kite. On this high hill, the wind was fierce, and it caught instantly. But it was so strong that Zhen had to run to him and hold him, for the kite would have pulled him off his feet. Zhen felt his heart pound at the thought of injury to Xia Lou's son. He put Alex to one side and got the kite under control, releasing more line, then tied the line off to a tree branch.

“The wind is too high here for you. I will set Ah Soon's kite up, and we shall watch.”

Zhen launched Ah Soon's dragon kite and paid out the line until both kites were high, then tied it off. They watched as the kites soared and swooped in the high wind, pulling the lines, making them dip and turn.

They sat on a large flat rock and shared the rice rolls which Ah Soon's mother had made them.

“School tests soon,” Ah Soon said to Alex in English.

“Mmm, yes, I've been studying. I shall do far better than you.”

Ah Soon punched Alex on the arm, but both boys smiled.

“Is your mother coming home for your Christmas?” Ah Soon asked, then stuffed a second rice roll in his mouth.

Zhen sat perfectly still.

“Yes, thank heaven. I miss her. She has written to me to say she will come back in a few weeks. And she promises she has bought a present for my birthday as well.”

Ah Soon nodded. Ah Rex was older than him by one month by the English calender, but by the Chinese reckoning it was entirely different.

“I shall be eleven years old, you know, when you are merely ten,” Ah Soon said.

Both boys grinned. This Chinese way of calculating birthdays was a source of amusement to them both, for Ah Soon proclaimed seniority. The Chinese believed that the newborn child was one year old at birth and this gave Ah Soon a considerable advantage over his friend.

“When is your birthday, Ah Rex?” Zhen asked in Hokkien.

Alex swallowed his food and answered respectfully. Somehow, in some strange way, he always felt immensely respectful when he spoke Chinese, much more than when he spoke English.

“May—
si geh
—sir.”

Zhen frowned. Ah Rex was born in May, and he would be ten years old. That meant he was born in 1841 by the English reckoning.

The boys rose and began to explore the hill. Zhen sat, thinking.

Xia Lou had left Singapore at the end of the tenth English month, October. She had married her husband in early December. Zhen had made love to Xia Lou for the last time all those years ago in … He looked up. She had been pregnant when she left! Pregnant when she married her husband. He stared at Ah Rex chasing Ah Soon.

Ah Rex was his child!

Now he could see it all, written in the face of this boy. He was astounded he had not noticed it before. The boy's height and strength were so clearly his own. He stood up but felt so shaken by this discovery, he immediately sat down again.

He was glad they were playing, racing around the trees, for his mind was in utter turmoil. Then he felt a feeling of joy suffusing his chest. A feeling of joy, of parenthood to this son by the woman he loved better than any other on the face of the earth. This boy, this child of this woman, was his son. They had made this boy in the heat of love. He kept saying it over and over, silently imprinting it on his mind. The close affection he felt for Ah Rex was the natural love of a father for a son.

Xia Lou, Xia Lou. He said her name again and again. How I love you, you who have borne my son. Zhen watched him running, the beauty of his son's strong body now so very dear, so very clear. He wanted to speak to Xia Lou, desperately wanted her to return. Suddenly, he remembered, and a feeling of deep concern filled him. She was not here; she was with another. They could take this boy from him.

Zhen rose, agitated, and stared out over the vast distance of blue, hazy sea. Where are you? he thought.

33

At that moment, Charlotte was in a boat propelled by four fierce Dyak warriors, travelling upriver into the heart of the Sarawak jungle. At her side was Charles. Their party was completed by Kassim, Charles's young Dyak servant boy, and Inchi, their half-Malay, half-Dyak guide.

When Charlotte had told Isabel of her proposed absence for three days, she had expected Isabel to pout. Quite to the contrary, Isabel was happy for her to depart. She would stay with Harriette and help in the school and the hospital, she said. Harriette was delighted to have Isabel's pleasant and musical company and the arrangements were quickly made. To Charlotte's relief, Palmer and his party had departed Kuching three days before headed for the lands of Bau, where the gold and antimony mines lay.

What had begun as a pleasant outing on the river rapidly became oppressive as the river narrowed and the jungle held them, bereft of air, between its impenetrable green walls. Charlotte wondered for the tenth time that morning why she had agreed to this journey. Charles had promised her a voyage of discovery, but at that moment, fanning herself to no avail, Charlotte simply felt limp and irritated.

In two hours they arrived at Ledah Tanah, where the river divided, and Charles explained the importance of the place to the history of Sarawak. It was the very place where James Brooke had helped put down a native rebellion against the forces of the district governor of the Sultan of Brunei, who claimed suzerainty over all the lands of North Borneo. Its success had given James the territory of Sarawak to rule as his kingdom.

Charlotte looked around at the walls of green and the sluggish brown water. Whatever exploits had taken place were invisible. The heat beat at her like a fire, and she found no interest in his narrative.

They landed at a place where the jungle had been removed. A house on stilts stood here, a simple place where river wanderers might stay the night, and Kassim brought water to drink and fruit to eat. Charlotte pulled at her clothes. They were ridiculous. She never wore stays, a garment of torture she had ignored absolutely ever since living in Java, but she was wearing one petticoat too many. She longed for a simple sarong and a cool blouse. She went inside the house and took off her petticoat and her camisole. Wearing only a blouse and skirt, she felt ready to continue the journey.

Within fifteen minutes the boat turned towards shore. There was a government bungalow, Charles explained, just a short climb up the hill. He began organising food and stores. The river here was pretty with
nibong
and mountain fig, and joined by numerous streams and creeks which ran fast over a broad expanse of shallow shingle. This promised relief, and, without a further thought, Charlotte stepped out of the boat and went to it, throwing off her shoes and sitting down, fully clothed. It was a sensation she remembered from Java, from the river which ran through Brieswijk, her estate, and she lay back, eyes closed, allowing the water to run over her body, extinguishing the flames of the day.

It was Kassim's nervous laughter which alerted Charles, and he turned and saw her. Her clothes, drenched with water, were attached to her skin, and every outline of her body was delineated.

Charles ordered Kassim on up to the bungalow. Fortunately Inchi and the Dyaks had gone ahead. He went to her. Her breasts and nipples lay open to his gaze under a veil of wet, translucent cotton.

“Charlotte, for heaven's sake. You are making a spectacle of yourself,” he said, his voice tense with anger. He looked away. Charlotte opened her eyes and sat up. She saw his face and looked down. She rose and pulled the wet clothes from her body.

“I had not realised. I was so hot,” she said, but she was not happy with Charles's reaction. No need for such a display of offended manhood, she thought.

Charles removed his jacket and held it out to her, his eyes averted. She put it around her shoulders and walked away from him, now thoroughly annoyed. Why on earth had he brought her to this God-forsaken place? Kuching was bad enough.

When they reached the bungalow Kassim was busy cleaning the floor with water and shaking the mats. At least the structure was well made, with fine net screens on the windows and around the verandah. It was used by visitors of a scientific mind, scouring the region for the local flora and fauna, and for the Rajah's guests seeking adventure on the dark rivers of his kingdom.

Whilst the men prepared the bungalow and the fire, Charlotte watched two of the Dyak boatmen head down to one of the creeks with woven baskets on their backs. This creek was barred from bank to bank with bamboo palisades. Standing in the creek, the men began pounding the root of a plant on a log which lay above the water, crushing its juices and allowing them to drain into the creek. Charlotte could not make out what they were doing.

When Charles came up, she asked him.

“The bamboo barrier forces the bigger fish to gather. In a minute they'll all rise to the surface, stupefied. They are beating the root of the tuba plant, which intoxicates the fish.”

Charlotte stood and looked down, and sure enough dozens of fish were zig-zagging around in the water before floating to the surface. The men took their baskets and scooped up the fish, filling them in seconds.

“Is it harmful, Charles?” Charlotte said, turning.

He smiled. “Only to the fish.”

The bungalow was finally clean. There were two rooms. One had been prepared for her, with a thick woven sleeping mat and a grass pillow. The second room was for Charles. Kassim and Inchi would sleep on the verandah. The Dyak boatmen left a basket of fish and set off to the other side of the hill, where they had friends and relatives. They would return in one day.