The Orientalist and the Ghost (37 page)

‘Do you have a boyfriend, Sal?’ Delilah asked gently.

A redundant question if ever she’d heard one. Everything about her screamed:
Never been kissed!
Sally shook her head.

‘So what type do you go for, then?’ enquired Lillian.

Sally was flattered by the assumption she had a choice in the matter. All men seemed beyond the realms of possibility (especially Mr Milnar – her fantasy husband and the most handsome man she’d ever set eyes on). Sally told them she liked Mick Jagger, hoping he’d meet with their approval. The other three laughed.

‘Well, it seems unlikely we’ll run into Mick at the Selangor Club,’ said Delilah, ‘but don’t worry, we’ll find someone for you.’

Sally smiled politely, keen to move on from the
perilous
subject of the opposite sex before her painful inexperience was drawn out.

A wreath of cigarette smoke around her pigtailed head, Meredith reached out and tugged a strand of Sally’s hair.

‘I know of a genius of a hairdresser on Bukit Bintang Road,’ she said. ‘He’ll really tame this frizz for you …’

The advice stopped mid-sentence as Delilah flashed her a warning look.

‘Of course,’ gushed Lillian, ‘your hair is lovely as it is. I’d kill for your natural curl!’

Though Sally’s bust-up with Frances was the talk of the fifth form, none of them mentioned it. It wasn’t long, however, before the departure of Henry Leung was discussed. Lillian and Meredith were heated in their disapproval.

‘Bloody thoughtless of him to leave us in the lurch a month before exams!’

‘I heard he left to concentrate on his politics.’

‘If politics is so important to him, then he shouldn’t have become a teacher in the first place!’

‘Absolutely. He was lucky to get his job at Amethyst. International schools pay three times what the local schools pay.’

‘Who’s going to replace him? Not Miss McPhee, I hope.’

‘I wouldn’t worry too much,’ said Delilah. ‘We’ve covered the syllabus from A to Z already.’

‘Not logarithms,’ grumbled Lillian. ‘I lost three percent in the mock paper because I got stuck multiplying logs.’

‘What’s the name of the party he belongs to, again?’

‘The Democratic Action Party,’ said Sally: ‘the DAP.’

‘The DAP,’ repeated Delilah. ‘I can’t keep track of all these acronyms. These elections are like alphabet soup.’

‘I can’t wait for the city to get back to normal. There’s been such an unpleasant atmosphere lately,’ said Lillian.

‘Yes, don’t these people know how to hold a civilized rally,’ sniffed Meredith, ‘without throwing bricks or setting fire to things?’

‘It’s quite exciting, though, if you think about it,’ said Delilah. ‘If the Opposition win enough seats in these elections there will be radical changes in Malaysian government. The non-Malay races will have power for the first time ever in Malaysian history. It’s fantastic the minorities are standing up to be counted. So what if there’s some upheaval along the way? Being civilized never got anyone anywhere.’

The twins nodded, though Delilah’s excitement was lost on them. Minor irritations, such as traffic jams caused by marches, and their Chinese maths teacher running off to fight the good fight (without having covered logarithms in the O-level syllabus first), annoyed the twins more than the racial injustices of their host country. Sally wondered what Frances would think if she knew Delilah sympathized with her political views. She’d probably like her a bit better, she reckoned.

Before the twins left they told Sally that it had been a pleasure getting to know her and kissed her on both
cheeks
(kisses suffused with loveliness, briefly transforming frog girl to princess). As Delilah saw the twins to the front gate Sally sat in the stillness, her mind racing with the surrealness of the past hour. What on earth was she doing in Delilah Jones’s bedroom? The Amethyst clique had strict rules about who they socialized with; they were frugal with friendly gestures, even at the level of a nod hello. Why had they lowered their standards so drastically for a social pariah like herself? Sally knew it had something to do with Delilah getting that bucket of water chucked over her on Saturday night.

‘Almond and plum cakes,’ Delilah announced brightly as she returned to the bedroom with a tray, ‘imported from England. I’ve been waiting for an excuse to eat the rest of these!’ Crossing her legs in her chair with a yogic flair suggestive of double-joints and a resistance to pins and needles, Delilah lit a cigarette. Outside, the sky glowed with a burnt-orange sunset, lighting Delilah so her hair shone russet and a few levitating strands scintillated like gold. Between delicate puffs on her cigarette Delilah played at being the attentive hostess. Would Sally like some apple juice? A fork to eat her cake? What record would she like to listen to? Did she like Jimi Hendrix? Sally didn’t touch the cakes. Why was Delilah trying so hard?

Spurred by the sense that something was amiss Sally said: ‘Why did you invite me here? It’s because of the other night, isn’t it? Because of what Frances did to you.’ The torrent of words rushed out before Sally lost her
nerve
. Delilah’s smile drained like colour from her face. ‘You must be absolutely
raging
about what happened. Did you invite me here so you could get your own back?’

Delilah’s lips parted slightly in bewilderment. ‘Why ever did you come back with us if you thought I was luring you here to “get my own back”?’ she asked.

‘I suppose I thought if you wanted to get your own back, you’d find some way to do it eventually …’ (God, she sounded like a complete
drip
.) ‘May as well be sooner rather than later.’

‘Well, you can relax,’ said Delilah. ‘I didn’t invite you here so I could have my wicked revenge. I did it so I could apologize and explain.’

‘Explain?’ echoed Sally.

‘I was in a very bad way the other night,’ Delilah began. ‘I drank too much and I was thinking non-stop about Christopher. I wanted to see him and I knew that if I knocked on the door that old Chinese housekeeper he lives with would send me away. So I threw stones at Frances’s window. My memory goes blank after that. I can’t remember what I was shouting … No, don’t tell me … I’m sure I was perfectly charming. I was
furious
when I got drenched. But I deserved it. You both did me a favour by helping me to realize how pathetic I’d become.’

As she spoke, Sally had some difficulty reconciling the two versions of Delilah: the sophisticated warrior-queen she knew from school and the vulnerable teenager sitting in front of her, coiling her hair round
her
forefinger, legs hugged to her chest as if for security.

‘I walked home,’ said Delilah, ‘and in the fifteen minutes it took me I decided that enough was enough. I’ve become my own worst enemy. What you and Frances did made me realize how low I have sunk. How mad I have become.’

‘There’s no need to be so hard on yourself,’ said Sally.

‘But it’s true,’ Delilah said. ‘I miss Christopher so much, I lose control of myself. I act like a crazy person. I don’t think I will ever, ever get over him.’

Delilah’s eyes brightened, moistened, then were obscured by tumbling curtains of hair as she bowed her head. She pressed her fingers to her eyes, as if to damn the tear ducts. Tears leaked into the back of her throat, making her voice sound like gravel.

‘Christopher and I had an affair many months ago –’ (Sally bit her tongue to curb an excited cry to be privy to such scandal) ‘if what happened between us can be classified as an affair. I’m not sure, it was so brief …’ Delilah gave a bitter laugh. ‘I don’t blame him for any of it. I was sixteen when we first met, and for me it was love at first sight. But Christopher is different from other men. He didn’t seem to notice me, no matter how aggressively I flirted, what clothes I wore or how witty and seductive I was. When I did eventually get his attention, he was irritated more than anything. But I pursued him and pursued him, and last year he finally gave in. After that I thought he’d want to see me again. But he was beside himself with guilt. He said he had made a terrible mistake and that it must never happen
again
. He was terrified of Frances finding out. He said she would never forgive him. I wouldn’t listen. I argued with him. I was
filthy
with jealousy. I felt as though he’d chosen his daughter over me. I thought of Frances as a rival. Ridiculous, I know, but I was consumed by madness – something I’m only beginning to recover from. I’m starting to see things clearly again, to see things as they are – thank God! It’s such a relief. I’ve behaved so disgustingly …’

Wow
, thought Sally, a bit filthy with jealousy herself. Both she and Delilah had dreamt of Mr Milnar. But only Delilah had had the courage to go out and spin reality from the intangible stuff of daydreams. Residual madness and heartbreak aside, it was one hell of an accomplishment.

‘Infatuation’s a bastard.’ Delilah sighed. ‘Sometimes I wonder if the Christopher Milnar I’m obsessed with actually exists. If he is the same as the living, breathing man … If not, then who am I in love with? Where does this heartache come from? I’m trying to put it all behind me anyway,’ she swallowed, as if to choke back the unpleasantness, ‘but the pain won’t disappear overnight. That’s too much to ask. But at least I’m making a conscious effort to make myself better. To suck the poison out of the wound. That’s why I’m trying to make things up with you and Frances. I tried to apologize to Frances this morning but … let’s just say she was in a foul mood.’

‘She’s rather snappy today, isn’t she?’ agreed Sally.

‘I regret everything. I regret my behaviour on
Saturday
night. I regret the way I feel about Christopher. I’m trying not to be like this any more. I want to turn myself around.
We are not who we are, but the self we seek
. That’s how I console myself.’

Sally nodded, not quite understanding, but liking the noble ring to the words.

‘I’m not quite sure yet who I want to be. I’m figuring it out through a process of elimination. I know I don’t want to be the kind of girl who makes life miserable for a man who doesn’t care for her. Or throws stones at windows in the middle of the night. I don’t want to hold grudges. I just want to be well again.’

Delilah phoned Mr Hargreaves’s office and charmed him into letting his daughter stay for supper. Sally was jittery at first, afraid she was too dull for clever Delilah. But Delilah had a talent for coaxing Sally out of her shyness and the hours whizzed by in a blur of non-stop talking. Sally recounted the miserable boarding-school years and the chronic illnesses that had consigned her to the sick-bay. The home tutoring and reclusive bedroom years. She spoke of her adoration for Frances and the exhilarating friendship crudely interrupted by the evil Henry Leung (abusing his teaching position to brainwash a student!). And then Frances had viciously attacked her like a wildcat for God knows what, but Sally certainly had nothing to do with Mr Leung leaving the school if that was what it was about!

Delilah was full of wit and insight, transforming negatives to positives like a magician extracting
ivory-winged
doves from a seemingly empty top hat. From time to time Sally would be conscious of hogging the conversation, but a glance at Delilah’s warm and intelligent face reassured her. Delilah was fascinated. She hooted with laughter, as though Sally was a brilliant comedian, and perched, riveted, on the edge of her seat. Sally was sorry when it was time to go home. Talking to Delilah made her feel invigorated and alive. She loved Delilah’s frequent habit of introducing her name into the conversation (
What do you think
, Sally?
Was that before or after boarding school
, Sally?) so she flushed with pleasure, feeling special and cared for. Talking to Delilah showed Frances (who was never curious about Sally’s secret yearnings and ambitions) to be childish and self-absorbed. Talking to Delilah was like an initiation into the adult world.

On the journey home Sally realized that over the course of the evening her entire life story had poured out. Jumbled and non-chronological, like misshapen jigsaw pieces for Delilah to fit together. She blushed to think how little she’d learnt of Delilah’s life in return. How rude of her to have run away with the conversation like that. But Sally had been unable to help herself. To be the object of such furious attention was an addictive feeling, soothing her wounded ego and all but erasing the memory of the slap.

Sally was largely impervious to the battle for votes and the explosive violent aftermath, though thousands flocked to rallies in Petaling Jaya and manifestos
loudspeakered
streets near Sally’s home. The booming speeches and hot-blooded cheers occasionally woke her as she drowsed on Saturday afternoons.

The day before the general elections Sally got stuck in a traffic jam as she was driven home from school. The gridlock was caused by the funeral procession for a Chinese teenager, killed by the Malay police who caught him painting anti-election slogans on a wall. Ten thousand marchers waved banners and chanted that the blood debt must be repaid, showing the city the defiance and might of the Chinese. Trapped in the sweltering car, Sally had glared at them. Her throat was parched and there was nothing to drink. Frances had been absent from school every day that week, and Sally had kept an eye out for her in the crowds. They were her people after all.

When the polls opened on Saturday 10 May, Sally hoisted the window blinds to a sky of blazing sun and cloudless blue. As she squeezed a pea-sized squirt of toothpaste on to her toothbrush, yawning in the bathroom mirror, on the other side of the city the Prime Minister prayed for election victory. As Sally spat the minty foam into the sink, the Tengku’s chain of prayer beads broke, scattering across the floor in a menacing omen. Throughout the morning, as local dignitaries stalked by journalists and flashing camera bulbs made public declarations of party loyalty, Sally tackled her chemistry homework, cursing the day the periodic table was ever invented. As millions of polling cards were marked, the location of the ‘X’ motivated by race,
ideology
, illiteracy and last-minute changes of mind, Sally did her thigh-slimming exercises on the bedroom floor. In the evening, as the polls closed and the count commenced, Sally went to bed, exhausted by her day of inactivity.