The Red Thread (44 page)

The second daughter was more unsettled than her father could have imagined. She had developed a black hatred for Noan, envious every night when she and her husband closed the door to the bridal chamber. She had taken to creeping into the robing room after her mother went to bed and listening to the noises they made. She heard her sister's soft moans and his deep voice, and trembled with the intensity of her feelings. She could not help thinking about what she knew: if something happened to a wife, it was not uncommon for a man to marry a sister.

42

Zhen fairly skipped across the bridge and along North Bridge Road. Qian had trouble keeping up and had to call him to slow down. Zhen smiled and stopped, waiting for his friend. They were going to the school at the Catholic chapel. Today he would see Charlotte after so long. He would ask her to meet him at his house tonight.

He saw her as they turned in the gate; she was standing with Father Lee. Her loveliness was a rediscovery, a moment of Zen enlightenment; he felt his whole being falling instantaneously in love with her again.

When she turned to face them, she did not smile. They bowed to her, and she bobbed a curtsy and then turned abruptly and went into the chapel to teach the younger boys. Zhen was dumbfounded. He had seen her eyes the day of the wedding reception, seen her faltering, knew she was badly affected. It had occupied his thoughts every night as he drank the rice wine and willed the silly girl in the bed to go to sleep.

He could not wait for the lesson to end and bowed quickly to Father Lee and left the classroom, going to the chapel before she could leave. As she came out of the little room next to the sacristy, he called her quietly. She looked at him with such impassive coldness he felt it pierce him like a needle. She made her way down the outer aisle to avoid him, but he quickly cut her off near the door to the side garden. He pushed the door open and, taking her hand, pulled her through. On this side there were several groves of trees, and he knew that once inside one of them, they would not be seen from the chapel.

She tried to pull her hand out of his, but he was not about to let her go. Charlotte knew she should cry out, but this touch on her hand had shaken her resolve—this sad, crumbly thing she called ‘resolve'. She let herself be led into the wood. He put her against the trunk of a tree, taking her waist in his hands, sinking to his knees, imploring her soundlessly to take his head in her hands, forgive him.

She looked down at him. Why did he always know how to turn her mood? Had he tried to kiss her she would have slapped him but this passivity squeezed resistance out of her.

‘Please, Xia Lou.'

She put a hand on his head, touching his hair, and he pulled himself into her, holding his face against her dress. ‘Zhen, I cannot go on like this. It will kill me.'

He rose then and took her hand, putting it to his lips. ‘Yes, we talk about this. Please, Xia Lou, come my house tonight?'

Charlotte sighed. If she went to his house, she knew there would be little talking. Qian had been right. Zhen was a river, and she was simply swept along when she was alone with him, powerless to resist.

She had made up her mind to leave. George had found a tenant for his house, auctioned off some things, stored others. He stayed in Tir Uaidhne now. Charlotte had gone every day at dusk with George to the cupolas, putting flowers under their domes, lighting incense, both of them finding peace in this quiet, green place. They sat near the young banyan tree which was entwining itself in and around the tamelan so that the leaves of both drooped gracefully to the ground together. The tamelan was just beginning to put out its flowers; they covered it in a haze of lilac buds. George read a poem to her which he had received from one of the American clipper captains, an American Indian funeral chant, the captain had said, and it had given his mind an unexpected comfort:

‘Do not stand at my grave and weep

I am not there. I do not sleep.

I am a thousand winds that blow,

I am the diamond glints on snow,

I am the sunlight on ripened grain,

I am the gentle autumn's rain.

When you awaken in the morning's hush,

I am the swift uplifting rush

Of quiet birds in circled flight,

I am the soft starshine at night.

Do no stand at my grave and cry,

I am not there. I did not die.'

Yes, she had said, and felt its strange consoling power. For all the history of grief an empty doorway. She was relieved that George had accepted his daughter's death now, moved through the empty doorway and found somewhere on the other side to ease his heart.

George's passage was booked. As soon as she had said farewell to him, she would write to Takouhi.

Thinking of this, she said firmly, ‘Zhen, no. I cannot come.'

He looked at her, stricken to the heart. His emotion was so visible on his face—a face which rarely showed expression—that she could not help herself. She moved into his arms, put her head against his chest, holding him. It would always be like this, she knew, for as long as she stayed in Singapore.

‘All right,' she relented, ‘tonight.'

He kissed her hand, holding it against his cheek, loving her, amazed that three words could take him from the blackest cave to the wide, blue sky.

When Charlotte got home, she opened the little box with the nutmegs she had collected on each visit to the orchard. They had withered now, lost their black-and-red brilliance, but the scent was so potent it conjured up images of him on the air.

She put the box away and went out to the verandah, looking down past the fort to the Chinese town. Robert was not at home, and she knew that if she left him a note, he would not be concerned for her.

Azan brought her some rice, curry and tea, and she sat, quietly, watching the sun go down. She thought of Robert's house at Katong and wished she could have spent a night with Zhen, there by the sea, only the birds to hear them sighing.

One of
the pantuns
the munshi had given her came to mind:

‘Last night, about the moon I dreamt

And tumbling nuts of coco palm

Last night with you in dreams I spent

And pillowed lay upon your arm'

Then she suddenly recalled another:

‘Twere better not in dreams to trust

For where are dreams when comes the morn?'

Yes, thought Charlotte. Where are dreams when comes the morn? Taking a slip of paper she wrote a note to Robert.

As she crossed the river, the light left the sky, and she saw the moon, full and bright. The moon. She could never escape it, and so she could never escape the memory of him.

He was waiting for her by the door and smiled, lifting her inside and throwing the bolt.

43

The entire town seemed to have turned out to wish George farewell. Bonham had held a banquet in his honour at Government House, a splendid affair, for he was truly sorry to see Coleman depart. They had known and liked each other these twenty years. Every person of any importance had come from all over the settlement. From the hill they had looked down on the town and harbour, every ship, every boat, every road, every house lit with a profusion of lamps and flaming torches, so that George might see what he had built.

Boat Quay was ablaze with yellow lamps and scarlet lanterns. Now fireworks began, their myriad colours fizzing and whizzing, exploding on the night air. The Chinese community had spared no expense in their wish to honour the man who had worked so tirelessly for them and built them their elegant palaces of trade. It was a sight so beautiful that even the governor had a small tear in his eye, remembering Coleman's time with him when they had both been so much younger. He had watched George build this town into the Queen of the East. George was touched, and could not, for once, find anything sardonic or witty to say.

The barque
Midlothian
awaited him, and thousands of people had gathered on the plain, the band of the Madras Regiment and all the officers lined up to offer the salute. All the boats from the river, decorated with a rainbow of fluttering flags, had come out and in lines three deep from the jetty to the ship formed a guard of honour for the cutter which would carry George to the barque. Bands had formed on the different boats, playing Malay, Javanese and Chinese music, so that a general cacophony filled the air.

The night before George had said farewell to Robert and Charlotte, John and Billy and several of his other close friends in a quiet way in the sitting room of Tir Uaidhne, sharing memories, recalling good times. For John Connolly it was a double heartbreak, for he was sure that Charlotte, too, meant to go.

Today it took George two hours to shake the hands of everyone who had gathered, and he was overcome with this rousing farewell. Then George smiled and waved and got into the cutter. As it pulled away from the jetty, the regimental band began to play. When he passed, the boatmen cheered and banged their oars, almost drowning them out. Gongs banged, guns and firecrackers went off. The uproar was deafening. As the anchor was raised and the barque turned to depart, Colonel Murchison gave the order and the eleven cannon at the fort boomed a salute. A mighty cheer went up from the town. Charlotte strained to see her friend, watching long after the town had returned to its occupations and the ship was a mere smudge on the horizon.

From the rocks below the fort, Zhen watched the ship. He knew that Charlotte's friend was leaving today and felt sad for her. Baba Tan was amongst those who regretted this man's departure, so Zhen presumed he must have been a good fellow. He respected Baba Tan's opinions of others, for he had found a deep affection for his father-in-law which far surpassed that for his daughter.

His spirits were light, for his last meeting with Xia Lou had been passionate beyond his wildest dreams. In the morning, she had woken him with kisses and made love to him langorously, half asleep still, moving her body on his. She had come to him again two days later; he could not believe his good fortune. She had promised to come again, but two weeks had passed. He was impatient about this, but so busy now, too, with his new business, and there would now be celebrations in the Tan house. This morning Noan had shyly told him that she was pregnant, and he was so delighted that he had taken her in his arms and held her, knowing that now he could safely leave her alone. With his obligation fulfilled, his sleeping outside the Tan mansion would find no objection. The only problem in the house was the second daughter. He had said nothing, but she had come to him one evening, finding him in the robing room, and, like a shameless minx, had lifted her
sarong
and put his hand between her legs. He had stopped her and pushed her out of the room, but he knew he must be sure never to be alone with her.

Charlotte finally turned and went into the bungalow. In her room she sat looking at her reflection in the mirror. Then, taking pen and paper, she began to write to Takouhi.

When Robert came home that afternoon, she told him she was leaving. Robert felt a little guilty at his relief. The visits to Zhen had become too frequent. John Connolly had been to see him, asking about Charlotte's whereabouts on certain evenings. Robert had not known what to say, had lied as best he could, but he knew this could not go on.

‘Robbie, will you tell him after I've left? I cannot bear to say goodbye, and he will surely be half-crazed and may do something we would all regret.'

‘Aye, Kitt, I will. It's the best course of action. When things have settled down and you feel calmer, come back, eh, for I shall sorely miss you.'

Tan was so pleased with Zhen's news that he had left the godown and gone home immediately. He called Noan to him, and she had bowed to him, ‘smiling. This was a splendid day, Tan thought. A grandchild on the way, and the negotiations almost complete for the second concubine. He thought he might bring this one into the house, for he did not want to be out and about at all hours of the night every time he wanted to lie with her. His wife would just have to put up with it. Anyway, she'd have enough to do with the grandchild. To make things even better, he had a prospective husband for the second daughter lined up, for Zhen had recommended a young coolie working in one of the European godowns.

Zhen had not seen Charlotte for weeks. She no longer taught at the chapel. Father Lee said she had been indisposed, which turned out to mean sick. Alarmed, he had gone to the police house, but she was not there, and the brother had rather stonily told him that his sister was better, thank you. Then, one day at the godown, he saw Robert talking to his father-in-law. Robert had heard the news of the grandchild and come to congratulate Tan. Zhen moved towards the small office and listened.

‘Yes, that's right. I'm surprised you've heard.'

Tan said he had heard rumours about Robert's sister departing from John Connolly, who had appeared distraught. Obviously the man had some inclinations in that direction. He liked Charlotte, expressed his sadness but did not dare ask more.

Robert left then, rather annoyed at John's ill-thought-out comments. It was all very well having designs on his sister, but he ought to keep his tongue inside his head. Charlotte had seemed better recently. She had been quite low for a while, but Robert assumed that it was as much sickness of the heart as of any other part of her.

As he moved along the quay over the canal bridge, he was astonished to be confronted with the man who was responsible for this heartsickness.

‘Can I speak to you?' Zhen demanded.

Robert pursed his lips. Really the fellow had done quite enough mischief. He would have liked to put a fist in his face, but still he was the baba's son-in-law and might one day, who knows, be useful as a contact in the secret societies. Robert's policing instincts got the better of him and he asked, ‘What is it?'

‘Sister leave Singapore?'

Well, he certainly came straight to the point. What a cheek; none of his business. Well, perhaps it was, in a warped kind of way. And he had saved her life. Robert knew he should say nothing, had promised Charlotte only to speak to the fellow after she had left, but, well, here Zhen was, asking him a direct question.