Читать книгу A Better Life - Isobel Scharen - Страница 13

CHAPTER 7

SEPTEMBER, 1941

ADA WAS WRITING, SEATED AT the dining table, when Evaline hurried into the room from the front verandah where she’d been resting.

“Why is it that I must see to everything? Where is Ahmad? My plants are crying out for water,” she said, her voice agitated.

“Shall I look for him?” Ada asked, imagining the old Malay was hiding somewhere in the depths of the grounds with Abdul. They both worked hard, keeping the garden tidy and diligently carrying cans of water from the storage tank to the plants, but they kept in rhythm with the sun and avoided it when it was at its searing peak. It was unusual for Evaline to be interfering with them, especially as plant watering was an evening job.

“No. No. It is too hot.” And with this Evaline grabbed her handbag lying on the dresser, then barged onto the verandah and down the steps.

Ada watched her head towards the servants’ quarters, glancing back towards the driveway as if waiting for someone to emerge. When an Indian woman appeared and began to follow Evaline down the path, Ada realised that Evaline had only used the search for Ahmad as an excuse, and wondered about the need for pretext. The woman was very dark-skinned, possibly a Tamil, and wearing old-fashioned European clothes – an ankle-length, high-waisted mauve dress, long-sleeved, very demure. She glanced back at the house as if on the look-out for someone. Ada could see that she was young and pretty. Evaline stopped, her features severe, and called sharply to her. The woman tossed her head defiantly, but then obeyed. The two women disappeared around the side of the building.

Ada, wondering what Evaline could be doing, waited for a while, then was about to go to her room when she saw the Indian woman returning quickly up the path. Before she cut off to the side of the house, she paused and stared up at the window opening. On seeing Ada, her expression was one of intense curiosity. Evaline now reappeared, her face thunderous, and shouted, “Off you go.” The woman hurried away, clutching what looked like dollar notes.

“Who was that?” Ada asked when Evaline came puffing up the steps.

“A servant. A bad girl. I had to kick her out.”

“What did she want?”

“Money, of course. Wages I kept back for deceiving me.” Evaline’s sallow skin was dark with blood stirred up from some inner turmoil, and she avoided Ada’s eye. “But this time is the last. You must always be careful to stop servants taking advantage of you.”

Ada followed Evaline inside, wanting to ask more. The girl was delicate-looking, thin-shouldered.

Evaline hurried to the back of the house. Ada heard her in the kitchen speaking loudly, stridently, like someone under stress, but as soon as Ada entered the room Evaline made an effort to calm herself, drawing up her body and holding her head erect. When Ada began to question her, she cut her off. “I am busy, Ada. I don’t want to waste time talking about a chit of a girl.” She turned her back and began speaking rapidly to the cook, clearly upset by the arrival of the Indian woman.

Ada decided that she would ask Michael about this servant. When his car drew up in the driveway she left her book to greet him, her spirits rising as they usually did when he returned home after work.

As soon as she stepped out onto the verandah, Evaline appeared beside her. Ada sensed her impatience as Michael climbed out of the car. Evaline called sharply, “I want to speak to you, Michael. Come into your father’s study immediately.”

Evaline might show frustration at Michael’s refusal to push himself forward for promotion, but Ada had never heard her talk like this to her beloved son. Ada looked questioningly at him when he’d mounted the steps, and he raised his eyebrows as if equally mystified, then bent down and kissed the top of her head before following his mother. Ada felt annoyed at being excluded, but went into the bedroom to wait for him, wondering at Evaline’s behaviour.

She was trying to concentrate on her book when the door opened and Michael strode into the room. He said nothing, and immediately sat on the dressing table chair and began unlacing his shoes.

“What’s the matter?” Ada asked anxiously.

“I really don’t want to talk about it. It’s not important.”

“What do you mean, not important?” She did not like being brushed off like this. Michael pulled off his socks, then stood with his back to her and took off his shirt, preparing for his shower. “Your mother’s been in a bad mood since a servant you used to have came for her wages this morning. Evaline said she had to kick her out. That she’d been deceitful. How was she deceitful?”

“I don’t know.” He sat down on the bed, his arms resting on his knees, his body slumped. He looked dejected and weary – probably weary of his mother, Ada thought.

“She didn’t look deceitful. Perhaps she didn’t like the way she’d been treated. Charmaine speaks rudely to the servants. To Amah in particular. And then she wonders why Amah won’t obey her. I’ve warned Amah that she could get kicked out.”

Michael did not look up. Ada felt a spurt of resentment. He was bored with household matters? She very much hoped that their baby would be a boy and would not have to cope with domestic worries.

“But if Amah is kicked out, then I’ll have to go with her,” she said.

Michael looked up now, and his frown gave way to a tired smile. He put out his arm for her to sit beside him. “Can I come too?”

He pulled her close. His sweat smelled of pepper, not at all unpleasant.

“I can’t wait to get a place of our own, Michael. I don’t care how small it is, or how dirty and shabby. We’ll paint it and clean it.”

“Or get a servant to. Whom we’ll ask very nicely, of course.”

Ada heard the quiet jest in Michael’s tone, but continued seriously, “I felt sorry for that girl. She didn’t look like a wicked person at all.”

“Deceitful doesn’t mean wicked. And you know how particular Mum can be about cleanliness and dust. The girl might just have slipped up.”

“When did she leave?”

“A while ago.”

“It must’ve been before I met you. Because I’ve never seen her before. In fact, apart from Priti, and Amah of course, I haven’t seen any female servants.” Ada creased her brow as she visualised the staff of the household. “Do you remember her at all?”

“I…” He stopped. Ada looked at him. He seemed worried, downcast even.

“Do you remember her?”

Michael leant forward so she could not see his face, but his voice was subdued. “I taught her for a while. She told me she wanted to learn English. She wanted to better herself, which I quite understood.”

“So did you get to know her quite well?”

He remained quiet for a moment then gave a faint sigh. “As well as a teacher knows a pupil.”

“Did you like her?”

Michael pinched his nose, and looked to be considering the question carefully, then said slowly, “I thought she was clever, and she seemed keen to learn. What teacher wouldn’t appreciate a pupil keen to learn? I was new to teaching at the time. Not long out of college. I was pretty enthusiastic about imparting knowledge.”

“Evaline wouldn’t have liked that at all. Perhaps that was the reason she got rid of her. The English lessons meant she wasn’t doing her work?”

Michael said nothing, and shook his head sadly, bewildered perhaps by his mother’s behaviour.

“I wonder why she’s just coming back for her wages now. If you say she left a while ago.”

He was rubbing his forehead in a worried way.

“So what were you talking about with your mother? Were you talking about the servant woman?”

Michael sighed. “You know when Mum’s upset about something she has to off-load at once to either Dad or me.”

“The woman turning up really bothered her, I think.”

“Look, just don’t think about it anymore,” Michael said impatiently. “It’s really nothing to worry about. Let’s talk about something else.”

“Yes. About how we’re going to find a place of our own as soon as possible.”

“We’ll find a place of our own soon. I promise,” said Michael, stroking her back consolingly.

✬✬✬

Indeed, Ada did not think more of the matter, and tried to fill her time with crocheting a baby shawl and reading over the notes on the Shakespeare plays which she and Melanie had discussed together in Geylang. Now that she was over the morning sickness, Mr Moses, the tutor, was due to come to the house shortly.

Then, about a week later, a letter arrived addressed to ‘Michael’s wife’. Both Patrick and Evaline were staying with friends upcountry, and Ada sorted the mail not expecting anything for herself. Surprised, she ripped open the envelope to read, ‘Your husband has a black woman’. The message was made up of letters cut from a newspaper. Her heart thudded as she stared at the words.

Michael was at his desk in the library. Before him was a page of diagrams. She placed the note on the book. “This came in the post, Michael. What does it mean for heaven’s sake?”

He read it, then rose, tight-lipped. “It’s someone trying to make trouble.”

“Why?” Her throat was dry. “Why, Michael?”

“They want to make you turn against me. It’s jealousy. They’re jealous of me.” He flushed darkly and placed his hand on the desk as if needing to support himself.

“Jealous? Who is jealous of you?” Incredulous, she took a step back.

He shook his head, appearing as bewildered as she was. “I know many people. In the scouting world, the schools, the Club.”

“But who could be so jealous to write to me like this?” She waited for an answer, and when he did not reply repeated her question. Still he was silent. Was that flush a sign of guilt? Her gut tightened. He did not look as indignant as she might have expected of someone who had been so badly wronged.

“Why do they think a black woman could come between us, Michael? Why not a white woman?”

He frowned, then said, with an expression of distaste, “Because it sounds more plausible for someone like me, I suppose.”

“You mean a white woman wouldn’t look at you?”

“Something like that.”

“But I did.”

“Yes, you did, darling. And I don’t stop thinking how lucky I am.”

She studied his face. He looked very sad. “Why are people jealous of you?” she asked quietly.

“For getting on. Having money behind me. For marrying you.” He raked his fingers through his hair.

“It’s such a horrible thing to do.”

“That’s the way the world is, Ada.” He looked directly into her eyes. “Ada, I know it’s been a shock to you. It’s a cruel and nasty thing for someone to have done. I’m really sorry.” He gave a deep sigh. “I don’t want you to think about this anymore. It’s not good for you to feel so agitated.” She allowed him to put his arms around her. “I love you, Ada. I wouldn’t hurt you.”

“Why do you love me?” she whispered.

“For all the reasons I’ve told you many a time. But I’ll tell you again.”

She watched his face carefully for a sign of guilt, and though he looked dejected, the sincerity of his tone and the imploring directness of his gaze anchored her in the soothing balm of his praise.

She carried the words through the day and used them as bulwarks against the ugly message. She comforted herself with them before she fell asleep. But the next morning when she woke to find the bed empty beside her, she heard the dhobis talking in Tamil on the pathway beneath the verandah, and without invitation the young Indian woman entered her thoughts. The woman was pretty and very dark-skinned. Was she the black woman? Was she the one who’d sent the letter? Suspicions flooded into Ada’s mind so quickly that she sat bolt upright. If the Indian woman had been sacked a while ago, surely she would not wait and only come now for her wages? So did she come because Michael had been more involved with her than he’d said? Was she blackmailing Evaline? Perhaps Michael was still seeing the woman? My God, was this Michael’s transgression?

✬✬✬

Ada realised that she’d never eaten out with Mrs. Sinathamby before. Mrs. Sinathamby had been more her mother’s friend. But with Melanie on holiday in Penang with her parents, Ada had contacted someone else she knew who might offer a sensible view of things - unlike Vera.

The curry shop was in Market Street. She washed her hands in a greasy sink beside a glass showcase housing orange Indian cakes. It was smeared with finger prints, and she remembered this was the sort of place Michael would never visit and told her to avoid, as he also schooled her (quite ineffectually) never to touch hawker food. He was quite particular, what with his immaculate suits, his eau-de-cologne soaked handkerchiefs. No doubt people were envious of him. But to be jealous, that jealous?

She waited until the food arrived – curries, yoghurt and rice daubed like artist’s colours on a banana leaf palette – to begin talking about the message and the connection she’d made between it and the Indian servant woman. Mrs Sinathamby began to eat greedily, deftly scooping up the food with two fingers and thumb. Ada dipped in a finger, tasted, and reached for her glass of iced water.

“Don’t drink. It’ll burn more,” her companion warned her.

Ada knew this, but what was the pain of chilli sealed into the tongue to the confusion she felt, and the fear that Michael was deceiving her? She noticed a group of men at the opposite table watching her. One smiled when she caught his eye. She looked away quickly. She was an oddity here, a white woman eating in a cheap curry house with her fingers.

As Ada spoke Mrs. Sinathamby glanced up from time to time, but contemplated the food more, and Ada wondered if Mrs Sinathamby realised how disturbed she was. At last Mrs. Sinathamby sat back, greased fingers poised, and said, “Such a story you have been telling me. You are very troubled, I am seeing this. But Ada, your husband has told you that people are jealous and want to make trouble. Why let them? They will only succeed if you let them.”

“But the woman coming to the house, and Evaline giving her money?” Ada leaned forward and searched the older woman’s broad, sweating face. Was it easy comfort she was being given, or was it good sense?

“There are wicked servants, you know. Not all are like Amah and my girl Menon. You know she has married, and is well on the way like you?”

“Evaline called Michael into the study as soon as he got home.”

“So?” Mrs. Sinathamby waggled her head.

Ada shrugged. “He said she was upset about the servant coming and wanted to get it off her chest. She’s very emotional like that. When she feels there’s been some wrongdoing.” Ada remembered Evaline haranguing Michael about going for promotion. “I wish we had a place of our own.”

“That is quite understandable. I had a strong longing not to live with my mother-in-law. And she was a quiet woman. Not at all bossy. But women like to be the mistress of their own home. And especially when they are to be mothers. As you know, that was sadly not what I had to look forward to.”

“Michael agrees with me that we need to find place of our own soon.”

“He is saving his money, I hope. Some young men live way beyond their means.”

“Michael does not spend.”

“Then he is a good boy. And you must trust him.”

“But the message!”

“People are jealous. How much must you be told that?” Ada looked down at her food. “If you are being a good wife then there is nothing to fear.”

“What is a good wife?” Ada asked, her voice sounding hard and bitter even to herself.

Mrs Sinathamby glanced over her shoulder as if checking that no one would hear. The room was filled with the babble of voices. She turned her head again but did not look at Ada and directed her comments over Ada’s shoulder. “As your mother’s friend it is my duty to make you understand that men have appetites. Some are hot-blooded and do stray. But few leave.”

“Frugneit left,” Ada said.

“Ah.” Now Mrs Sinathamby looked fully into Ada’s face. “There you see. You judge Michael, a clever educated boy, by what a good-for-nothing wicked man did. Remember there are good men as well as bad men. Your father, was he a bad man?”

“So I should just be grateful that Michael doesn’t leave?”

Mrs. Sinathamby shut her eyes for an instant, then opened them to give Ada a hard, brown stare. “Think what would happen to you, Ada, if he did. Be content. He doesn’t beat you, does he? He doesn’t use bad language, eh?”

“And I should be grateful for that! But if I have no trust...”

“Chee. You must find it then.” Mrs Sinathamby reached across the table and laid her large warm hand over Ada’s. “You must try very hard. It is for your own good. Your dear mother would say the same if she was here.”

A hunched paanwalla man, in a vermilion shirt which complemented his paan-stained mouth, shuffled between the tables. He was laughing as he handed out the wares - betel nut leaves wrapped around betel nuts and lime. He said something to Mrs Sinathamby, who translated for Ada. “He’s says he’s a Rajput. It’s a secret recipe to make breaths sweet for lovers.” She winked slyly.

Ada, annoyed by her companion’s insinuation and talk of being a ‘good wife’, which reminded her of Elizabeth’s ‘giving her body up’, pushed away from the table.

“Thank you for your advice, Mrs. Sinathamby. Please give my best wishes to Mr Sinathamby. Tell him I still remember the speech he gave.”

“You’ve not eaten much, Ada. I hope you’ve not taken offence by what I am saying.” Ada stood, shook her head in denial, offered tiredness as an excuse for wanting to return home, and forced a smile. Mrs Sinathamby did not look convinced, and said, “Wait, Ada. Let us go together. I am thinking we will stop on the way to see the astrologer so you can put your mind at rest. You don’t have to rely only on me.”

Ada protested at the need for this – it was all ridiculous superstition, like Amah’s offerings of paper money. But Mrs. Sinathamby was overbearing in her persuasion, and took Ada’s wrist to lead her down the busy street.

Most of the doorways were open, and glancing inside one narrow room Ada was startled to see, beneath a tinselled statue of a goddess, a near-naked male figure lying on a bed and fondling his penis. Shocked, she averted her eyes quickly, and looked at her companion, wondering if she’d seen the man, but Mrs Sinathamby appeared oblivious. Ada felt irritated with her for insisting that they should make this trip to the astrologer, but at the same time she recognised how ignorant she was of the ways of men.

At last, they stopped and entered behind a beaded curtain into a dark space. The air was stifling, and as Ada’s eyes became accustomed to the darkness she could see a man breathing life, with a thin pipe, into a sheet of gold melted over a charcoal brazier. Across from him an old man sat cross-legged before a large, cloth-covered book. He was naked except for a loin cloth, and a garland of fresh flowers was looped on his glistening chest. He inclined his head at Mrs. Sinathamby’s request, and gravely opened his text. Curry stung the back of Ada’s throat, and, feeling nauseous, she fought the urge to run into the street as the old man began to chant through the netting of his white beard.

Mrs. Sinathamby translated, but Ada was only half listening, and once they were outside again asked for the prophecy to be repeated.

“Ayee. It is not all bad. You have no need to worry. At first you will have troubles when outside forces come.”

“The Indian woman!” Ada’s heart skipped.

“Oh no. It is the war.”

“The war. It’s going to come, then?”

“Chee! Who knows? But you must be prepared. Take things carefully. Be strong for those who are close to you. I am glad not to be living in the middle of the city in these times.”

Ada thought of the baby she was carrying, and the words revolved in her head. So many words, so much advice. And yet there was a single message. To cope with what was to come, she must try to put aside all her doubts. She must not allow herself to imagine there was something more to the relationship between Michael and the servant woman than that of a conscientious teacher with a keen pupil. She must not allow the spite of other people to spoil her marriage. She must not forget that Michael was a clever and considerate husband, encouraging, kind. Equally importantly, he would be an excellent father.