Читать книгу A Better Life - Isobel Scharen - Страница 8

CHAPTER 2

NEXT MORNING, ADA HELPED AMAH lay the dining tables, and checked the laundry for the dhobi man. When she came out onto the verandah Elizabeth was seated with Mrs Sinathamby, a plump broad-featured Indian woman, who lived in one of the two neighbouring bungalows. She was complaining loudly about the noise and dust from the building works, the general disruption to their once peaceful lives. Ostensibly she was waiting for the hawker, but Ada knew that what she was really waiting for was the chance to talk about the wedding. Her face lit up on seeing Ada, who smiled as radiantly as she could.

“Harry is working hard on his speech” Mrs Sinathamby said, referring to her mild husband who was going to give Ada away. “It will be the proudest moment in his life.” Ada had heard this many times before, but she still nodded appreciatively. “He is making sure not to shame you.”

“What do you mean shame?” Ada asked. “How could he possibly shame me?”

“We know how clever Michael is. And his father.” Mrs Sinathamby tilted her head from side to side. “Oh boy, what a family you’ve married into.” Her eyes brightened with curiosity. “And the party?” she asked Ada. “A good time had by all?”

“I think so.” Ada hesitated, wondering if she should tell them what Michael had said about the war, and how he’d lost his temper. Both women were waiting expectantly. “The food was delicious, of course. It was in the big dining room.”

“Ah, the big dining room.” Mrs Sinathamby raised her brows, wanting more. She was familiar with the exterior of the house, having ventured to Serangoon to see for herself where the Woods lived. With its plantation-style rambling structure set on a base of Doric pillars, the house resembled those of the tuan besars in the Tanglin district. She was most impressed by the front staircase, which descended in a spacious inverted Y from a deep verandah. But the elaborately carved barge boards had also been noted - a sure sign that there was plenty of money for detail. She had to depend on Ada to describe the interior.

Ada usually obliged, accepting that material betterment was what the older women wanted for her, and spoke enthusiastically about the blue and white corridor tiles, the many rooms, the library with Michael’s piano. Today, however, she was not in the mood to be drawn into talk of grandeur. But aware that the women were looking questioningly at her, she offered, “It’s very formal. It reminds me of something out of an English history book. Long table. Chairs with high backs. A huge sideboard. Not my taste at all.” She frowned. “I wish Michael and I could have a place of our own. I wouldn’t care if it was cramped and ugly.” Daring to sound ungrateful she added, “And I wish the wedding was going to be simpler.”

“Evaline Wood likes to show off,” Mrs Sinathamby said brusquely.

“The Woods have been very generous. We must not criticize, Ada,” Elizabeth said.

Of course she must not. The Woods were paying for the string trio, the three-course meal, the four-storied wedding cake from Victoria Confectionary. Only the dresses were the Pendels’ responsibility: Elizabeth’s to be precise, with Ada’s help. Ada suspected that Evaline would have preferred a more elaborate dress than the one she’d chosen – a ground length crepe gown cut on the cross with a yoke of gardenia-patterned lace.

“We are paupers! If not for Patrick Wood where would we be?” Elizabeth exclaimed.

“He can afford to be generous. He’s made a fortune from his property deals. And he was left pots by his father from the pineapple preserving business,” Mrs Sinathamby said. She had told them this before. It was information gleaned after careful investigation.

Perhaps noticing Ada’s troubled expression, Mrs Sinathamby glanced at Elizabeth whose head was bowed as if in shame, and cried, “Chee, they could not have done without your sewing. No tailor can come up to your little finger. Ada and Vera will be the most beautiful girls in Singapore. Melanie too,” she added, referring to Ada’s friend, who was one of the three bridesmaids. She paused and smiled maliciously. “Their daughter, even, will look nice. Evaline Wood will have nothing to grumble about.”

This remark made Ada conscious again of the shadows which loomed over her future. “She is very particular,” Ada explained. “Runs the house like a major general. Michael has this quote on the wall of his bedroom.” A room stuffed with his schoolboy past, such as his cricket kit and scout memorabilia. “‘Dad is the boss of this house and has Mum’s permission to say so.’” The women laughed, and Mrs Sinathamby clapped gleefully. Ada smiled, but she was picturing her future mother-in-law. The way she walked with her chest thrust out reminded Ada of a ship’s prow cutting a swathe through the water and leaving other vessels to rock in its wake.

“She sets the rules. She set the wedding date, for goodness’ sake. There’s scarcely been time for the banns to be read.”

“She was worried that you might change your mind,” Mrs Sinathamby said.

Ada did remember the time she’d visited the Woods’ house soon after Michael had told the family about the engagement. Evaline had led her to the bedroom she and Michael would occupy. Evaline had pressed the thick mattress of the four-poster bed, and pointed out the carved wardrobe doors, all the while holding onto her hand as if she might try to escape.

“And she wants grandchildren. His sister, Charmaine, might not produce for some time.”

Ada recalled looking out of the bedroom window and seeing the golden dome of a mosque shimmering in the midday sun. She’d heard the steady beat of a drum, and a muezzin calling people to prayer. Struck by how different her life was going to be, she had failed to register a possible encouragement to procreate.

To prevent Mrs Sinathamby from saying more, Ada spoke with emphasis, smiling reassuringly. “You must tell Mr Sinathamby not to worry about the speech. I know he will do it beautifully.”

“You’re the daughter he’s always wanted.” Mrs Sinathamby hung her head. The couple were childless, a state much regretted and demanding sympathy.

Ada was thankfully relieved from making a comforting and grateful remark by the cracked, solemn chant of the hawker.

“Idli…Jalebi…”

Soon he would appear in his grease-stained dhoti, carrying a huge basket filled with sweet pastries and crisp parcels of meat, seeping chilli oil.

“Oh dear. What I would give for a taste. I’m like a beggar living off the smell of salt-fish. I dream of kuey teow,” Elizabeth said. And she was off to visit the arcades of her memory for favourite eating houses and stalls selling satay, or chilli prawns, steamed buns, nasi goreng, mah mee.

“Do you want me to buy…?”

“No, Mrs Sinathamby. She cannot eat spicy food,” Ada interrupted. The doctor had said not too much salt or fat, not too many spices. Ada had Amah prepare steamed fish and vegetables most days, rewarding her mother with fresh fruit at the end of the meal, and an occasional treat of gula melaka.

“You see, Jem, how she bosses me!” Elizabeth cried as Ada shook her finger in mock severity. “I’m not eating, but I’m still getting fat. Too fat for my clothes.” Elizabeth had always been careful to keep her figure, curbing her joyful greed by resisting syrup-drenched Indian sweetmeats.

Ada was worried that Vera would not be firm with Elizabeth about her diet and her rest times and resolved to speak to her sister, when she returned from work next day, about the severity of Elizabeth’s illness. Another stroke would kill her.

✬✬✬

Ada put the last pin in the hem of Vera’s bridesmaid’s dress, then sat back on her haunches and compared her reflection with that of her younger sister in the full-length mirror. The dress, like her own in cut but with short puffed sleeves, was the colour of old rose, which suited Vera’s white skin and jet-black hair perfectly. She took after Noel with her colouring and had also inherited his slim frame. Ada, with her fair hair and full-breasted shape, was like Elizabeth.

They were different in character, too. According to Michael she was all sense and Vera all sensibility - like the sisters in Jane Austen’s novel, the younger impetuous, ruled by her heart, the other level-headed and protective. Ada thought the comparison made her seem dry and staid, like someone’s great aunt. Vera was only two and a half years younger, and though she might wear higher heels, paint her nails red rather than pink, and choose the latest dress in fashion instead of simpler styles from the McCall pattern books, Ada considered that she took good care of herself - brushed and curled her thick blond hair, dabbed Vaseline on her lashes, and when she was a working girl went to every tea dance or matinee that she could.

Vera smoothed the dress over her hips. “I don’t suppose you’ll go dancing much when you’re married. I mean you and Michael don’t go dancing much now. I must say I can’t imagine not being able to dance.”

Ada frowned and got to her feet. She disliked the implication that she and Michael were going to surrender youth instantly after marriage. “Michael might not like dancing as much as me, but he readily takes me to the Recreation Club if I want to go,” she said defensively, failing to add that he was happy to let his friends partner her. “But we both just prefer going to the pictures. It was one of the first things we discovered about each other.” She and Michael had sat under the rambutan tree while Elizabeth was having her nap. Later, in the soft passage of small talk with Elizabeth, Michael had asked if he could take Ada to the Cathay the following week.

Elizabeth had predicted wedding bells as early as then, Ada remembered. It was after Michael had dropped her home. Elizabeth, watching him walk on the moon-washed path to his car, had said something about him being serious, but also very kind, and that he would go somewhere. And although they had different backgrounds, it would not matter if they respected each other. Elizabeth was always saying that Michael was a decent man, and that he reminded her of Noel.

Vera, looking at herself in the mirror, began to practise a dance step as if completely uninterested in what Ada had said. “I haven’t told you that Madame has found something vunderfewl for her gearls.” Vera was mimicking her dancing teacher, a flamboyant Hungarian who taught ballroom, tap and national dancing, and exhibited her young talent at carefully chaperoned private functions in the city. “I can’t wait.”

“You know that you can’t leave Mummy all the time. I won’t be there...”

“I’m not going to leave her all the time.” The colour rose in Vera’s cheeks. “It’s all very well for you going off to your nice life.”

The nice life that Vera wanted for herself, Ada thought. She remembered Vera accosting Michael one morning after service at St. Andrew’s and inviting him to a tea party. A sing-song, she’d called it. He probably had no idea what a singsong was. He bowed his head but did not smile. Well, he was hardly known to them. He probably only accepted the invitation because Vera had asked him to play the piano. Apparently, she’d heard that he was a brilliant pianist.

Ada remembered Michael turning up at the boarding house in an immaculate white suit and bowtie. You could tell he was forcing a smile. He sat at the old piano and played with intense conce ntration like someone who’d been hired to perform, hardly glancing up when people applauded loudly. She thought he was shy, but Vera said later that it was not shyness. It was disdain for the shabby furniture, the faded cretonne. Of course, she felt put out because he appeared neither impressed nor entertained when she had sidled in wearing one of her dance costumes – gauzy pants caught at the ankle, yashmak, embroidered bolero – and began to move sinuously around the room to the wavering notes of Arabic music on the phonograph. He was seated on the settee and looked down at his feet as if embarrassed. Ada remembered how she’d rescued him by saying the Malay children were playing near his car and could accidentally scratch it. It was then, out on the verandah, that they began talking about serious things.

She was aware that without Vera she would not have got to know him, but she could not forget what Vera had said when she learned that Michael had proposed. She’d said that Michael was marrying for white blood. She actually used the coarse expression ‘watering down the stengah’. Ada could understand jealousy, but that comment was unforgivable.

Ada packed the sewing basket. “I don’t think your life is that unpleasant, Vera. It’s not me who goes off to the Sea View every day, dressed to kill. I’m left here to run the place. Who does all the shopping? Who sews your dance costumes?” Her voice was rising as she tried to quell the image of Evaline inspecting her features and blond hair. “You’ll have to sew your own clothes now.”

“But I can’t. I’m not clever like you with my hands.”

Elizabeth had failed to pass down the seamstress skills in the family to her younger, dance-struck daughter. Ada had accepted Elizabeth’s lack of insistence that Vera learn to sew, understanding that it made for an easier life. Besides, she, Ada, enjoyed sewing, and had a real sense of achievement in completing a garment according to Elizabeth’s high standards.

“It’s just practice, Vera. You just get better the more you do it. Like with your dancing.”

“I know it takes hard work to be good at something.” Vera crossed her arms, contrite. “And I know how hard you work. And that you deserve to have a nice life now.” She sighed “It’s just that I feel very frustrated sometimes. I don’t want to be an old maid, and a hotel receptionist forever. I want to do something good with my life.”

Ada softened, aware of the same need to better herself, and that unlike Vera she now had the opportunity to do this.

“You are very talented and beautiful, Vera. You will do something good with your life.”

This was not the time to say, as she had often said, that it would have been wiser for Vera to have remained at school. Vera was adamant about leaving after the troubles with Frugneit. It could not be denied that her earnings as a receptionist at the Sea View helped.

“Do you really think so?”

“Yes. If you’re determined, you’ll get there. It’s determination that counts.” Ada nodded firmly, although she was thinking about luck. Or fate, as she preferred to call it.

✬✬✬

Ada helped Amah clean and tidy following supper that evening, then, as was customary, took out glasses and a jug of iced coffee to share with her mother on the verandah. Elizabeth was on her cot. The darkness was relieved by the light from the tiny glow of a mosquito coil, which had attracted a large furry moth. Ada could not see her mother’s face, but she noticed her unusual quietness, and decided not to bring up the subject of Michael at the lunch party.

“You’ve worked very hard today, Mummy. Too hard. You mustn’t push yourself. We’ll get everything done. Now that we’ve finished Melanie’s dress there’s only Charmaine’s to do.” From the kampong laughter could be heard, seeming to encourage the bullfrogs to croak more loudly. Still Elizabeth did not say anything. “Are you all right, Mummy?”

“Yes, child.”

“You don’t need to worry about anything. The dresses are beautiful. You’re a genius.”

“I love to sew. It’s the one thing I can do well. And when you have your baby I’ll help you sew the clothes and prepare the cradle.”

“Oh, Mummy, that’s thinking far ahead!”

“Babies come more quickly than you might like.” Elizabeth shifted on the cot. Ada sensed she was about to embark on something of an awkwardly confidential nature, as she had at the time of Ada’s approaching menstruation. Elizabeth warned that when Ada got her ‘friend’ she must be careful not to ‘lead men on’. It had been murky talk, and Ada had silenced her by saying she knew it all, though she did not, not about leading men on anyway.

“Don’t worry, child,” Elizabeth said. A slight pause, and she continued. “On your wedding night you will give your body up. It’ll hurt at first. A little blood.” Elizabeth hesitated again. “I’m only telling you this to prepare you. My mother left me to find out for myself. She thought I knew it all from seeing the animals, I suppose. I don’t want you to have the shock.”

“It’s when the hymen tears,” Ada said briskly. She wanted to silence her mother with superior knowledge, and detach the image of animals humping each other from what everyone knew was an essential biological fact. Did Elizabeth not know that girls talked and giggled?

“It is your duty, you see. It’s a wife’s duty to give her body up. You’ll do it because you love him.”

Ada imagined her naked body stretched out on the marriage bed like a corpse, a sacrificial victim. She did not want to think of it like that.

“Michael’s a decent man. Like your father. I know he’ll be considerate and patient, even if a bit clumsy as it’s his first time too. You’ll grow to think it’s all right. You’ll be proud of yourself.”

Ada gulped the coffee and wiped her hand roughly across her mouth. She was annoyed with Elizabeth for making her feel anxious - as if it were a trial she was about to undergo. She knew that Michael desired her very much, and not only from the way he eyed her breasts. His goodnight kisses were definitely becoming more insistent, which in fact she did not at all dislike, secretly enjoying the tingling in her vagina – near her hymen, probably. But she feared that although he might be clumsy the first time or two, she would be much clumsier - gauche, completely unattractive.

She thought of the women who never married, spinsters like her school teachers. They did not have to worry about pleasing a man. They appeared happy enough, laughing together in the staff room. But perhaps they went home at night and wished they were with someone clever and handsome who would give them lovely children?

She hugged her knees and stared out into the dark emptiness of the waste ground. The cicadas were deafening. There were so many frantic tickings and whirrings, and the eerie wah-wah of monkeys. The jungle was very close.