Читать книгу A Better Life - Isobel Scharen - Страница 9

CHAPTER 3

MARCH, 1941

ADA WAS RESTING ON THE bed, propped up on pillows, when Michael came into the room after his shower with a towel wrapped around his waist, and rummaged in a drawer for clothes. He was lightly muscled, the skin of his chest fairer than that of his face which caught the sun despite his diligent wearing of a topee. Although Ada had seen his torso before when they went swimming, she’d never seen him – or any man, for that matter – completely naked, and kept her eyes averted as he began to dress. She would wait to bathe and change into her going-away outfit until he’d left to join the guests already milling in the house, spilling out onto the verandah, gathering their energies for more food, laughter and talk after the reception. Anglo-Indians love to party, Evaline had said when she was planning the snacks for the evening.

“Tired?” he asked, coming to stand beside her, and adjusting his underpants. “You can sleep in the car.” He stroked her hand with his thumb, moving it back and forth as he studied her face. Of course, he’d caressed her hand before, but this time he seemed to do it with a searching pressure. “I’ve told them not to worry about feeding us. We’ll get there quite late.”

He was referring to the home of two bachelor friends whom he’d not seen for a few years - since they all attended Raffles College and trained as teachers. An over-night stay, to break the journey up-country to the Cameron Highlands for the honeymoon, provided an opportunity to meet again. “They’ll understand if we want to have an early night.” A room in a small hotel near the friends’ house had been booked. Ada felt a mixture of nervousness and excitement at the mention of an early night.

“You were marvellous today, darling. Coping with a horde of strangers. Dad said so as well. And Mum was crowing with pride.”

Ada had a clear image of Evaline darting busily between the groups of guests, then scurrying at intervals to twitch the train of the wedding dress, to smooth back the veil. “Show everyone your rings, Ada.” A flawless diamond set in a circle of rubies bought with a loan from Patrick, and a broad wedding ring fashioned by Evaline’s favourite magician with gold. Everyone, so many strangers, had been very charming, but it had been such an effort to smile endlessly, achingly.

“I felt a bit nervous going down the aisle, in case I tripped. I don’t think I’ve ever been in a room with so many people I didn’t know.” The place had been filled with the smell of perfume, both from the elaborate flower arrangements and the expensive scent of the fashionably-dressed, immaculately made-up women. She’d wished for the chance to go outside, breathe deeply.

“And you didn’t have to give a speech. Think how I felt.”

“You sounded very confident.” She hesitated. “Did you mean what you said?”

“Of course. And I’ll say it again.” He straightened. “I have never met a woman more beautiful, more intelligent and sensible, and more loyal. I thank Mrs Pendel from the bottom of my heart for bringing up Ada to be such a fine woman, and I apologise for stealing her daughter.”

He bowed, and Ada laughed, and then grew serious, thinking of her mother. During the speeches Ada had noticed Elizabeth seated at the end of an adjacent table close by. There had been a prickling of sweat on her pale brow, and she had stared ahead blankly as the best man addressed the gathering. The speech was clearly very witty, for laughter rippled endlessly along the tables, and faces beamed delightedly at Michael. The teasing seemed to be mainly about his competitiveness in sports, or ambitious pranks that had not always worked out the way he’d wanted. But Ada was only half-listening, her attention on Elizabeth, and as soon as possible she went to her mother, filled a glass with water and made her drink. Elizabeth, despite Ada’s urging, had refused to leave and insisted on coming to Serangoon to see the couple depart.

“Everyone’s been telling me how beautiful you are,” Michael said.

“Do you need to be told?”

Michael looked taken aback for a moment, then seeing her smile, he grinned and patted her cheek. “You’re not going to let me get away with anything, are you? I like that.” He stepped back and looked into her eyes. “I’ve told you why I love you. So, may I ask, what is it about me that made you fall at my feet?”

“No, it’ll go to your head.” She slid off the bed. “And it would take too long.” He caught her arms and kissed her on the lips. She rested her cheek against his for a moment, then leaned back. “I must get ready now. And see if Mummy is all right. She’s exhausted. I’m a little worried about her.” Ada thought guiltily of how hard Elizabeth had worked. Her mother had lost her appetite in the final sprint of finishing the dresses and had refused her evening meals of steamed fish and vegetables. Ada had asked Amah to prepare mild curry and nasi goreng to tempt her palate.

After Michael had left, offering to check on Elizabeth, Ada showered and dressed quickly, then inspected herself critically in the mirror. Noting that with the blue of her dress her eyes appeared more vivid and large, rather too girlish perhaps, she composed her face into what she believed was a mask of self-assurance before going out onto the back verandah.

She was looking about for her friend Melanie amongst the noisy groups of people and white-coated servants handing out drinks and titbits, when she noticed Mrs. Sinathamby seated beside Elizabeth on a deep rattan settee, beckoning to her. As Ada approached Mrs Sinathamby said loudly, “Such a beautiful dress. It does you credit, Elizabeth. Always you do excellent work.”

“Not my work. Ada sewed that,” Elizabeth said, smiling up at Ada.

Mrs Sinathamby fingered the silk sash that crossed under Ada’s breasts and tied at the sides. “Such fine material. And the colour. Oh, my, how the blue suits your eyes. It’s Loretta Young you remind me of, I’m thinking.”

Michael, who’d been fetching a drink for Elizabeth, appeared at Ada’s side.

“Oh my. Your husband puts any actor in all the American pictures to shame.” It was strange for Ada to hear ‘husband’, as if her changed status had been long established.

“Perhaps we should try our luck in Hollywood, Ada,” Michael said, his gaze passing admiringly over her dress.

Mrs Sinathamby chortled with delight. “You have not only a beautiful wife, you have a clever one. You heard her mother say it is Ada’s work?”

“Talented, beautiful, clever. I am indeed the luckiest man on earth.”

A group of children rushed down the steps and headed for the tennis court at the back of the large garden. One of the servants followed them. It would be his duty to supervise ball and marble games and top spinning, while the parents continued to party. Evaline had thought of everything. Ada had made sure to thank and compliment her several times at the reception, but she was not sure if Evaline in her excitement had heard her.

And here she was now, advancing towards them, her chest thrust out like a mother hen. Lighter skinned than Michael, the dark around her eyes, like that of her husband Patrick, had the effect of narrowing the bridge of her nose. The couple resembled birds of prey, or owls, although apart from domestic matters it was Patrick who had the greater share of the wisdom.

Ada was aware that her thoughts were uncharitable, and hardly helpful if she intended to get on with her mother-in-law. She smiled directly at Evaline, who pushed between her and Michael and, turning to each in turn, announced, “Have you ever seen such a pair? Think what their children will be like! Ada’s fair beauty and Michael’s brains.”

“So I have nothing to offer in the way of good looks, Mum?”

Several guests had joined the group, and Evaline’s reply was drowned in a burst of laughter which drew others closer. Wanting to escape attention, Ada crouched down beside Elizabeth. “We’re going soon. You can leave then. The Sinathambys will take you home. I’m worried that you’ve overdone it.”

“Don’t worry. I’m feeling much better out here. Outside. The hall was hot.” Elizabeth opened her fan and flapped it briskly.

“Well you must rest, rest, rest. Promise me.”

“I promise. I’ll be very sensible. You must not worry about me.” Elizabeth patted Ada’s arm. “Now go and find your husband so you can leave and make a start on your journey. You don’t want to get overtired either.”

Ada looked up to see that Michael had left the others. She found him in the drawing room. He was talking to Patrick. They were having a serious conversation, it seemed, and Michael was nodding soberly. Then Patrick noticed Ada and indicated with a slight inclination of his head that she follow him out onto the front verandah. Michael turned away with a quick encouraging smile at Ada, and she wondered why Patrick should wish to speak to her alone.

The front of the house was shaded by short, dense palms. Patrick stood beside Ada, and they looked for a few quiet moments out onto the carefully cut lawn and the circular bed of cannas standing rigid like hostages within a ring of white rose bushes. Ada had time to admire the banks of bougainvillea in the side borders and notice that there were several pili nut trees – trees her father had unsuccessfully tried to grow. All was neatly cut, well groomed, unlike the garden – if you could call it that – of the boarding house where Abdul had been hard-pressed to keep back the fast-growing vines and low-lying shaggy plants. What she saw now was in contrast a ruthless taming, a triumph of authority, which somehow made her feel diminished.

Patrick turned to her. “Michael tells me you’re worried about your mother. I will make sure our family doctor, Dr. Wong, visits her. He’s an excellent physician, one of the best in Singapore.”

“That is very kind of you. I am worried, Mr Wood.”

“You must call me Patrick. Evaline and Patrick. Now that you are properly one of the family.”

“Thank you. Thank you, Patrick.”

“It’s the least I can do.” He looked out onto the garden again and frowned slightly, then continued. “I’m very proud of Michael. Naturally, I am. But I can see that he is also impulsive, and a bit wilful, which comes with having strong beliefs and a desire to do what he feels is right, I think. It relieves me to know that he has found someone who will be a steady influence on him.” Patrick paused and glanced at her. She noted the gravity in his tone. “But what’s more important is that you appear to have the capacity, the strength of character, to forgive his transgressions.”

“As he will forgive mine, I hope.” Ada attempted a smile, wondering about the word ‘transgression’. It sounded biblical, something much more serious than impulsiveness. She recalled Michael’s anger with the property developer at the lunch party, which had disturbed her. Was that what Patrick was talking about?

“God bless you, my dear,” he said. She detected a tinge of sadness in his expression. “I’d prefer it if you didn’t pass onto Michael what I’ve just said.” He looked towards the garden. “Now. I must not keep you any longer. I know Michael wants to set off.”

“Yes, I’d better go and find that impulsive son of yours.” She hesitated, wanting Patrick to say that there was nothing to worry about. But he just stood there, so she kissed him lightly on the cheek – an act of reassurance for herself rather than Patrick – before hurrying inside.

At first, filled with confusion, she registered nothing, then noticed Michael in a far corner talking to Vera. Both were standing by a long sideboard covered with ornaments, and trophies won by Michael in tennis tournaments and for scholarship. Michael had made light of these in the face of his mother’s lavish praise when Ada first visited the house, as he’d made light of the stern, sallow-skinned man in a black-framed portrait on the wall above. Ada knew this to be Michael’s grandfather who had established the family business. Vera was laughing, and Ada wondered if Michael was mocking him, saying something to counteract any sense of the family’s importance and wealth. Vera had changed into a flared tea-dance frock that showed off her small waist, and she fussed with her curls, stretching up her long, slender neck. She looked young and free. Ada felt a flash of envy.

Michael looked over his shoulder and saw her. “Time to leave, Ada? We can start saying goodbye to people. I’ll pack the car. As soon as they’ve finished tying the cans to the back. It’s going to be a noisy take-off.” He gave Vera a jaunty bow. “Thank you for lending such grace to the occasion, Vera.” As he passed Ada he said in a low tone, “I hope Dad put your mind at rest about your mother.”

The two sisters were left eyeing each other warily. Ada mentioned the doctor, then Vera interrupted her. “You don’t need to remind me about looking after Mummy. I’m not as selfish and careless as you think I am.”

“I don’t think you’re selfish or careless.”

Vera watched Ada with large, baleful eyes, as if expecting Ada to qualify her statement with a criticism. But perhaps encouraged by Ada’s kind expression she said, “I know I say things without thinking. And I’m very sorry.”

“You were wonderful today, Vera. I couldn’t have asked for a better bridesmaid.” Vera had fixed her hair and applied her makeup. “I heard people telling Mummy that she’s lucky to have two lovely daughters.”

“Oh, Ada, I’m really going to miss you.”

Ada put out her arms to Vera and kissed her. “I’m going to miss you and Mummy like anything.” Tears pricked her eyes.

“Don’t forget to throw the bouquet so I can catch it,” Vera said as they drew apart.

Ada nodded, then turned away, not wanting to betray her feelings, and hurried to fetch her bag and posy, as she could hear Patrick marshalling the guests onto the verandah.

When she stepped onto the verandah, Melanie was the first to see her.

“Off now, Ada, off now to your new life?”

Ada grasped Melanie’s hand. “Thank you for being my bridesmaid, Melanie.”

“I did nothing. Thank you for being my very good friend. I hope you won’t forget me.”

“How could I possibly forget you, Melanie?” Ada said, thinking that Melanie, more than anyone else, understood how hard it had been for her to leave school. Melanie would visit the boarding house bringing school gossip, and the books she was studying in English class. They’d read A Midsummer Night’s Dream and The Merchant of Venice aloud together, trying to make sense of the strange and beautiful language.

“And we’ll be living closer to each other than we were before.”

Melanie made it sound as if a line had been crossed, as if life would never be the same again. Naturally it would be different; she had two families now and would have to adjust to the role of wife and in-law; she and Michael had still much to learn about each other. Patrick’s remark about forgiving Michael his transgressions had unsettled her, but when she noticed Michael talking to her mother, she could only think how handsome he was and how much she loved him.

She kissed Melanie goodbye, and made her way towards him. He smiled broadly at her. “Ready?” he asked.

“I’ll come and visit every day to see Amah and Vera are being strict with you,” she said, hugging her mother.

“I’ll be all right, child. Especially since I know I have nothing to worry about.” She patted Michael’s arm and looked at Ada with the composure of someone entirely satisfied, completely trusting.

It was Mrs Sinathamby who appeared flustered. “Promise you’ll come and see me. No need to give warning. Harry and I think of you as our daughter,” she cried.

Harry, beside her, expanded with pride. He’d walked Ada down the aisle, a thin bent man, trembling with responsibility. Ada thanked him again, praised his speech, and then turned quickly, wanting to be away. It was all too much.

Amid effusive farewells and disconcerting calls of ‘good luck’, Ada took Michael’s hand and descended the stairs. A few feet on towards the car she looked back. There was Melanie, arms folded, refusing to play the game, and Vera with her arms half-raised. Ada turned and threw the posy. There was laughter and applause, and Ada glanced back to see Vera with the bouquet, triumphant and unaware of Charmaine glowering at her side.

✬✬✬

By the time the couple reached the home of Michael’s friends, the moon was high. Ada could see an old, lattice-windowed Malay house set up on thick wooden posts. When Michael tooted his horn in the weed-ridden driveway, overgrown on either side with a tangle of vines and ferns, two men bounded down some rickety wooden steps, waving their arms jubilantly over their heads. One, Sanjiv, was a lanky Indian, wearing spectacles; the other, Jimmy, a Chinese, short and thick-chested like a wrestler. Ada, having been informed by Michael of their wit and intelligence, was pleased to see their playfulness. But as soon as the two friends were inside the house, after the back-slapping and genial insults, they drew themselves upright as though standing to attention as Michael made the introductions, and looked at Ada with so much respectful caution that she reddened.

To escape further awkwardness, she made a move towards a room adjacent to the entrance space where she could hear classical music playing on a gramophone. The room was messily stuffed with crippled rattan chairs and a large, badly scored mahogany table strewn with books and newspapers. The men seemed to be waiting for some comment.

“What beautiful music,” she said.

“You like Mozart?” Jimmy, asked.

If this was Mozart, then yes. She nodded, appreciating the brisk lightness of a French horn, and felt a slight thrill, anticipating the chance of learning more – about music, about everything.

“Are you a musician too?” he asked politely.

Ada presumed the ‘too’ was referring to Michael. “I always thought I would try and learn to play the piano one day. But Michael is so good.” She loved to watch his fingers moving lightly on the keys, seldom faltering.

Michael was behind her. “I’m not, you know. And if you want to learn you must. We have a piano in the house, and we can get a teacher.”

“Or you could teach her, Michael,” Jimmy said.

“I could, yes.” Michael’s gaze rested on her face, as if searching her for hidden talents.

Ada felt self-conscious. “My father used to play. But nothing serious,” she said quickly. The family, sometimes with guests, would sit around the piano and sing as he played music hall songs in a boisterous, clumsy way.

“Well, I’m tone deaf, I’m afraid,” Jimmy said, grimacing.

Michael was sauntering around the room. He picked up a book and examined the cover. “War and Peace. Mmm. Interesting reading for our times. I wonder what Tolstoy would write about the war now. And I wonder what will be written about it when it’s over. What we missed knowing at our peril.”

“What do you mean?” Sanjiv asked, adjusting his spectacles.

“We should know a lot more about what the Japanese think. How they think. Anything that would tell us about their mentality could be useful. Not so very long ago they were allies of the British against the Germans.”

“But they modelled their army on the Prussians. They helped themselves to China. I can’t understand why the British think they’re not a threat. Just look at what they did in Nanking. They’re savage beasts.” Jimmy spoke fiercely.

“They’re a complex race,” Michael said, in a slow, contemplative voice. “I’ve been reading as much as I can. You’ve heard about bushido, I suppose. The way of the warrior. The Japanese are a naturally obedient people. Very orderly and decorous. And they have a strong loyalty to their emperor. A great sense of duty. They’re capable of incredible self-sacrifice. They prefer to kill themselves rather than being taken prisoner. Hara-kiri, it’s called.”

His eyes were full of awe, and Ada was reminded again of his intensity, the Michael of strong convictions who worried his father. “Perhaps they kill themselves because they’re frightened of what their enemies might do to them,” she offered pragmatically.

“It’s more than that. Much more.” Michael strode out of the room. Ada wondered if he were annoyed by her comment and bit her lip.

Sanjiv followed Michael, and Jimmy glanced at Ada. “We’re having suckling pig tonight,” he said, as if offering consolation.

She gave him a wan smile. “You shouldn’t have waited for us. We didn’t expect...”

“It’s all ready. We can eat straightaway.”

Ada was thinking of something to say when Sanjiv returned. “Michael’s gone to the car. He’s gone to get a book. He’s right. We should know more about the Japanese.”

Jimmy muttered something which Ada did not catch, but he looked upset, probably about what was happening in China, Ada guessed. But now he smiled, remembering his duty as a host, and said, “I hope you like suckling pig.”

“I do” she said. “Is it hard to prepare?”

He was explaining about rubbing the skin and insides of the pig with salt when Michael came back into the room holding a book.

“I brought this with me.” Michael opened it and flicked through the pages. “Listen to this.” He began to read. “‘We go up to the mountain. We bleach among the mosses. We go down to the sea. We welter in the brine. But whate’re betide, Rejoicing I die. For I die for thee.’” He looked up, clearly moved. “It’s a folk anthem. What chance have we against men with belief like this? The British and Commonwealth soldiers coming over…many of them are not much more than children thinking they’re out for an adventure. You can’t imagine them being prepared to commit hara-kiri.”

“You sound as if you respect the Japs,” Jimmy said, his tone resentful.

“I do respect them for their sense of honour,” Michael replied. “And it would be wise for the British to do so as well. And stop thinking of them as hopeless fighters. That they can’t see to shoot properly because they’ve got slit eyes.”

“It beats me that the British aren’t calling in the locals to train in case there’s an invasion,” Jimmy said, crossing his muscled arms.

“They don’t think we’re capable,” Sanjiv added. “Sometimes, I think the Japs might be better masters than the British. They can’t be worse, anyway.”

Jimmy snorted.

“For you perhaps, Sanjiv,” Michael said. “The Japanese know India wants the end of British rule. But for Jimmy and me, it’s a different story.”

Ada studied his features to gauge how threatened he felt. Would Michael’s Anglo blood count against him? And then he looked at her, and his expression made her suddenly realise that should the Japanese invade she would have more to fear than Michael had. It was such a distressing thought that she dismissed it instantly.

✬✬✬

The pig had been roasted over a pit, and they ate the succulent meat wrapped up in naan bread with spicy pickles. After a few beers Michael appeared to put aside his worries about the Japanese and relaxed with his friends. Sanjiv and Jimmy lost their previous inhibitions in her company and began to speak freely. Ada was pleased to see Michael boyishly enjoying himself as the men traded memories with one another, and swapped old jokes which had them laughing loudly. She wondered if Michael’s ‘transgressions’ were simply pranks, the ones the best man had spoken about in his speech. Seated on the trunk of a fallen tree in the light of a yellow moon and candles set in jars, she was reminded of beach picnics, the carefree and privileged life she’d enjoyed as a child. She had been quite a mischief, too. She remembered how she and Vera would run away from Amah, ducking behind the baskets on the five-foot way, or try and steal the tin of condensed milk that Amah strung up out of their reach.

“You look tired, Ada,” Michael said.

“I was just dreaming.”

He stood and reached down for her hand. “It’s been a long day.” He drew her to her feet. “It’s time we left. And I’m still sober enough to drive us to the hotel.”

The others rose too, and shook Michael’s hand, then shook Ada’s. She thought they looked a little disappointed that Michael was leaving, yet at the same time they did not try and dissuade him. In their quiet manner and respectful nods to her they seemed to be acknowledging that she’d been patient in allowing them their merriment, and that this was her wedding night.