The Ghost Bride

  As I stood there surrounded by people hurrying about their business, I could almost pretend that I was merely another passerby. That I was still safe in my body. Tears filled my eyes. I felt utterly desolate, far from our familiar house and anyone who knew and cared about me.

  I had been sobbing for some time when I gradually became aware of a beggar approaching me. Beggars were a common sight, but there was an unnatural air about this one. He dragged himself along, so broken down that his ribs protruded through his leathery skin. Even as I watched, a man walked unseeingly through him as though he were no more than a shadow. I shrank back in horror, but the beggar was now so close that I couldn’t avoid him. When he lifted his face from beneath a tattered hat, I saw little more than dried skin and exposed bone, the eyes like shriveled fruits in their deep sockets.

  “Who are you?” His voice was thin and weak, as though there were not enough air to pump through that collapsed rib cage.

  He seemed so frail that I plucked up my courage. “Can you see me?”

  His head lolled on his withered neck. “Only from certain angles.” His gaze wandered. “You have no smell of death. Are you from heaven?”

  “You are mistaken,” I said. “I’m not a deity.”

  “Give me food, then.” His mouth yawed like a grave. “I am starving!”

  “What are you?” I whispered, but I think I already knew.

  He was groveling now, making weak grabs at the hem of my clothes. “I don’t remember. Nobody buried me. Nobody knows my name. Now give!” the wretched creature moaned. “Give me but a string of cash to buy something to eat.”

  Overcome with pity and horror, I fumbled blindly at my pockets and found myself clutching a few strings of antique copper coins strung together through holes in their centers. This must have been part of the funeral money that I had burned for myself, but I had no time to think about it, for he pounced on the money with surprising swiftness. Clutching it with skeletal hands, he began to drift dispiritedly away. To my dismay, I saw other shadowy forms begin to gather about him with interest. Even as I watched, two more hungry ghosts appeared behind me. One was even more tattered and demented-looking than the beggar I had spoken to. It moved in slow fits and jerks, and I wondered whether in time such creatures simply wore away into nothingness. The other, however, must have been more recently dead for he pushed forward.

  “A girl was here, giving money!”

  I shrank from his furious, unseeing gaze. In life he must have been a corpulent man for he was only just beginning to show signs of starvation. But when I moved, he gave a shout. “There she is!”

  I fled down endless alleyways, plunging through the warren of shops. Hungry ghosts seemed to appear from all directions, detaching themselves from walls and fluttering out of passageways. Too late, I realized that I shouldn’t have run. If the dead could only see me from certain angles, then it would have been better to stay still. As it was, I found myself far from where I had started. The sun was high in the sky when I stopped at a dreadful realization. In my flight I had let go of the gauzy strand that had led me out of the house.

  For a second time that day, I stood in the road with tears in my eyes. This time, however, I dared not make a sound for fear of drawing attention to myself. The salt stung my cheeks and my swollen eyelids throbbed. Exhausted, I sat on a stone and wiped my face with my sleeve. My feet were sore and I checked them for blisters. It seemed utterly unfair that the spirit should suffer the torments of flesh without having any. But perhaps that was the whole point of the afterlife.

  Well, there was no point crying. After a while, I began to look around, realizing that the road seemed familiar. I had passed this way before in a rickshaw, when I wore my best clothes to visit the Lim mansion. And from here, I could also find my way home. For a long moment, I struggled with temptation. It would be so easy to return, to slip back into our house. But there was another option, even without the strange thread that had guided me. Since Lim Tian Ching had come uninvited to my house, I might as well return the favor. Perhaps I might discover something to my advantage; anything was better than meekly waiting for him to come for me.

  Although I had been tired, my steps were light and I found I could walk more swiftly than in my physical body. There were a few advantages of my spirit form, though I dreaded to think what price I was paying. Was I hastening my starvation like a hungry ghost? I dared not think too much about it.

  The great gates of the Lim mansion were closed, though I could see the winding carriage drive through the ornate ironwork. I tested myself against it and was relieved to find that I could pass through with some effort. A porter dozed in the noon heat and the hibiscus blossoms by the gate barely quivered as I went by, as though I was merely some errant breeze. As I approached the house, I was struck anew by its old-fashioned air. Many of the rich were now building mansions in the British colonial style, with wide verandas and open ballrooms like the great houses in India and Ceylon. But the Lim mansion was uncompromisingly Chinese, its walls concealing warrens of rooms and courtyards. I wondered if Tian Bai’s new bride would demand renovations, but shied away from such thoughts.

  The heavy ironwood front door was mercifully ajar, no doubt to admit a cool breeze. I entered with some trepidation as I was no longer a guest but a trespasser and, even worse, a spirit. Averting my eyes from the looming family altar decked with offerings and wreathed with incense in the front room, I walked hastily to the inner courtyards. There, amid the cool marble tiles and glossy leaves of potted plants, I came upon two servants. One was the woman who had escorted me to the washroom before. She and a young girl were busy watering the plants and wiping the dust off their leaves. I meant to pass them, but as I approached, the girl started and dropped her pitcher.

  “Look what you’ve done!” said the woman. The girl was only ten or eleven and she bit her lip with consternation. Instinctively, I made a movement to help with the broken pieces, forgetting I had no physical presence.

  “I felt something,” she said. “Like someone passed me!”

  The older woman looked at her sharply. “You know that Madam Lim doesn’t like talk about ghosts.”

  The little maid bent over the broken pieces. “But she’s always burning funeral goods, isn’t she? Maybe it’s her son’s spirit come back.”

  “Tch! Who would want him to come back?” Intrigued, I hung closer. “You’ve only been here three months. You never met the young master.”

  “Was he nice, like Master Tian Bai?”

  The woman couldn’t resist gossiping. “Oh no! There were times when we could do nothing right. But the mistress doted on him. She couldn’t accept it when he died.”

  “Was it sudden?” The girl paused, enjoying this respite from work.

  “He had a fever, to be sure, but he was just as demanding as ever. And then in the morning he was dead. The doctor couldn’t believe it. He even wanted to know what he had eaten the night before, but there was nothing amiss. He ate from the same dishes as everyone at the table, which was a good thing.”

  “For who?”

  “For all of us, you goose. We might have been blamed for it. Madam was very upset. She wanted to know if anyone had served the young master tea before bedtime, but nobody had. And all because his teacup was missing. He had a celadon cup, a family heirloom, but we couldn’t find it anywhere. The mistress had all sorts of odd notions after his death.”

  “How strange.” I could see the little girl’s fancy was taken by this morbid tale.

  “What’s strange?”

  Both servants started guiltily. It was Yan Hong. She frowned at the older woman. “My half brother died of a fever. I don’t like to hear you repeating such gossip.” I had never seen Yan Hong look so fierce, so different from the gracious, smiling hostess I remembered. When she turned on her heel, I hurried after her.

  For the rest of the day, I shadowed Yan Hong
as she moved purposefully about the house, at ease in both the grand drawing rooms as well as the cavernous kitchen. Although she was only the daughter of the second wife, she seemed to command a great deal of respect, often making decisions that should have fallen to Madam Lim. She had mentioned to me that she was merely visiting for a while, but she seemed so at home that I couldn’t imagine how they would manage without her. Of Madam Lim, I saw little. She looked more ill than before, her feathery voice scarcely audible and her listless manner a great change from a mere few weeks ago.

  I dared not approach her too closely, afraid that Lim Tian Ching would somehow sense my presence. In fact, I was terrified that he might return at any moment. Despite my earlier resolve, I no longer felt up to confronting him. The rooms with their tiled floors and stiff rosewood furniture, the long dark corridors and hurrying servants, reminded me at every turn that I was an intruder. Yet I couldn’t quite tear myself away, for I noticed that in contrast to my own home, my presence here seemed to exert some influence. Remembering the oppressive atmosphere during my earlier visits, I wondered whether the Lim household had, in fact, been sensitized by Lim Tian Ching’s ghost, for more than one person flinched if I stood too close, and the conversation invariably turned to spirits. This was not a particularly happy realization for me, but there was no doubt that it provided some useful information.

  I had been following Yan Hong with no reason other than that she was the most familiar person to me. And she had been kind before. She seemed to take her duties as the eldest daughter of the house seriously, despite her marriage, and was firm with the servants, friendly with the other women, and solicitous of her stepmother. I remembered Amah’s tale of how Yan Hong’s mother had died to ensure her daughter’s marriage, and was surprised that she could be so cordial to Madam Lim. There was no sign at all of Tian Bai. I had to admit that I had been half hoping to see him again. No matter how many times I told myself that he cared little for me, and was possibly even a murderer, I couldn’t help but think about him. The sight of the lotus pond where we had first met produced a painful sensation, and the sudden chiming of a clock made my heart leap.

  The more I observed Yan Hong, the more I began to feel that she was under some strain. She was careful to maintain her calm manner in front of others, but when alone she gnawed her lips, an anxious expression stealing over her face. She could scarcely sit still, jumping up to do one task after another. I wondered whether Yan Hong had always been this way, or whether it was a new development.

  The afternoon whittled away until the shadows lengthened in the long passageways, stealing into rooms and dimming the gay patterns of the Dutch tiles on the floors. My spirits seemed to fail with the dying light and I was weighing what I should do that evening, when the porter came in and murmured something to Yan Hong.

  “A man outside the house?” she asked. “What does he want?”

  The porter ducked his head. “He didn’t come close, but he’s been standing there for some time.”

  “Why didn’t you ask him?”

  “I thought he might leave if I approached him. But you did say to tell you if anything unusual happened.”

  Yan Hong frowned. “Let me see.” As she made her way down the curving drive, her pale kebaya fluttered ahead of me like a moth in the fading light.

  “He’s gone,” said the porter as they reached the gate. Yan Hong peered out and shrugged in exasperation. But with my new sharp sight, I glimpsed a figure standing deep in the shadow of a tree. I could make out a bamboo hat and the glint of silver embroidery on the hem of his robe. With a start, I recalled the stranger who had consulted the medium at such length while Amah and I had waited. Even as I considered this, however, the man turned abruptly and disappeared into the dusk.

  As we headed back to the house, my heart sank. I didn’t want to meet Lim Tian Ching here, when I felt so weak and defenseless. Even as I hesitated, Yan Hong entered the house, which was now ablaze with lamps. Madam Lim was in the entrance hall.

  “Where did you go?” she asked querulously.

  Yan Hong patted her arm. “It was nothing,” she said. “I’ll join you for dinner in a moment.”

  Madam Lim nodded absently, but as she turned away, Yan Hong shot her a look of pure, unguarded hatred. Surprised, I followed her upstairs into a bedroom, despite my anxiety about leaving. Bolting the door, she lifted the heavy lid of a wooden chest. It was filled with clothing that she hastily set on the floor. At the very bottom of the chest was a cloth-wrapped bundle. Yan Hong wavered for a moment, then untied the knots as though she felt compelled to check something. She unrolled a corner and paused with a sigh of relief. Swiftly she wrapped it up again, but not before I had glimpsed the discolored rim of a celadon teacup.

  Chapter 13

  I was so surprised that I could hardly gather my thoughts. Why did Yan Hong have what looked suspiciously like Lim Tian Ching’s missing cup? There might be an innocent explanation, I thought, for surely only a fool would keep such a thing and Yan Hong didn’t strike me as stupid. But the servant had said it was a family heirloom and perhaps she couldn’t bear to throw it away. I was struck as well by the discoloration of the rim. Celadon was prized for its translucency, and from what I had glimpsed, the cup itself had a fine clear glaze.

  Even as I speculated, however, I felt an increasing sense of oppression, like an ominous fog rolling into the room. Something was coming; I was sure of it. Fearful, I thought of Lim Tian Ching or even the border officials he had spoken of. The air became weighty and my chest constricted. It was the same choking sensation I experienced whenever Lim Tian Ching strayed too long in my dreams. My mouth was dry; I could barely draw breath, feeling that the house itself deeply resented my intrusion. With growing unease, I went to the window. In the deepening twilight, I saw a strange procession of dim green lights. They bobbed eerily as they passed the porter at the gate, though he did not appear to see them. It was then that I knew they were spirit lights.

  I raced down the stairs, cutting through the servants’ quarters and out through a side gate. My side ached, my lungs burned, but still I ran on, trying desperately to increase the distance between myself and those spectral lights. Terrified, I took turn after turn through a maze of back lanes until at last the suffocating sensation lifted and I could think clearly again. My heart was racing, my thoughts in turmoil. Yan Hong had just as much of a motive for murdering Lim Tian Ching if it meant depriving Madam Lim of her son, to avenge her own mother’s death. And her husband was a doctor. It would have been easy enough for her to procure drugs or poison. Even as I considered this, however, I recalled with a sinking feeling that Tian Bai had also studied medicine. He had mentioned that his studies were interrupted, but I had never found out why.

  A breeze sprang up with a tang of the sea that was never far from Malacca. Opposite, lamps were lit in the small row of shop houses. Drawn to the comforting clank of pots, I peered disconsolately at the enclosed backyards of these houses, eventually choosing a wooden gate that seemed less sturdy. I struggled to force myself through the tight grain of the wood, emerging finally in a stone courtyard. Large glazed jars held drinking water, and a girl my own age was drawing some into a jug. Balancing it against her hip, she carried it inside.

  I followed her through a dingy kitchen into a tiny dining area. This was the living quarters of a typical shop house that was built extremely long and narrow so that each lay next to its neighbors like an eel in an eel bed. A family sat around a marble table. There was a father, mother, an old grandfather, two little boys, and the girl I had followed. But I was drawn to the aroma of food that rose like a mist from the table. It was a plain meal: soup and pickles, tofu, and a platter of fried fish, the ikan kembong that are no larger than a chil
d’s hand. I was so hungry, however, that it seemed like a feast. But despite my best attempts, the fragrance of the food left me gnawingly unsatisfied. It seemed that I would starve unless someone made a spirit offering to me. Miserably, I crouched in a corner of the room as they ate, envying their chatter and every mouthful of food they ingested. I had been hungry before, but never like this. Old Wong always had a few peanuts or a pinch of melon seeds for me. I missed him right now and our familiar kitchen with a fierceness that frightened me.

  After a while, the old man motioned to the girl. “Did you make the ancestor’s offering today?”

  She pouted. “Of course I did, Grandfather.”

  He turned and squinted at the family altar. “How about the hungry ghosts?”

  “Those creatures! It’s not even Qing Ming.”

  The old man shook his head from side to side as though there was something in his ears. “Put a little rice out for them.”

  Sighing, the girl got up and scooped some rice into a bowl, setting it on the altar with a brief mumble. As soon as she was done, I ran to the altar, inhaling sharply so that the fragrance filled my nostrils and, thankfully, my stomach. I placed my hands together to thank the old man, though he was absorbed in his own meal. Eventually, lulled by their conversation and the events of the day, I closed my eyes. How strange it was that the spirit could sleep, eat, and rest, yet how else could one account for the quantities of paper funeral food and furniture that were burned to accompany the houses and carriages of the dead?

  I woke suddenly to silent darkness. The family had retired to bed but some noise had startled me awake. Straining my ears, I heard a skittering rustle again. The darkness was gradually broken by a faint greenish light from the corridor, much like the ones I had seen approaching the Lim mansion. Nearer and nearer it drifted till I felt the hairs on my neck tingling. Petrified, I pressed myself half into a great chest of drawers, hoping for the semi-visibility that had aided my escape from the hungry ghosts.