The Ghost Bride

  In another time and place I would have liked to examine a few of these designs and structures, some of which I had only seen illustrated in books and scrolled paintings. The small pavilions, the little crooked trees, and occasional pagodas were all strangely familiar to me. But there was an eerie chill about the place, a deadness in the colors and the blank light that made me feel as though I were passing through a paper landscape, myself no more than another cutout upon a wayang kulit, or shadow puppet stage. As much as I disliked the place, however, I had to admit there was a certain thrill in sneaking around Lim Tian Ching’s property. After all, how many times had he entered my own dreams without permission? At last we came to a small door in a wall. Er Lang laid a hand on the wooden surface and it gave slightly.

  “Good,” he said with some satisfaction. “No one has bolted this yet.”

  “Where are we?” I whispered.

  “Behind the private apartments of the family. I did some reconnaissance yesterday and left this door open.”

  I felt some shame at my earlier indignation over his belated rescue of me.

  “Beyond lays a series of small courtyards. If there are any important guests staying with the family, they ought to be lodged somewhere around here. I leave it up to you to find Master Awyoung’s chambers. Do whatever you need to, but return by dusk.”

  “Here?” I said.

  “Do you see that pavilion in the distance?” Turning, I could just make out a tiled roof and red-lacquered pillars. “Wait there. If for some reason I don’t show up by next morning, I suggest that you find your way out and contact your friend Fan.”

  “And just leave you?”

  “I can take care of myself,” he said. “It is you who may have difficulties leaving the Plains of the Dead.”

  He slipped through the gate like a drop of spilled ink and vanished.

  Chapter 26

  I pushed the gate open. Inside was a private courtyard; a neat yet lifeless enclosure consisting of potted plants arranged in rigid ranks. Every plant was identical, down to the number of flowers and the angle of the leaves. I couldn’t help thinking that they must have been printed on a card and burned, for the pleasure of some long-dead Lim. Three doors opened onto this space from the enclosing walls. I hesitated again, wondering which path I should take. Guessing that the plainest door might be a servant egress, I tugged on it. It opened suddenly and noiselessly into a hallway.

  It was soon apparent that this was a private wing in which I had never been. The corridor was narrower, yet more sumptuous than the open passageways of the main house. There were silk hangings on the wall, and as I glanced at them I saw they were part of a private art collection. Strange beasts rolled their ink-dark eyes at me from the scrolls; and as I walked farther along, the paintings became more and more curious, some of them embarrassingly so, as they depicted couples writhing in sexual congress, women transforming into animals, and hollow-eyed ghouls gnawing on bones. I averted my eyes from the most terrifying ones, for the painted images seemed to have a life of their own.

  The sound of light footsteps, tripping quickly across the cold tiled floors, reminded me of where I was and the task at hand. I searched wildly for a bolt-hole. There was a door nearby, but it was so grand and ornate that I wouldn’t have dared enter it save for the fear of discovery. I tried it and surprisingly, it swung open. Fortunately the room was empty, although it looked as though it was someone’s private quarters. I glimpsed a writing desk and, in the far corner, a traditional bedstead fashioned like a box. Books and papers lay about in disarray, but I had no time to examine my surroundings. The single large armoire that might have concealed me was locked. I tugged on it futilely, then slipped into the box bed. The brocade curtains were half drawn and I crouched behind one of these, my heart beating uncomfortably. No doubt the footsteps would pass, I told myself, but they stopped right outside the room.

  “Awyoung! Master Awyoung! Where are you?”

  It was my mother’s voice. To my horror, I realized that I hadn’t quite closed the room door and it swung, reproachfully, ajar. There was a moment’s hesitation, then a slim white hand, laden with heavy rings, pushed it open. Hastily, I ducked behind the bed curtains.

  “Are you here?” she called out.

  I could hear her walking around the room, flicking through the open books and pushing aside piles of papers. What was she looking at? And why was she here? Realizing that the slightest twitch might betray my presence, I crouched in my corner, hoping that she wouldn’t think to examine the bed. The bedstead had been built like a three-walled curtained box with low sides that one could recline against. Traditional romances often featured such beds, along with descriptions of beautiful heroines languishing helplessly within. I had never dreamed that one day I might find refuge in one of these beds, hiding in a ghost world from my dead mother as she rifled through the secrets of an unpleasant old man. I bit my cheek as inappropriate laughter threatened to choke me. What a joke! I had longed for my mother, dreamed of her, anticipated and imagined our reunion, and this was the result of it.

  There were scratching noises and holding my breath, I inched my face behind the curtains until I could see. Her back was toward me but she was using a brush to write something on a scrap of paper. The scratching sound was the hasty noise of an ink stick being ground with little water on a dry ink slab. In Malaya, I had had slate pencils and even wooden graphite ones. Presumably, no one had bothered to burn any such modern replicas for the dead, as my mother was reduced to brush and ink. She was so absorbed in her task that she hardly noticed the approaching footsteps until it was almost too late. The door creaked in protest, and with a start, she pocketed whatever she had been writing and hastily shuffled the papers.

  “Ah, madam! What brings you here?” It was the voice of Master Awyoung.

  “You, of course.” I had to hand it to her. The woman had nerves of iron.

  “What are you doing in my humble room?”

  “But Master Awyoung, you have your own house. Your own mansions and villas, which make this place look quite provincial.” Her voice dropped to a purr.

  “You know my stupid descendants. They would never let me carry on my research there.”

  “Oh? No doubt that’s why you brought your paintings here.”

  His laugh was a rattle of small stones. “You like them? I instructed my grandson to burn my entire collection after my death so that I could receive them here. They cost a lot, too! My son was against it—wanted to sell them off, but my grandson complied. Hmph! It was worth it to indulge that boy while I was alive. But what are you here for? Surely not to admire my paintings?”

  “I was examining them in the hallway when I noticed that your door was ajar.”

  “You’re too kind. What can I do for you?”

  Her tone changed. “Has my husband’s good-for-nothing grandnephew accomplished anything?”

  “Lim Tian Ching? I thought you would know more about the matter than me.”

  “He doesn’t trust me. But I know what you’ve been up to. Flattering and cultivating that young fool.” Though her words were harsh, the cadence of her voice was strangely seductive. I wriggled uncomfortably in my hiding place, my ears tingling.

  “As long as he remains a fool, it suits my purpose. Otherwise he wouldn’t dare relay such treasonous messages and packages.”

  She laughed, a high tinkling sound that was surprisingly youthful. I hadn’t thought it possible to dislike my mother any further, but her laughter made me grit my teeth. “Remind me never to underestimate you.”

  Master Awyoung said, “As soon as he died, I knew I had my tool. Do you know how many years I’ve been waiting for such a courier to come by? Lim Tian Ching has just the right connections for this task. A rich family, a doting mother in the wo
rld of the living, and too much self-absorption to blind him to all but his own concerns.”

  “And what do you get out of this?” I heard a strange rustling sound.

  “What do you think? Having my stay in the Plains of the Dead extended indefinitely.”

  “But you complain so much about it.” The slippery sound of satin again.

  “That is only more of my cleverness.” He gave a grunt and made a horrible slurping noise. I peered through my inadequate peephole and blushed furiously. From what I could see, the wretched old man was pawing my mother, and she, shameless creature that she was, had already slid one alabaster shoulder out of her gown. I turned away, my cheeks flaming. How could she! They were each as dreadful as the other. Another, more pressing thought struck me, however. Sooner or later they might move to the bed and my hiding place would be discovered. Panicked, I glanced around. There was a small space between the bed and the wall, so unbearably narrow that I got stuck halfway. The heavy brocade curtains twitched, as though tugged by an unseen hand. In a frenzy of fear, I forced myself through. No sooner had I managed to slide down behind the back of the bed and onto the floor when there was a loud thump and a squeal of laughter. Master Awyoung and my mother had thrown themselves upon the bed.

  For several minutes I lay there, my face pressed against the cold stone floor like a gecko, listening to the sounds above me. There was no bed skirt hiding the space beneath the bed and if anyone entered the room, I could easily be seen. I was wriggling my way forward when I heard my mother speak again.

  “I really shouldn’t be here at all.” She pouted.

  “Nobody will find out.” He sounded muffled. “I love calling you ‘madam’ and the icy look in your eyes.”

  “If my husband should ever suspect!”

  “You know he’s not really your husband.”

  “How dare you say that!” There was a rustling sound, as though she had gathered her garments together.

  “Come, come. There’s no need to pretend with me. You know as well as I do that you were never formally married to him. The title Second Wife is merely a courtesy. You just showed up one day, looking so beautiful that he couldn’t resist you. I can’t resist you myself, even though you probably plan to discard me.”

  My mother laughed uncomfortably. “As long as you treat me well, I shall always be with you.”

  “Well, how does another hundred years of happiness sound to you?”

  “Really?” she cooed. “Tell me, who’s really behind all these secret meetings and money transfers? It’s one of the Nine Judges of Hell, isn’t it?”

  He sat up suddenly. “Who told you that?”

  “Am I right?”

  Master Awyoung was silent for a while, then he began to laugh. It was a dry, malicious cackle. “My dear, dear madam. If heaven should get wind that you know even this much, your existence would be as brief as a candle flame on a stormy night.”

  She shrugged him off. “As long as I’m with you I know I’ll be all right. Now, what would you like me to do?”

  “Well, I was thinking about the girl.”

  “Girl? You mean the servant we locked up?”

  I had begun to creep toward the front of the bed, but froze at this change in subject.

  “Pretty, wasn’t she?”

  “Are you still thinking about her? Personally, I didn’t find her very appealing.”

  “That’s too bad. I would have liked to see the two of you together.”

  She snorted. “In your bed, no doubt.”

  The frost in her voice was enough to chill the atmosphere, but Master Awyoung only laughed. “Ah, that’s why I have such a soft spot for you. You’re the only one who dares tell me off. Come now, don’t be so angry.” With these and other endearments he was able to entice her back into the bed, causing me to heave a sigh of relief. I had been terrified that she would see me if she stood up to leave.

  Glancing up, I was encouraged by the sight of the drawn bed curtains. No doubt they wished to shield themselves from prying eyes, but it was to my advantage as well. Silently, I began to creep across the floor, expecting to hear a cry of discovery at any moment. The heavy armoire was placed such that the view of the door was obscured, and this was my goal. Pulse racing, I set off in an ungainly scramble and miraculously reached it. The door now stood directly in front of me, but I was faced with a dilemma. Since the armoire only partially blocked it, any movement of the door could be seen from the bed. If only the door were still ajar! But it was firmly shut. My hand crept toward it and pushed the latch down. It made a loud clack.

  “What was that?” It was my mother’s voice.

  I heard the bed curtains pulled back and then Master Awyoung said, “There’s nothing. See for yourself.” While I was steeling myself for a quick dash, I heard him chastising her. “You’re too jumpy. Nobody ever comes to my apartments.”

  “What if Lim Tian Ching discovers what he’s actually doing?” she said urgently.

  “Nonsense! He’s so consumed by his own grievances that the thought has never crossed his mind. He wants to drag down his cousin and marry some girl. Ridiculous demands!”

  “You’re sure of this?”

  “My dear, why do you bother yourself with such details? Or are you planning to sell me out?”

  She had just begun to protest when there was a rap on the door. I froze, as did the couple on the bed. There was no escape this time.

  “Who is it?” hissed my mother.

  “Ah, I forgot. A servant with a message.”

  “Why didn’t you ensure there were no interruptions?”

  “But how was I to know that you would be here today?” he said. “Never mind. Keep the curtains drawn.” Raising his voice, he called out, “Who is it?”

  The door opened and directly in front of me stood Auntie Three. Her eyes widened when she saw me, but her face remained impassive.

  “Master Awyoung, the messenger delivered something to you.”

  “I’m taking a nap,” he said. “Just put it on the writing desk.”

  Auntie Three walked around me and past the armoire, as though I did not exist. She put a small package on the writing desk and looked inquiringly toward the box bed with its drawn curtains. “Is there anything else you need, sir?”

  “No. Don’t disturb me anymore.”

  “Very well, sir.”

  As she walked back toward the door, she paused and gestured quickly with her hand. I suddenly understood that by standing there, she blocked the view of the door from the bed, allowing me to escape. Once we were in the corridor, she seized me by the wrist. “Quick!” she whispered.

  She led me swiftly down the winding corridor. Mortified at what she must think of me, I started to stammer out an explanation, but she put her finger to her lips. I followed her, feeling as though we were mice creeping past the lair of a musang, or civet cat. The Malays like to tame them for they are supposed to be ferocious mousers. I had always wanted one, but had only seen them, stiff and cold, their beautiful fur bristling, brought to market by hunters who sold them for medicinal soups. What would it be like to be so tiny and snapped up by such wicked jaws? Those of an ox-headed demon were large enough to sever my head with a single bite. I shuddered and Auntie Three turned to look at me.

  “We’ll rest for a moment,” she said.

  She pushed open a door to a storeroom filled with stacks of stiffly folded funeral clothes. A pyramid of antiquated embroidered shoes rose in one corner, looking for all the world like a heap of discarded hooves. Closing the door behind her, she asked, “What happened to you?”

  I told her how Master Awyoung had locked me up for interrogation.

  “I heard about that from the steward,” she said. “I went to look for you this morning but there was a guard at the door, so I didn’t dare approach it. How did you get out?”

  D
eciding it would be better not to mention Er Lang, I mumbled something about climbing out of the window.

  “The window! That was clever of you.” She looked at me with a curious sort of pride. “But what do they want with you anyway?”

  It was too difficult to prevaricate further, so I gave her the bare bones of my story; how I was almost dead, or dying in the world of the living, and had come here because Lim Tian Ching was haunting me.

  “Why did you come here?” she asked. “It was far too risky!”

  “What choice did I have?” I said. “I could have wandered around Malacca until my spirit faded, or returned to my room to be captured by Lim Tian Ching’s demons.”

  “And you came straight here?”

  “Well, I stopped by my family home on the way. I heard my mother was here.”

  “Your mother?”

  “And I found her too! She’s the Second Wife.”

  The effect on Auntie Three was surprising. She turned as white as a piece of rice paper and sank down on the pile of shoes. “That woman! What makes you think she’s your mother?”

  “I was told she came to this house by a former concubine. And she’s the right age and personality.”

  “I see.” Auntie Three looked down. “What do you think of her?”

  Since Auntie Three had little reason to like my mother, I felt there was no reason to hold back. “She’s perfectly horrible! I can’t understand why my father and Amah were so enamored of her.”

  “What did your father say about her?”

  “That she was kind and gentle. But mostly that she was beautiful. Now I see that he must have been as blind as Master Awyoung.”

  “Did you miss your mother so much?”

  “I did. But now I wish I’d never met her.”