to watch them.
“I always like your clouds here,” Endo-san said. “They fly so low.”
“On days like these, when the clouds are thick, heaven seems closer, and I almost feel I can touch it.”
He looked at me, hearing the wistful tone of my words. “You can touch heaven any time you wish. Let me show you.”
He called it tenchi-nage, the heaven-earth throw. He gripped both my arms forcefully and asked me to separate them, to raise one arm into the sky, as though to reach into the heart of heaven itself. I lowered my other hand as if to connect with the center of the earth. I felt the weakening of his attack immediately. His strength was divided, torn between the earth and the sky. I entered into his sphere of balance and threw him off his feet easily.
“Now you will always remember me as the man who taught you to touch heaven,” he said.
* * *
He was looking for a house for the consulate, for the staff to use on their leave. I brought him to a mock-Tudor house that had been built on the northern face of the hill. It had an all-round view from the Indian Ocean to the misty distances of the Malay Peninsula. “It’s always been let out to holiday-makers,” I said. “The owner’s an American silk merchant from Bangkok.”
He studied it and took a few photographs. “We shall see if it suits the consul’s preferences. But I am certain Hiroshi-san will not find fault with it. Does it have a telephone?”
“Yes. It’s one of the few houses up here that has a telephone line.”
He folded his tripod and packed his camera, and we started walking back to Istana Kechil. The path wound past the gates and entrances to other homes, all owned by the British. We were at the very top, for even here a hierarchical system was imposed—the local Chinese and Malay people could only own properties on the lower levels, all looking up to the big ang-moh lau —Mansions of the Red Hair. A question occurred to me as we walked.
“Why does Japan have a consular office in Penang?” I asked.
“It has a few such offices in Malaya. There is one in Kuala Lumpur and one in Singapore. We have some trade with this part of the world. As I have told you, after so many centuries of seclusion, Japan now wants to a play a part in the destiny of the world.”
On the way down in the funicular, which moved so silently I felt we were on a leaf floating down the hill, he asked, “Have you been to Kuala Lumpur?”
“I have. Now and then my father takes us there for a weekend. We have an office there. Most of the trading companies made Kuala Lumpur their headquarters, but he refused to move ours there.”
“Well, I agree with him. Your island is much nicer than Kuala Lumpur. I intend to make a short visit there in a few days’ time. Again, I need someone familiar with it. Would you like to join me?”
I did not hesitate at all. “I’d like that very much,” I replied.
Chapter Six
Uncle Lim, our family chauffeur, came out from the garage when I returned. He looked at me, narrowing his already small eyes. “You’ve been spending time with that Japanese devil. Better not let your father know.”
We spoke in Hokkien, the dialect brought over from the Hokkien province of southern China. The majority of the Chinese immigrants in Penang had been born there before sailing to Malaya in search of work.
“Yes, Uncle Lim,” I replied—we always addressed our older servants in respectful terms. “But he’ll only find out if you tell.”
“I need to send the car to the workshop. I don’t know how long the repairs will take. I won’t be able to drive you around for some time.”
I shook my head. “It doesn’t matter. I’m going to Kuala Lumpur with Endo-san next week.”
“That man cannot be trusted,” he said.
“You dislike all Japanese, Uncle Lim.”
“I
“I always like your clouds here,” Endo-san said. “They fly so low.”
“On days like these, when the clouds are thick, heaven seems closer, and I almost feel I can touch it.”
He looked at me, hearing the wistful tone of my words. “You can touch heaven any time you wish. Let me show you.”
He called it tenchi-nage, the heaven-earth throw. He gripped both my arms forcefully and asked me to separate them, to raise one arm into the sky, as though to reach into the heart of heaven itself. I lowered my other hand as if to connect with the center of the earth. I felt the weakening of his attack immediately. His strength was divided, torn between the earth and the sky. I entered into his sphere of balance and threw him off his feet easily.
“Now you will always remember me as the man who taught you to touch heaven,” he said.
* * *
He was looking for a house for the consulate, for the staff to use on their leave. I brought him to a mock-Tudor house that had been built on the northern face of the hill. It had an all-round view from the Indian Ocean to the misty distances of the Malay Peninsula. “It’s always been let out to holiday-makers,” I said. “The owner’s an American silk merchant from Bangkok.”
He studied it and took a few photographs. “We shall see if it suits the consul’s preferences. But I am certain Hiroshi-san will not find fault with it. Does it have a telephone?”
“Yes. It’s one of the few houses up here that has a telephone line.”
He folded his tripod and packed his camera, and we started walking back to Istana Kechil. The path wound past the gates and entrances to other homes, all owned by the British. We were at the very top, for even here a hierarchical system was imposed—the local Chinese and Malay people could only own properties on the lower levels, all looking up to the big ang-moh lau —Mansions of the Red Hair. A question occurred to me as we walked.
“Why does Japan have a consular office in Penang?” I asked.
“It has a few such offices in Malaya. There is one in Kuala Lumpur and one in Singapore. We have some trade with this part of the world. As I have told you, after so many centuries of seclusion, Japan now wants to a play a part in the destiny of the world.”
On the way down in the funicular, which moved so silently I felt we were on a leaf floating down the hill, he asked, “Have you been to Kuala Lumpur?”
“I have. Now and then my father takes us there for a weekend. We have an office there. Most of the trading companies made Kuala Lumpur their headquarters, but he refused to move ours there.”
“Well, I agree with him. Your island is much nicer than Kuala Lumpur. I intend to make a short visit there in a few days’ time. Again, I need someone familiar with it. Would you like to join me?”
I did not hesitate at all. “I’d like that very much,” I replied.
Chapter Six
Uncle Lim, our family chauffeur, came out from the garage when I returned. He looked at me, narrowing his already small eyes. “You’ve been spending time with that Japanese devil. Better not let your father know.”
We spoke in Hokkien, the dialect brought over from the Hokkien province of southern China. The majority of the Chinese immigrants in Penang had been born there before sailing to Malaya in search of work.
“Yes, Uncle Lim,” I replied—we always addressed our older servants in respectful terms. “But he’ll only find out if you tell.”
“I need to send the car to the workshop. I don’t know how long the repairs will take. I won’t be able to drive you around for some time.”
I shook my head. “It doesn’t matter. I’m going to Kuala Lumpur with Endo-san next week.”
“That man cannot be trusted,” he said.
“You dislike all Japanese, Uncle Lim.”
“I
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