have good reason to. Day-by-day they’re advancing deeper into China. Now they’ve started bombing the towns.” He shook his head. “I’ve asked my daughter to join me here. She should be arriving in Penang in a month’s time.”
I heard the anger in his voice, and stopped needling him. Uncle Lim had two wives, who had both left the Hokkien province to work in the silk factories owned by the British in Canton. Every two years he would request leave to return home. That was the one day when my father would drive him to the pier and help him load the bags and presents onto the liner. Despite my father’s offer to pay for a cabin, Uncle Lim invariably booked a berth deep inside the ship. “The money can be used for better things,” he would say, showing the thriftiness that the Hokkien people prided themselves in but which I often considered to border on miserliness.
“Is your family safe?” I found it hard to accept that Endo-san’s people were capable of carrying out such attacks, but from the look on Uncle Lim’s face I realized I was wrong.
He nodded, but said, “They’re running, leaving for the south. I told them to come here, but they refused. I couldn’t order them—that’s the problem when women start working in factories, eh? But at least my daughter still listens to me.”
“I’ll ask one of the girls to prepare a room for her here,” I said, knowing my father would have said the same. I wanted to say something more, but at that moment I felt as though I was being spun around in one of Endo-san’s aikijutsu movements, not knowing where I stood. I could not abandon what I had begun with Endo-san, for my classes with him had become a way of life for me and the knowledge he was imparting to me was too precious to be surrendered. Endo-san was not responsible for what was happening in a land far away, I told myself. So I kept silent and thought that the offer of a room for Uncle Lim’s daughter would be sufficient on my part.
Uncle Lim shook his head. “She’ll stay with my cousin in Balik Pulau. They’ll have a place for her.”
I looked at him as he walked away. I knew he was only in his early fifties but I now saw that he was growing old. The other servants were afraid of his temper, but he had never shown it to any of us. My amah told me that when my mother first entered Istana as its new mistress she had often wandered into the kitchen, much to the disapproval of the servants there. It was their domain, and she had interrupted their way of running the place. What was more, she was a Chinese woman who had married a European. There had been much unhappiness until Uncle Lim requested my mother to leave the servants alone and stay out of the kitchen. Only he had been brave enough to do so.
Uncle Lim stopped and turned around. “Your eldest aunt rang today. She would like you to pay her a visit as soon as you return.”
I made a face. Ever since my mother’s death, Aunt Yu Mei had thought she had a duty to watch over me.
“What does she want?” I asked.
“It’s almost the end of Cheng Beng, have you forgotten?” he chided me, referring to the Clear and Brilliant Festival, when families gather to tidy the graves of their parents and ancestors, and place offerings of food and paper money. “I haven’t forgotten, although I had.
* * *
It was only just starting to occur to me what a strange place I had grown up in—a Malayan country ruled by the British, with strong Chinese, Indian, and Siamese influences. Within the island I could move from world to world merely by crossing a street. From Bangkok Lane I could walk to Burmah Road and Moulmein Road, down Armenian Street, then to the Indian areas of Chowrasta Market; from there I could enter the Malay quarters around Kapitan Kling Mosque, then to the Chinese sections of Kimberley Road, Chulia Lane, and Campbell Street. One could easily lose one’s identity
I heard the anger in his voice, and stopped needling him. Uncle Lim had two wives, who had both left the Hokkien province to work in the silk factories owned by the British in Canton. Every two years he would request leave to return home. That was the one day when my father would drive him to the pier and help him load the bags and presents onto the liner. Despite my father’s offer to pay for a cabin, Uncle Lim invariably booked a berth deep inside the ship. “The money can be used for better things,” he would say, showing the thriftiness that the Hokkien people prided themselves in but which I often considered to border on miserliness.
“Is your family safe?” I found it hard to accept that Endo-san’s people were capable of carrying out such attacks, but from the look on Uncle Lim’s face I realized I was wrong.
He nodded, but said, “They’re running, leaving for the south. I told them to come here, but they refused. I couldn’t order them—that’s the problem when women start working in factories, eh? But at least my daughter still listens to me.”
“I’ll ask one of the girls to prepare a room for her here,” I said, knowing my father would have said the same. I wanted to say something more, but at that moment I felt as though I was being spun around in one of Endo-san’s aikijutsu movements, not knowing where I stood. I could not abandon what I had begun with Endo-san, for my classes with him had become a way of life for me and the knowledge he was imparting to me was too precious to be surrendered. Endo-san was not responsible for what was happening in a land far away, I told myself. So I kept silent and thought that the offer of a room for Uncle Lim’s daughter would be sufficient on my part.
Uncle Lim shook his head. “She’ll stay with my cousin in Balik Pulau. They’ll have a place for her.”
I looked at him as he walked away. I knew he was only in his early fifties but I now saw that he was growing old. The other servants were afraid of his temper, but he had never shown it to any of us. My amah told me that when my mother first entered Istana as its new mistress she had often wandered into the kitchen, much to the disapproval of the servants there. It was their domain, and she had interrupted their way of running the place. What was more, she was a Chinese woman who had married a European. There had been much unhappiness until Uncle Lim requested my mother to leave the servants alone and stay out of the kitchen. Only he had been brave enough to do so.
Uncle Lim stopped and turned around. “Your eldest aunt rang today. She would like you to pay her a visit as soon as you return.”
I made a face. Ever since my mother’s death, Aunt Yu Mei had thought she had a duty to watch over me.
“What does she want?” I asked.
“It’s almost the end of Cheng Beng, have you forgotten?” he chided me, referring to the Clear and Brilliant Festival, when families gather to tidy the graves of their parents and ancestors, and place offerings of food and paper money. “I haven’t forgotten, although I had.
* * *
It was only just starting to occur to me what a strange place I had grown up in—a Malayan country ruled by the British, with strong Chinese, Indian, and Siamese influences. Within the island I could move from world to world merely by crossing a street. From Bangkok Lane I could walk to Burmah Road and Moulmein Road, down Armenian Street, then to the Indian areas of Chowrasta Market; from there I could enter the Malay quarters around Kapitan Kling Mosque, then to the Chinese sections of Kimberley Road, Chulia Lane, and Campbell Street. One could easily lose one’s identity
Similar Books
