A Different Sky (5 page)

They entered a slim opening in a dank wall, and climbed the steep stairs to Ah Siew's
fong
above, Mei Lan clinging tightly to her
amah
's hand. The stench of garlic, urine, fermenting rice and all manner of vile effluvia enfolded her in a greasy blanket of odours. Eventually, they reached the top of the stairs and in the half-light filtering through a broken shutter, Mei Lan saw a long, grimy corridor with cubicles lining each side. A rat moved in the shadows and she stepped closer to Ah Siew who now walked briskly ahead, the pleasure of homecoming filling her step. She turned suddenly into one of the grimy cubicles, ducking under a ragged strip of curtain to a chorus of greeting. The sisters were seated in a group about the dying Ah Pat who lay upon a sleeping shelf in the dark and tiny room. A narrow rack stacked with boxes and jars ran along one wall; light filtered through from the corridor. Baskets of foodstuffs hung on long strings from the ceiling beyond the reach of rats. Ah Siew thrust Mei Lan forward and began the introductions.

‘This is Ah Thye, Ah Ooi, Yong Gui and Ah Tim. And that is Ah Pat,' Ah Siew smiled at the invalid.

Ah Pat's face was as yellow as old parchment and her hair unravelled from its knot. A pillow of rolled up clothes supported her head, a swelling deformed one side of her neck. The shelf was shorter than her legs and her bare feet protruded over the end. Mei Lan observed the sisters apprehensively. She knew they were not real sisters, yet they all bore a resemblance to Ah Siew. Each had hair pulled into a neat bun and wore identical black trousers and high-necked white blouses. The sisters were from the Pearl River Delta where the women were useful and did not bind their feet. They had met in the
nui yan uk,
the Girls' Home near their village. Such homes were found only in the Pearl River Delta, a region of China where women refused to be slaves, Ah Siew boasted. They came one by one to Singapore, meeting each other off the boat, living together in their rented
fong
until employment was found.

The sisters rushed to make Mei Lan comfortable, chattering excitedly. A box was found for her to sit on; a cake filled with bean paste and a small tangerine were given her to eat. They stroked her hair and examined her hands; there was debate about her birthmark. Mei Lan hung her head, ashamed, trying to hide the hated mark of which she was always conscious. She had once overheard her mother discussing it with her mah-jong friends; it was a sign of ill luck and because of it few men would want her for a bride. Already, it seemed her fate was sealed. Yet Yong Gui, who the sisters said knew about these things, was not of this opinion. She lifted Mei Lan's chin with a finger to observe the birthmark better.

‘A little nearer the mouth and it would denote greed, a little further away and it would bring ill luck. Instead, it is aligned exactly beneath the eye. This means it is a lucky mark; a mark of protection,' Yong Gui decided.

The sisters laughed, and began to prepare some tea. Mei Lan returned her attention to the tangerine, filled with relief to hear her birthmark might not be a stain on her life. She began to eat the cake, holding it carefully in her palm while the sisters sipped tea, exchanging memories of their homes in China.

‘Each month we ate different vegetables. In March long beans, in August taro, sweet potatoes in September. Onions were all year round,' Ah Ooi remembered.

‘Our house had mud and reed walls and a patched roof that disintegrated whenever it rained. We froze in winter; every year someone died,' Yong Gui recalled.

‘Father bought silkworm eggs.' Ah Siew spoke suddenly with a smile. ‘They hatched into worms as thin as a hair, I picked mulberry leaves for them. Once the cocoons were sold in the market, the worms were fried, dipped in batter as a treat.'

‘My sisters and I all wished for bound feet and the good marriages this brings, but we were needed for work in the fields. Now I am glad; our ugly feet have given us independence. Where would we be without them?' Yong Gui joked

‘Kwantung and Kwangsi were always at war. The soldiers came and killed our pigs and chickens. They took our men away as pack-bearers and raped the women. We had no means to resist,' Ah Ooi remembered.

‘There were fifteen of us,' Ah Pat croaked hoarsely; because of the swelling she could only swallow liquids. ‘Each New Year my father would line us up to count how many of us were still alive. The numbers in the family were always changing. However bad times were, my parents resisted selling us girls.' Ah Pat gave a sigh and fell back exhausted upon her pillow.

For a moment the women were silent. Memories washed through them as water passes over rough pebbles. Mei Lan returned her attention to the last of the bean cake; some crumbs still lay in her palm. Transferring them to her mouth upon a wet finger, she followed the progress of a cockroach negotiating the string of a hanging basket. From the road the call of hawkers, the trundle of carts, the barking of a dog and the screams of a baby rose up to her. A rat scuttled past the door of the cubicle. Such sounds were not heard in Lim Villa where there was only the silence of the garden filled with the whirr of cicada and the swish of the gardener's scythe.

‘They say it is better to raise geese than girls.' Ah Siew began to speak. ‘In our village there were always floods and famines. My father sold two of my sisters to agents scouting for brothels in Nanyang; he got three silver pieces for each girl. Another year when we were all starving, he sold another two as
mui sai
to passing rich families and got a few
kati
of rice for each. They did not want to go and screamed and clung to me, for I was the eldest. The brothel woman
slapped their faces and Mother told them if they wanted to eat and to stay alive, they must go. After that, each new baby that was a girl Mother drowned in the river as it took its first breaths. Where my sisters are now, whether they are dead or alive, I will never know. I still hear their cries in my dreams.'

Mei Lan's heart gave a lurch. Ah Siew had never spoken like this before. That girls could be sold for a
kati
of rice or three pieces of silver turned her blood to ice. Mei Lan stared at Ah Siew, imagining the tunnel in her mind leading back to a past of dark images. She wanted to ask what a brothel was but thought the sisters might not approve; it must be a place even worse than the Death House or they would not look so aggrieved. Second Grandmother owned three
mui sai
that Grandfather had bought for her on a visit to China. Had he paid for each girl in silver or rice, just as Ah Siew's sisters were bought as slaves?

‘Why didn't any of you get married?' Mei Lan asked. The sisters looked at her in surprise and then began to laugh. They laughed until the tears ran down their faces. Mei Lan scowled and bit her lip, it was all she could do not to cry. Finally the sisters wiped their eyes.

‘I'm too ugly to find a husband. Even brothel keepers took one look at me and turned away.' Ah Siew pointed to her face, pitted like old bark. A flange of crooked teeth protruded and her eyes, almost lost beneath the fold of her lids, were slightly at odds with each other. Only the humour in Ah Siew's broad face saved it from complete disaster.

‘The truth is, Little Goose, we did not want to accept the Second Obeying. That's why we all took the vows of
Sor Hei
before the Goddess Kwan Yin,' Ah Siew said and the sisters nodded in agreement.

‘The First Obeying is to a father, the Second Obeying to a husband and the Third Obeying is to a son after the death of a husband.' Ah Tim leaned forward to explain.

‘I was afraid of childbirth, I'd seen what my mother went through,' Yong Gui announced.

‘Who wants to be a servant to parents-in-law and brothers-in-law?' Ah Thye said.

‘My sister was carried to her husband's village in a red sedan chair. Her bridegroom was away at the time working in a tin mine at Ipoh, so a cockerel took his place at the marriage ceremony, as was the
custom in our parts if the husband was absent. Her husband died in the mine before he could even see her. After that my sister always said she was married to a cockerel. I didn't want the same thing to happen to me.' Yong Gui shook her head.

‘A missionary sent me to the
nui yan uk
, the Girls' Home. I learned how to cook and sew there. The other girls told me I could work in Nanyang, all those places beyond China, and be independent,' Ah Tim said and the sisters nodded agreement again.

Eventually, Ah Siew looked at the pocket watch she kept in a pouch about her waist, and saw it was time to go. The sisters accompanied them down the dark stairs of the
fong
and into the busy road where a rickshaw was summoned to take them back to Lim Villa. Mei Lan waved until the sisters vanished from sight, filled with a sense of loss. However dark and smelly the
fong
had been, the sisters' warmth had dispelled dreariness, and their talk was a revelation.

‘How did you become “sisters”?' Mei Lan asked, wanting to prolong the Sago Lane interlude.

‘We were all determined to leave the village and earn our own money. We had arranged for a sisterhood ceremony at the local temple,' Ah Siew explained as the rickshaw rattled along.

‘We had to promise before Kwan Yin, the Goddess of Mercy, that we would have nothing to do with men and that the bond with our “sisters” would be stronger than with our own blood sisters. After we lit joss sticks a nun passed a comb through our hair and tied it up into a bun. This is
sor-hei,
the “comb up” ceremony. It meant we were not alone when we left our village to find work in the world, our sisters would be with us,' Ah Siew explained.

‘
Sor-hei.
' Mei Lan giggled at the strange word.

‘There is nothing to laugh at. Unmarried girls wear their hair in a plait. Married women tie it up in a bun.
Sor-hei
is like a marriage ceremony: we sisters are married to each other and our work. If women are not married nobody knows what to do with them. They don't fit in anywhere, they are without a use or a place.' Ah Siew was so serious that Mei Lan fell silent.

‘We were saved in this way from the nunnery or the brothel, which is where we would have to go if we refused to marry,' Ah Siew added in a low voice.

Mei Lan stared at her in confusion. If what her mother's friends
said about her birthmark were true, she too might never marry. Then, people would not know what to do with
her
, she would be of no use to anyone and could not escape the nunnery or the brothel like Ah Siew.

‘What is a brothel?' Mei Lan demanded, but Ah Siew was disinclined to answer and turned her gaze to the road.

W
HEN
R
AJ
S
HERMA RETURNED
to Serangoon Road and Manikam's Cloth Shop where he worked, his employer was waiting impatiently for him. It would be useless to try and explain to Mr Manikam the extraordinary events of the afternoon and how he had seen not one riot but two.

‘Good for nothing; only knowing how to waste time,' Manikam shouted as Raj entered. He pushed a bale of white cotton shirting angrily back on to a shelf.

‘Big riot in Chinatown,' Raj explained, placing the money he had received from a maker of mosquito nets in Pagoda Street on the counter top. Manikam's specialised in muslim for curtains and netting, and was known to have the best
dhotis
on Serangoon Road. It was also a place to buy shirting material. There were no peacock-coloured silks or bright woven cottons in Manikam's. The monochrome tone of the stock, although unexciting, gave the cramped premises an air of spacious calm. It was a place in which to sit and think without distraction, and Raj was happy to do this for hours at a time.

‘Riot, riot, what is this riot? How many hours are you taking for riot?' Manikam raged, his heavy black spectacles sliding down his bulbous nose as he spoke. He wiped his sweating face on a small towel that hung over one shoulder.

‘Trolley and rickshaw not moving,' Raj explained.

‘Legs are there,' Manikam insisted, picking up the money Raj had placed upon the counter.

‘Rioters were communists,' Raj informed Manikam.

‘What is that?' Manikam asked, rubbing his hands on his vest.

‘Communists are killers,' Raj elaborated, remembering the old Chinese man he had escorted home and the bloody events that had punctuated his afternoon.

‘We are all killers in our way,' Manikam replied.

‘People were getting killed,' Raj insisted, and Manikam turned in sudden concern.

‘You all right? Not getting hurt?' he asked, the edge sliding out of his roar. Reaching under the counter, he fished out a dented metal cash box to stow away the money.

‘Old Chinese man on trolleybus ill with asthma, I had to help him home. This also was taking time, and then at his house another riot happened. Everywhere today there is rioting,' Raj explained. Manikam nodded, his anger abating as he counted the cash into the box. Raj would have elaborated further on the afternoon, but Manikam had lost interest now that the cash was in the box.

‘It is good to help those in need. Good things come back to us, as do the bad,' Manikam counselled. Since the death of his wife the year before, his thoughts had turned religious.

‘Pagoda Street man wanting more muslin to make mosquito nets. Two hundred metres or more maybe,' Raj said, knowing this was the news that was wanted. Manikam looked up with a smile.

‘He has liked our muslin, now he will give regular order; he is making nets for Europeans. So many nets those people are needing. Because their skin is white and sweet all mosquito are wanting to eat them,' Manikam chuckled.

After the death of Mrs Manikam things had not gone well for Manikam. His marriage had been fruitless and he now mourned not so much a wife as the lack of a son. Ill health, the state of widower and a fall in business had brought him low. When he could no longer pay their salaries, Manikam's other two employees left. Only Raj had remained to work for three meals a day. This show of loyalty decided Manikam to treat Raj as a surrogate son. From the beginning Mrs Manikam had taken a liking to him, and had always fussed about him while she lived in a manner that annoyed her husband.