The Night Tiger(120)
“I’ll stay with you, Yi!” I screamed. “Let Shin live!”
“Do you mean it?” Yi’s face broke into a strange little smile. “You’d really stay with me?”
“Yes!”
“Don’t forget me.”
* * *
Bright. It was too bright and my head ached. Voices. People talking. I struggled, thrashing my arms. Why was I still alive? Yi had tricked me.
Hands steadied me, examining my body. “She’s lucky to have survived that fall. The other chap didn’t make it.”
“Shin,” I said thickly. My throat was painfully dry, but that was nothing compared to the panic I felt. I forced myself to sit up.
“Don’t move.” They were checking my arms and legs, asking if I could move my neck, but I didn’t care about myself. Terror filled me.
“Where’s Shin?”
“He’s right here.”
And he was. I stumbled up, off the gurney, for that was what I’d been lying on, despite their cries of alarm. Shin lay on the other bed in the room. His face was pale, with a chalky shocked look, and there was blood on his arms and shirt. When I came over, he opened his eyes.
“Why can’t you listen to what the doctor says?” he said, ruefully.
Sobbing and laughing, I held on to him.
* * *
It turned out that all three of us had fallen off the roof. It was a miracle, they said, but I was uninjured except where Koh Beng had sliced me in the side and neck. Shin had a fractured arm and cuts on his forearms—defensive wounds, as the local doctor pointed out with interest. And Koh Beng had broken his neck.
Bystanders, drawn by the shouts, had seen us struggling. By all accounts, I should have fallen first, then Shin, for Koh Beng had clearly been in a better position. But he’d suddenly and strangely plummeted past us in a tangle of limbs, breaking our fall. There was no explanation for it, other than missed footing. Or perhaps he’d intended to kill himself, as some were already whispering.
A chill of wonder and unease seeped through me. From the other side of the river of death, had Yi swapped Koh Beng and me around like pawns in some game, bringing me back from the dead by stealing a life? If so, what had happened to Yi—and was this, then, his dark gift to me? I began to tremble uncontrollably.
49
Batu Gajah
Thursday, July 2nd
In the airy bungalow, where the sunlit leaves outside dapple the whitewashed rooms a pale and luminous green, Ren sits in the kitchen with Ah Long, stringing beans. Ah Long is pleased that he’s back and has made clear chicken soup especially for Ren to drink, though he pretends gruffly that it’s for William. It’s been three days since Ren’s sudden recovery and discharge from the hospital. Three days of stillness and rest, and wondering what happened to his girl in blue.
She’s alive; he knows that. There’s been much talk, even scandal, about what happened at the hospital on Monday. Rumors about ghostly curses and stolen body parts. The neighboring servants buzz with gossip, asking Ren if he heard anything while he was in hospital. He tells them truthfully that he didn’t see anything, though that doesn’t stop him from worrying. The person who knows the most is William, but he won’t say much other than that Louise is perfectly fine and there’s no need to worry.
“Louise” is what William calls Ji Lin, and when he says her name, Ren senses a gnawing guilt. It’s something to do with what Dr. Rawlings said that tumultuous Monday, coming into the ward later as William was checking Ren out, and drawing him hastily aside. Ren overheard snatches of conversation: missing body parts … scandal … say nothing until the Board sorts it out. From which he gathers that there’s a secret, like a white and yeasty maggot, which threatens to undermine the neat and orderly life of the hospital.
Whatever it is definitely bothers William. He spends his free time gloomily sitting on the veranda, as though he’s waiting for something to happen. When Ren asks if he’s feeling all right, he says he needs a drink to fortify his stomach.
“Cheh! What stomach?” says Ah Long contemptuously. “Ice is bad for his digestion. And not so much,” he warns as Ren makes another whisky stengah. Johnnie Walker is running low again; there’s only an inch left in the bottle. “Miss Lydia is coming today.”
It’s five o’clock in the afternoon, and William is home early from work. Instead of putting on a cotton sarong, he’s remained in his stiff-collared shirt and trousers, and now Ren understands why. If Lydia is coming, of course his master can’t lounge around in native dress. For teatime, Ah Long prepares bite-sized balls of onde-onde, a treat made from glutinous rice flour and chopped palm sugar rolled in fluffy grated coconut.
Guiltily, Ren remembers the vial of tea-colored liquid that he promised Lydia he’d give to Ji Lin. He hasn’t had a chance to do so and is worried that she’ll question him about it. Fetching the bottle from his room, he slips it into his pocket. If Lydia asks, he’ll show it to her to prove he hasn’t been careless or lost it.
The doorbell rings. Ren gets up slowly. His wounds are healing astonishingly fast, but he’s still not used to the loss of his fourth finger. The stump aches and the grip of his left hand is less sure, though it hasn’t stopped him from doing most things. Losing the thumb would have been far worse, as Ah Long dourly pointed out.