The Night Tiger(129)
“It’s not right,” she kept saying. “People will talk; it doesn’t seem proper. And Shin’s never kept a girlfriend long. What if he changes his mind?”
“Then I’ll just make my own way,” I said.
She threw her hands up. “A girl only has one chance to marry well. This whole relationship is a mistake! You’re confused because you’re fond of him, like a brother. Besides, at your age it all seems romantic.” All of sudden, she fixed me with a horrified look. “You didn’t … you haven’t slept with him?”
Why did everyone ask about that—what business was it of theirs? But of course I knew why. Humiliating as it was, it was blood currency: a girl could still find a husband if she could prove her virginity, even if he were old and fat and ugly. “What do you think?” I said bitterly.
Her eyes clouded with doubt, and I felt betrayed. Finally, she nodded timidly. “Of course I trust you. But don’t do it. Promise me! It gives you the option to change your mind. I don’t want you to ruin yourself, throw all your chances away.”
“Mother,” I said. “Do you really hate Shin that much?”
“I don’t. He’s a good boy. Just … I wish he wasn’t for you. I was afraid of something like this, but you were always hung up on Ming. And I thought it would pass when Shin went away. I didn’t think he’d be so stubborn. Marriage isn’t easy. It doesn’t always turn out the way you expect.” Her gaze slid sideways. “You know your stepfather has a temper.”
“Shin’s never raised a hand against me!”
“But he’s still young.” She twisted her hands. “You don’t know what he’ll be like when he’s older.”
Fair enough, I thought, struggling to be stoic, though I wanted to shout and protest she was wrong and Shin was nothing like his father. Most of all, though, I wanted my mother to forgive me, and bless me, and tell me everything would be all right, just as she had when I was little, and there were only the two of us in the whole wide world. But perhaps that was part of not being a child anymore.
* * *
On Saturday, we stood on a platform at the Ipoh Railway Station. It was a beautiful morning, all white and gold. I had only a suitcase and a box, tied neatly with string. Gazing at the painstaking knots that my mother had tied, I felt a lump in my throat. My pretty dresses were packed away, and I was wearing one of Mrs. Tham’s best confections since, despite my protests, she’d insisted on seeing us off.
It turned out to be a blessing that she and Mr. Tham came, because her chirping commentary made the goodbyes bearable despite the tears that threatened to fall from my mother’s eyes. They’d brought an enormous bag of mangosteens and a tiffin carrier of steamed pork buns, as though we might starve before reaching Singapore. It would be a long journey south: four hours to Kuala Lumpur, then an overnight sleeper of eight hours to Singapore. A total of about 345 miles—farther than I’d ever been in my life.
As the train slowly pulled out, everyone began to wave frantically in some unspoken semaphore. Even my stepfather, usually so undemonstrative, raised a hand, though I couldn’t tell whether it was directed at Shin or me. At the last moment, my mother ran up alongside the train. I was filled with sudden panic. Was she going to denounce us? But she simply pressed the palm of her hand against the window. I fit my hand against it, all five fingers. Then she was gone, blown past by the gathering rush of the train.
Goodbye, I thought, as their figures shrank, left behind by the steady clack of the wheels, the humming of the track. Goodbye to my old life, and hello to the rest of it, whatever it might bring. Excitement and melancholy knotted my stomach, and I thought once again of Yi, that small boy left behind on a railway platform. Had he really gone away? I had the odd certainty that the ties binding all of us had been remade in a new and different pattern. I’ll never forget you, I promised. My fingers curled around the letter in my pocket. I’d missed my chance to drop it in the post box, but I’d do it when we stopped in Kuala Lumpur.
* * *
The outskirts of Ipoh flew past—coconut palms, wooden kampung houses on stilts, a skinny yellow Brahmin cow—until green jungle pressed in on both sides.
“I’ll have to find a place to stay in Singapore,” I said, recalling how we’d lied about a hospital dorm.
“That’s easy,” said Shin. “I’ve got some money saved up.”
“But that’s your savings. I don’t want to use it.”
“Why’d you think I’ve been working? I wanted to bring you to Singapore.”
“Really?” My heart skipped a beat. All those long, lonely months when I’d waited for Shin’s nonexistent replies to my letters.
“Though I didn’t know if you’d come. You were stuck on Ming for years. I was afraid if he changed his mind, you’d go running to him. You’ve given me more trouble than all the other girls combined.” His mouth twitched. “We need to keep you busy. Perhaps you can sit in on lectures.”
“I’d like that.”
Shin shook his head ruefully. “Why do you look so much happier about this than a ring? Please don’t ditch me for a surgeon.”
I shuddered. “No more surgeons.”