The Night Tiger(14)
He gazes out of the window onto the expanse of clipped grass and gravel driveway. The white bungalow stands on a slight rise, the lawn lapping it like a grassy pool. Jungle presses in on all sides and is kept at bay by two Indian gardeners. Troops of monkeys parade past, and wild chickens, jungle fowl, scratch in the undergrowth. Ren, fascinated, watches them from the open kitchen where he peels vegetables and washes rice.
Yi, he mouths silently, you would like this place. Catching sight of his reflection in a steel tray that he’s polishing, he nods. It’s hard, even after three years, to be without his brother.
The worst part about death is forgetting the image of the beloved. It’s the final robbery, the last betrayal. Yet it’s impossible to forget Yi’s face, for it is his own. That’s the only comfort that Ren has in losing his twin.
When they first arrived at the orphanage, no one knew which child was older. The matron was the one who decided that it should be Ren, and she named him accordingly, ren being the greatest of the five Confucian Virtues. It means human-heartedness: the benevolence that distinguishes man from beast. The perfect man, according to Confucius, should be willing to die to preserve this. Ren thinks that if he had a choice he’d rather have died to save Yi.
Ren has a recurring dream that he’s standing on a railway platform, just like the one in Taiping where he used to see Dr. MacFarlane off on his trips, only this time it’s Yi who’s on the train. He leans out of the window, thin arms waving wildly. When he grins, there’s a gap where one front tooth hasn’t grown in yet. He looks exactly the same as when he died.
Ren wants to chase after Yi’s smiling face, but his feet are clamped inexplicably to the platform. He’s forced to watch as the train picks up speed, its wheels spinning faster as Yi gets smaller and smaller until he’s gone, and Ren wakes up bathed in sweat or tears.
Yet it’s a happy dream. He’s delighted to see his brother again and so is Yi. He can see it in Yi’s gestures, his bright-eyed gaze. Sometimes he speaks, mouth moving as he gesticulates, though there’s never any sound. Ren thinks it’s odd that Yi is always the one who is going on a journey, when it’s Ren who is growing older and leaving him behind.
* * *
Ren is mopping the floor. He puts strength into it, rinsing the mop often and changing his bucket of water, as trained by Auntie Kwan. The patch of shining floor grows larger in leaf-shaped swipes, like a glossy plant spreading over the wide teak planks.
“Good.” Ah Long’s voice breaks in.
Startled, Ren looks up. Ah Long has the uncanny ability to materialize in all corners of the house, which has made it difficult for Ren to search for the finger. He’s like a suspicious old cat, squinting in the sunlight.
“There are houseboys older than you who don’t do such a good job,” Ah Long says. “We had one a few months ago. Twenty-three years old and couldn’t iron a shirt. Wanted to wear a uniform and serve drinks at parties.”
Dr. MacFarlane seldom formally entertained. The old doctor had a reputation for collecting specimens, though, and it wasn’t uncommon to find a row of local hunters patiently awaiting his return, their prizes bulging out of sacks or snarling at the end of a rope.
“Is the master married?” Ren asks. He knows that many foreigners leave their wives and children behind in England or Scotland or wherever they come from. The tropical climate here is considered unhealthy for European children.
Ah Long sniffs. “No. Better if he was.”
“Why’s that?” Ren is eager to take advantage of Ah Long’s good mood. Normally it’s hard to get more than a few words out of him.
“Then he’d stop playing around. Aiya, as if we all didn’t realize what he’s been doing!”
Ren has a vague understanding that this touches upon adult matters. Things like marriage or not-marriage, and relationships between men and women that are too difficult to puzzle out. But if William has no interfering wife or family, it increases the chance that Ren can retrieve the finger. The fact that he hasn’t found it yet despite two days of quiet searching worries him.
* * *
They bring the injured woman in just before noon. Ren hears shouts, anxious wailing, and then Ah Long’s determined refusal.
“Tak boleh! Tuan tak ada di sini!”
Ren runs out. There’s a wheelbarrow propped on the drive and in it lies a young Sinhalese woman. There’s a deep gash in the back of her left calf. Dark splotches of blood soak her sari.
Ah Long is trying to persuade her relatives to take her to the hospital in Batu Gajah, for Tuan Acton is not at home, but they insist that it’s too far. Ren knows that the deeply superstitious Ah Long is afraid the woman will die in this house. He pushes his way forward.
“Bring her in!”
“Are you mad?” cries Ah Long.
Ignoring him, Ren tells the men to bring her up onto the veranda while he races into the study. The doctor keeps an emergency bag behind his desk as well as a drawer full of first-aid equipment.
“I need a basin of boiled water,” he says to Ah Long.
“What if she dies here?”
Ren ignores him as he washes his hands thoroughly with soap, forcing himself to count slowly to fifteen. Next, he examines the makeshift tourniquet, a narrow band of cloth twisted tightly around the leg. The woman has fainted, and he’s grateful for that. He washes the leg as best he can with the boiled water, then ties another tourniquet above the original. His head swims; there’s a sick feeling in his throat. In his mind’s eye, he sees Dr. MacFarlane’s square hands again, repeating the steps. A stick through the knot, functioning as a windlass to tighten it if necessary. Ren cuts off the original rough tourniquet.