The Night Tiger(16)

Pale light seeped in through the wooden shutters, and the headache that had bothered me last night had vanished. There was no sound from Shin’s room, but from the faint noises below, I knew my mother was up. I dressed quickly.

“Did you make that dress yourself?” she asked when I ran downstairs.

I’d debated over what to wear to the salesman’s funeral today; something formal but not conspicuous enough to make my family wonder where I was going. The only suitable dress I had was a plain grey Mandarin-collared cheongsam that I’d made as part of my apprenticeship. A cheongsam is an unforgiving, formal Chinese dress to tailor. I’d made a mistake sewing the high collar, which wouldn’t lie quite flat, but it was decent enough. I already knew what my mother would say.

“This fabric is so serious—a girl like you should choose bright colors.”

My mother loved clothes and had exquisite taste. On special occasions, she dressed with great care, taking out her good shoes that she kept in a cardboard box on top of the wardrobe. In fact the whole idea of my becoming a dressmaker’s apprentice was hers, though it had also met with my stepfather’s approval. But I didn’t see any point dressing up to please my stepfather, who only wanted us to look good to complement himself. We were a chocolate-box family, I thought. Brightly wrapped on the outside and oozing sticky darkness within.

“I’m going to the market, but you’re dressed so nicely it’s a pity to ask you to come,” said my mother.

“I’ll go.” Going to the wet market had always been one of my favorite errands. You could buy almost anything there: piles of red and green chilies, live chicks and quail, green lotus seed pods that resembled shower sprinklers. There were fresh sides of pork, salted duck eggs, and baskets of glossy river fish. You could eat breakfast, too, at little stalls serving steaming bowls of noodles and crispy fritters.

While my mother was busy shopping, I picked my way between the crowded stalls looking for flowers. White flowers, the color of Chinese funerals and death. I had them wrapped in newspaper to hide them. It was hard to keep secrets in a place like Falim, and anyone seeing me walk around with a bunch of white chrysanthemums would instantly guess it was a death offering.

As I headed back first, laden with my mother’s various purchases, I heard the silvery ring of a bicycle bell. It was Ming. I hadn’t seen him for a while but he was the same, his thin-framed, bespectacled figure pushing a heavy black bicycle.

“Ji Lin!” He looked pleased. “I saw your brother last night.”

I’d been so melancholy over Ming’s engagement, avoiding him, and now here he was, wiping his glasses with a handkerchief in his usual absent-minded way. My heart gave a treacherous little flip.

“I heard,” I said. “You went out to eat even though my mother killed a chicken for Shin.”

Ming smiled. “We didn’t know you were back. Or about the chicken, otherwise I’d have come over to help eat it.” Taking my basket of purchases, he hung it on the handlebars of his bike in his quiet way. Unlike my stepfather, I’d never seen him lose his temper. If Ming was aware of my past crush, he’d always been too kind to say anything. I was glad we were still friends, I thought, as Ming helped me carry the basket into the shophouse.

Shin was leaning against the desk, talking to Ah Kum who’d dropped by even though it was her day off. Giggling coyly, she said she’d brought over some homemade pickles, though it was obvious from her glances that she was only here for Shin. I had to admire the speed at which she’d decided to make her move.

But Ah Kum was right: Shin was very handsome. Growing up, we’d taken his looks for granted and I sometimes forgot how surprising they were. His high cheekbones and nose had been inherited from his mother, a woman from the far north of China. At least, that was what everyone said, though I’d never seen a picture of her. Lucky Shin, I thought enviously, as I often had during our childhood. To be born a boy and win a scholarship to medical school. Good looks were just the icing on top of that. Yet he didn’t look pleased. In fact, he looked distinctly irritated when Ming and I came in, our faces flushed and laughing.

“You’re early,” he said to Ming. “I thought we were meeting for lunch.”

“I ran into Ji Lin at the market, so I decided to bring her home.”

“She doesn’t need looking after,” he said dismissively.

I scowled at him, but he ignored me. Ming smiled his gentle smile as he helped lift the melon out of the basket. The top button of his shirt was missing, though with his usual air of bemused dignity, he didn’t seem aware of it. If Ming had fallen in love with me, instead of some girl from Tapah, I’d gladly have mended his shirt.

I went upstairs to pack. It was best to leave before my mother came home and forced me to stay for lunch.

“Not joining us?” Ming looked surprised as I passed through the front of the shophouse. The bouquet of newspaper-wrapped chrysanthemums was tucked in my basket. A single snowy bloom peeked out, and Shin glanced at it sharply. He said nothing, however, as I made my goodbyes. Under the flowers, the finger was a guilty burden in my basket. I felt compelled to return it. And what better place to leave it than at a funeral?



* * *



According to the newspaper obituary, the salesman’s funeral would be held in Papan, a nearby town. The sun broiled down from a cloudless blue sky; my only consolation was the giant rain tree that shaded the bus stop. I’d dusted my face with a little rice powder and applied a smudge of lip rouge, but feared it would soon melt off.