The Night Tiger(48)

I’d have to come up with something better. “I went to a dance hall with friends,” I said at last. “That’s how I met them both—the salesman and your roommate.”

“Why are you going to places like that? It’s all right for men, but not for you, especially since—”

“Since what?” I said. “Since I’m a girl? So you can go tomcatting all over town, but I should wait at home to get married?”

It was easier to pick a fight than admit the shameful truth: that the best-paying job I could get at short notice involved smiling and letting strangers put their hands on me. I was furious at Shin’s superiority, telling me what to do, yet ashamed of my own stupid, shortsighted choices. For if I feared Shin finding out, how much worse would it be if my stepfather did? And what about nurse-training, that I’d been so excited about earlier? Moral-character recommendations mattered, particularly for unmarried women; I hadn’t thought so far ahead when I’d blindly followed Hui to the May Flower.

A pause. “Has anyone asked you to marry him?”

“There’s no one to marry,” I said bitterly. Ming’s name hung in the air between us, unspoken yet so clear that I almost expected it to ring like a bell.

Shin said coldly, “Well, don’t get married without consulting me.”

“Why?”

He looked irritated. “Because you’d probably make a stupid decision.”

“What makes you think I’m stupid? I said no to the pawnbroker’s cousin!”

As soon as the words left my mouth, I wanted to kick myself. That was an embarrassing interlude Shin didn’t know about. After he’d gone off to medical school, I’d in fact had a proposal. Hearing that I wasn’t going to study anymore, the local pawnbroker had approached my stepfather on his cousin’s behalf. I’d said no, and surprisingly, my stepfather hadn’t pressed the issue.

“The pawnbroker—you mean my father’s friend? That old goat.” Shin spoke quietly, but his face had turned pale.

“Not him, his cousin,” I faltered.

Shin didn’t resemble my stepfather—at least, not much. Everyone said he favored his long-dead mother. But when his face blanched, it was exactly the same way that my stepfather’s turned white with rage.

I hated to see that look on his face. It made me want to curl up, cover my eyes, run away. For deep in the darkest, most cowardly recess of my heart, I was afraid that one day I’d turn around to discover that Shin, in some monstrous, nightmarish twist, had transformed into his father.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he said bitterly. “I won’t do anything. I never have.”

He walked off. I knew those squared shoulders, that dropped head, and I was filled with unbearable pity and misery.

After a bit, I caught up behind him and tugged his hand. “Friends?”

He nodded. It was getting dark, the buildings fading into grey nothingness. We walked in silence for a while, hand in hand as though we were children again. Like Hansel and Gretel lost in the woods, I thought hazily. My face felt dull and increasingly hot. Whether we were following a trail of breadcrumbs or headed to a witch’s den, I’d no idea.

At last I said, “I’d better get to the station.”

“It’s too late,” he said. “The evening train’s gone.”

“What shall I do then?” I sank down on the coarse grass, too tired to care about stains on my dress. There was no one about anyway, although the electric lights in the hospital had winked on.

“Stay over. I told you I fixed it up. Don’t worry about Y. K.—he’s off tonight to visit his parents.”

My head drooped. It was heavy, as though an invisible dwarf was standing on it and stamping its feet triumphantly. Shin felt my forehead. “You have a fever! Why didn’t you say anything?”



* * *



Shin’s nurse friend was out, but he found me a spare bed in the staff hostel for visiting relatives. As he was signing the register, Koh Beng came around the corner.

“Not going back to Ipoh tonight?” He wore a fresh shirt and cotton trousers with a comb tucked in the back pocket, his hair plastered wetly to one side. It was Saturday after all, and the night was just beginning.

“My sister’s tired,” said Shin.

Koh Beng gave me a sly glance. “I heard from Y. K. earlier that she’s not really your sister at all. You dog!”

I looked at Shin. What are we going to do?

“That’s right, she’s my girl,” he said coolly.

“Why didn’t you just say so?”

“Because I’m signing her in as a relative.” Fortunately there was no one at reception to hear this, though a few nurses had passed through, dressed fashionably to go out. It might have been my imagination, but at least a couple of them gave me unfriendly stares.

Koh Beng looked disappointed. “Well, Ji Lin, if you ever get tired of him, don’t forget about me.”

I smiled weakly. My head throbbed as though the invisible dwarves were now pounding it gleefully with mallets; I wondered if I was going to have another strange dream. “I’m going to bed.”

Shin pressed a bottle of aspirin into my hand. “If you need anything, send me a message.”

I nodded and followed the housekeeper into the women’s side of the staff hostel. The housekeeper, an older auntie-type lady, didn’t say anything either. Her back was stiff with disapproval, and I wondered if she’d overheard Koh Beng’s loud remarks. She unlocked a room, a narrow cell-like space with just enough room for a single bed, and handed me the key along with two thin cotton towels.