The Night Tiger(53)
“About our get-together,” says Leslie, referring to the monthly dinner party that William hosts next. “Is it all right if I fix up some entertainment?”
William isn’t particularly keen, but he says genially, “Whatever you like.”
“It’s a surprise!” says Leslie, looking pleased as he heads off. Too late, William realizes he forgot to mention that he’s promised Lydia she could come to their next gathering, but it doesn’t matter. Lydia fits in well with that crowd. Far better than Ambika ever could have.
The rumors that Ambika was singled out by witchcraft or angry spirits in the form of a tiger are troubling, mostly because they accuse her of being a loose woman. Which she was, he supposes. Suddenly and acutely, he misses her. A fog of misery and loneliness descends on him, but Ambika’s little hut remains empty. She will never return to it.
William tells himself that from now on, he’ll be a better person. Put in a good word for that Chinese girl in the pathology storeroom yesterday, the one who’d asked about nursing. The girl was charming with her cropped hair; it went well with her straight brows and dark eyes, tilted like a doe’s, as she stared him down. She was like a pretty boy, all slim limbs and narrow waist, so that he felt like seizing her, hard, to hear her gasp. He wonders what it would be like to trace a finger along that slender nape, down the hollow between her small pointed breasts. She’s not his type, but when he thinks about her, he wants to touch her.
His type is more like Nandani, the girl whose leg Ren saved. Even as he considers this, he sees her face in the crowd. It startles him—is it really her, or do all local girls with long braided curls look similar? But she’s smiling shyly, her heart-shaped face dimpling. William has a sudden rush of confidence.
Sometimes—unexpectedly—what he wishes for comes true. Doors open, obstacles are removed. Like Rawlings’s suspicions of foul play, brushed aside by an impatient magistrate. Or the fortuitous timing of that salesman’s obituary in the newspaper. Call it coincidence or just plain luck, it’s happened a little too often in his life.
Smiling back, he makes his way over to Nandani. She leans on wooden crutches.
“How’s the leg?” Her English, as he recalls, isn’t so good, not like the other girl, the Chinese one. They speak a patois of Malay and English, but that’s all right.
“Better,” she says shyly.
“I’ll give you a ride,” he says. She lives on a nearby rubber estate, after all.
But Lydia has found him. “Are you going back, William?”
His first reaction is annoyance, but then he realizes that it is in fact a good thing. What was he thinking, to give a local girl a lift home in front of everyone at church? He’s slipping up. It’s better to have Lydia around. Perfect, in fact, as he can drop her off first, and then Nandani. “Would you like a lift?”
Lydia is delighted. “Well, if it’s not too much trouble.”
“No trouble at all—I’m dropping off a patient.” He deliberately charms her.
Lydia stops to tell her parents she won’t be going back with them. From their glances, they’re pleased he’s making a move on their daughter. It’s a misunderstanding he’ll have to eventually clear up, though it’s understandable. He’s the right age and from a good family. There’s talk around Lydia that nags at him, though he can’t recall what it’s about. William has a feeling that he ought to investigate. But in the meantime, the sun is shining, everyone is smiling, and the tiger hunt promises more excitement in the future.
Lydia sits in front, of course. William helps Nandani into the back with her crutches. She looks intimidated, so he gives her hand an extra squeeze. She drops her eyes, and William is sure that she likes him. Today may be lucky after all.
20
Batu Gajah District Hospital
Sunday, June 14th
My eyes opened to an unfamiliar ceiling. The floor creaked, a voice echoed in the corridor, and I remembered that I’d stayed over at the nurses’ hostel. Grey light seeped in through the single window. It was Sunday morning.
Last night’s headache had vanished, though I wondered whether there was something wrong with me, some brain disease that gave me vivid delusions. Every dream I’d had of that deserted railway station had been preceded by a bad headache. The little boy’s words about how there ought to be five of us lingered. I sat on the edge of the narrow bed, counting us off. There was Shin, and me, and the little boy. He’d also mentioned his brother and a fifth person, someone he seemed quite nervous about. The memory was beginning to fade, the way that dreams do.
I had the odd fancy that the five of us were yoked by some mysterious fate. Drawn together, yet unable to break free, the tension made a twisted pattern. We must either separate ourselves, or come together. I could certainly see that about Shin and myself. He was my paper twin, my friend, my confidante. And yet I envied and resented him.
I washed up quickly in the white-tiled, institutional common bathroom. It was deserted, the voices in the corridor having long gone elsewhere. Yesterday’s frock was too grimy to be worn again, but Mrs. Tham had insisted on packing a modern cream and green geometric print cheongsam, fitted like a sheath. I’d thought I was done with cheongsam after making the grey one that I’d worn to the salesman’s funeral, but Mrs. Tham had other ideas, declaring that such a tricky dress should be the backbone of every dressmaker’s arsenal. Unfortunately, I’d underestimated the seam allowances. Once I put it on, I was sure I wouldn’t be able to eat a thing. Why, why had I let her pack for me yesterday? It struck me that both Mrs. Tham and Shin possessed the uncanny ability to drag me into situations that I didn’t plan for. If yesterday was any indication of what might happen, I’d be lucky if Shin didn’t make me clean the hospital toilets today.