The Night Tiger(96)

I nodded. If he could make sense of them, I might have some bargaining power to deal with Y. K. Wong.





36

Batu Gajah

Friday, June 26th




In the hot, stifling afternoon, Ren continues to sleep. Pushing past the veil of fog that drifts and numbs him. He has to get through, to the other place. That bright, feverish place where everything is clear as glass and sharp as stone. It takes every bit of his strength but suddenly, there he is. The long bleached grass, the low tangled bushes. There was a tiger here before, he remembers, but it’s nowhere to be seen now. He casts around the muddy ground. What was he doing that was so important? Yes. Nandani. He has to find her.

William said that she made it home safely that night after the party, but Ren doesn’t believe him. She’s not in Batu Gajah. She’s here. He’s sure of it.

In that burning, dreamlike landscape, Ren follows the footprints in the soft earth. They lead onward, the left foot dragging, through the waist-high grass towards the train station that he glimpses in the distance. They must belong to Nandani, he thinks anxiously. Ever since he saved her leg that day, he’s felt responsible for her, even though she’s older than him. For some reason, Dr. MacFarlane’s words come back to him, that affectionate reprimand. Kindness will be the death of you, Ren. But that’s not true, is it?

Doggedly, he follows the footsteps. The trail wavers, as though whoever made it has become weaker along the way. His cat sense prickles, trembling in a single direction, only to be met by a high blank wall as vast as the sky. Beyond that, lies Yi.

Ren plods on, the brilliant light burning the landscape into his squinting eyes. The railway station draws steadily closer. It’s the same direction as the wall that separates him from Yi. For some reason, a girl in blue comes to mind. What was her name again—Ji Lin? His thoughts flicker in and out. William dancing with her. Her eyes opening wide as she sees Ren. Running around the house in the dark, checking the windows for Nandani, or is it some other pale chill creature who might be peering in from the windows? The vengeful long-haired women, cheated in love. And at last, the roaring flash that breaks the night—but he can’t recall any further. This is reality now, this bright sunny land that quivers with unknown expectation.

The footprints lure him onward, around a shrub with waxy dark green leaves. Oleander, he thinks, looking at the frothy blossoms, though he can’t recall who dislikes it so much. An old Chinese man, wiping his hands on an apron and saying disapprovingly that the master should cut it down. Ren blinks and the memory is gone.

As Ren goes around the bush, he almost stumbles on her. She’s sitting on the ground, nursing her left ankle. Her long dark hair is tangled, and when she raises her face to him, Ren has a terrible shock. It isn’t Nandani at all. In fact, he’s never seen this woman before.

They stare at each other in silence. She’s Chinese, with a pale, rabbitlike look. Her eyes are pink at the corners, as though she’s been crying, and when she stands up awkwardly, she’s not much bigger than Ren. “Who are you?”

“I’m Ren.”

She stares at him. “Are you a real person?”

“Yes.”

Unexpectedly, she grabs him by the elbow. Her touch is icy cold, and Ren gives a cry of surprise.

“You’re warm,” she says. Bending over, she clutches her ankle. “I can’t walk well. I must have sprained it.” With a grimace, she straightens, and now Ren can see there’s something wrong with her. One arm is bent, her shoulder set at a strange angle, as she shuffles forward. She looks broken, a puppet whose strings have been cut.

“Does it hurt?” he asks.

“Not really. I’m a nurse,” she says. “So I think I might have broken my arm or dislocated my shoulder.”

“Can’t you remember?”

“It was a fall.” She frowns. “My head hurts. Anyway, it will all be better once we get on the train. Yours, too.”

Ren glances down and realizes that he, too, is injured. His left arm and side are wrapped in bandages, and he has the uneasy feeling that he ought to remember why, although he doesn’t. They walk around the oleander bushes, and from here, there’s a clear view of the train station. Ren’s companion seems to take heart at the sight.

“Where did you come from?” she says.

“I don’t know.” He looks behind him, but there’s nothing but waving grass.

“Come on,” says his companion. “We need to get going.”





37

Falim/Ipoh

Friday, June 26th




Shaken, I took the bus to Falim. If I closed my eyes, I could still see Y. K. Wong’s crooked jaw, that instant, calculating look right before he’d locked me into the storeroom. I wondered what expression he’d have when he returned to find me gone. Certainly, I’d have to deal with him soon. Courage, my girl, I thought, squeezing my hands against the rising anxiety in my chest.

I spent a quiet evening in the shophouse helping my mother. Observing her frail figure, I thought of Ren. I had a terrible suspicion he was dying; the greyness in his face had frightened me, his eyes shut like a soul unmoored. What could I do for him?

“Don’t worry,” my mother’s voice broke in. “It will be all right. He likes you.”