Pat hesitated. Was Wolf bothering her? Yes, he was. He must have followed her here and was presumably waiting until Sister Connie left so that he could talk to her. That was stalking, in her view, or something which was close enough to stalking.
Sister Connie leaned forward. “Troublesome men are easily defeated,” she said. “Just give me five minutes. That’s all I’ll need.”
35. Setting Off
Domenica had an early breakfast in the courtyard of her small hotel in Malacca. The couple who ran the hotel, the da Silvas, brought her a plate of freshly sliced tropical fruits – paw-paw, watermelon, star fruit – and this was followed by a fine white porridge, sweetened and flavoured with cinnamon, and after that by scrambled eggs in which chopped smoked fish had been mixed. She ate alone at her table; it seemed that she was the only guest in the hotel; she had seen nobody else since she had arrived, and the da Silvas had urged her to stay as long as possible.
“There is plenty of room,” they said, wistfully, she thought.
The courtyard suited her very well, as it had two frangipani trees in blossom and she could just pick up the delicate, rather sickly scent of their white flowers. She liked frangipani trees, and had planted several in her time in Kerala, all those years ago. But not everybody shared her enthusiasm; the Chinese often did not like them because they associated them with cemeteries, where they often grew. Tree associations interested Domenica.
In Scotland, it was well known that rowan trees protected one against witches, just as buddleia attracts butterflies. And then there were the ancestor trees in Africa – a tree which one should not cut down, out of respect for the ancestor who might inhabit it. In India, the same rule applied to banyan trees, and she had once travelled on a highway where a banyan tree had been left growing in the middle of the road. Surprising as it was, that, she thought, demonstrated a proper sense of priorities. In her view, the car should give way to spiritual values, although it rarely did. And, of course, there were places where the car was even accorded an almost spiritual status. Had somebody in the United States not insisted on being buried in his car? It was so absurd.
Her breakfast over, Domenica returned to her room and packed her bags. In an hour’s time, Edward Hong would be calling for her, as he had agreed to drive her to meet the contact who would lead her to the pirate village. He could not drive all the way, he explained, for reasons of security.
110 Setting Off
“I’m afraid that they’re a little bit unwilling to let me go to the village itself,” he said. “And you will be obliged to walk the last couple of miles. But everybody knows where it is, of course.
I suppose they like to maintain at least some sense of clandes-tinity. Good for their self-image, I suspect.”
When Domenica expressed astonishment that the location of the pirate stronghold should be widely known, Edward Hong waved a hand in the air. “But that’s the way things are, you know.
The police are probably rather frightened of these pirate fellows, I imagine. A policy of live-and-let-live is easiest.”
Domenica had experience of this in India, where the law could be enforced sporadically, but surely piracy was different . . .
Edward Hong sighed. “They make an effort,” he said. “They announced the hanging of a couple of pirates a few years ago, but nobody thought they were really hanged. Maybe just suspended.” He glanced at her sideways and they both laughed.
It was difficult to tell these days whether people still appreciated humour. He was pleased to find out that Domenica did; but of course she would, he thought – she is clearly a woman of discernment and wit.
Setting Off 111
“It’s rather difficult for the authorities,” he went on. “Poor fellows. They have so much to do, and it does get frightfully hot out here.” He took a silk handkerchief out of his pocket and mopped his brow. Domenica noticed, with approval, the gold embroidered initials on the corner of the handkerchief: EH, worked in fancy script.
Edward Hong looked at his watch. “If you’re ready,” he said,
“we can go. My driver will take us to pick up this reprobate, and then we shall take a little spin out to the village, or as close as we’re allowed to get. Have you brought a good sun hat?”
Domenica nodded.
“And insect repellent?”
Again she nodded.
“I can see you’ve been in the field before,” said Edward Hong appreciatively. He paused. “Are you absolutely sure that you want to go on with this? You know, I doubt if anybody would think the less of you if you decided to do something different.
We have a very interesting set of Chinese secret societies here in Malacca; I’m sure we could fix you up to study those.”
Domenica assured him that she was well aware of the risks and that she was determined to continue with her project.
“Oh, it’s not the risk I’m thinking of,” said Edward Hong quickly. “It’s more the discomfort. You know these people have a pretty primitive cuisine – I gather that pirate cooking is just awful. And the boredom of the conversation. They’re not brilliant conversationalists, you know, and you’ll be talking pidgin into the bargain. I’m afraid that you’re in for a rather thin time of it socially.”
Domenica pointed to her trunk. “I have a good supply of books,” she said. “I shall not want for reading matter.”
Edward Hong inquired as to which books she had brought with her, and she told him of the last six volumes of Proust that she had tucked away in the trunk.
“Proust!” he exclaimed. “The ideal companion for a mangrove swamp! That sets my mind at rest. I shall picture you in that steamy swamp with your little notebooks and your Proust.”
“I’m not so sure that Proust is the right choice,” said 112 Singapore Matters
Domenica. “But at least it will fill the hours. And, of course, I shall be busy with my fieldwork. I have so many questions to ask these people. I doubt if I’ll have all that much spare time.”
They left the hotel and got into Edward Hong’s waiting car.
Then, negotiating a series of pothole-ridden backroads and alley-ways, they arrived at a small café on the front of which was a block of Chinese script and a large sign in Baharsa Malay advertising the merits of Tiger Balm.
Edward Hong said something to the driver, who climbed out of the car and walked into the café. A few minutes later, Domenica saw him come out with a striking-looking young man with a blue headscarf tied across his brow. He was wearing a black T-shirt and a pair of denim jeans. His feet were in sandals.
The driver gestured to the passenger seat in the front and the young man got into it. He turned and gave Domenica a wide smile, exposing a brilliant set of teeth. Then he winked at her. She wondered if she had been mistaken, but then he winked again, and she realised that she had not. I cannot afford to have a romance with a pirate, she said to herself. Not at my stage of life. I just cannot.
36. Singapore Matters
As they drove out of Malacca, heading north, Edward Hong entertained Domenica with an account of his life. He had a strange way of talking – that style sometimes encountered which conveys the impression that the listener already knows what is being said and the narrator is merely adding detail.
“We’re a Malacca family,” he said. “My grandfather, Sir Percival Hong, was one of the first locals to be on the bench.
He was a very popular man – everybody liked him, and he was the one who built our house, actually. He had a very good collection of early Chinese ceramics which he built up with the help of a dealer in Hong Kong. I remember that dealer coming to the house when I was a boy. I thought that he was the last word Singapore Matters 113