The Scottish Banker of Surabaya - By Ian Hamilton Page 0,73
said Fay, reaching for Ava’s hand. She held it as they walked, as women friends did in many parts of Asia, Ava knew.
It was hot, the sun naked in the sky, and they kept close to the buildings, grateful for whatever shade they cast. They passed a variety of stores, their names written in both Chinese and Indonesian; Ava wondered if the translations were more accurate than they were in Canada.
When they reached Kong Co Kong Tik Cun Ong, they had to stop. People were thronging around the entrance, blocking passage. “They’re mainly onlookers,” Fay said, tugging Ava to the right. They hugged the wall, inching forward until they reached the courtyard.
Ava bought six joss sticks, an orange, and a mango. She went to the Taoist altar and placed the fruit at its base. She put the smouldering sticks between her palms, her fingers pointing upwards, bowed her head, and began to pray. She asked for good health and peace in the lives of her mother, Marian, her nieces, Mimi, and Mimi’s unborn child. She prayed for Uncle, that his life continue free of illness, free of worry, until he had no desire to continue.
And then Ava prayed for herself.
She knew she could not forgive. She would have her revenge, she confessed, an eye for an eye. And when that was done, she asked for the strength to let go, to accept what had happened to her, to start the process of forgetting. She needed Tao’s harmony and balance, but first she had to purge. Help me get through to the other side, she prayed. Unlike the day before, she shed no tears.
Fay waited for her near the wall. “Me praying twice in two days — my grandfather must be proud,” she said.
“I’d glad we came here. Thank you for coming to the hotel,” Ava said.
“My pleasure. Now what?”
“I’m famished.”
“Chinese food?”
“What else? We are in Chinatown.”
“There’s a seafood restaurant close by that my grandfather used to take me to.”
“I would like to go there.”
“Perfect,” Fay said, reaching for Ava’s hand again and guiding her back through the alleys.
The restaurant was between the lunch and dinner crowds, so they had their pick of tables. Fay chose one that gave them a view of the street. “Is there anything special you would like?” she asked.
“Order what your grandfather liked.”
“Yes, that’s a wonderful idea.”
It wasn’t until they were halfway through a plate of fried noodles with shrimp and squid, served with a thick, salty soy sauce that Fay called kecap asin, and a platter of curried crab, the curry blended with lemongrass, cilantro, and red-hot green chilis, that Fay mentioned Cameron. “Did he get you home safely?”
“Of course.”
“And Andy behaved himself?”
Ava sucked the roe from the inside of a crab shell, her attention on the food. “About as much as you would expect,” she said.
Fay began to ask another question but Ava interrupted. “Tell me about Vivian. How long has it been since she’s come out?”
“Out? She has never been out. What made you think that?”
“Well, earlier —”
“That’s just family business,” Fay said quickly. “We’re the only ones in Surabaya who actually know, and it’s something we keep tightly inside the family.”
“I won’t discuss it with anyone.”
“I wasn’t suggesting you would. It’s just that this city is so parochial, so bigoted about people like Vivian, that it’s best for all concerned for the family to be discreet. About once a month Vivian goes to Jakarta for a weekend or maybe flies to Hong Kong or Manila, and what she gets up to no one asks.”
“Isn’t that a little backward?”
Fay shrugged. “Maybe for our generation, but it’s difficult for my parents. They can’t imagine a woman not needing a man, and they can’t imagine a woman not being completely subservient to a man. That’s why men like Andy Cameron revel in this culture. In their own countries they need to work at getting a woman. Here, all it takes is the right look and some poor girl who’s been brainwashed into thinking she’s subservient. After a while it becomes expected on the part of the man, and any pretence he used to have about actually wooing a woman disappears. When you hear the way they speak to women, it’s enough to make you throw up. I can imagine Cameron saying ‘on your back’ to a woman the same way he’d say ‘roll over’ to a dog.”
“I don’t want to talk about or hear about Andy Cameron,” Ava said quietly. “It’s enough to say that