following me.
7
Batu Gajah
Friday, June 5th
Since his arrival, Ren has learned two important things about his new master. First, Ah Long informs him that William is a surgeon and therefore should be referred to as “Mr.” or Tuan Acton instead of “Dr.”
“Why’s that?” asks Ren.
“No idea. Is a British thing.” Ah Long is shelling giant river prawns. “But that’s how you address him.”
The second thing he’s learned is that his new employer prefers a tidy environment, worlds away from the lively and chaotic household Ren left in Kamunting. Dr. MacFarlane often left half-eaten sandwiches and banana skins in the muddle of papers on his desk. This new doctor, William Acton, places his utensils neatly on the edge of the plate. The shining surface of his desk is broken only by the archipelago of inkwell, blotting paper, and pen.
Ren has already memorized the exact position of each object and replaces it correctly each time he dusts. Maybe it’s a waste of time as he doesn’t know how long he’ll stay here. Until his task is done—though what comes after finding the finger and returning it to his grave, Ren has no idea. Dr. MacFarlane gave no further instructions. A wave of homesickness strikes him, so intense that tears well shamefully in his eyes. Ren tells himself that he’s too old to cry. Twenty-six days have passed since his old master’s death and he feels a rising panic. But nobody else has died. Unless dogs count.
Yesterday, Ah Long mentioned that the neighbor two houses over had lost a pedigreed terrier: a yappy, scrappy creature, worth more than a month’s salary. A tuft of fur attached to a stumpy white tail was all that was discarded. “Leopard,” grunted Ah Long. Ren hopes so. Not tiger.
He gazes out of the window onto the expanse of clipped grass and gravel driveway. The white bungalow stands on a slight rise, the lawn lapping it like a grassy pool. Jungle presses in on all sides and is kept at bay by two Indian gardeners. Troops of monkeys parade past, and wild chickens, jungle fowl, scratch in the undergrowth. Ren, fascinated, watches them from the open kitchen where he peels vegetables and washes rice.
Yi, he mouths silently, you would like this place. Catching sight of his reflection in a steel tray that he’s polishing, he nods. It’s hard, even after three years, to be without his brother.
The worst part about death is forgetting the image of the beloved. It’s the final robbery, the last betrayal. Yet it’s impossible to forget Yi’s face, for it is his own. That’s the only comfort that Ren has in losing his twin.
When they first arrived at the orphanage, no one knew which child was older. The matron was the one who decided that it should be Ren, and she named him accordingly, ren being the greatest of the five Confucian Virtues. It means human-heartedness: the benevolence that distinguishes man from beast. The perfect man, according to Confucius, should be willing to die to preserve this. Ren thinks that if he had a choice he’d rather have died to save Yi.
Ren has a recurring dream that he’s standing on a railway platform, just like the one in Taiping where he used to see Dr. MacFarlane off on his trips, only this time it’s Yi who’s on the train. He leans out of the window, thin arms waving wildly. When he grins, there’s a gap where one front tooth hasn’t grown in yet. He looks exactly the same as when he died.
Ren wants to chase after Yi’s smiling face, but his feet are clamped inexplicably to the platform. He’s forced to watch as the train picks up speed, its wheels spinning faster as Yi gets smaller and smaller until he’s gone, and Ren wakes up bathed in sweat or tears.
Yet it’s a happy dream. He’s delighted to see his brother again and so is Yi. He can see it in Yi’s gestures, his bright-eyed gaze. Sometimes he speaks, mouth moving as he gesticulates, though there’s never any sound. Ren thinks it’s odd that Yi is always the one who is going on a journey, when it’s Ren who is growing older and leaving him behind.
* * *
Ren is mopping the floor. He puts strength into it, rinsing the mop often and changing his bucket of water, as trained by Auntie Kwan. The patch of shining floor grows larger in leaf-shaped swipes, like a glossy plant spreading over the wide teak planks.
“Good.” Ah Long’s voice breaks