The Rose of Singapore (26 page)

He staggered drunkenly to the line of waiting taxis, and as a door was thrown open for him, he flopped in and fell behind the grinning driver.

“Lavender Street, Johnny. And for God's sake hurry. Lavender Street. I'll direct you from there.”

The taxi driver had seen it all before. “OK, Johnny,” he said. The taxi shot forward and Bugis Street was left behind.

15

Grief-stricken, Lai Ming had sobbed herself to sleep, but she awoke as Peter entered the room and sat down on the edge of her bed. Her eyes, dulled by crying, looked up into his, but she did not smile.

“I knew you would return to me, Peter,” she said.

“What made you so sure?”

“I just knew you would.”

“Tell me who was here when I arrived this evening. I want to know.”

Lai Ming sat up but refrained from touching him. “You will be angry if I tell you,” she said quietly.

“I want to know.”

“It can only hurt you, Peter.”

“I want to know who was here.”

Lai Ming sighed. “Very well, but I have warned you. You will get hurt.”

“You can't hurt me anymore, Rose. Not more than you already have.”

“I'm so sorry, Peter,” Lai Ming said, almost in a whisper. “I am truly sorry. Now, please remember, I prefer to tell you nothing about who was here, but you insist, so I will tell you,” she said sadly, her cheeks putty-grey and stained through weeping. “An American man, a friend, an officer from off a ship was here,” she whispered. Reaching for her handbag, which lay on the dressing table, she took from it a wad of American dollars and showing them to Peter, said, “Look! He gave me these.”

Mute in his increasingly seething anger, Peter stared wild-eyed and in disbelief at the American money. Suddenly, he snatched the wad of dollars from her and threw them across the room. “So, for those bits of paper you sold your body,” he said, clenching his fists. He felt as if he was about to throw up. “You sold your body for those,” he repeated. “Another man lay with you, and before him, hundreds I suppose, probably thousands.”

“You asked me to tell you, Peter.”

“You are nothing more than a dirty prostitute,” he hissed, a savage tone in his voice. “I've been living in a brothel. Why did you bring me here in the first place? Why did you want to hurt me?”

“I did not want to hurt you. I have never wanted to hurt you. I love you, Peter.”

“Love me! How can you love me yet allow other men to fuck you?” He was crying in his anger, his tears running down over his bewildered and grief-stricken face.

“You do not understand or you would not speak to me in such a manner,” Lai Ming said sadly. “You just do not understand.”

“I understand only too well. You're a prostitute, a fucking whore who fucks anybody. I loved and treasured you, Rose, and now I find that you're nothing but a whore. I can't believe it. I just can't believe it,” he moaned in seething anger. Then, his voice rising, he said, “So that is the reason why I could never spend Saturday evenings with you. Because Saturday night is the best night of your week, the night you are sure of customers for your filthy business. You would lose money if I were with you, wouldn't you?”

“It is my business, Peter. Why should I have told you of my business? We have been very happy together, why should I spoil it? You have been happy with me, Peter?”

“Happy! Of course I've been happy. I loved you. But you tricked me into loving you, and now you've killed all that.”

“No, Peter, I no trick you. Our love is natural. We love each other. Don't say tricked.”

“Tricked! Of course it was a trick. You made me believe you to be the perfect little lady. The Miss Proper. I trusted you. I believed everything you told me. What a fool I've been. Now you can laugh and think what a stupid person I am.”

Suddenly staggering to his feet and swaying over her, drunk no longer but stricken with jealousy and intense rage, he grasped her by an arm and tightened his grip on it. Her face expressionless, she did not move or attempt to draw away from him; only her tear-filled eyes spoke, pleading with him.

“I loved you, Rose. I trusted and worshipped you as if you were an angel. I gave you all that I could give, and thought you were giving me the same in return. But you've been giving yourself to other men. You've been cheating on me. But you will give yourself to no other man. I would rather see you die.”

Tightening his grip on her arm, he wrenched her off the bed, feeling a sudden sadistic pleasure in hurting her. She'd hurt him. Now he would hurt her, and he would hurt her more, much more than she'd hurt him. With his free hand he slapped her hard across the face sending her head reeling backward. Then, with the back of his hand, he slapped her face again. Never before had he struck anyone, and most certainly he would never have struck a defenseless woman. But now, shocked and consumed by jealousy and anger, he wanted to punish this woman who'd hurt him so badly. “Take that you stinking bitch,” he shouted, slapping her face one more time. Then, wanting to hurt her even more, with all his strength he lifted her off the bed, violently shook her, and then threw her from him, so that she hurtled across the bed and crashed against the stone wall on the far side of the room. There, without even a whimper, she sank as if unconscious into a motionless heap within the narrow space between the wall and the bed. Her face was turned towards him, but her eyes were closed and she was not moving. Eventually her eyes flickered open. Silently she watched him standing, towering over her, on the other side of the bed. She whimpered, but didn't speak, just stared up at him in horrified amazement. Then tears began to roll down her cheeks.

“Peter, what are you doing to me?” was all she said.

“I, I don't know, Rose,” Peter said in a frightened voice. “I don't know.” Suddenly the awful realism of his cowardly act hit him, and he gasped in horrified amazement, his hands covering his face. “My God! What have I done to you? What have I done?” he moaned.

Scrambling frantically across the bed, he reached down and carefully lifted Lai Ming, and tenderly placed her upon the bed, dreading what harm he might have caused his lovely girlfriend. Gently, quickly, his hand roved over her body, caressing her hands and arms, her legs and feet, and then her ribs, all the while fearful that she would cry out as he pressed upon broken bones. Her face was already swollen and there was an ugly purple bruise spreading where he had so tightly gripped her arm.

“My God. What have I done to you, Rose? I had no right to hit you. No right at all.” He held her in his arms and gently kissed her swollen cheeks. “Rose, please forgive me,” he said in an anguished voice. “I swear to you and to God that I'm sorry. How could I have done such a cowardly thing?” Feeling wretched, he knew not what to do or say. Eventually, he said, “I'm sorry, Rose. God help me, I'm sorry. I must be crazy. I've never hit a woman before, I swear. How could I have meant to harm you? You know I love you.”

For several moments they looked intently into each other's eyes. Yes, he loved her. Now she knew for sure that he loved her. Pitying him, Lai Ming lifted a hand and drew his head down to where it could rest upon her breast. Gently she caressed his face and slid her fingers through his hair. “Don't speak,” she whispered. “Lie still.”

He lay for some moments before wriggling free. “I can't lie still after what I've done to you, Rose. Can I do anything for you?”

“I'm all right, Peter. Don't worry,” she whispered, a trace of a smile upon her face.

“Thank God,” Peter murmured. “I feel so mean and cruel. I wish that it had never happened.”

“Don't think of it, Peter. It is best forgotten.”

“I'll never forget as long as I live. I swear to you that I'll never ever strike you again.”

“I believe you, Peter.”

“I must have gone crazy. Can you ever forgive me, Rose? I'm so very sorry, and I feel terrible.” Pressing his face to her breasts, he burst into tears and openly wept.

“Don't cry, Peter,” Lai Ming implored. “I don't like to see you cry. Please, don't cry, Peter. I forgive you for everything. You are in shock, and it's my fault. I should have told you. I love you, Peter. I want you. I'll always want you. You are my boy.”

Again and again she slid her fingers through his hair as she pressed her body tightly against his. Then, quickly unclipping the tiny cloth buttons to the little top she wore, she drew it aside revealing her breasts. Placing her hand beneath one, she led the nipple to Peter's lips. “Kiss me there,” she whispered. She felt the nipple slip into his mouth, he sucking on it eagerly, she holding her breast to him as she would her baby. Soon, she could feel his body relaxing on top of her, like a slowly deflating balloon. She sighed her relief. That is what she wanted, for him to relax. She sighed again as she too relaxed, happy to again enjoy the feeling of being wanted by the boy she loved.

Several hours later, relaxed and completely composed, they lay in one another's arms, the fires of their emotions extinguished, leaving them drained and in a dreamy state of restful, relieved tranquility. Neither moved nor spoke but lay gazing into the eyes of the other, not wishing to break the spell of the moment.

Street noises from passing traffic had subsided. Only cruising taxi-cabs hunting for late fares, the whining of military police jeeps, and the coarser engines of the naval patrol wagons making their rounds of vigilance, broke the silence of the night. The city, moonlit, awaited the coming of dawn.

Lai Ming finally broke the silence. Placing a hand on Peter's shoulder, her face became serious as she said, “Peter, don't go to sleep, not yet. I have been thinking on many things. Let's talk.”

“About what?”

“About you and about me. About us, but mainly about me.”

“That should be interesting.”

“I'd like to tell you everything of my past, Peter. Much more than you already know.”

“You've already told me quite a bit about yourself. But you didn't tell me the bad part.”

“What I wish to tell you is not meant to hurt you, Peter, but it may. I never wish to hurt you again. But I think you should know of my past, and then you can decide.”

“Decide! Decide what?”

“Decide on whether or not we can have a future together, now that you know who I am. As I told you on the beach at Changi, my husband was taken from me, killed at sea. I was left broken-hearted, with little money, and with a baby to fend for. I sought employment, but you have seen for yourself the working conditions here. There is much unemployment. And to labour at unskilled work, if you are fortunate to find work, you cannot expect more than a pittance in pay. In fact it would have been impossible to feed and clothe my child as I have, as well as pay for his medical bills which are forever piling up.”

Sitting up, Peter asked, “What do you mean? Why are there medical bills?”

Also sitting up, Lai Ming reached for her handbag. Opening it, she drew out a card and handed it to Peter. “This is the illness my son came down with shortly after my husband's death.”

It was still too dark for Peter to read the printed words on the card, so climbing out of bed, he went into the bathroom and switched on the light. In big black letters the heading on the card was KANDANG KERBAU HOSPITAL.

In smaller letters the second line read, Poliomyelitis Ward. Peter read on, comprehending with dismay what Lai Ming was telling him. He was holding a visiting card stating the time of day patients were allowed visitors. “Oh, my God!” he whispered to himself.

Returning to the bed, he said just the one word to Lai Ming. “Polio?”

“Yes,” she answered softly, fighting back tears. “His doctors tell me that his is a relatively mild case, that they are experimenting with new treatments and new medicines so that, given time, he might walk again, and possibly recover completely. Now, with every visit I make to him, the doctors appear even more hopeful.”

“Thank God for that,” said Peter. “But the treatment must cost you lots of money.”

“Yes, it does, for his treatment and medicines, for the doctors, as well as for the hospital.”

“I'm beginning to understand. I wish you had told me sooner.”

“Would it have made a difference?”

“I don't know.”

“But now you know the reason why I need lots of money, to pay my son's hospital bills. Thankfully, I do see improvement in him. But, please, allow me to carry on with my story.”

“No, Rose, I've heard enough. I understand what you're going through. There's no need to say more.”

“But it is my wish, Peter. I want you to know everything about me, because sooner or later you must decide.”

“I know. But it's not necessary to tell me everything.”

“Yes, it is necessary, and I shall tell you everything, so please remain silent, OK?”

“OK. If that's your wish.”

“It is my wish. Now, I continue. I was devastated at learning the nature of my son's illness, and by almost losing him. But now that I had big bills to pay, I found employment as a dance hostess in the cabaret of the New World. I didn't like the job but I couldn't be choosy. At first I was treated well and my wages were reasonable, but not nearly enough to cover my expenses. I could have earned much more but I always became disgusted with the men, and disgusted at the thought of selling my body. I couldn't do it. But I needed money. Lots of money. I became frustrated. Sometimes I liked a man almost enough to give in to temptation, but I didn't have the nerve so refused all offers. I remained as a dance hostess earning a minimum wage.

“Then, one day, the house manager, a big fat pompous man who I could not possibly like, took me to his room and attempted to seduce me. When that failed, he attempted to rape me, and when I fought back, he fired me. I even had to get out of the room he had rented for me. I roamed the streets seeking work and begging for money. Have you ever tried begging for money, Peter? You would soon learn that without money you are nothing. I have no relatives in Singapore, and my so-called friends deserted me. I was alone, with a very sick child in the hospital, and with money demands coming in daily. Have you ever roamed the streets, Peter, hungry, without money, and sick at heart? I don't think so. You wouldn't know what it is like to plead, to beg with a starving belly, and to be ignored. But I know, Peter. I know. Never again shall I beg. I would rather sell my body a million times over than ever beg again.