Authors: Ann Massey
Miri was just a day’s trip down the river but to the discontented teenager from the backblocks of Sarawak, it had seemed as far off as the moon. The stars glittering through the palm-frond thatch of the longhouse are the only lights I’ll ever get to see, she thought rebelliously when she lay in bed at night, tossing and turning in frustration.
When the chief’s brother, an elderly widower, had placed three bamboo boxes, a length of black satin and a bunch of
sirih
leaves, handpicked from the tallest tree in the forest, outside her family’s door, Rubiah had known it was now or never. Frightened that her father would accept the tribal elder’s marriage gifts, she pleaded with her cousin Dedan, who was spending Gawai, the Dayak harvest festival, with his family, to take her with him when he returned to Miri. Dedan felt sorry for his pretty little cousin. He didn’t think it was fair that she should be forced into marriage with an old man and he agreed to help her escape.
Dedan worked at the drycleaners in Miri and he found her a job there too. But Rubiah hadn’t liked the hot, steamy drycleaning shop; the smell of the chemicals made her feel sick. When Roger, one of the customers, told her that his wife was looking for a live-in amah she’d jumped at the chance. A middle-aged
driller from Calgary, Roger told her they didn’t have any children of their own and they were adopting a local baby as soon as the mother gave birth. Just my luck to be looking after a baby again, Rubiah thought, but she accepted the job.
In the days before the birth the missus spent most mornings shopping for the baby, taking along her new amah to carry the bags. Mountains of neatly folded BabyGros, frilly frocks, bootees, bibs and nappies filled every drawer and shelf of the room the missus had converted into a nursery. The rest of the tiny garments, still in their plastic carrybags, were strewn on the floor of the baby’s wardrobe. Who would have thought a baby would need so much? In Rubiah’s tribe children didn’t wear clothes until they approached the age of puberty, and except for special festivities, adults just wore a small piece of cloth wrapped round their waist made from flattened tree bark. What a lot I’ve missed out on, she would tell herself as she pressed the ruffles on a diminutive, flounced nightgown.
Rubiah gazed with narrowed eyes at the baby decked out like a little doll in Swiss cotton, ribbons and lace. The missus had spent all that time and money buying fripperies and forgotten to purchase the one garment that was essential. Back home in the village no mother would ever leave her baby’s head exposed. Her mother had made Rubiah wear a thick woolly hat to stop evil spirits entering her head through the soft spot to steal her soul until she was more than three years old.
Carefully, Rubiah pulled the bunny rug up over the baby’s head. The tiny infant looked so sweet and innocent. No one would guess that she was a witch’s child. But Rubiah had seen the evidence with her own eyes when she had reached down to take the baby from the mother’s arms: the sign of the snake,
a fearsome symbol and absolute proof the wearer possessed supernatural powers was tattooed on her neck. With a feeling of foreboding Rubiah had backed away. She knew evil spirits could leap to a new host.
But her employer had no such qualms. ‘Isn’t she sweet?’ Heather said. ‘May I pick her up?’ It was just empty civility. Crystal had no say. She had already signed over custody of the child.
Fearfully, the superstitious Dayak touched the handmade necklace she always wore. The shell amulet, finely carved with protective motifs by the village witch doctor, was guaranteed to protect the wearer against evil spirits. But from the first moment Rubiah had set eyes on the fearsome tattoo she’d known it would take much stronger magic to save her from the witch’s curse. Perhaps Dedan could help her find a witch doctor. Getting the money to pay him wouldn’t be a problem: hadn’t Roger bought her the gold anklet she’d asked for? She looked down at her delicate ankle and smiled.
Leonie turned around and looked at Rubiah nursing the baby in the back seat. ‘You should buy a baby capsule, Heather,’ she said bossily. ‘You’d be fined in Calgary if the police pulled you over.’
‘I already have. Roger’s going to install it when he gets home from work tonight.’
‘Is he pleased?’ asked Leonie.
Heather had confided that she and Roger had been trying for a baby unsuccessfully for years and had little chance of adopting back in Canada because of their age, but all the same the arrangement with Michelle Kong, her doctor’s wife, seemed unorthodox, very dodgy. And she wasn’t the only one who thought so. The rest
of the wives in her bridge club agreed. Leonie’s three children were all at boarding school, paid for by the oil company. Appalled, she couldn’t believe any woman would hand over her baby to strangers. Heather hadn’t admitted that she’d bought the baby, but Leonie knew for a fact that money had changed hands. Roger had confided to her husband that he’d handed over fifty thousand Malaysian ringgit to Michelle Kong to seal the deal. Twenty thousand was for Crystal and thirty thousand was for the Kongs.
‘Yes, he’s over the moon, can’t wait to be a daddy,’ replied Heather.
‘I can’t believe it was so easy. I’d have thought adopting a baby would have been more complicated. There has to be more to it than that, surely. For it to be legal, I mean.’
‘The mother signed an affidavit giving up all rights to the child, but I expect we’ll have to go through the proper channels to adopt her officially. I rang my sister, Hazel, and she’s looking into it for me. She’s really good at sorting things out. Did I tell you she works in the prime minister’s office in Ottawa?’
Only about fifty times, thought Leonie. ‘Did you get a look at the mother? What about the snake tattoo? She’ll regret that. It’ll look awful when she’s older and her neck crepes.’ Leonie examined her own lined neck in the rearview mirror.
‘Madam Kong told me she sings in a band. The tat and the shaved head are probably just her way of making some kind of bizarre fashion statement.’
‘Do you think one of the boys in the band is the father?’
‘It’s not likely, is it? Even if he wouldn’t marry her, surely she’d have gone home to her family. I think she must’ve had a relationship with an Asian boy and she’s frightened about what her parents will say if she goes home with a baby.’
‘That makes sense. I can imagine Steve going through the roof if Rosie dated a local, let alone had a baby with him. How does Roger feel about it? I mean most men like their kids to look like them.’
‘He just wants to be a daddy. But I don’t think she looks Asian. She must have taken after her mother. What do you think?’
Leonie turned around and snapped at Rubiah. ‘Give her to me, girl.’ She studied the sleeping baby closely. ‘Well, she’s got heaps of straight black hair and she’s quite yellow, but they’re often jaundiced if they’re overdue. It’s hard to tell … Ugh! She wants changing.’ She thrust the baby back at Rubiah. ‘If you’re going to have a baby, this is certainly the place. You’ve got your amah to do all the nasty, smelly work. It’s like being a grandparent, isn’t it? Just enjoy her, Heather, and give her back to your maid when you’ve had enough. What are you calling her, by the way?’
‘Millie, after my granny. Do you like it?’
‘Yes, I do. All the old names are coming back in fashion.’
‘What about you, Rubiah?’ asked Heather. She couldn’t get used to having a maid and felt embarrassed if she didn’t include Rubiah in the conversation.
‘Pardon, Missus,’ said Rubiah, who was still worrying whether the witch had put a spell on her. She knew witch doctors were expensive and she’d made up her mind to ask Mister Roger to give her extra money when he came to her room tonight.
‘We’re calling the baby Millie,’ said Heather slowly and patiently, as if she was addressing a backward child.
‘Mei Li,’ repeated Rubiah. ‘It’s a good name, a lucky name,’ and she smiled at the sleeping baby and covered her bare head tenderly.
‘I’
M SORRY THE PLACE IS SUCH A MESS,’ APOLOGISED
H
EATHER.
‘I couldn’t get Millie to go down for her sleep.’
‘Well, she’s sleeping now,’ said Leonie smugly. She’d given Millie her bottle and put her down in her cot with her favourite teddy. ‘What else can I do to help?’ she asked.
Really, Heather was hopeless, she thought, looking at the untidy living room. The other wives were due in half an hour for bridge, the place was a mess and Heather hadn’t even started preparing lunch.
‘Could you make the sandwiches?’ asked Heather gratefully, wishing she could have stayed home on her own, working on the patchwork quilt she’d started when Roger had first been posted to Miri. She found it overwhelming having the company wives round for lunch. They were so snooty. She knew they thought she was pathetic at bridge. She couldn’t bear to have them find out she was a hopeless housekeeper too. Why did Rubiah have to take off when it was her turn to entertain?
‘Rubiah is better with Millie than me,’ she said. ‘I don’t seem to have the knack with babies.’
‘You need to spend more time with her. You won’t have a maid when you go home.’
‘That won’t be for another couple of years. I’ll be better with her when she’s walking and talking. They’re more interesting then, don’t you think?’
Leonie didn’t agree. She’d loved her babies madly through all their different stages. But it’s probably different when you adopt, she thought complacently. ‘You shouldn’t have let her have time off,’ she scolded, changing the subject. ‘She takes advantage. You pay her too much, too. I give my amah three hundred ringgit a month and she does a lot more work than Rubiah. Noor keeps my place spotless,’ she boasted, looking critically at Heather’s kitchen floor.
‘Roger says we can afford it. He’s on a big salary and the company provides us with a house and car and pays all the utilities.’
‘It’s not good for the rest of us. They talk among themselves, you know. Noor asked me for more money yesterday, but I soon put a stop to that.’
‘They have to send money back to their families, Leonie. It’s their culture. They don’t keep much for themselves.’
‘Mmm,’ said Leonie. ‘She’s gone back to her village, you say. How long is she going to be away?’
‘Only a week. Her brother’s getting married.’
‘Oh well, at least Roger’s offshore so you’ve only got Millie and yourself to look after.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Heather. ‘That’s one blessing at least. Roger phoned me from the rig and said the job was going to take longer than they thought, an extra week at least.’
The tiny sandwiches were arranged attractively on Heather’s best platters and looked like they’d been prepared by a professional caterer.
‘Thanks for doing the sandwiches, Leonie,’ she said. ‘You’re a good friend.’
Pleased, Leonie said, ‘I’m happy to help out. I tell you what.
How about I let you have Noor in the afternoons, just till your amah gets back. Would that help?’
‘Would it ever. But do you think she’ll do it?’
‘She will if she wants to keep her job,’ replied Leonie. ‘I’ll phone her later and she can come round and clean up after we’re through. There’s just one thing I want to talk to you about before the others get here, partner. Do you remember how I told you to respond when I bid three hearts?’
‘T
HIS IS FOR YOU,
R
UBY,’ SAID
R
OGER,
holding out a small package wrapped in the hotel jeweller’s distinctive silver paper sprinkled with tiny gold hearts. ‘Do you like it? That’s a real ruby. That’s why I chose it. You’re my treasure, far beyond the price of rubies.’ He dimly remembered the biblical text but not that it was intended to extol the value of a virtuous woman. ‘It’s a locket. See, there’s a space where you can put a photo. I could get you one of me,’ he said hesitantly.
Roger had never been a ladies’ man, even when he was a young, fit fellow three decades ago. It seemed improbable that a stunner like Ruby could really be in love with him. ‘You’ll have to be careful not to wear it round the house. We don’t want Heather finding out about us,’ he said uneasily. Perhaps he wouldn’t give her a photograph after all.
‘Is very nice, Roger,’ said Rubiah, placing the locket round her neck. ‘You fasten for me please.’
Roger lifted up her heavy black hair and breathed in her alluring scent, so different from his wife’s, who was keen on the Body Shop’s fruity fragrances and smelt like a fruit salad most of the time. His big, clumsy fingers trembled as he fastened the chain round his amah’s delicate neck. He bent to kiss her but she slipped from his grasp and ran over to the mirror.
‘Very pretty … you like?’ She smiled her coy, knowing smile.
Roger gazed at the lovely Dayak, overwhelmed by her graceful femininity. What was there not to like? She was exquisite: tiny, delicate and fragile. The heart-shaped locked gleamed against skin rich as smooth, golden butter, the perfect canvas to show off precious metal and rare stones. He didn’t begrudge the two thousand ringgit the jeweller had asked for the locket, not in the least, although he knew he’d have got a better deal if he’d taken Ruby with him. It was annoying that the prices weren’t marked on the goods, although he knew it was because there was a dual system: one price for the locals and another for the ex-pats, whom the locals considered fair game. On other occasions Ruby had haggled with the shopkeepers and he ended up paying the local price. She’s probably saved me thousands, he thought fondly. But this time he’d wanted to surprise her.