Authors: ed. Simon Petrie
I was so angry I didn’t even stop to wonder who would put a bib on a dead foetus. I shoved the toyol away. It hit the opposite wall and I heard the voices of the earth say, “
Eeyer!
”
“Bloody hell!” I shouted. “Who the hell ask you to come here? You think I damn rich, is it? I just come from the kampung, set up new hole, never even get the freedom of the land yet. What kind of stupid spirit so dumb until they think I got treasure to steal? Hah?”
It is okay to say ‘hah?’ in this kind of situation, by the way. You don’t have to be polite to burglars.
I think the toyol realised that if it tried to act like a baby, it would kena from me like hell.
“Sorry, ma’am, I cannot say who hire me,” it said in a normal voice: a dusty dead voice, but at least with no babyish squeaking. “Union rules.”
“You tell me who your boss is,” I said, “or I will take you to a priest and get him to bury you right now. You don’t think I kesian you just because you’re a dead baby. I think all dead babies should be burnt so something like you cannot happen.”
“Sorry lah, sorry lah, I’m just doing my job,” the toyol whimpered. “You know my boss. He’s the king.”
“The king?”
“The owner,” said the toyol. “The one in charge. The pengurus. The king.”
Then I knew who it meant.
“Go Back to your boss and tell him to go and die,” I said. “I’m going Back to sleep. I see you here again, I’ll kill you.”
“But—”
“You can hear or not? You want me to say ‘I’ll kill you’ louder a bit?”
“No, but—”
“Go away!”
The toyol’s lower lip wobbled.
“Don’t I even get a hug?” it said.
“Go Back now,” I said, “or I will cremate your ass.”
It went away after that, but I didn’t sleep. Like I said, I never go Back. I stayed awake until morning, listening to the earth. The voices were uneasy, but at least the earth never lies.
In the morning, I went to look for the forest spirit when I knew it wouldn’t be awake yet. You believe or not? I spent so many days waiting for the forest spirit to give me my freedom, I even knew its habits. You see how dangerous the smile of the forest spirit is?
The forest spirit looked very blur when it came down its tree to meet me.
“Wah, early ah, boss,” it said, but I didn’t let it say any more.
“From you, right? That toyol,” I said. “I cannot stand toyol, you know or not? They’re disgusting. Even cockroach I think are better.”
Its face changed, but it looked alien no matter what expression it had.
“Ah, they’re not so bad,” it said. “Not like a dead baby’s going to do anything else what. Might as well make it useful, right?”
“I cannot stand toyol,” I said, tight with anger, “and I cannot stand your kind of playing around. ‘Tomorrow, tomorrow’—and all the time you just want me to stay so you can steal my money. If you want money, no problem. You should just say, ‘If you want the freedom of the land, must pay fee.’ Like that I don’t mind. I’m not asking you for favour. But day after day you say ‘tomorrow’. Day after day, ‘Come lah, drink tea with me lah, tomorrow sure can lah.’ All because you want to rob me.”
“I didn’t—”
“You sent your toyol in,” I said. “You went in without my permission. Don’t you know you cannot go into an earth spirit’s hole without asking? But you don’t even know how to respect!”
“Bloody—! You don’t even let me explain!”
“Explain what? Got what to explain? You intruded!”
“You don’t even have the freedom anyway!” it shouted.
It was right. You don’t really own your hole until the land accept you. Until you have the freedom of the land, your hole belongs to the local forest spirit, like everything else.
But it felt like my hole. I slept so many nights in it; I knew the earth so well. Now it was all spoil. You cannot go into an earth spirit’s hole without asking first. It is like stepping into a person’s heart without being invited. For an earth spirit, it is the same thing.
I bowed.
“I’m sorry I intruded so long in your area,” I said. “This is obviously the wrong place for me. I will find another place to set up hole.”
I bowed again because I was so angry, and then I left.
The rest of the day I looked for new hole, but I was too damn miserable. Setting up a hole doesn’t mean simply digging anywhere, in any mood. When you dig your hole, you must be full of good thoughts. You must be thinking of how happy your parents will be when you send money Back hole; you must think of the children you will have to fill your hole. Then the earth will be happy with you, and you will have a good life in your hole.
But I was too tired and heart-pain to look properly, so finally when it was late and the light was turning blue, I just dug a hole where I was. An earth spirit must not be out when the sun has gone down. There are too many hungry gods and spirits in this world.
But the earth’s voices were not happy and I didn’t listen to them. That was a mistake. When I woke up that night, alone in the strange earth, I knew.
There was no sound. That was where I went wrong the night before. There is no hissing, no chittering, no warning when they come. You cannot see or smell anything. But you know they are there. It’s the same thing as when your nose smells food and knows you can eat it. I hope you never know the feeling that comes when the dark is near.
This time I didn’t try to get closer to the earth. Nothing with a soul can protect you when the dark comes. You realise that deep in your stomach when it actually happens. It was strange earth anyway. It didn’t know me, and it was silent in its own fear.
At times like that there is nothing to think. There is just you and the dark, and in a little while you know there will only be the dark left. Want to think also cannot. You can only roll yourself up small and hide far inside your mind.
The things of the dark circled, and I was very alone.
When the hissing started, it was like waking up from a nightmare. I smelled vomit, and suddenly I could see: little baby shapes tumbled into the hole, things with rotting teeth and glowing green eyes. Then I closed my eyes, because it was like waking up from a nightmare into
another
nightmare. This one was not so scary as the first one, but smellier.
Toyol have no souls. Their souls have passed on to wherever the souls of babies go. Maybe they remember what it was like to be a baby—maybe that’s why they like to cry and say, ‘Mama’, because they feel like that’s what they’re supposed to be doing. But to be honest I think they do it to be kiampa, to make people want to slap them.
You cannot be scared of the dark if you have no soul, but you can be very hungry. I heard them laugh, and then there was a sound like when you put down an offering of rice and fruit and incense in a holy place and step back. Gods have no table manners. Toyol are like them in that respect.
I opened my eyes again when one of them touched my knee, whining. I kicked out. I wasn’t scared anymore. I knew the dark was gone. Not to say I wasn’t happy lah, but I wasn’t so grateful until let a toyol stroke my leg.
“Aiyah, boss, why you spoil my product?” said a voice. “Toyol not so easy to make, you know. They don’t grow on trees. Not like me.”
Of course it was my former landlord. There was that chibai, standing at the entrance of the hole like nothing special happen like that. I looked back at the toyol at their feast, and then I looked away again very quickly.
“You got so many toyol,” I said. “One less won’t make any difference. How the hell you get so many?”
“Hard work,” said the forest spirit modestly. “I am setting up a business. I hire out toyol.”
I stared at it.
“You are setting up a toyol business,” I said. “And it’s called what? Toyol Sendirian Berhad?”
“I was thinking of a partnership, actually, not limited company,” said the forest spirit. “But you got the idea. Pay fee, get a toyol to come to your house and work for you part-time. No need to find the dead babies yourself, no need to do jampi. All maintenance taken care of.”
“And what exactly do your customers do with their toyol?” I said. As you know, when magicians summon up toyol, it is usually because they are too lazy to earn their own money. Toyol have very small hands: good with locks.
“Ah, that one they keep to themselves,” said the forest spirit. “No need for us to ask. The business has nothing to do with all that. But don’t think it’s all just gangster who order. I train my toyol to do all kind of thing. Housewife is our number two target market. The toyol are very clever to do housework—the customer just have to buy more air freshener lah. The service still very worth it, compared to the local cleaning fairies.”
“So what,” I said, “the toyol in my hole last night is free promo, is it? Your marketing department damn suck eh. The toyol never clean anything also.”
The forest spirit’s face changed. This time I knew it was feeling shy. I guess it’s just a matter of getting use to the difference.
“No. Ah, no, that one was a security guard,” it said. “I, ah—actually the land was quite happy with you already. Technically you already had the freedom of the land. But you are new here. Who knows what kind of pervert might try to break into your hole? I was a bit worried lah, that’s all.”
“That’s all?” I echoed. “That’s
all
? Bastard, if you so concerned until you put toyol in my hole without asking, why didn’t you just tell me I had the freedom of the land in the first place?”
“I don’t know,” said the forest spirt. “My business … I can handle the toyol, no problem, but like you said, the marketing side is not so good. The accounting department also. I cannot get anyone to pay their bill. I don’t know to manage spirits lah. I no PR skills. You earth spirits are better than me at this kind of thing.”
“You string me along because you want a manager for your company,” I said flatly.
“Not only that lah,” said the forest spirit. “Got other reason also lah.”
It looked at its feet, as if got something very interesting to look at.
“You know,” it said. “My uncle married a river.”
“Hah,” I said. I cannot tell you whether it was okay for me to say ‘hah’ then or not. This kind of situation you must figure out for yourself.
“His parents allow meh?” I said. “Interracial marriage.”
“They’re not so happy at first lah,” said the forest spirit. “But they got use to it. He was 1,800 years old anyway. Old enough to do what he want.”
“I’m 2,467,” it added inconsequentially.
“Year of the Phoenix,” I said.
“Really?”
“I’m born Year of the Nian,” I said. “Nian not so compatible with Phoenix.”
“I never believe in this astrology thing anyway,” said the forest spirit.
“I’m 53,” I said. “In another hundred years I’ll die already. Hundred fifty if I’m lucky.”
“No time to waste, then,” said the forest spirit. It smiled.
If I was smart, the first time it smiled I would have run away. But I wasn’t smart, and now it was too late.
“Are you coming Back to your hole?” said the forest spirit.
“I never go Back one,” I said.
Its face changed.
“But maybe this time I’ll make an exception,” I said. “Tomorrow lah. Tomorrow I come see you.”
“Tomorrow?” it said. “Why waste time? Come lah today.”
“Tomorrow,” I said. “You come into my hole without permission, you think got no effect ah? I need to rest first. Maybe later I go talk to the earth in my hole, make friend again. I got a lot of thing to do. Tomorrow only if I have time, I’ll come. We can talk about what is good manners. Personal boundaries.”
“But tomorrow is so long lah,” it said. “Come today lah, boss.”
“Stop complaining,” I said. “You don’t learn to wait, you’ll never make it in this world. I’ll see you tomorrow. Now get out of my hole.”
Of course I went to see it the next day. But you can guess what happened. Happy endings are all the same. I’ll just say: it’s true also, you don’t always have to draw line or follow rule. Not being sure whether you are boy or girl or both or neither—it’s messy, but then life is memang messy. Once you get used to it … but we cannot talk about this kind of things. Let’s just say lah. It’s quite interesting.
…Tamlyn Dreaver
I wait for the first question.
The people before me blur, sliding into one formless mass. No matter their differences, they are all the same. Freckled faces, pale and bloodshot eyes, crooked teeth grinning around bits of food, rose-red lips pouting, sticky ice cream smeared across chubby cheeks, wrinkles lost in wrinkles, green eyes, brown eyes, blue eyes. All the same. Hunched bodies gather together in vulture packs, tiny bodies squeeze between them with pointing fingers and high-pitched giggles, huge round bodies wobble about in their own cleared space. They are no different.
I sip from a glass of warm water: a tired old woman huddled on a hard wooden bench. The audience rumbles with impatience. A man, seated on the stairs that keep me from the crowd, checks his watch. Should I dance while they wait? Lift up my skirts and kick my crooked legs out and smile like I’m happy? Humiliate myself for their amusement? No, they are amused enough already. They stare with curiosity. I’m an exhibit in a museum, an animal at the zoo. A tiger—pulled from the wild—now old and tired, its teeth lost in softness, its instinct dulled in captivity. Here for their entertainment, soon forgotten. I wonder if the animal rights people would post pictures of me on their site: behind the bars, and a small caption asking for donations to stop the cruelty.
A loudspeaker crackles; the man rises from his position of guarding. A mother shushes her child:
this is boring I wanna go mama mama I’m bored.
I place my water on the floor beside me, lining the glass up with the wet ring already there. A sombre-sounding man issues instructions: do not yell out, do not interrupt, do not attempt to climb up on the stage. Should you be chosen, take Madame Rosa’s hand and ask your question. She will answer, and you will not query that answer. What you do afterwards is your business. Remember, the one question only, and don’t ask anything you don’t want to know.
A man is indicated in the audience, and he steps forward. My keeper lets him pass and he moves opposite me, just another person. He takes my hand, but his is limp, his touch impersonal. His lips move, but I do not hear his question, and I do not listen to my response. It has been a long time since I stood before a person, talking to them and feeling with them. It has been a long time since I looked into a face shining with awe, a sobbing woman thanking me for giving new hope. A long time since I made a difference. For so many years now I’ve been distanced, despite the necessity of touch. Once idolised, then put up on this stage, and now dismissed. They look at me now as this man does: a flash of pleasure, greed when I give them answers, with distaste, with anger that they can’t demand more. With indifference. Do they even know my name? Do they care? Madame Rosa will answer your question. When did Rosalyn James disappear, and why didn’t I disappear with her?