The Rose of Singapore (29 page)

“
Wah!
Chicko! How are you?” She spoke slowly through creased smiles. “
Aiyah!
Come in!” she invited. And when he had entered the kitchen, she said, “Very pleased to see you again, Chicko,” and nodding her head towards the stairway, and clasping her hands over her flat tummy, she bowed to him as if in reverence.

So Rose was up there, the
amah
was telling him to go to her. “Thank you, Momma,” Peter murmured. Slipping off his shoes, he crept noiselessly up the narrow stairway until he reached the small landing at the top. Peter felt sure that Lai Ming would be alone in her room. The
amah
would never have allowed him entry into the house, much less so graciously invite him up those stairs had there been a customer with her mistress. Furthermore, if Lai Ming had departed for the evening, the
amah
would have told him so. Lai Ming just had to be in her room. His heart pounding, his nerves on edge, he paused for a moment before knocking softly on the fragile wicker door. As there was no answer, he slid the unlocked door to one side and drew back the heavy curtain.

Inside, the shutters and the drawn cotton blinds had darkened the room, so much so that Peter had to wait awhile until his eyes adjusted to the gloom. He sniffed the air. Her perfume greeted him. How well he had come to know that exotic, exciting fragrance. He walked to the window and opened one of the two shutters, just enough to allow the moon to filter in its silvery rays.

Lai Ming lay asleep and alone on her bed. A deep sigh of relief escaped Peter, his nervousness left him and he suddenly felt relaxed. He smiled to himself as he gazed lovingly down upon her. She lay in sleep as would a playful kitten exhausted by its frolicking; curled up, her black hair flowing over one of the two pillows which had ‘Good Morning' embroidered on them. She slept peacefully in the centre of the big bed, her body naked except for a multi-coloured
sarong
of browns, greens and gold, which covered her buttocks and waist in a single swathe. Peter was sorely tempted to bend over her and kiss those small breasts, which rhythmically rose and fell to her peaceful breathing. But no, he ought not to disturb her. Feeling much sadness, he gazed down upon the girl he loved. Here, lying so still and unprotected was the first and only woman he had ever really known. How small and frail she appeared to be, lying so quiet and without movement upon that bed. To think that fate had brought such grief and misery upon her. Peter leaned over the sleeping little figure and pressed his lips to a warm cheek. “Hello, Rose,” he whispered in her ear.

At first she must have thought she was dreaming because she smiled in her sleep but did not open her eyes, not for several moments. Then puzzlement appeared on her face and her eyelids flickered open.

“Hello, Rose,” Peter repeated softly, smiling down at the surprised face. “It's me, Peter.”

Now she was rolling over onto her back, but not taking her eyes from his.

“Is it really you, Peter?” she asked.

“Yes, it's me. Were you expecting someone else?”

She didn't answer, but instead said, “So you have come back to me.”

“I have given the whole matter thought, Rose, much thought.” Peter became silent, not knowing what else to say.

“You think too much. You always think too much,” Lai Ming said, a touch of annoyance in her voice.

“I know, Rose. I can't help it.”

“Well! No think!”

“I'll try not to,” Peter said, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “I've missed you.”

“Have you, Peter?”

“Yes. Very much.”

“I have missed you, too.”

“You have?” He sat gazing down at his stockinged feet as if they held all the answers. “Rose, shall we begin again?” he finally asked.

“No, Peter. We cannot begin again.”

“No! Why not?” He was genuinely surprised and taken aback by her abrupt answer.

He felt her arm encircle his waist. “Peter, we cannot begin again something never finished.”

The realization of her words sank in causing Peter to give a big sigh with relief.

“I expected you to return to me sometime today,” she said matter-of-factly. “That is why I am not ready to go out.”

Surprised by her words, Peter said, “I don't understand you, Rose. Why today?”

“Because today is Kissmus, a happy time for you,” replied Lai Ming, her face serious for the moment. “But I had much feelings you would not be happy not loving me today. You have many friends at the camp but you still feel lonely and in need of me. Holiday times can be lonely times especially at Kissmus. I knew you would be lonely for me. I expected you to come back today. It was today or never. Lie down by my side, Peter,” she commanded him, and Peter lay, even more surprised, for he saw that she had begun to cry. “I knew you would return to me. It has been a long, long wait, but I knew you would come back to me someday,” she sobbed, laughing through her tears.

With his hands on her bare bottom pressing her naked body tightly to him, he kissed her on the nose, laughed and said, “Where would you like to go?”

“Oh! Any place you like. First go see Kissmus lights, then go some place nice to eat big feast.”

“There's a brand new club open for servicemen directly opposite the Raffles Hotel,” said Peter. “I've heard it's a first class place—good food, dancing, bars, a swimming pool, everything. Let's spend the evening there.”

“Yes, that I would like,” assured Lai Ming, but still preferring to spend the evening at home. “What is the name of the club? I have seen it, a great red brick building, but I don't know its name.”

“It's called The Britannia Club.”

“The Britannia Club,” Lai Ming repeated.

“Yes. It's really a NAAFI.”

“What is a ‘naafi'?

Peter laughed and cuddled her. He was so very happy at being with her again. “Oh, you're a little dope, Rose. NAAFI is the abbreviation for Navy, Army and Air Force Institutes. It's for the convenience of rabble like me. It's a club for servicemen and their guests. I've not been in the Britannia Club yet.”

“Then we spend our Kissmus evening in NAAFI, Peter. I like everything you like. But it is necessary to spend good time here first,” she laughed, her face aglow. “First I make tea and bring biscuits.”

“No! After!”

“After what?” Lai Ming teased.

“You know what after.”

“Oh, Peter, you're so impatient,” and Lai Ming giggled, knowing that she wanted him as much as he wanted her.

Thus they remained, in sheer bliss, locked together, having beautiful sex and reunited.

Seeping from a neighbor's radio through the thin walls into the quietness of that little room could be heard a Christmas carol sung by a female choir, softly sweetly and full of sincerity of devotion.

“Silent night! Holy night!

Where was dark all is light.

Angels to the shepherd sing.

Glory to the new born King.

Peace. Goodwill to men.

Peace. Goodwill to men.”

Listening, each with their own thoughts, Lai Ming and Peter remained silent, not wishing to break the spell of that moment.

“Silent night! Holy night!

Guiding star shine ever bright.

While the eastern Magi bring

Gifts and homage to our King.

Peace. Goodwill to men.

Peace. Goodwill to men.”

“Girls from Shanghai,” whispered Lai Ming, so quietly as if not wishing to interrupt those angelic voices infiltrating into that darkened room.

“I know,” Peter whispered. “They sing beautifully. I love listening to them.” When stationed at Kai Tak in Hong Kong, while lying in his bed at night, he would often listen to the singing of these same girls. Originally members of a Catholic choir in Shanghai, they had been expelled from their homeland when the Communist regime came to power. Now they were spending Christmas singing in Singapore, on tour from Hong Kong.

How sweetly and clearly these girls now sang, like mocking birds singing out of sheer joy after a fall of rain. Yet, when Peter concentrated on those uplifted voices praising God and the newborn King, he detected sadness in them. He closed his eyes to enjoy listening to the last verse. It was as if a host of angels were singing to just the two of them.

“Silent night! Holy night.

May we know thy delight.

And with angels may we sing

Glory to the new born King.

Peace. Goodwill to men.

Peace. Goodwill to men.”

The girls' voices faded softly away and quietness stole a place in the room again. Rose knew several of the words she had heard but had no understanding of the meaning of the carol. She was Buddhist and did not know the Christian story. “Peace,” she whispered to Peter. “Peace for everybody.”

“Yes. Peace and goodwill to all men.” And Peter sighed. “Peace, yes, but goodwill is first required from us all,” he said.

The high pitched whine of a lone mosquito came close to Peter's ear. He put an arm around Lai Ming so that again she lay snuggled in his arms. He would not go out this night. The Britannia Club could wait. He would spend his Christmas at home, with Rose.

17

The weeks following the reunion between Peter Saunders and Lai Ming slipped quickly by. Christmas 1952 and the New Year's Day of 1953 were but memories and already the calendar had turned to February, with Singapore's Chinese population preparing to celebrate Lunar New Year.

Crashing cymbals, clanging gongs, blaring trumpets and shrieks from reed pipes heralded in that joyous occasion. The Chinese population feasted and made merry, drank each other's health and slipped into one another's hands ‘hong bao', small red envelopes containing a lucky coin representing wealth and good luck throughout the New Year.

When Peter arrived at Lai Ming's home that day, she was dressed in a new, bright-red
cheongsam
and greeted him with a hug and a kiss and pressed a hong bao into his hand. “
Gung Hee Fatt Choy,
” she said in Cantonese, smiling up at him lovingly. “Happy New Year, Peter.”

“Thank you,” Peter answered. “
Gung Hee Fatt Choy.
Here's wishing you a very healthy, happy and prosperous New Year, Rose, and the same to both of us.” Shyly, he handed her a similar gift of red paper. His hong bao, however, did not enclose a Malayan coin within its folds. Instead, it contained a lucky English silver threepenny piece; like one of those his mother always included in her Christmas puddings. Having explained in a letter home that the coin was needed as a gift to Rose, his mother had sent him a silver coin, a threepenny bit in mint condition.

Delighted with the little silver coin that now lay in the palm of her hand, Lai Ming exclaimed, “Thank you, Peter, I shall always treasure this hong bao,” and, leaning forward, she kissed him on the lips.

Their gifts exchanged, Lai Ming poured rice wine into two tiny glasses and thus, together, they toasted the Chinese New Year, celebrating the festive occasion at home. Consequently, the Chinese New Year also came and went, to become yet another happy memory.

Lai Ming took great delight in showing Peter the sights of Singapore, the whole island having much to offer. Lai Ming loved the picture houses, and these they visited often; occasionally they visited one of the three amusement parks—Happy World, Great World, or New World in the eastern part of the city. Peter was not too keen on these places of pleasure because they were generally crowded and always noisy. Being an outdoor person he preferred quieter entertainment, such as visiting the spacious Botanical Gardens, where he loved to wander among the many acres of plant life and in a jungle where monkeys played.

At the Padang they spent happy hours watching cricket matches and football games. Amused, Peter would watch Lai Ming clap her hands as she screamed encouragement to her favourite football team.

Excursions to Bedok, where they would picnic on the beach and swim in the warm open sea, was yet another pastime they enjoyed.

On one occasion Lai Ming asked Peter to take her inside St Andrew's Cathedral, saying that she had often been tempted to enter the big Christian House, or ‘big Kisstian House' as she pronounced it, but had not dared. Peter was delighted by her suggestion. He had often seen the Cathedral from the outside but had also never ventured in. So together, on a quiet weekday afternoon, along a gravel path which crunched under their feet, they strolled hand in hand through beautifully kept grounds surrounding that impressive white building standing amid a setting of age-old trees. They entered the Cathedral through a heavy wooden door and walked up the long, carpeted aisle towards the altar. With his back to them, a Chinese youth was playing a cheerful hymn on the organ, perhaps rehearsing for a wedding, and far too absorbed in his music to notice their approach. Interested and curious of all she saw around her, questions flowed from Lai Ming. Peter answered her as best he could.

On yet another day they visited the Hindu Temple in South Bridge Road, a typical South Indian temple, its archways and roof profusely decorated with groups of animals and human figures carved in miniature and painted in vivid colours. From there they took a trishaw to the mosque in North Bridge Road close by Arab Street, its lofty minarets and majestic domes rising and towering above the flotsam of its surroundings. Then on to Tiong Bahru to an interesting little temple on a hillside, standing next to boat-building yards and sail-maker shops. The homes of the craftsmen who worked in the area were built close by, picturesque
atap
and wooden houses set on stilts on the side of a waterway.

One day, while passing through Race Course Road, they came upon another temple. “I like show you,” said Lai Ming. So they dismounted from their trishaw and stepped inside the building. Peter, amazed at all he saw there, wished he had brought his camera. An enormous Buddha, crowned by a halo studded with hundreds of brilliant white lights, sat as if in contemplation on an altar. Majestically he sat, still and silent, with vacant unseeing eyes, yet eyes which seemed to look right through him. For several moments Peter was awestruck and unable to take his eyes from that calm, inscrutable ivory face.