closed.
She stood in the middle of the village, isolated by — what? Suspicion? Fear? Her memories were that should any visitor set foot in a kampong, everyone came to see, children first, then the elderly, all to stare and wonder. One smile and the visitor would be surrounded by young smiling faces and ever hopeful hands.
There were covert movements and the sense of being observed was overwhelming but as she turned around and back it was as if the very houses held their bamboos rigid until her glance passed them by. ‘What’s the time, Mr Wolf?’ she muttered and walked on.
Eight years ago her amah’s parental home had been away to the left. She knew she would remember it, for she had always felt vaguely uneasy about the two great flowerpots like sentries either side of the front steps, each one lacquered green and shaped like two great turtles embracing each other in a most difficult-looking manner. They were still there.
She paused at the bottom of the verandah steps, as she had been taught to do, and called in that gentle voice her amah had taught her was polite, ‘Anna! Ann Leo! Please, are you there? There are visitors for you.’
There was a soft movement at the top of the steps and an elderly, plump Malay stood in a dark maroon sarong at the half-opened door. The dark eyes recognised, a hand covered her mouth and she stepped back inside, the door swinging closed.
‘What is the matter?’ Blanche asked as she came up to her daughter.
‘Let me go to her,’ Liz said. ‘She may talk to me.’
‘Yes, go on, learn as much as you can.’
With sudden insight, Liz knew that she and her mother were on the edge of devastating events. She hoped it was not their future that had been mirrored in her old amah’s startled face.
‘Anna, dear?’ she called again from the door, but the only sound that came was a soft keening. ‘Please. It’s Elizabeth Hammond. May I come to you?’
Her old amah sat on a small basket chair, her head bent and her upper body rocking. As Liz came nearer, her head went even lower over her knees, but she stretched out her arms, her hands opened wide, like someone making a dramatic and frantic appeal.
‘Anna, dear Anna!’ Liz knelt in front of her, tears springing to her eyes. ‘Anna, I do love you. I’m so pleased to find you.’
The rocking increased almost to a frenzy and still the woman did not look at her, but Liz could see the tears streaming down her cheeks. Liz could bear it no more. She pulled her old nurse into her arms and they rocked more slowly together.
‘ Ah ! Tidapah ! Tidapah !’
Liz was not sure which of them spoke the old comforting word, it was certainly on her lips. Tidapah , never mind. Never mind! It had comforted many a grazed knee or bruised ego.
‘Anna, what is it? Tell me you’re at least pleased to see me.’
‘Ah!’ Anna’s hand came up and stroked her hair, their tears mingling as she kissed the girl’s cheeks with all the unrestrained smacking wet enthusiasm of old. Liz grinned at her. This she remembered as a proper kiss — unlike the dry and formal pecks her English grandparents had bestowed on her from time to time.
‘You are well, Anna?’
‘Yes, yes, yes.’ She shook her head at her. ‘And my naughty Elizabeth Hammond grown up. An English lady!’
‘But her heart is Malayan.’
They both laughed then, for Liz, clutching her amah’s hand, had made this declaration at the age of five as an English aunt had made the same remark.
In the release of laughter Liz saw the old Anna she knew so well, as full of fun as any child, her only sadness when her charge gave cause for complaint.
‘And baby Wendy, she is here?’
‘No, stayed at school in England. She sent her love.’
‘Better if you all stayed in England.’
The judgement was delivered with such quiet certainty that it was far more convincing than any advice, cajoling or appeal to reason. ‘What is it, Anna? What’s happened?’
The black eyes had lost any
She stood in the middle of the village, isolated by — what? Suspicion? Fear? Her memories were that should any visitor set foot in a kampong, everyone came to see, children first, then the elderly, all to stare and wonder. One smile and the visitor would be surrounded by young smiling faces and ever hopeful hands.
There were covert movements and the sense of being observed was overwhelming but as she turned around and back it was as if the very houses held their bamboos rigid until her glance passed them by. ‘What’s the time, Mr Wolf?’ she muttered and walked on.
Eight years ago her amah’s parental home had been away to the left. She knew she would remember it, for she had always felt vaguely uneasy about the two great flowerpots like sentries either side of the front steps, each one lacquered green and shaped like two great turtles embracing each other in a most difficult-looking manner. They were still there.
She paused at the bottom of the verandah steps, as she had been taught to do, and called in that gentle voice her amah had taught her was polite, ‘Anna! Ann Leo! Please, are you there? There are visitors for you.’
There was a soft movement at the top of the steps and an elderly, plump Malay stood in a dark maroon sarong at the half-opened door. The dark eyes recognised, a hand covered her mouth and she stepped back inside, the door swinging closed.
‘What is the matter?’ Blanche asked as she came up to her daughter.
‘Let me go to her,’ Liz said. ‘She may talk to me.’
‘Yes, go on, learn as much as you can.’
With sudden insight, Liz knew that she and her mother were on the edge of devastating events. She hoped it was not their future that had been mirrored in her old amah’s startled face.
‘Anna, dear?’ she called again from the door, but the only sound that came was a soft keening. ‘Please. It’s Elizabeth Hammond. May I come to you?’
Her old amah sat on a small basket chair, her head bent and her upper body rocking. As Liz came nearer, her head went even lower over her knees, but she stretched out her arms, her hands opened wide, like someone making a dramatic and frantic appeal.
‘Anna, dear Anna!’ Liz knelt in front of her, tears springing to her eyes. ‘Anna, I do love you. I’m so pleased to find you.’
The rocking increased almost to a frenzy and still the woman did not look at her, but Liz could see the tears streaming down her cheeks. Liz could bear it no more. She pulled her old nurse into her arms and they rocked more slowly together.
‘ Ah ! Tidapah ! Tidapah !’
Liz was not sure which of them spoke the old comforting word, it was certainly on her lips. Tidapah , never mind. Never mind! It had comforted many a grazed knee or bruised ego.
‘Anna, what is it? Tell me you’re at least pleased to see me.’
‘Ah!’ Anna’s hand came up and stroked her hair, their tears mingling as she kissed the girl’s cheeks with all the unrestrained smacking wet enthusiasm of old. Liz grinned at her. This she remembered as a proper kiss — unlike the dry and formal pecks her English grandparents had bestowed on her from time to time.
‘You are well, Anna?’
‘Yes, yes, yes.’ She shook her head at her. ‘And my naughty Elizabeth Hammond grown up. An English lady!’
‘But her heart is Malayan.’
They both laughed then, for Liz, clutching her amah’s hand, had made this declaration at the age of five as an English aunt had made the same remark.
In the release of laughter Liz saw the old Anna she knew so well, as full of fun as any child, her only sadness when her charge gave cause for complaint.
‘And baby Wendy, she is here?’
‘No, stayed at school in England. She sent her love.’
‘Better if you all stayed in England.’
The judgement was delivered with such quiet certainty that it was far more convincing than any advice, cajoling or appeal to reason. ‘What is it, Anna? What’s happened?’
The black eyes had lost any
Similar Books
