A Different Sky Read Free Page B

What is your name?’ the Chinese wheezed, lurching forward on trembling legs and tipping his boater to Rose.
    â€˜My name is Raj Sherma,’ the young Indian replied as he steered Mr Ho down the bus.
    Rose watched them alight with a pang of regret. To have survived together such an ordeal made the men in some way her compatriots, and now they were gone from her life. The moment passed as the trolley travelled on towards Rose’s own destination. Soon, she tucked Howard’s shirt into his shorts, slicked down the damp curly hair that would never lie flat and, taking his hand, stood up and smiled at the Chinese girl and her amah.
    â€˜Say goodbye,’ she instructed her son, but Howard stuck out his tongue instead. In reply Mei Lan pulled down the corners of her eyes, pushed two fingers into her mouth and stretched her lips open grotesquely; on her jaw the birthmark leapt about. As Howard began an answer of some further inelegance, Rose pulled him down from the trolley. She watched the vehicle continue its journey, like a nightmare receding as she opened her eyes to the day.

2
    L OATH TO BOARD A further trolley, Rose had taken a rickshaw back across town. Soon the peaceful environs of Bukit Timah and then the gentle slope of Mount Rosie was before her again. When at last they entered Belvedere, the subdued clatter of cutlery and conversation could be heard in the dining room. Ah Fong had already served dinner and Rose was relieved to find they had not been missed. She hurried to take her place at the table before the window, where they always sat for meals. Howard followed his mother as she crossed the room, nodding apologies to her lodgers whenever she caught an eye. Cynthia was already eating, with the amah crouched attentively on her haunches beside the chair. At the sight of Rose the child jumped up, a whirlwind of tawny hair and milky skin, and threw her arms around her. Her face, pressed against Rose’s dusky cheek, could not easily be prised away.
    With no more than a glance at his sister, Howard took his place at the table and stared about the dim and flickering room full of moving shadows. The glow of the candles that were lit each evening saved electricity and, said his mother, created a gracious ambience, but nothing for Howard could eradicate Belvedere’s intrinsic sadness. Whatever efforts were expended upon the house it remained to him cavernous, gloomy and secretive. The long windows were open to the evening, the perfume of night flowers and damp earth mixing with the odour of poached fish and the melting wax of candles. The lodgers, who sat two or three to a table, were exclusively young European men in Singapore on a first tour of duty.
    Howard hated the way he must sit before them, subject to scrutiny and comment, evaluated over a sea of tables. He already understood it was his sister who held the lodgers’ attention; any cursory glances that came his way were solely of a curious nature. Sooner or later everyone remarked on the difference between the siblings, comparingHoward’s darker cast of skin to Cynthia’s creamy appearance and her startling green eyes. That a mother could produce at one time a swarthy son but at another a daughter of such delectable properties was, he already realised, one of nature’s foibles. Once, he had overheard a loud-mouthed man from Cardiff remark that Landlady Burns must have had it off with one of her lodgers nine months before Cynthia appeared in the world. Snorts of laughter greeted this remark. Howard had turned and run, his heart pounding. Although he had not understood the comment, he understood the besmirching of his mother and for some time afterwards he had secretly believed that he and Cynthia had different fathers. Later, he realised this could not be, for Cynthia had been born in Upper Serangoon before their father died, before they came to Belvedere and the world of lodgers.
    After the happenings of the day, Howard’s