Bitter Sweet Harvest Part 1

Bitter-sweet harvest.

Chan Ling Yap.

To my husband, Tony, with love.

Bitter-Sweet Harvest is the sequel to the novel Sweet Offerings.

The stories can be read in any order and are complete in themselves.

Acknowledgements.

I would like to thank Kate Mazdon and Ruth Deraed for their useful comments on my ma.n.u.script. I am also grateful to Maxine Chow for her helpful observations and careful reading of those parts of the book that involve legal matters.

Thanks also go to my husband for his patience and support throughout the writing of this book and to Lee and Hsu Min, our children, who have looked at the ma.n.u.script.

Prologue.

On 13 May 1969, following the results of the general election in Malaysia, violence broke out between the country's ethnic groups. Many people were caught in the violence. The riots were confined mainly to the capital Kuala Lumpur in the state of Selangor, but tension spread throughout the country. The Government declared a state of emergency and imposed a curfew immediately throughout Selangor. Parliament was suspended, as was the press, and the National Operations Council was set up to run the country. Over a period of two months, order returned and while curfews continued, these too were gradually scaled back. In February 1971, Parliament was re-established and The Const.i.tution (Amendment) Act of 1971 was pa.s.sed.

Part One.

Chapter 1.

The rain splattered on to the windowpane, the huge drops creating rivulets of water that flowed down the gla.s.s. Smack, ping, the sound resonated in the hushed silence of the room. Outside, plumes of dense lilac bent low under the relentless force of the pelting rain and peonies folded their silken petals.

An Mei slid off the wide window ledge. She s.h.i.+vered, involuntarily pulling her cardigan tight around her. "I have to tell my brothers," she announced. "My parents are coming to Oxford. They haven't set a date, but it looks like it might be soon."

Hussein stood very still. A frown settled on his normally good-natured face. "Why are they coming to see you now just when you've finished your studies and we are planning to go back?" he asked.

"They are not coming for a visit." She paused letting her voice trail off, her gaze straying into the distance. Then she looked directly at Hussein, reproach in her eyes. "They have decided to leave Malaysia for good, to emigrate to where they believe they will have a better and more secure future. For them, England is a natural choice because my brothers and I are already here." She looked away again, unable to meet his eyes as she tried to quell her rising distress.

"But why?" he repeated. There was a catch in his voice; he could not conceal a mounting anxiety, a premonition of something bad to come. He sensed her change of mood.

"Read these letters," she said, thrusting a sheaf of papers into his hands. "They are disillusioned. All the senseless hate that people have for each other. We have been watching the race riots and their aftermath in Malaysia for over a week now on the TV. Somehow, seeing the turmoil on television allowed me to distance myself from the situation. Reading these letters, I can't do that anymore - I can feel my father's anger. I feel my parents' pain."

She turned to face him. Her eyes flashed, their soft amber brown turning to hard agate. The resignation and despair that had shown on her face earlier gave way to a resolute expression as she reflected on the situation now confronting her loved ones. "They have worked so hard to rebuild their business. My father was almost made bankrupt some years ago... And now this! His shops vandalised, torched!"

"And you? What will you do? Will you stay here in the UK?"

"Of course! Where else can I go? I will have no home to go back to in Kuala Lumpur."

"But what about us? You know I have to go back. My father will expect nothing less than my immediate return, especially in light of these new problems. I came here to be educated and groomed to go into politics, to take over from him. I can not," he stressed, "not return. But I do not want to go back without you. Come with me. Please?" he pleaded.

He took her in his arms. He could feel her body, unyielding, stiff. "You have to tell your parents about us."

"No! Not now. Not when they are already so troubled."

"Is that the only reason?"

She hesitated and cast her eyes down. "No. But you must know the other reasons."

He tightened his arms around her. "I don't. Tell me. I want to hear them from you."

"Because," she said, looking up at him, her eyes a limpid pool of pain, "because we are separated by race, religion, custom and practically everything I can think of, except a shared education in Oxford and a shared birth place. We are Malaysians. But you are Malay. I am Chinese. You are a Muslim, I am... I am a Christian!" Rolling up her sleeve, she thrust her pale arm against his bronzed dark brown skin. "Look at the difference in our colour! Need I say more?"

She pushed away from him. Holding herself at arm's length, she challenged him. "What about you? Have you told your parents about me?"

"No!" he admitted, embarra.s.sed. "I have told my aunt though. I thought that it would be the best way for them to know. She would be able to choose an opportune moment to break it to them gently and to persuade them to accept the situation. After all, she is a good example of how an interracial marriage works. Aunty Jenny is Chinese and she married my uncle and adopted Islam as her religion. She is on our side. She is also your mum's friend! In fact, I would say, her best friend."

"So!" An Mei fell silent after that single exclamation. It hung like an accusation in the air. She was disappointed that Hussein had not told his parents. Wasn't he the one who had said their parents should be told? She lowered her arms and walked back to the window. She did not tell Hussein that she too had confided in Jenny, hoping that she would tell her mum and find a way to break the news to her father, Ming Kong. She had placed such hopes on Jenny because it was she who introduced her to Hussein in the first place.

An Mei recalled her early days in Oxford. Jenny was in London, on one of her short trips to shop in the city while her husband tended to matters of state with the British authorities. Jenny had invited her to go up to London and join her for lunch at the Savoy Grill on the Strand. During the visit, while chatting with Jenny in her hotel room, An Mei had confided that she was thoroughly enjoying her studies but was finding it difficult to make new friends.

Bustling with energy, Jenny had said immediately, "Sayang! What a pity! You are too shy. People think you are proud and aloof!" Then, with the spontaneity her mother had told her was typical of Jenny, she had immediately picked up the phone. "I know just the person to look after you in Oxford. My nephew! Hussein. He is in Balliol studying politics. Aiyah! He is so handsome! Curly hair and eyes like Omar Sharif! Only make sure you don't fall for him. His parents have many plans for him-lah! He will be a big shot when he finishes his studies."

"An Mei, speak to me!" Hussein pleaded again, breaking her reverie. "I will tell my parents now if you want."

"No, not now," she replied almost in a whisper. "Not now. It's too late."

She moved further away from him as if to escape his all pervading presence. She did not wish to be persuaded. "I too have spoken to Aunty Jenny," she confessed. "The matter is not so simple. She's in London now on one of her trips. She is coming to Oxford tomorrow."

Sunlight streamed through the tall stately windows of the Randolph Hotel, turning the gilded frame of the ma.s.sive mirror above the fireplace into a burnished ring of gold. They sat around a low Regency-style table in Jenny's hotel suite, the silence broken only by the tinkle of cups and saucers and the sound of starched linen brus.h.i.+ng by as a maid moved busily around them. Finally, the last cup of tea was dispensed.

"Do you require anything else Madam?" the maid enquired solicitously, her voice hushed as if intimidated by the quiet of the room. She could sense her presence was unwelcome. The lady had consulted her wrist.w.a.tch twice during the short time it had taken her to lay out the tea service.

"Fine, fine, thank you," Jenny replied with a quick smile and a nod. She was impatient to speak to her two charges.

"What have I done," she had chided herself over and over again on the journey from London to Oxford. "To bring these two children together and expect that nothing would come of it other than a platonic friends.h.i.+p. What was I thinking?"

Now, sitting with them, she was filled with remorse. Expectations and hope were painted on their faces. They looked to her to bring good news from their parents in Malaysia. She had none to give.

"Things are very bad back home." Her voice was solemn. "The streets are virtually empty, businesses have come to a standstill. The curfew, short though it may be, has made people jittery. Confined to their homes even for a short time, they have imagined the worse. We are plagued with endless rumours. On my way to the airport to catch the plane, I had to drive through the KL city centre. I could hardly believe my eyes at the damage. Such mindless destruction! Malays against Chinese, Chinese against Malays! Then the Indians! Unbelievable that people can live in peace and harmony one day, and then the next descend into such hatred and mistrust. I just cannot believe it," she repeated. "Bagaimana? How did it happen? We don't have the racial conflict that you have in England. The calling of names, the bullying in the streets, the aggression ... yet ..." Her voice trailed off.

"What does it mean for us?" asked Hussein. He did not wish to hear any more about the violence. He had followed every detail and discussed every scenario with friends and fellow students. He had no doubt that these were matters that would involve him on his return home. At that moment, however, he was keen only to know where he stood with An Mei and his parents.

"This is not a good time to tell your parents." Jenny shook her head vehemently to emphasise her words. "Not even, perhaps, a good time to walk together in the streets in Malaysia."

"Father has decided that I should return to Malaysia and I had hoped that An Mei would come back with me."

"No! That would not be a good idea. Her family is moving here to England. She should stay and wait for their arrival. She cannot abandon her family, just as you cannot abandon yours. We have duties to perform." She looked away, not wis.h.i.+ng to catch the eye of An Mei, not wanting her to guess that these were the words An Mei's mother, Mei Yin, had said to her.

An Mei, unknowing, listened silently, perplexed by Jenny's reaction. She had expected her to provide more hope for their plight.

"What about you? Can you walk in the streets with uncle?" challenged Hussein. He, too, had not expected such an answer from Jenny. He was disappointed and felt cheated.

"I don't walk out with him," Jenny retorted in exasperation. "In fact, if you want to know, I hardly go anywhere public or important with your uncle, even now after years of marriage. We move within a circle of friends that accept me. I dress Malay-style and I speak Malay. I have become a Muslim and I toe the line." She felt a surge of anger, anger that she had been placed in a position where she felt forced to reveal her feelings and long curbed resentment of her own situation; an anger that made her turn suddenly to lash out at An Mei. "Do you know that you have to become a Muslim, An Mei, if you want to marry Hussein? That is, if his parents even agree. Do you know what becoming a Muslim entails? Do you know that you have to be circ.u.mcised?"

An Mei blinked and she shook her head. It was not something she had given much thought to during the months she had been with Hussein. She had managed to persuade herself that it was an ordeal she could avoid somehow.

"From what I gather, Hussein's parents are not in favour of him marrying anyone other than someone from an important Malay family who would help his political career, and certainly not a Chinese girl. Don't keep comparing your situation with mine, Hussein. It is a different era and your uncle had only himself to answer to. He had no living parents. Even then, his decision to marry me cost him and it took years for his friends to accept me. You, Hussein, can you say that you answer only to yourself? You, the only son and heir?!"

In response, Hussein took An Mei in his arms. He placed his lips close to her ears. She felt his warm breath, compelling and insistent. "Don't listen to her," he whispered. "She is only trying to frighten you. Circ.u.mcision in Malaysia is symbolic, just a tiny p.r.i.c.k to release blood. See, does she look as though she has suffered any mutilation? In any case, we can get around it. Trust me."

Jenny sat in the room long after An Mei and Hussein had left. The fire crackled casting a warm glow. She sank deeper into her armchair. She was aghast that she had revealed all the resentment she subconsciously harboured. It had escaped out of her like pent-up foam from a freshly opened can of beer. Her outward persona was always one of a confident, carefree and satisfied woman. She was ashamed of her bluntness and lack of tact, but she had promised Mei Yin she would put an end to An Mei's hope that things would somehow work out between Hussein and her. Jenny picked up the phone. She dialled. "Operator," she said, "Kuala Lumpur please. Telephone number..."

The minutes pa.s.sed. She looked at the clock impatiently. A click sounded at the other end. A faint voice asked hesitantly. "Yes! Who is it?"

"Mei Yin? Is that you? I have spoken to An Mei. I have told her to stay in Oxford and await your arrival. And I think I have said enough to convince her."

Chapter 2.

An Mei paced the floor. Stuffing her hands into the pockets of her trousers, she stared guiltily at the flight indicator board. "Any minute now," she mumbled to herself, "they should be at the arrival hall." She looked around to check that she was stationed in a spot where they would be able to see her easily, close by the neon-lit sign for the meeting point. She had been biting her fingernails and they were raw and tingling. How was she going to greet her parents with these hands, she thought to herself. It was an old habit, a habit that grew out of those very troubled times when her parents were separated. She sighed. At least, she thought, they were all back together again as one big happy family. Could she dare risk doing anything that might cause the family to split apart again? An earlier short conversation on the phone with her brother, Wei Han, had given her little cause for comfort. "You must not think only about yourself in these very troubled times, not when father has lost so much of his business," he had said. Accusing her of being selfish, he had slammed down the phone but not before saying that he would be coming to Oxford as soon as he could get permission from his professor. Now pacing back and forth with growing anxiety, An Mei acknowledged that she had been selfish. How could she have been so thoughtless to even consider loading them with another worry?

At that moment, a flight announcement boomed out. Groups of people began to filter through the barrier. She felt a sudden crush of bodies around her as people struggled to get the best view of the exiting pa.s.sengers. Some broke free to rush forward, arms flung out in embrace; others were more reticent in their reception. Where were they, she wondered anxiously She suddenly felt a rush of longing and love. She could not contain her excitement. She had not seen her parents for nearly a year, not since last summer.

"An Mei!"

She turned towards the source of the voice. "Aunt Nelly," she broke into a run. "Oh Aunt Nelly, how are you?" she asked in Cantonese. She embraced the little rotund lady dressed in a quilted jacket with a Mandarin collar so vigorously that she knocked her spectacles askew. She remembered the jacket. A 'Mao Tse Tung' jacket, her aunt had claimed when she bought it back from Hong Kong some years ago. "Very fas.h.i.+onable!" But she had not remembered her aunt as being so short.

"Fine, fine. I came through first," she responded in Cantonese, her spoken English being rather poor. Your mother and father will be here shortly. They had to wait for the luggage. I left them to it. I'm no use with bags, too old and too weak to even try," she said chuckling. Wrapping An Mei's arms around her waist, she continued, "And, I want a word with you first. Your mum asked me." She held on to An Mei. "Don't talk to your father about Hussein. Jenny told us. Just don't. We'll work something out. We, your mum and I, would like to meet him and then we'll talk."

Even as she said these words, Nelly was not sure what course of action might be possible. What could she say? Ming Kong had been distraught when he found his stores vandalised and torched. She felt that nothing would ever persuade him to let his daughter marry a Malay man. "Things will never be the same after May the Thirteenth," he had said. "I'll not trust them again. I thought they were my friends. I worked with them!"

"But Aunt Nelly," An Mei began to protest.

"Promise me. Not a word until we have sorted things out," admonished Nelly. They saw Mei Yin and Ming Kong coming towards them, pus.h.i.+ng a trolley piled high with suitcases.

"Here they are. Remember what I had just said. Shhh," she added for caution.

An Mei broke free from Nelly and ran to her parents, all thoughts of Hussein momentarily wiped from her mind.

Mei Yin stepped eagerly into the hallway. A steep, narrow, carpeted stairway led up to the two floors above. She inhaled deeply the potpourri of scents, vanilla and rose vying with the unmistakable whiff of new paint. "So delightfully cool," she said. "The air feels fresh. Everything feels fresh, even the smell of paint." She followed the weak ray of sunlight that had seeped through to the hallway from the door on the right, and entered the living room. "I like it," she exclaimed, her eyes wide, taking in the bare wooden floor and the white-washed walls of the long narrow room.

Relief showed on An Mei's face. "I know it is small, but Mum, you did say to find something that was... that is inexpensive. This is a Victorian terrace cottage. They are rather long and narrow. But it is well located. We can walk into Oxford within minutes. The house backs on to a playing field and beyond that, is the river. There is a wonderful river-side walk that takes you through a park."

Mei Yin turned to look at An Mei, her eyes lingering with affection on her daughter. "Yes, dear girl I like it and very much so. Don't apologise. There is no need. It is certainly wonderful to be able to move into a house so quickly and certainly better than the small hotel we stayed at when we first arrived."

"I thought that you might not like the house. It was a mess before when it was let out to students, but the owner has renovated it completely. Just here," An Mei pointed to the middle of the room, "there was a wall. He had it taken down to make the room more s.p.a.cious."

They did not notice that Ming Kong had followed them into the room. He looked around him, taking stock of the length and width of the room. "It will certainly do for the moment." He strode over to the bay windows that looked over the road and peeped out. The narrow road was lined on both sides with parked cars.

"It's not bad. Not bad at all. Good job An Mei," he said approvingly, ruffling her hair. "I know it was a tall order to ask you to find us accommodation in the time we gave you. Anyway, you have chosen well. Location is important when buying properties. And this is good: within walking distance to the town centre. Tightening our belts and economising again will not be a bad thing in our new situation. We have to start afresh once again."

An Mei slipped her arm around her father's waist and smiled, two dimples dipped and her lips parted.

"Good girl," said Nelly crowding into the room. She was proud of her charge and reached out her hand to stroke An Mei's face.

"Hey, I am twenty-four years old and have been here in the UK for over two years! Right now, I feel like a child again with everyone addressing me like I'm ten years old!" She felt a surge of affection for her parents and her aunt Nelly.

She moved to the front window and looked out. Not many people were around. A group of young mothers with pushchairs and prams had gathered to chat, taking up the whole of the narrow pavement. She reflected on the hushed conversation she'd had in the hotel with her mother and aunt just after their arrival. A shadow fell across her face and tears glistened in the corner of her eyes. Quickly she dabbed them away. She felt her mother's hands on her shoulder and she leaned back towards her, luxuriating in the comforting warmth of her mother's arms. "I'm alright," she said. "Come, I'll show you the rest of the house."

Mei Yin ducked and bent low to avoid hitting her head on the low doorway that led into the converted roof s.p.a.ce. Once in the room she straightened up. The room stretched from the front of the house to the back. The ceiling sloped down at one end. Windows flanked both ends of the room, filling it with light. "We can probably make this into a bedroom with a study area at the far end. The three larger rooms in the middle floor below will be the bedrooms. The fourth is just a box room, so it could probably be made into a storeroom or a small office. What do you think?" She looked at her husband, noting the puffiness round his tired eyes. She wished she could inject some enthusiasm into him.

Ming Kong nodded absent-mindedly to Mei Yin's ideas for the house. He was engrossed in his own plans of how to start anew in England. His mind twirled and turned over the meeting schedules already lined up with his business a.s.sociates.

"Fine, fine. I'll leave it to you." He walked out of the room and headed to the stairway. A flurry of footsteps caught his attention. He caught a glimpse of the fast retreating back of An Mei. The bathroom door slammed behind her. Then the hurried, urgent sound of bolts drawn tight.

"Hmm! Must have eaten something bad!" He hesitated and then called out. "Are you okay?"

"Yes, yes", came a m.u.f.fled reply.

Ming Kong nodded and made his way down the stairs.

Inside the bathroom, An Mei sat on the side of the bath. She listened intently to her father's receding footsteps. She had received an urgent message while her mother and father were touring the house. A young boy, no older than eight years old, had rung the doorbell, checked who she was and then pushed a paper message rolled up in a ball into her hands before rus.h.i.+ng away. Now, sitting on the bath, she unrolled the dirty piece of paper. "Meet me at noon tomorrow at The Bear," it said.