LITMIR.BIZ

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      like hoar frost on the floor.

       I lift my head and gaze at the moon,

      I drop my head and dream of home.

      ‘What are you looking at?’ the woman said. She had a slim face and clear skin. She too looked nothing like me.

      ‘I was just admiring your calligraphy,’ I said. ‘It’s very beautiful. Did you do it?’

      ‘No,’ she said, suppressing a smile. Her shoulders dropped and her voice became softer. ‘No, that was done by my great-uncle.’

      ‘Really?’ I said. ‘He must be a famous artist.’

      She giggled. ‘No, he wasn’t. He’s dead now. He died during the war. My family saved all his paintings from the Japanese, and we put them back on the walls just like they were when Great-Uncle TK was alive.’

      ‘That’s interesting. He died during the occupation, did he? What was his name? Maybe I’ve heard of him.’

      ‘TK Soong,’ she said. ‘Say, you’re asking a lot of questions, aren’t you?’

      ‘Oh, I apologise. It’s not every day a poor salesman like me sees calligraphy of this standard, you see.’

      She smiled again.

      ‘And like I said, I may have known him.’ I looked at the scrolls once more, keeping my back to her so she could not see my eyes. Though my head remained tilted upwards my gaze scanned the sideboards and cupboards for signs of photographs or mementoes – anything.

      ‘I don’t think you could have known him,’ she said. ‘How old are you, exactly?’

      ‘Look who’s asking questions now,’ I laughed. ‘How old do you think?’

      ‘Let me see …’ she said. I turned round and presented my face to her, smiling. ‘I’m usually good at guessing people’s ages, but you’re difficult.’

      Behind her I caught sight of myself in an old mirror. The glass was scratched and blurred and dusty, silver strips peeling away behind it.

      ‘Why are you touching your cheek?’ she said. ‘Are you all right?’

      ‘Yes,’ I smiled. ‘So how old am I?’

      ‘I’d say in your forties. Late forties maybe.’

      I opened my eyes in mock horror. ‘Not too far wrong.’

      ‘Then you definitely wouldn’t have known Great-Uncle TK. Or if you did you must have been a tiny baby. He died in 1943.’

      ‘How did he die?’

      ‘Well …’ she said, looking at her fingers, ‘you know …’

      ‘I’m sorry I asked. I’m just a stranger after all.’

      ‘It’s OK, really. I’ll tell you – the Japanese. That’s what everyone says. I don’t know the details.’

      ‘Did he have any children?’

      ‘Just one. My mother’s cousin. No, second cousin – I’m not sure.’

      ‘Did she live here too? Your great-uncle’s daughter, I mean.’

      ‘Of course. Don’t all children live with their parents? In fact, she lived here even after she was married.’

      ‘That’s nice.’

      ‘She was married to Johnny Lim, you know – the notorious Johnny Lim.’

      ‘Oh yes, I think I’ve heard of him – I’m not from around here, you see.’

      ‘Oh. Where are you from, then, Mr Tall Man?’

      ‘KL.’

      ‘Wow, long drive.’

      ‘It’s not bad. I stay in Ipoh for a week at a time.’

      ‘Sounds like you miss home.’

      ‘Not really. So, your mother’s cousin who was married to Johnny …’

      ‘Lim.’

      ‘Johnny Lim, yes. I guess that must have been her room,’ I said, pointing to a door which seemed to open into a larger room.

      ‘No, that was my great-uncle and great-aunt’s room. That one was Johnny and Snow’s,’ she said, pointing to a closed door. She paused and looked me in the eye, as if remembering something. ‘Hey,’ she said, taking a step towards me, ‘how did you know my great-uncle’s child was a girl? I didn’t tell you it was a girl.’

      ‘Supernatural powers.’ I tried to laugh but my face suddenly felt hot.

      Just then an old man’s voice called out from behind the closed door. ‘Who is it, Yun?’

      ‘No one, Grandfather. Go back to your nap.’

      The door opened and a bald, bent-over man emerged. He had sparkling clear eyes which widened when they saw me.

      ‘Good afternoon,’ I said, trying to sound cheery. ‘I’m selling Tupperware.’ It sounded like a lie.

      I did not recognise him. I was certain I had never seen him before, and what’s more, I was sure that he had never seen me. And yet the way he looked at me made me nervous.

      ‘I know you,’ he said.

      ‘Oh really?’ the young women giggled. ‘You know this guy, Grandpa?’

      ‘Your face,’ he said. ‘I know your face.’

      ‘Who is he, Grandpa? Tell me,’ the young woman said. ‘I’m dying to know.’

      ‘Excuse me,’ I said suddenly, ‘excuse me for interrupting your afternoon.’ I walked towards the door, opening it in one swift motion, and when I reached the top of the stairs I began to run, leaping three steps at a time.

      ‘Hey, Mr Tall Man, what about the Tupperware?’ the woman shouted as she came after me.

      I didn’t look back as I drove away on the dry, dusty road that wound its way through the plantation. The car jolted over rocks and potholes but I didn’t ease off until I reached the main road. My face was hot with embarrassment and anger. I had still not seen the room my mother had slept in.

      By the time I reached home I had resolved to go back to the Soong house as soon as I could.

      And so a few months ago I went there again. I had left a gap of about six months – plenty of time for me to regain my composure and for the people at the house to forget the strange travelling salesman who had fled before selling anything. I drove through the swampland with the sea-salty air swirling through the open windows. I left the car and walked the final mile to the plantation, my stride measured and calm. It was a night of perfect clarity, you must believe me. The moon was bulbous in a velvet sky and made my clothes shine. I stopped and looked at my hands and saw that my skin, too, had become pale and phosphorescent.

      The house was dark. It looked exactly like the house from my childhood nightmares. It was waiting, ready to take me. I walked up the steps and tried the front door. I put my ear to it and listened for movement. Nothing. I walked along the verandah to the shuttered teak doors and put my hand on the rain-washed panels, pushing gently. They fell open at once, making no noise. The room burned with moonlight; where it fell on the floor the boards turned a startling white before me. I saw my reflection in the mirror. When I reached out to touch it, it shattered into a thousand pieces. In the broken pieces I could see parts of my face and they were hot to the touch. I stepped over the shards of glass and walked towards Snow’s room and stopped at the threshold before entering. I came into a small windowless anteroom. I could make out two chairs and a coffee table. At the far end of the room I noticed another door and made my way towards it. I

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