Bloody Fabulous: Stories of Fantasy and Fashion
Page 15

The First Witch of Damansara
Zen Cho
Vivian’s late grandmother was a witch—which is just a way of saying she was a woman of unusual insight. Vivian, in contrast, had a mind like a hi-tech blender. She was sharp and purposeful, but she did not understand magic.
This used to be a problem. Magic ran in the family. Even her mother’s second cousin who was adopted did small spells on the side. She sold these from a stall in Kota Bharu. Her main wares were various types of fruit fried in batter, but if you bought five pisang or cempedak goreng, she threw in a jampi for free.
These embarrassing relatives became less of a problem after Vivian left Malaysia. In the modern Western country where she lived, the public toilets were clean, the newspapers were allowed to be as rude to the government as they liked, and nobody believed in magic except people in whom nobody believed. Even with a cooking appliance mind, Vivian understood that magic requires belief to thrive.
She called home rarely, and visited even less often. She was twenty-eight, engaged to a rational man, and employed as an accountant.
Vivian’s Nai Nai would have said that she was attempting to deploy enchantments of her own—the fiancé, the ordinary hobbies and the sensible office job were so many sigils to ward off chaos. It was not an ineffective magic. It worked—for a while.
There was just one moment, after she heard the news, when Vivian experienced a surge of unfilial exasperation.
“They could have call me on Skype,” she said. “Call my handphone some more! What a waste of money.”
“What’s wrong?” said the fiancé. He plays the prince in this story: beautiful, supportive, and cast in an appropriately self-effacing role—just off-screen, on a white horse.
“My grandmother’s passed away,” said Vivian. “I’m supposed to go back.”
Vivian was not a woman to hold a grudge. When she turned up at KLIA in harem trousers and a tank top it was not through malice aforethought, but because she had simply forgotten.
Her parents embraced her with sportsmanlike enthusiasm, but when this was done her mother pulled back and plucked at her tank top.
“Girl, what’s this? You know Nai Nai won’t like it.”
Nai Nai had lived by a code of rigorous propriety. She had disapproved of wearing black or navy blue at Chinese New Year, of white at weddings, and of spaghetti straps at all times. When they went out for dinner, even at the local restaurant where they sat outdoors and were accosted by stray cats requesting snacks, her grandchildren were required to change out of their ratty pasar malam T-shirts and faded shorts. She drew a delicate but significant distinction between flip-flops and sandals, singlets and strapless tops, soft cotton shorts and denim.
“Can see your bra,” whispered Ma. “It’s not so nice.”
“That kind of pants,” her dad said dubiously. “Don’t know what Nai Nai will think of it.”
“Nai Nai won’t see them what,” said Vivian, but this offended her parents. They sat in mutinous silence throughout the drive home.
Their terrace house was swarming with pregnant cats and black dogs.
“Only six dogs,” said Vivian’s mother when Vivian pointed this out. “Because got five cats. Your sister thought it’s a good idea to have more dogs than cats.”
“But why do we have so many cats?” said Vivian. “I thought you don’t like to have animals in the house.”
“Nai Nai collected the cats,” said Vivian’s sister. “She started before she passed away. Pregnant cats only.”
“Wei Yi,” said Vivian. “How are you?”
“I’m OK. Vivian,” said Wei Yi. Her eyes glittered.
She’d stopped calling Vivian jie jie some time after Vivian left home. Vivian minded this less than the way she said “Vivian” as though it were a bad word.
But after all, Vivian reminded herself, Wei Yi was seventeen. She was practically legally required to be an arsehole.
“Why did Nai Nai want the pregnant cats?” Vivian tried to make her voice pleasant.
“Hai, don’t need to talk so much,” said their mother hastily. “Lin—Vivian so tired. Vivian, you go and change first, then we go for dinner. Papa will start complaining soon if not.”
It was during an outing to a prayer goods store, while Vivian’s mother was busy buying joss sticks, that her mother’s friend turned to Vivian and said,
“So a lot of things to do in your house now ah?”
Vivian was shy to say she knew nothing about what preparations were afoot. As her mother’s eldest it would only have been right for her to have been her mother’s first support in sorting out the funeral arrangements.
“No, we are having a very simple funeral,” said Vivian. “Nai Nai didn’t believe in religion so much.”
This was not a lie. The brutal fact was that Nai Nai had been an atheist with animist leanings, in common with most witches. Vivian’s mother preferred not to let this be known, less out of a concern that her mother would be outed as a witch, than because of the stale leftover fear that she would be considered a Communist.
“But what about the dog cat all that?” said Auntie Wendy. “Did it work? Did your sister manage to keep her in the coffin?”
Vivian’s mind whirred to a stop. Then it started up again, buzzing louder than ever.
Ma was righteously indignant when Vivian reproached her.
“You live so long overseas, why you need to know?” said Ma. “Don’t worry. Yi Yi is handling it. Probably Nai Nai was not serious anyway.”
“Not serious about what?”
“Hai, these old people have their ideas,” said Ma. “Nai Nai live in KL so long, she still want to go home. Not that I don’t want to please her. If it was anything else . . . but even if she doesn’t have pride for herself, I am her daughter. I have pride for her!”
“Nai Nai wanted to be buried in China?” said Vivian, puzzled.
“China what China! Your Nai Nai is from Penang lah,” said Ma. “Your Yeh Yeh is also buried in Bukit Tambun there. But even if he’s my father, the way he treat my mother, I don’t think they should be buried together.”
Vivian began to understand. “But Ma, if she said she wanted to be with him—”
“It’s not what she wants! It’s just her idea of propriety,” said Ma. “She thinks woman must always stay by the husband no matter what. I don’t believe that! Nai Nai will be buried here and when her children pass on we will be buried with her. It’s more comfortable for her, right? To have her loved ones around her?”
“But if Nai Nai didn’t think so?”
Ma’s painted eyebrows drew together.
“Nai Nai is a very stubborn woman,” she said.
Wei Yi was being especially teenaged that week. She went around with lightning frizzing her hair and stormclouds rumbling about her ears. Her clothes stood away from her body, stiff with electricity. The cats hissed and the dogs whined when she passed.
When she saw the paper offerings their mother had bought for Nai Nai, she threw a massive tantrum.
“What’s this?” she said, picking up a paper polo shirt. “Where got Nai Nai wear this kind of thing?”
Ma looked embarrassed.
“The shop only had that,” she said. “Don’t be angry, girl. I bought some bag and shoe also. But you know Nai Nai was never the dressy kind.”
“That’s because she like to keep all her nice clothes,” said Wei Yi. She cast a look of burning contempt on the paper handbag, printed in heedless disregard of intellectual property rights with the Gucci logo. “Looks like the pasar malam bag. And this slippers is like old man slippers. Nai Nai could put two of her feet in one slipper!”
“Like that she’s less likely to hop away,” Ma said thoughtlessly.
“Is that what you call respecting your mother?” shouted Wei Yi. “Hah, you wait until it’s your turn! I’ll know how to treat you then.”
“Wei Yi, how can you talk to Ma like that?” said Vivian.
“You shut up your face!” Wei Yi snapped. She flounced out of the room.
“She never even see the house yet,” sighed Ma. She had bought an elaborate palace fashioned out of gilt-edged pink paper, with embellished roofs and shuttered windows, and two dolls dressed in Tang dynasty attire prancing on a balcony. “Got two servants some more.”
“She shouldn’t talk to you like that,” said Vivian.
She hadn’t noticed any change in Ma’s appearance before, but now the soft wrinkly skin under her chin and the pale brown spots on her arms reminded Vivian that she was getting old. Old people should be cared for.
She touched her mother on the arm. “I’ll go scold her. Never mind, Ma. Girls this age are always one kind.”
Ma smiled at Vivian.
“You were OK,” she said. She tucked a lock of Vivian’s hair behind her ear.
Old people should be grateful for affection. The sudden disturbing thought occurred to Vivian that no one had liked Nai Nai very much because she’d never submitted to being looked after.