Author's note: I know, I know. It's been a darn long while. But I'm still writing my ass of whenever I get the time! This is the newest story that I'm working on (amongst countless others). It's different, yes, but I hope you'll give it a chance. Don't forget to rate and comment once you're done(: Thank you!
Β© Lillian K. Rockmore
Translations:
Amma β Mother
Akka β Sister
Ma β endearment
Anna β Brother
Thatha β Grandfather
Background: Temasek, olden-day Singapore, had been an 'official' colony of the British since 1819.
Chapter One:
Temasek, South-East Asia
June, 1915
"Is Amma going to be all right?" Ameera, with all the innocence of a nine-year-old, asked as she poked her head through a slit in the cane door. She watched as her older sister calmly dabbed at their mother's sweating forehead, almost as if she were in a trance. Anita's cobalt-blue eyes were fixed on a spot in the corner of the room, but her hands were still swiping the wet cloth across mother's forehead.
"Akka?" the little girl quipped again, and Anita started, having not heard her sister enter the small kampong house. She'd been so deep in thought... about their future, her sister's education, their mother.
With a sigh, Anita folded the cloth and put it away. She gestured for Meera to meet her outside before sliding from the cot and padding over to a basin of fresh water. Sluicing the water over her arms and face, she made sure that her skin was clean of the disease her mother carried for she did not want to accidentally pass the illness on to her kid sister.
When she finally went outside, she found Meera seated on the small expanse of a veranda, swinging her legs into the open space beneath the house. The young girl's golden-brown curls glowed in the evening light, making her seem like an angel. Anita could not help but smile at the thought as she tucked the ends of her sari securely against her midsection and joined her sister.
Before them stretched the dirt road towards the Richards' household β the family that Anita and her mother had worked for, for over twelve years. The large, Victorian gates were sealed shut, secured with a padlock the size of Anita's fist, and the garden which used to be gloriously full of color, was now empty and brown.
"Is Amma going to be all right?" the little girl asked again, her eyes not moving from the colonial house in the distance.
"I hope so."
"What's wrong with her? She's been sick since the Richards' left," Meera stated perceptively.
Anita glanced at her sister, wondering yet again if the girl knew. Nothing in her relaxed countenance gave it away, but Anita had always had the feeling that somehow, her younger sister knew.
As to the girl's question, Anita didn't know how to answer it. It would hurt Meera's feelings if she said that their mother didn't have any reason to live anymore, and wasn't fighting the disease; she was too young to understand the self-centeredness of the world. And yet, it was unfair to Meera if Anita were to lie to her.
She kept silent for a long while, until Meera was forced to speak again.
"Is she going to die?"
There was no emotion behind the words; it was calm a statement. The girl looked undisturbed by the fact, and that chilled Anita. Granted, their mother had showed them little affection, but she'd made sure that they had at least one good meal everyday. That, at least, had to warrant some kind of warmth from Meera towards their mother.
"She's very sick," Anita said, reaching out to play with the young girl's hair. They were pretty curls that twined themselves around her fingers. Anita's hair was drab in comparison.
"Will she get better?"
"If she wants to, she will."
The girl seemed to expect the answer, and nodded solemnly. The wan expression on Meera's face would have been comical, were it not real.
"Is she sick because John Richards left?"
"Now, Meera -."
"Is she?"
"Meera -."
"You can't keep this from me forever, Akka!"
"I won't. You're too young to understand right now, ma. Please -."
"I'm not too young. Tell me, please. I need to know."
Anita took a deep breath, unnerved by the maturity she saw in the young girl's eyes.
"Yes. She is sick because John Richards left."
Meera nodded once, her fingers curling into fists. Her dark eyes lost their light, and she promptly crumpled into tears.
"I didn't want you to ever know about this," Anita said as she gathered the girl into her arms. Meera's nose had turned red, and her tears were wetting the old cotton blouse that she wore. Guilt for telling her sister what should never have been told made Anita hug her sister tighter, cradling her against her shoulder.
"I'm sorry, ma. I'm so sorry."