A Painter in Penang

1 January 1948, Nairobi Evie took another sip of mango juice and gazed towards the distant Ngong hills. Arthur had been right when he’d said all those years ago that she would love Africa. He had promised the majestic continent would seep into her bones and possess her, so that afterwards everywhere else would be a poor substitute – smaller, less significant. He’d also been right that she would sense its age, its primeval history, a land where if you were to see a dinosaur lumbering towards you it wouldn’t surprise. After only nine months living here, Evie didn’t want to be anywhere else. She leaned back in her chair, letting the sun touch her face, bathing her skin with its dry sensuous heat. Still only ten in the morning and it was already hot. Instead of making her lethargic, the heat revitalised her, endowing her with strength and energy. Evie loved quiet moments of reflection like these when she would count her blessings and recognise that, after the years of sorrow, loss and war, she had so much to be thankful for. She’d lost her first husband after forgiving his infidelity, been forced to flee her home as the Japanese invaded Penang, endured years of loneliness, refusing to accept that Arthur, the love of her life had not survived the war. But he had and here they were. At the edge of the paved terrace a lizard stretched out on the stone wall, basking in the morning sunshine. Evie watched its heavy-lidded eye open lazily as its tongue darted out and snagged a passing insect. Turning her head, she could see Gichinga, the houseboy, was hanging sheets out to dry, their whiteness blinding under the power of the sun. He flipped the sheets with a snapping action to get the creases out as he pegged them on the line. The name Gichinga meant firebrand, but the boy was gentle and shy, like a young deer. The sheets flapped gently as the breeze caught them. Laundry dried in moments here, unlike in the sultry humidity when she lived in Penang, Malaya. There the heat had been oppressive, like a steam bath, and she’d had to change her clothes several times a day. Thoughts of Penang made her think of her stepdaughter. Jasmine had loved her island birthplace in a way that Evie was only now beginning to comprehend. Here in Africa, Jasmine was like a young plant, pulled up and replanted in ground too shallow for her roots to gain purchase. She appeared to be wilting, listless and etiolated, despite the constant sunshine. Evie’s own love affair with Kenya made it hard for her to understand what her daughter was going through. While Evie had loved Penang, her connection to East Africa was deeper, almost visceral. Living anywhere else would never come close. Jasmine had been born in Penang, spent four years in Australia and several months in England and appeared unmoved by the majesty and vastness of Kenya. Her brother, Hugh, eight years younger, had adapted immediately – all previous mentions of his desire to go to boarding school forgotten, as he marvelled at the zebra grazing at the end of the lawn, gazelles and impalas jumping over the hedge and nibbling at the garden plants, and brightly plumed birds chirruping as they patrolled the terrace in the early morning. Hugh had been a baby when they left Malaya, so had known nothing of the tropical island his half-sister still yearned for. It was not that Jasmine had ever complained about being in Kenya. Jasmine never complained about anything. She rarely voiced her own needs or aspirations. Evie had tried to coax her stepdaughter into telling her what was amiss, but Jasmine only smiled and said she was perfectly happy. Arthur suggested that Jasmine might prefer to finish her schooldays in England as a boarder. When Evie had mooted this idea to the girl, Jasmine’s eyes had widened in horror. ‘No thank you!’ she said emphatically, shivering to underline the point. ‘I can picture it – cold draughty buildings, inedible food and being surrounded by strangers. Please don’t ever make me go back to England.’ She now attended a convent grammar school in Nairobi, half-heartedly serving her time. Evie swatted away a fly as she gazed out over the open grasslands beyond the extensive lawns of the property. Everything here was so huge. Big skies, with clouds casting shadows across the enormous landscape as heat haze distorted and blurred the outline of the distant hills. She could happily sit here for hours, sipping her freshly pressed mango juice, listening to the birds singing in the nearby trees. But she also had tasks to do: menus to plan for the frequent dinners she and Arthur were obliged to host as a consequence of his role in the colonial administration, lists to draw up for a charity event she had been roped in to help organise, name labels to sew into the new sports kit she had just bought for Hugh – who grew out of his shorts so fast she could barely keep up. Her reverie was interrupted by Gichinga, bearing a silver plate with the mail on it. ‘Many letters today, Ma’am.’ She smiled at the servant and took the letters from the tray. Thumbing through, she saw most were household bills, with one or two stiff white envelopes containing invitations to official functions or social events. An envelope caught her eye. It was embossed with the name of Jasmine’s convent school. Evie frowned. She sliced the paperknife across the top and unfolded the contents, her frown deepening as she read. This was so much worse than she had feared. Her eyes welled up as she tried to focus on the words – repeated complaints from Jasmine’s class teachers…habitual truanting…refusal to accept the necessary rules of the school…failure to undertake homework…It couldn’t be true. Jasmine had always been a well-behaved and compliant pupil. Yes, Evie was all too aware that she showed little interest in her schoolwork but that was a far cry from refusing to do it at all and skipping lessons. What had happened? She read the final paragraph with mounting distress. It is with much reluctance, and after a great deal of thought and prayer, that we find ourselves with no choice but to insist on Jasmine’s removal from our school immediately. Please make alternative arrangements for the completion of her education. Her continued presence would serve as a bad example to the other pupils and her lack of discipline has become a disruptive influence. There were no examples offered to illustrate this disruptive behaviour. It was so out of character with the Jasmine she knew – a warm, caring and gentle soul who always thought of others before herself. How she must have hated the convent to have rebelled so strongly against its constraints that her expulsion was necessary. Jasmine was not yet seventeen and had been studying for her School Certificate. Evie and Arthur had both wanted to ensure she had a full education before she followed her own path – whether that was into a career, further education – or marriage. Neither she nor Arthur had for even a moment treated her in any way other than as their beloved daughter. Jasmine was the child of Evie’s late first husband and his former wife. Her mother had died when Jasmine was small. Evie and Arthur loved her as if she were their own. Her heart constricted. Arthur would be devastated. He was so proud of Jasmine – and as a senior member of the colonial administration, he would now have to face the shame of his daughter being expelled from school. There was no possibility her disgrace would escape the inevitable gossip and rumours. Agitated, Evie left the remaining pile of letters on the table and went to pace up and down the garden. Had the nuns already told Jasmine? Was she at school now – or wherever she went when she played truant? Why had Jasmine felt unable to confide in her that she was so unhappy?