Second Chance

Chapter 5 - The Fruitless Wait

The long-case clock went ding-dong.

It was 3 o’clock in the morning. Jake lay in bed unable to sleep. It wasn’t because he was a night owl. In fact, every night before the clock struck one, sleep would be beckoning him into her warm outstretched arms, her seductive smile alluring him. And with each yawn, his eyelids became heavier until he finally succumbed to her irresistible charms.

Tonight, however, sleep seemed to have forsaken him. He had even resorted to counting sheep in the hope of drifting off to dreamland, but no such luck. His mind was in a mess. He refused to believe that yesterday’s incident at the creek was a fanciful creation of his mind. The white-haired lady was real. And so was Mei-suet. But how could that be possible? My darling is dead, he thought as he tossed and turned. And that under-clothed woman, if I were to be given only one word to describe her, it would be mystery.

Eventually he reached a decision to go back to the creek and search for the witch – this was his only way to clear up the matter.

Unfortunately, everything went to hell at the factory the next day. One of the two pressing machines making tea bricks was damaged, and many batches of the plucked tealeaves were not mature enough for processing; the setbacks had put the first crucial shipment to Mr Anderson in jeopardy. For the next five days, he was at the plant from morning to night overseeing the production. It was a terribly stressful period for the ex-gunman. During his private moments, he grumbled that he was not cut out for this kind of managing work. He had only took up this position as a favour to Wing-mun. At the same time he thought his new vocation was an opportunity for him to have a fresh start with Mei-suet. It was not to be; the love of his life had died five months later.

With determination and ingenuity, and with a couple of good and reliable assistants to help him run the show, the production gradually returned to its full capacity. After making another quick calculation, Jake was much relieved to know that they still could meet the deadline, albeit barely.

The following day, when the morning faded in with a majestic sunrise, Jake was already at the creek, leaning against the same boulder that the white-haired woman had sat on. And there he waited until the cows came home, but she didn’t show up. The script repeated itself over the next three days. On the fourth day, he began to suffer from hallucinations. He would see her just ahead but they always turned out to be elderly snow-haired women doing their laundry in the stream. Once he even saw one wearing a white gown. He ran like an Olympian only to be wrong again. She was an old maid. Holy cow, this place is swarming with grannies, he thought.

In the end, his wild excitement dissolved into a disillusionment beyond words. He told himself, that’s it, move on. The white witch case is closed. Tomorrow I return to the land of the living. And to commemorate this momentous occasion, I am going to drink myself silly at the bar.

Then quite unexpectedly, he felt someone tap him on his shoulder. He looked back and silently bemoaned the sight before him. It was Master Muk Long – the last person the ex-gunman wanted to see right now.

“Hello, Mr Lone, I can’t help noticing that you’ve been hanging around the riverbank for the past several days,” the 69-year-old monk said. “Are you waiting for someone?”

“Err … yeah, I’ve an appointment with a lady friend but she stood me up,” Jake equivocated.

“Ah … a girl,” Master Muk Long smiled. “She must be a beautiful angel to be worth your patience. Does your lady friend have a name? Perhaps I can help you locate her. I know this place and the people here fairly well.”

“No, I don’t know her name, unfortunately. But I believe she is easy to find. I mean, you don’t see young Chinese women with long white hair every day, do you?”

The monk met Jake’s words with a hard look, a flicker in his eyes indicating he was alarmed. “She has long white hair, you say? Does she wear a white gown and play the flute too?”

Jake’s face lit up. “Why, yes, that’s correct. Do you know her?”

Master Muk Long paused, silent for a moment. “Amituofo,” he said at last in salutation to the Buddha. “She is a witch!”

Jake was flabbergasted. He never expected Master Muk Long to make this statement. “Come on, a witch … in this time and age?” he asked, refusing to believe the old monk. “This is the second time I am hearing this joke and I am still not laughing.”

“I can assure you this is not a joke, Mr Lone. Unlike dinosaurs, witches are not an extinct species.”

The ex-gunman was still not convinced.

“She lives in the dark side of the woods called Devil Falls – a place where we dread to enter – and her name is Chin-ling, as in fairy, an irony of a name for what she is,” the monk said. “She will first play with your heart, so the story goes, by transforming herself into someone you love dearly, then kill you when you fall under her spell. She is a vicious creature. I fear she has picked you as her next victim. Your days are numbered.”

“My … my days are numbered?” Jake faltered. Immediately his thoughts went back to the dark period just after his wife’s funeral. At that time he did not mind dying. In fact he had welcomed it with open arms. But that phase was over. Presently he was not so eager to meet his maker.

“I am afraid so,” Master Muk Long nodded gravely. “Unless …”

“Unless what?”

“Unless you possess a potent amulet to fend her off.”

“And where in the world am I going to get one?”

Hardly had ten minutes ticked by when Jake came out of the monastery with a printed talisman sealed in a small silver casing strung around his neck. One amazing thing about Master Muk Long was that he could prepare, draw, and bless talismans faster than Jake could relieve himself.

Later that evening in the privacy of his study, Jake removed his amulet and fiddled with it. He found this hocus-pocus stuff rather amusing. Just a few funny words scribbled on a piece of yellow paper has the power to save me from witches? I mean really? He sniggered; as far as he was concerned, this talisman-and-witch stuff was pure nonsense.

Just then, there was a knock on the door. A moment later, Ah Ying came in with a plate of biscuits and a glass of warm milk, his nightly snack before going to bed.

The pint-sized housekeeper, aged forty-five, was loyal, well-mannered and soft-spoken. She and her chauffeur husband Mao-chan who was a year older than her had been serving Jake ever since he and Mei-suet moved into this mansion. Both of them were like family to him.

When Ah Ying noticed the casing on the desk, she asked, “Is this a talisman, Master?”

“Yeah,” Jake answered, “some monk gave it to me today.”

“Yes, that’s what I thought it was,” she replied as she placed the plate and glass on the long, low wooden table beside the armchair. Jake thought she was going to inquire further about his amulet but she did not. She just bade him goodnight and headed to the door. Jake guessed she had never been a nosey-parker.

“Do you believe in witches, Ah Ying?” the ex-gunman asked, wishing to hear her thoughts.

The housekeeper halted and looked at him over her shoulder. “Yes I do, just as I believe in God.”

“There is no God,” Jake retorted, throwing the amulet into the wastepaper basket. He felt that Master Muk Long was treating him like an i***t.

“Do you believe there is Paradise, Master?”

“Why, of course; that’s where Mei-suet is right now. I even had her buried on the slopes near the top of Lingshan Peak, the highest mountain in Beijing, to let her have better access to that happy land above the clouds.”

Ah Ying smiled. “Then you will believe in God.”