From the corner of her eye, she saw the man walking away. He was almost at his car, parked in a bus lane, when he abruptly turned and appeared to be looking at her. She ducked, hoping the foliage would hide her.
The man was now walking toward her; she stood up. Surely she had done nothing wrong. The city’s many laws confused her. Perhaps she should not be so close to the water’s edge? But she was just taking a breather. She walked up the slope and onto the gravel path. Her movements woke the Bangladeshi worker; he sat up and scratched himself, his phone still stuck to his shoulder. He looked dazed and mumbled a few confused words. It sounded like he was calling for his parents.
When Natalia glanced back at the man, he had turned around and was now jogging back to his car. He drove off without turning on his headlights. Ruffled, she hurried back to the condominium.
After the security guard waved her into the compound, she said a prayer before stepping into the house. Back in her room, she found herself wishing that she had taken down the car’s license plate.
Natalia tried to sleep but just lay in bed, dreading the day. The Chans usually woke up at about six thirty a.m. There was no predicting their moods, particularly Mrs. Chan. Ma’am was in her mid-thirties, successful, and wore sleek power jackets. They made quite a bit of money, but their condominium was small. Even so, Mrs. Chan seemed to think it was the size of a mansion and made Natalia clean every room, even the rarely used spare bedroom, every day except Sunday.
When Natalia heard the alarm go off in their room, she got up and started brewing coffee and making scrambled eggs and toast.
From the moment she stepped out of the master bedroom, Mrs. Chan started with her litany of complaints. Were the eggs fresh? Natalia had added too much milk to the coffee. Had she ironed the clothes? Did she manage to bring the clothes inside before it rained yesterday?
Natalia tried not to shrug and simply nodded, knowing that Mrs. Chan hated her talking back. She apologized often, saying she would try better. When Mr. Chan emerged, he already had his company lanyard on even though he was still in his light blue pajamas. Natalia wondered if he had slept with it on. He propped his feet up on the coffee table and ate his toast, flipping between channels and letting his wife continue her nagging.
Moving over to the balcony to do his morning stretches, he suddenly remarked, “Look. The police again.” The block in front of their apartment gave them only a partial view of the reservoir, but still, when Mrs. Chan and Natalia joined him in peering over the railing, they could see a crowd milling about by the water.
“Another drowning?” Mrs. Chan surmised, craning her long neck for a better glimpse.
“Looks like,” he said. “Suicides attract, like magnets. We should sell this place. So many deaths.”
“Can’t get a good price now,” Mrs. Chan replied before turning back to Natalia and giving her a look that sent her scurrying back to work. “We’re leaving for Madrid tonight. I know you’re happy we’ll be gone. I want you to send me a photo every evening of the rooms.”
Natalia nodded. Even though she was glad, she kept her face blank. What did it matter whether the rooms were clean when they were away? All they wanted was to get something out of her salary, even if they weren’t here to see it.
“How long away, ma’am?”
“Ten days. I’ll get my mother to come check on things some days. I should send you there to work for her but she doesn’t enjoy... never mind.” If Mrs. Chan was awful, her mother was a tyrant. Natalia knew enough Cantonese to know that her mother’s insults were racist and vulgar. A missed spot warranted a reprimand or even a slap. Mrs. Chan talked about how her mother had once scalded a maid for burning some chicken.
Still, ten days was a boon. Even if Mrs. Chan’s mother turned up, she never stayed long. She hated the smallness of the place and nagged her daughter for buying it. It occurred to Natalia that her prayers had worked.
Mrs. Chan was now chattering to her husband in Mandarin as they tried to gauge what was happening at the reservoir. Natalia waited until they left to change into their work clothes before cleaning up, making sure to pick up bits of toast from the couch.
Once Natalia saw the Chans’ car leave, she headed to the reservoir, getting as close as she could to the heart of the crowd. There were a few policemen standing around, not far from where she had been earlier that morning. The locals were taking photos on their phones and posting them. The ambulance arrived a few minutes later; as they placed the body on a stretcher, she could see it was a Chinese woman in a red dress. Her hair was loose, her nails were pale pink, and her wrist had a red string looped around it. One of the medics threw a white towel over the woman’s face.
Natalia knew the stories about how those seeking to be reborn as vengeful ghosts would drown themselves wearing red. She thought about the man in the cap that morning and the splash. Did he have something to do with the woman? What had he been carrying? It had been too dark to tell. No, she knew nothing. There was a house to clean, she told herself, hurrying away.
Trying not to think about the dead woman, she focused on the list of chores Mrs. Chan had left. She packed their luggage, pretending that it was her going on a trip, started cooking dinner at six, and let the food simmer.
The Chans came home late that night, spending just ten minutes in the apartment — enough time for Mrs. Chan to scold Natalia for cooking dinner and wasting food. Even as Mrs. Chan was dragging her luggage out the door, she was shouting instructions for more chores and insults in the same breath. Her husband, amused by the tirade, said nothing to stop her. His work lanyard was still on, until his wife turned her scolding on him for a moment, reminding him he did not have to use it at Immigration.
Mrs. Chan only quieted down when the elevator doors finally closed. (Though Natalia then received two text messages from Mrs. Chan telling her to air out the mattress and wash the curtains.)
Once their absence set in, Natalia sat on the couch, relieved but drained. That night, she slept with the door to her small room wide open. She had vivid dreams of water seeping all over the floor; the woman in red appeared next to her bed.
When the newspapers arrived the next morning, she looked for a report. The article occupied half a page.
The woman at the reservoir was named XueLing, a twenty-year-old Chinese girl who had arrived in Singapore two years earlier. She worked at a restaurant and had been missing for three days. There were few details about her — the press had not been able to find out the significance of her red dress, who she wanted revenge on. The rest of the article mentioned the other reservoir suicides, including one where only half the man’s body was found. Natalia had heard about the drownings before and the friends that she met on her day off enjoyed joking about it.
But this one struck home; the girl had come here with hope. Like Natalia, she wanted a better life. It was true that sometimes Natalia also considered suicide, but she knew she had to press on. If she died, her debts would simply be passed on to her family.
Four days after the Chans left, Natalia was still mired in housework. Even so, she relished the freedom of knowing that her every move wasn’t being watched. The incident at the reservoir was no longer in her mind. The splash was probably just a catfish in the reservoir making a jump. The man was just on an early-morning stroll.
When evening came, she decided to walk to the reservoir. The waters were once again peaceful. Gravel crunched under the feet of joggers. She walked down the slope near the water and sat down with a can of soya bean milk. It was warm, and the sky was thick with crayon-red bands. A crescent moon hung over the world.