The Moonlight Palace Read Online Free PDF

awhile.”

FIVE
    Tschuk!
    C ouldn’t you have warned me he was blind?” I chided Uncle Chachi that evening at supper.
    Nei-Nei Down made a soft, characteristic noise of disapproval. It sounded like “Tschuk!” I never knew if it was Peranakan Chinese or some sound of her own devising.
    “I do not draw attention to other people’s disabilities,” Uncle Chachi said. Nei-Nei made her soft “Tschuk!” sound again.
    “What did you think of the place?” Uncle Chachi asked. “In a general way.”
    “I liked Mr. Kahani very much,” I admitted. “And I’ll like working there.”
    “Working where?” asked Omar Wahlid with a frown.
    “At a jewelry store in Little India,” I said. “But you might have given me a warning, Uncle. The poor man tripped over a tea table coming forward to greet me.”
    “You work at a jewelry store?” Omar Wahlid asked, his frown darkening. Really, he was the grumpiest young man I had ever met.
    “Strictly secretarial,” said Uncle Chachi, waving his hands, as if to make the words jewelry store disappear. “Highly respectable.”
    “What’s wrong with jewelry?” I asked.
    Wei was looking down at his plate, studying it intently. Dawid had stayed late to work in the Raffles library.
    “You are a descendant of the Sultan of Johor,” said Omar Wahlid. “A Muslim woman. Consider that in all your actions.”
    “I am also one-half Chinese. And one-quarter British,” I added.
    “Yes,” said British Grandfather cheerfully. “Feel free to use that whenever it comes in handy.”
    “Your great-great-grandfather built the Masjid Sultan,” Omar Wahlid went on, ignoring us. Back to the Sultan Mosque again. As if I needed reminding. “Mr. Hussein, you know better,” he said pleadingly to Uncle Chachi.
    “Strictly secretarial,” Uncle Chachi said. “And for a most respectable gentleman. An old friend of mine.”
    Omar Wahlid threw down his napkin. Then he folded it. He was truly a peculiar young man. He pushed his chair back from the dinner table.
    “You have barely eaten two bites,” Nei-Nei protested.
    “I have no appetite,” spat Omar Wahlid.
    When Omar had left the table, Wei let out a sigh as if he had been holding his breath.
    “A peculiar fellow,” said Uncle Chachi. “Next time I must check the references more carefully.”
    “Did you make rice pudding?” British Grandfather asked Nei-Nei.
    “Tschuk!” she said again.
    “He seems to be a very observant Hindu,” I said. “Mr. Kahani.”
    Uncle Chachi laughed. Even Nei-Nei Down smiled.
    “Mr. Kahani is a Jew,” Uncle Chachi said.
    “That’s impossible.” I was thinking of his Hindu shrine with the elaborate statuary and paintings and incense.
    “All things are possible,” said Uncle Chachi. “Haven’t I taught you anything? —You will find he never works on the Jewish Sabbath.”
    “But he is Indian, isn’t he? His accent—”
    “There are Jews in India. There are Jews all over the world. But there are not people like Mr. Kahani all over the world. You are lucky to be his employee. He is a great man. He started out as a boatman, and then bought several lighter boats. Now he is the premier jeweler in all of Singapore.”
    Nei-Nei set the heavy bowl of rice pudding in front of me—she had made it with currants and walnuts and cinnamon, just the way British Grandfather and I liked it—with a noise that sounded remarkably like “Tschuk!”

    Uncle Chachi was right about Mr. Kahani’s religion. On Friday afternoons, he would mysteriously absent himself. He always had some pressing engagement that sent him rushing out of the store early. Once, before he left, he said to me, “Be sure to leave the light on above the back jewelry case.”
    “But no one will see it,” I argued.
    “Kindly leave the light burning,” Mr. Kahani said. He patted down the pockets of his coat, making sure that he had his light-colored gloves there. Mr. Kahani never went anywhere without gloves and a hat. Yet he did not wear