Fieldwork: A Novel

by Mischa Berlinski

  The second time I have been in the presence of a ghost was that night on Khun Vinai's hammock.

  Khun Vinai told me that he ended up spending several hours with Martiya in the visiting room of Chiang Mai Central Prison. The guards allowed them all the time they wanted, and Martiya spoke at length.

  The night was so dark that I couldn't see Khun Vinai's face. But there were two voices beside me, and one of them was the voice of a dead woman.

  "I didn't have a choice," she finally said. "Vinai, if I hadn't done something, they would have taken the dyal away. They wanted to take Hupasha away. What else could I have done?"

  She looked at her hands.

  "Hupasha came to me one night. I was in my hut, but I wasn't expecting him. I hadn't seen him in a week or two. He'd go away, and I'd miss him so much. That's when I knew he had my souls, because I missed him so badly. So when he came that night, I was very happy.

  "But Hupasha wasn't himself, I knew right away. We always had a little game. He'd shout, ‘Tie up your dog!' when he came to my hut, and that made us laugh, because I didn't have a dog. But that night he came and he didn't say anything, he just came up to my hut and asked if he could come in. I asked him why he was talking to me like a stranger, and he didn't say anything. So I asked him if he was going to talk to me or if he was just going to sit there like a rock all night long. And he told me that he had decided to become an Adam-person.

  " ‘You too?' I said. And I started to laugh, because, well, I had thought it was a big deal what he was going to tell me. I thought his daughter had died, but this just didn't seem to me a terribly big deal. People change, even Dyalo men, although I wish they wouldn't. But he was very interested always in what the Adam-people said, and he always liked to hear David Walker and the others preaching, talked to them about their ideas. Good for him, I always said. I mean, it would certainly be wrong if I was interested in the foreigners and he wasn't. He wants to read the Bible, that's fine. I never wanted to control him or tell him what to do. He was far too smart for that, far too strong for that. So I just said, ‘Congratulations. Don't scare me like that next time.'

  "But I thought about things for a moment, and I asked him how was he going to keep Rice happy if he didn't make dyal. He said that he wouldn't keep Rice happy. And I said, ‘You aren't? What are you going to eat?' Because that's such a basic Dyalo idea, that you need to keep Rice happy. And he said that now he would ask Ye-su-tsi to make the fields grow. ‘What does Ye-su-tsi know about Rice?' I said. But he didn't say anything.

  "I asked him why he was doing all this, and he said he no longer wanted to be a slave to Rice. That he wanted to be a free man.

  "Then he said he wouldn't see me anymore in the fields because it would make Ye-su-tsi angry if he made dyal. He said that Adam-people don't make dyal. So I said, ‘Okay, we won't make dyal,' but he said that it didn't matter, that I was still his gin-kai. That they only give honor to Ye-su-tsi, and sing Ye-su-tsi songs.

  "I asked him who taught him this, and he said it was David Walker.

  "So he went home and I went back to work, and I waited for him to come back to my hut again, because I figured this all would blow over, and one week went by, and then another. I started to feel a little worried, and then another week went by. I decided I would go up to Wild Pig and see him, and talk to him again.

  "I found him in his rice fields. What beautiful fields we had made! He was so handsome working. It was a glorious day, with a clear, hot sun. He saw me and he stopped working, and I knew before he even said a word that he wanted me. And I wanted him too. He was a beautiful man, simply beautiful. Things would be fine. But he said, ‘Martiya, why are you in my rice fields?' I'll never forget his voice, it was so cold.

  "He said that, and I got angry.

  "I said, ‘I gave up my life to learn your language, so that I can talk to you. And then you came along, and I give up my man to be with you also, one good man, who had all my souls, who would have taken me away from here. This village was all I had, and I gave up this village for you, too, this village which I wanted. They came to me and said: It is either us or Rice. And I said, ‘Give me my man.' And now you say that the rice fields we made together are yours?'

  "He didn't have anything to say to that, there was nothing he could say. He walked away. I walked home through the fields. I had planted the rice, and now it was high.

  "That night I was all alone in my hut, and I began to shiver. My teeth were chattering. My whole body was trembling, and the next thing I knew, Lai-Ma was there. She was frightened of Rice, but she came.

  "She was stroking my head. She said that I was taken by the spirits in the night. And I said, ‘I was?' And she said, ‘The spirits caught you and you fell down, and you screamed.'

  "I guess that's when I first knew how angry Rice was. How angry Rice could be."

  "I wish I could say that I was very brave, but I wasn't. If Lai-Ma hadn't been there, I don't know how I would have eaten, how I would have got water, how I would have bathed myself. I spent most of those days sleeping. That little hut was so small. And I couldn't breathe. My chest ached. The only person I wanted to see was Lai-Ma. She was so kind. When I was with her, I calmed down, just a little. But she had things to do. She had her fields.

  "And so I would sit there at that desk. I had these conversations with myself. I'd say, ‘Let's go. Let's go now. Don't wait.' And then this voice would be in my head, it was my voice, but dark, it would say, ‘Martiya, where would you go? How could you leave?'

  "I didn't think I could live without Hupasha, without the rice fields. I thought about the dyal all the time. What a mistake he made, to give up Rice.

  "The first time we made dyal, Hupasha came to my house. I didn't expect him. I hadn't seen him in a year, but I had thought about him. He took my breath away, he was so handsome. He shouted, ‘Tie up your dog!' and then he didn't say one more word. Took me to his rice field. It was a dark night, he led me on the path, up over Big Hill, in the direction of Wild Pig village. I couldn't see a thing, just held on to his hand, we walked for hours. Then the moon rose, just as we got to his rice fields. Just an empty field. I never felt so happy in my life. So this was the dyal, I thought. This was it.

  "We planted rice by moonlight. I followed him. He walked in front of me. Hupasha would step forward and rear back and pound the dibble stick into the earth, drive the thing a foot or two feet deep into the earth, and I would breathe in and step forward. We had a rhythm, the two of us, and my part was so delicate and simple, just to take the seed and let it drop; then we'd step forward.

  "Then he reached for me. And I saw Rice. Either you know Rice or you don't. Rice is like steam rising from the fields, like silver flames. I didn't know where I ended, where he began. The field was on fire with Rice. His touch, his smell—where does such a good thing come from? I had never before understood what the Dyalo meant when they said, ‘Only a woman can make rice.' Later they would tell me, ‘Stop making dyal. Walk away from dyal.' I couldn't.

  "I made dyal, and I got home to the village and all I thought about was dyal. And it's not true that you can only make dyal once a year, at planting time. Rice is always there. I used to ask, ‘What happens if you see your gin-kai when it's not the dyal?' ‘But, Martiya, that is not our custom.' ‘But if a woman sees her gin-kai, what would happen?' ‘Martiya, she would be a slave to Rice.' I never thought to ask why that would be a bad thing.

  "That is the dyal, and how could Hupasha want to leave it all behind him? How could he? I'll never understand that, not until the day I die. What is better than Rice?

  "I had so much still to learn about Rice. I had just begun to understand Rice, when Hupasha left.

  "I must have spent weeks, then months like that. At night I dreamed of being with Hupasha. Of Rice. I'd wake up sweating. Then I'd fall back asleep and have the same dreams all over again."

  "One day David Walker came by my hut. It was toward sundown when he knocked on the door. I saw him through my window.
He knocked again, and when I didn't answer, he pushed the door open. He stood in the threshold.

  "He was large, much larger than I was—and as he stood in the doorway of the hut, with the sun setting right behind him, the hairs on his arms were very fine and golden. I remember looking at those hairs, and thinking no wonder the Dyalo were so impressed by him, he looks like a tiger to them. Once I went out hunting with Fat Belly, years and years ago. We went deep in the jungle and I saw a tiger. It couldn't have been much farther away than that wall. They say that there are no more tigers in northern Thailand, but I saw one. And when you see a tiger in the jungle—you don't see anything else. That's what I thought about when I saw David.

  "David didn't say anything for a moment. Then he said that Hupasha had asked him to come. I asked him why, and David said that he needed to talk to me. I said, ‘Talk,' but he asked if he could come in.

  "He was so big, and there wasn't quite enough space in the hut for both of us. We were both sweating because it was such a hot night. His teeth were very white, and I could see the pores in his skin. I could feel the heat coming off him. I was a little frightened of him, to tell you the truth. I asked him the last time he saw Hupasha, and he said that he had seen him just the night before. He had been up there talking about the Bible with him. And I said, ‘David, will you tell me something?'

  "David nodded yes, and I asked him if Hupasha was really a Christian. Or whether it was just something that Hupasha invented to get rid of me. That's what I really wanted to know.

  "David thought for a long time. He said, ‘It was hard, what he had to do. Choosing for the Lord was the hardest thing he ever had to do. I think he wants to be a Christian—and I think that's enough. God put the desire there.' I thought about that a minute, and I said, ‘Does he want me back?' and David said, ‘Martiya, all I know is that he never, ever wants to go back to Rice.'

  "‘But he loved Rice!' That's what I said. I said, ‘David, you have no idea how happy we were together. It was the most beautiful thing in the world, when we were together and made rice. I think we would have been together forever, if you hadn't come along.'

  "David leaned forward. I could smell him. He smelled like earth and clay. He said, ‘Martiya, I need to tell you something. I talked to him yesterday. He wants to go back to Burma and tell them about the Lord.'

  "I felt like a candle was melting inside me. But I still didn't cry. ‘Was this your idea?' I said. David looked at the ground, and he said, ‘He asked me what I thought about it, and I said that everyone needs to know the Lord.'

  "‘But how is he going to eat? Where will he get rice?' I said, and David told me that the Christians had made a rice fund for the evangelists.

  "That's when I knew I had really lost him. If Hupasha had decided to go, I knew he would go. I was all alone with Rice. David said, ‘I admire you, Martiya. You've been living here alone for such a long time. I know how hard it is to live without the Lord.'

  "But I don't think David realized how angry I was. I said, ‘Why did you do this to me? What did I do to you?'

  "David stood up. He looked at me for a long, long time. Then he said, ‘Martiya, will you sing with me?' And he seemed almost as surprised saying these words as I was hearing them, like the words had come out of his mouth by accident. It was the hot season, and we were both so sweaty, his face was red and slick, and my clothes were so heavy. He stretched his arms out wide and leaned over me. Then he began to sing:

  ‘There were ninety-and-nine that safely lay

  In the Shelter of the fold.

  But one was out on the hills far away,

  Far off from the gates of gold.

  Away on the mountains wild and bare,

  Away from the tender Shepherd's care,

  Away from the tender Shepherd's care.'

  "He took my hands. He held them tight and pressed them up against his shirt. I could feel his heart beating. He was out of breath, and I could see veins throbbing in his neck. ‘Did you hear them?' he said. And I said yes, I had heard them, too. Then he walked out the door, leaving it wide open behind him.

  "I couldn't believe I would never see Hupasha again. I thought he would come by the next day or the day after that."

  "I watched the village prepare that year for the dyal. It was obvious to me that the Christians regretted their decision, and were very jealous now of the animist half. They made Fat Belly the pastor of the church—Fat Belly! In charge of anyone's spiritual life! I think that really says it all. The animist half, though, were very serene. They had lived in these hills forever. Their faces said: This is our life, this is the way Dyalo live; we don't need Ye-su-tsi. We know how to please Rice.

  "It had to be the same in Wild Pig village. So when I saw the preparations, I was sure that Hupasha was going to come. And so I started to prepare for the dyal myself. I wanted to look beautiful.

  "When I learned about the dyal, the people always used the phrase ‘The dyal is the Lesson of Ten Thousand Harvests.' Can you imagine? They were making dyal long before Jesus was born—maybe not the Dyalo exactly, maybe not the dyal exactly, but somebody was making some ritual like this, to please Rice. Rice is old, older than you can imagine.

  "But Hupasha didn't come.

  "I got in my jeep and I drove down to Chiang Mai. It's a long drive, but I remember a feeling that if I didn't get out of the hills, get out now … I decided to go for a drink. I went to one of those bars on the river, with the music. I was so grateful to be with strangers, with people who had never heard of the dyal, of the Dyalo even. I ordered a drink, and then another. One of the tourists asked if I wanted to get stoned, and I did. We stood outside on that balcony smoking, looking out over the river, with the reflection of the moon. I started to think, just for a moment, that I was going to be all right, that things were going to work out.

  "And then I was sick. I ran to the bathroom as fast as I could, a dirty little bathroom in a dirty little bar, and I threw everything up—and is it strange if I say it felt wonderful? I threw up until I felt empty inside. I stood up from the toilet, I must have been in there ten minutes, twenty minutes, and I looked in the mirror, and this old woman stared back at me. I wondered who she was, and of course she was me. I was an old woman. I knew at that moment that I was no longer a beautiful woman, not even a pretty woman anymore.

  "That's when I noticed the bathroom attendant. She was standing behind me. If I was an old woman, she was ancient. She must have heard me vomiting. She must have thought I was disgusting. But she looked so peaceful and serene and contented—and that's amazing, if you think about it. This woman lives in a toilet, that's her life, from morning until night she lives in the toilet and gives out hot towels and rubs the necks of rich women and listens to them pee and shit and vomit, and I've never seen in all my life such a simple, contented, happy face. She had a cross around her neck. And that cross—I stared and stared.

  "At that moment, I knew that I could have everything I wanted. And I can't tell you how much I wanted to take a bath. I hadn't taken a real bath in years, only showers in the village. I wanted to wash myself in clean water—to begin again, just to start over. I wanted to find David right away. I wanted to tell him that he was right. It wasn't a rational decision, I hadn't thought it all through, I just wanted it.

  "I went to the Walkers' house. It was only a twenty-minute walk or so, and it felt glorious. But the closer I got to that house, I started to hear this very small voice in my head. This voice said, ‘Is this how you treat Rice?'

  "Then I saw that house, with that huge fence around it, at the end of the block, and it was black. I went through the gate and up to the door, and I rang the bell and nobody came for a very long time.

  "Then the door opened. It was Norma Walker, and I didn't know what to say. I had only thought about David, about meeting David, and explaining to him what happened in the bathroom. I asked if David was there.

  "Norma looked confused. She must have been asleep. She's a big woman, like her son, an
d I felt so small.

  "Norma stared me up and down, then finally she asked if I knew what time it was.

  "And I didn't, I really didn't, so I said no. She sighed and said it was four-thirty in the morning. I told her that I was looking for David, and she shook her head and she said that David was in the field. I felt like an idiot, because of course David wouldn't be here the first night of dyal. Then I thought of Thomas. But she shook her again and said, ‘No, my husband is with my son tonight.' I didn't know what to say, so I asked if she remembered me, and she said that she knew just who I was, and she stared at me with those dark eyes, like I was a wild animal. She had never liked me, I knew that. Then she asked what she could do for me, and suddenly I was so thirsty that I thought I would die. I couldn't think of anything but a cold glass of water. So I asked if I could have a glass of water.

  "She didn't say one word. She just backed away from the door and disappeared into that black, empty house. Then she came back and gave me the glass and said that I should come in for a minute. I didn't want to go in, but I did anyway. And we sat down in that living room, with those poor goldfish going back and forth. I drank my water, and I started to wonder what I was doing there.

  "Then she asked me again what she could do for me. And I wanted just to tell the truth. So I told her that I came to be baptized, and I started to cry. She didn't say anything at all. She just sat, and I looked at her face. I saw David's face in hers, just heavier. The same dark eyes, the same long nose, those same thin lips; those two were cut from the same cloth. She said, ‘Now?' and I said, ‘Yes,' and she said, ‘You want me to baptize you? Me?'

  "And I didn't say anything. I was still crying. I wanted to tell her about Rice.