Jane Vejjajiva

by Unknown

  On the sand there were other strange markings. Kati sat and studied these at length. It was as if someone had rolled grains of sand into little balls and scattered them on the ground in a strange dotty pattern. Mother’s friend, Uncle Kunn, said it was the work of wind crabs. As they dug their holes they threw out the sand shaped into little balls by their claws. There must have been lots of crabs living on the beach, but Kati had yet to see if they lived up to their name and ran as fast as the wind.

  Uncle Kunn did not speak much, but it was as if he had told Kati about all sorts of things and knew what she was thinking too. Sometimes they walked in silence along the beach in the evening. When they were tired they looked for a place to rest, and often sat together on the seawalls of shuttered-up beach houses.

  From Uncle Kunn Kati heard all about this disease with many names. Americans called it ALS. The English called it MND or motor neurone disease. The French called it Maladie de Charcot (after the doctor who first identified the condition 150 years ago). Uncle Kunn spoke of Lou Gehrig, the American baseball player who’d had this disease and was the first to make its symptoms known to the general public. He went on to explain that there was no cure for the disease. Those with the condition suffered from progressive muscle weakening. They also lost control of their muscles. They couldn’t control the movements of their hands and arms. They found it difficult to walk, to speak, to swallow and eventually to breathe. The result, ultimately, was total paralysis.

  Kati heard about the spirometer, the BiPAP machine and many other things that floated past her ears and disappeared with the sea breeze. Aunt Da said Uncle Kunn was a dab hand at writing scripts for radio advertisements. It must have been true because when Uncle Kunn explained to Kati, who was nine years old, about Mother’s illness, complicated things became simple.

  The figures Uncle Kunn mentioned were easy to understand. Males got it more than females. Mostly people who had it were between forty and seventy. Fifty per cent of people died within eighteen months of diagnosis. Twenty per cent lasted five years. Only ten per cent of people lived longer than ten years. People who became symptomatic between the ages of twenty to forty usually lived more than five years.

  Kati wondered whether, if the statistics had been different, she would feel as she did now. Mother first developed symptoms when she was thirty-three. She had been ill for nearly five years now.

  The wind crabs scuttled down their holes before her eyes. Uncle Kunn asked casually if Kati would like to run a race with him, if he let her start from the pine tree in front of them and whoever made it to the hotel first would win. Kati didn’t wait to be asked a second time. She set off running.

  The wind, mingled with the hot air rising from the sand, blew in her face. Kati ran faster and faster. She was running to the horizon. Her feet felt the fine sand beneath them in a way that Mother was no longer able to do… in a way that Mother had once done. Kati’s hands were clenched and they pumped up and down in rhythm. Her hands were moving in a way that Mother’s could no longer move. Kati raised her hand to wipe away her tears. That easy movement was something Mother could no longer do, though Mother had once done so just as easily as Kati.

  The hotel entrance flashed by out of the side of Kati’s eye but she couldn’t stop. She raced on and prayed that the beach would continue before her, an endless beach. It was only when her knees gave way and she fell onto the sand that Kati realised she was soaked in sweat. Her legs were trembling. Kati cried without shame, as though all her defences had been shattered, as she had never cried before. Someone threw themself down beside her and swept Kati up in a hug. It was a good while before Uncle Kunn spoke. He said that her crying would flood the wind crabs’ holes. Kati laughed through her tears. Uncle Kunn shifted and gestured for Kati to hop onto his back. The view to either side looked different from up on high. Uncle Kunn laughed when he said that she’d probably not been thinking of how they would get back home when she’d run so hard and long.

  The sky was dark now. Light shone from the verandah of ‘Sea-view Villa’. The tide was high so the beach had shrunk, and on the sand no trace remained of the wind crabs.

  Sea Morning Glories

  Everyone knew that Mother had less and less time left with every passing minute.

  ‘Look, Miss Chomcha-da, if you don’t get yourself together I swear I’ll beat you to it, and then what’ll you have to say, hey?’

  Uncle Dong’s voice sounded from the kitchen. Everyone had come over to stay in the big house because Mother was prone to infections at this stage. The smaller house, where Mother was staying, was a single storey bungalow closer to the beach. The big house was also painted white with the same bright blue window frames but had two storeys. The owner had built them as holiday homes but afterwards bought a bigger piece of land and built a resort there, keeping these for his personal use. Aunt Da said the owner owed Mother a big debt of gratitude, as Mother had helped him avoid a court case which would have shut down his business. When he heard that Mother needed a place to rest and take care of her health, he placed the house at her disposal for as long as it suited her. Of course, Mother paid no attention to his protests and asked Aunt Da to pay rent every month.

  Aunt Da was pink in the face when Kati and Uncle Kunn came into the kitchen. Uncle Kunn asked who was beating whom at what. But instead of answering, Aunt Da pushed past them with an obstinate look on her face. Uncle Dong had to announce loudly that if Uncle Kunn had no better business than to hang round looking handsome, he might as well help Aunt Da set the table for dinner. Uncle Kunn looked puzzled, but went to help as he was told. Kati was puzzled too. If anyone round here was handsome, it was Uncle Dong – he just needed to lose a little weight round his middle and grow a bit more hair.

  Uncle Dong was holding a spray of flowers which looked familiar to Kati. The little purple blossoms sprang in profusion from a long creeper tendril, and Kati remembered the sea morning glories which she’d seen growing on the beach beside the front fence.

  Their leaves were bright green and heart-shaped, and they were used to treat jellyfish stings. This time Uncle Dong had picked them not for their medicinal properties but to decorate the dinner table. Uncle Dong had a magic touch when it came to artistic arrangements of any kind. Wherever he placed things they always looked beautiful.

  But you can’t eat table decorations, as Grandma had remarked when Grandpa tactlessly praised Uncle Dong in front of her. It was as though there was a little battle going between Grandma and Uncle Dong. If Grandma knew Uncle Dong was coming she would move into the kitchen and excel herself in cooking a fantastic meal. Uncle Dong would then set about finding all sorts of props to create a sumptuous table setting. Decorations could either make the meal taste even better or completely overshadow it, according to Uncle Dong. On tonight’s table the sea morning glories reigned as the ‘queen of flowers’.

  ‘So how’s my lovely Burmese maiden?’ Uncle Dong called out to Kati. Grandma, who was just coming in with a serving dish, gave him a furious look. Kati left them to battle it out and went to have her bath and change her clothes before going to see her mother.

  She was still asleep. Kati went and sat close by her.

  Mother’s face was calm under the mask with the tube

  linking it to the BiPAP machine, and Kati thought about what Uncle Kunn had said; that Mother had chosen not to have a tube inserted in her throat even though that would prolong her life, because it would mean that she could not speak. Mother had chosen to reduce the time she had left so she could speak with them till the last. Kati thought of the fairy story about the little mermaid who had chosen to have her tongue cut out so that her tail could be turned into legs to help her find her true love. Kati guessed that Mother no longer had a true love to seek.

  That night was especially bright and cheery as all of them were able to be there together. The more often Mother slept and for longer, the more it seemed everyone was dropping in to spend time with her. Aunt Da was with Mother almost all
the time. Grandpa said Aunt Da was not only Mother’s right hand, but also her left hand and both her feet. Not only that, Grandpa winked at Kati, but Aunt Da also had a good head on her shoulders, and although there were plenty of people with heads on their shoulders, not many actually used them to think. If Aunt Da had to go to Bangkok on business, then Uncle Kunn would immediately come to take her place.

  Sometimes he must have arrived in the middle of the

  night because Kati would wake to find him already sitting on the sofa at the end of Mother’s bed, asleep.

  The topic of conversation at the table was a new television game show that was extremely popular. The idea for the show had been Mother’s and everyone knew that its success was due to her hard work negotiating with the overseas producers. Mother had persuaded them all to go shares in the enterprise and had asked Uncle Kunn to be the frontman. Tonight everyone at the table raised their glasses to celebrate with Kati, as the profit from the deal would go towards Kati’s education. The grown-ups at the table roared with laughter when Kati, mystified, asked, ‘But I go to the local temple school, why do we need a lot of money for my education?’

  The meal was every bit as delicious as the cook had intended. Mother’s meal was liquid and was fed to her by a tube through her stomach into her intestine, but she laughed and chatted as though she was enjoying her food as much as everyone else at the table.

  The sky had long been dark, but the lights from the little candles Uncle Dong had placed along the verandah of the small bungalow swayed and shone, weaving a gentle radiance that soothed the eyes. It was as if the candles wished to compete with the moon, which was full and round in the sky. Its silvery light fell on the water below and was reflected back again with a full heart. Mother turned her face to look at the moon and said that soon she would be up there to watch over Kati for all time.

  Kati sat quietly, keeping her mother company. The moon was so beautiful that Kati wished every night could be a full-moon night. Wannee, Mother’s nurse, brought out a shawl. Kati rose then and wandered into the pantry intending to pour herself a drink of water. The scene she saw there was Aunt Da held in Grandma’s arms, her whole body shaking with sobs.

  Tears bathed Uncle Dong’s cheeks, while Grandpa and Uncle Kunn stood with their backs turned. Kati saw the fragile purple

  flowers of the sea morning glory withered on top of the fridge. Someone

  must have forgotten to put

  Jellyfish

  Living in the present moment is no easy matter.

  No clouds could be seen in the wide canopy of the sky. It looked like a seamless cloth of bright blue.

  Kati lay on her back and floated in the sea, which was as still as glass. The orange sun had only just popped up over the horizon, so the air was cool and refreshing. Actually Kati preferred to swim in the late afternoon when the high waves crashed against the shore, one after the other, dashing sea water in your face and eyes. These challenging afternoon waves were more exciting than the calm morning waters, which weren’t so different from the canal at home. But Aunt Da didn’t like waves and Mother would not let Kati swim alone. As Kati was a good child, she obediently followed Aunt Da down to the water for her ‘morning swim’ as Grandpa called it, using the English words.

  Seen from the sea, the little white house was on a hill, surrounded by a low fence, above a stone breakwater. The little fence offered only token protection but the stone breakwater was like a fortress, holding back the force of the sea. The walls of the house were whitewashed plaster, like the houses in the Greek isles that Uncle Dong had talked about. On the verandah there was a long bench hanging from chains like a swing and its lemon-yellow cushion added to the cheerful, comfortable atmosphere. This was a house which had never known gloom and despair, incredible as that may seem.

  The water came up to Aunt Da’s waist. She refused to swim properly, but just splashed and waded around. Aunt Da said you had to look carefully to see if there were any jellyfish around. Kati liked jellyfish. She wished Tong could see them. She was sure he’d cry out in surprise – they certainly looked nothing like the jellyfish you’d eat in a bowl of seafood noodle soup.

  When she came out of the water, Kati hurried to tell her mother how she’d seen

  the jellyfish floating along

  with the waves. Mother said

  she liked to see them too,

  looking like parachutes in

  midair. Kati couldn’t

  understand what she meant

  so Mother found some

  photos on the internet for

  her. The jellyfish looked

  very relaxed as they swayed to and fro in the water, their upper parts like mushroom flowers seen from above, furling and unfurling. They really did look like the parachutes that soldiers use when they jump out of planes. Mother said she’d like to be a jellyfish drifting around with no particular destination. All her life she’d had clear goals and destinations, even now at the very end of her life.

  Mother’s computer was voice-activated. Uncle Kunn said Mother had prepared audio files for when she could no longer use her hands to work on the computer. She couldn’t hold a book to read so she listened to them on tape. Her friends had sent her audio books from far away. Some were children’s books and Mother would call Kati to listen to these.

  If she had the original, Kati would look at the pictures and read along with the tape. Mother liked the fact that the stories were teaching Kati English at the same time.

  But what Mother liked most was to look at the photos in her album with Kati. Almost every photo was of Kati alone, taken by Grandpa, who must have sent photos at regular intervals. Mother would ask Kati to tell her all about them, and Grandpa called these sessions ‘the behind-the-scenes show’.

  This one, though, was of Kati’s fourth-grade class teacher, Teacher Ratree. ‘Her husband is a teacher too, Mum, but he was assigned to a school in another province. Teacher Ratree applied to get transferred to join him but it’s been years now and they’re still apart. The big kids say that’s why she’s such a grump, she’s worried her husband will find a new wife. I think she’s got a nice smile but she doesn’t smile very much. Some people say it’s a good thing she hasn’t got any children but other people say if she did then maybe she wouldn’t feel so lonely. It’s weird, Mum, even during the holidays she comes to school. She never seems to go to visit her husband and no one’s ever seen him either.’

  Kati chattered on. Sometimes Mother would interrupt to ask a question like why this girl smiled so strangely. ‘Oh, Pirawan fell over. She fell off the slide and broke her jaw. She’s got to have this thing in her mouth now which makes her dribble all the time. The other kids call her “Miss Duh”. They won’t play with her. So I ask Pirawan to come and read stories with me. You can’t really chat with her, you see, because she can’t talk back.’

  While putting the photo albums away in the drawer, Kati spied a box hiding at the bottom. Inside was an album Kati had never seen before. Mother seemed reluctant to look at it and Kati thought she must be getting tired, but then Mother motioned for her to sit on the bed next to her and put the album in her lap.

  The first picture was of a baby in its mother’s arms. The bold handwriting underneath read: ‘Na-kamon Podjanawitt, February 14, 1993’.

  Frangipani

  The past casts a shadow that can point to the future.

  ‘You were born after midnight so it was Valentine’s Day. Uncle Dong was so happy. I don’t know where he found the red roses but they filled the room to overflowing. I had a big fight with the nurse over it. But it was really so pretty, wherever I looked I could see only roses.’

  Mother sat quietly as though picturing the little hospital room transformed into a bower of love by Uncle Dong’s professional artistry.

  ‘Grandpa gave you the name “Na-kamon”’ which means “abiding in love”. Grandpa liked the prefix “Na”. My name has a “Na” too. Grandpa wanted us to have names that matched.’
r />   Mother’s name was Na-patra. Grandpa said that meant ‘abiding in virtue’.

  ‘At that time Grandpa and Grandma hadn’t moved to the house on the water. Grandpa was crazy about you; actually, everyone was crazy about you. Uncle Dong was over the moon. I’d never known him to pay any attention to children before this but he was so besotted with you that he actually left his work to come and sit by your crib, and of course, he and Grandma ended up fighting over you. Look at this! The photo of your first haircut when you were a month old. And here’s the certificate with your name on it, from your naming ceremony. Grandpa’s handwriting was so beautiful, we had it framed.’

  It seemed as though the day had been a happy one even though one person was conspicuously absent from all the photographs, one person who was not even mentioned.

  Mother’s bedroom looked out over the sea. In the afternoon the sea receded so far you could hardly see it. Grandpa said that if you wanted to swim at this hour, you’d have to call a taxi to get you there. The side walls of the house were big glass windows; through them you could see the big frangipani tree with its yellow-andwhite flowers sending forth their sweet scent. Grandma didn’t like the tree at all. She said that in the olden days it was bad luck to have a frangipani near your home. Grandpa muttered that this was a resort, not a home. He would have grafted a branch to take back to plant in the garden of the house on the water, except Grandma would probably explode with indignation.

  ‘I’d just moved back to Bangkok. We were living in a condominium right in the centre of the city, just the two of us. I was lucky. Everyone wanted to help look after you. Here, this one’s of your first birthday. And here’s Aunt Da as well. Aunt Da was a trainee in our office right from when she was a student. When she graduated she came to work for me. You’ve liked her ever since you first met, so I knew I’d chosen the right person as my assistant.’