by Rosanna Ley
‘It must have been so hard for the King and Queen,’ Eva murmured. ‘After what they had been used to.’
‘It was.’ The girl was imaginative too. And Maya remembered making exactly the same observation to her grandmother. ‘The Queen expected the old Burmese ways to still be part of her life,’ she said. ‘The reverence, the shiko-ing, the respect. But everything changed and most people in the royal entourage left before very long.’
Ramon dished out more food to Eva and offered some to his grandmother. She shook her head. But she accepted the glass of water he poured for her.
‘What about the other servant girl?’ Eva asked as Maya had known she would. ‘What about Nanda Li? Did she leave too?’
‘Not at first.’ Maya frowned so as to remember more clearly every detail of what she had been told. ‘But Queen Supayalat continued to prefer Suu Kyi and Nanda Li grew very bitter. She was lazy too. Often, she refused to serve her Queen and one day, the Queen simply sent her away.’
‘And that was the last Suu Kyi saw of her?’ Eva asked. She had a healthy appetite. Lawrence too had always eaten well; his job had been physically demanding of course. Maya had often wondered how he had managed during the war. Some of the men she saw after it was over had lost much weight. They were so thin, you could see their protruding bones.
‘If only,’ growled Ramon.
Maya saw Eva look across at him, surprised. There was some tension between these two, she could feel it, though she did not know the cause. Ramon was stubborn of course, very loyal and sometimes prickly like a wild bush on the plain. And Lawrence’s granddaughter did not know the whole truth. Should she tell her? Maya had not yet decided. To tell Eva was to tell Lawrence. She did not have so much time left. But she would have to give it more thought.
‘No, it was not the last time,’ she said. ‘The Royal Family were moved to Ratnagiri, many miles south of Bombay. They remained in exile, stripped of all power. But the people who looked after their interests were not always unkind.’ She remembered what her grandmother had told her of the official’s wife who had befriended her grandmother and made it her business to try and find a husband for Suu Kyi. She hadn’t succeeded, but she had eventually persuaded her to return to Burma. There were new servants now, the Queen had become cantankerous and difficult, the princesses had grown and no longer needed her. The official’s wife was of Indian origin but she had family in Rangoon who would give Suu Kyi work. ‘I am giving you a chance of freedom,’ she had urged her. ‘You must take it.’
Suu Kyi had gone to the Queen and asked for her blessing. ‘Go,’ the Queen had told her. ‘Go while you can. I would go myself, if I could. And, please God, my daughters will return to Burma themselves one day.’
Maya told Eva this part of the story.
‘So she returned here,’ murmured Eva.
‘Yes, she did. The family she worked for moved to Mandalay,’ Maya told her. ‘My grandmother met my grandfather there, and she also met again with Nanda Li.’
The two families had had little contact. Maya remembered as a girl seeing Nanda Li’s son and his wife in the bazaar, her mother ushering her quickly away. And she remembered the man’s dark scheming eyes too, eyes that he had passed on to his own children, Maya’s contemporaries, and on even beyond this. The family had grown in power and wealth, but their reputation went before them.
‘One day, when I was a girl of sixteen,’ Maya said, ‘my grandmother gave me the pair of chinthes. And she told me the story of the rout of the last King and Queen of Burma, just as I have told it to you, my child.’ She nodded. ‘She told me to treasure them, and she warned me to keep them together for the sake of spiritual harmony. She told me that they would keep me safe and that the gift was the most special gift, that I should remember that.’
‘But you gave one of them to my grandfather.’
The girl, Eva, looked so innocent sitting there. Maya’s heart went out to her. ‘Yes, I gave one to your grandfather,’ she said. ‘When he was about to go to war.’
‘Before you leave, I have something I must give you.’ That is what she had told him. And she had withdrawn the teak chinthe from the faded red Shan bag she carried over her shoulder. She passed it, almost reverentially, to him. It meant so much.
‘What’s this, my love?’
But she could tell that he knew. Everyone who had lived in her country knew the role played by the chinthes. They protected, they guarded, they kept from harm. Traditionally, they guarded the temple. But they had been given to Maya’s grandmother because she had guarded the princesses. And now their strength was needed again. ‘It is all I can give you.’
‘And yet I have brought you nothing.’ He frowned.
With her eyes, she told him that no, he was mistaken, he had given her everything.
He held the chinthe up to the lamp and looked into its red eyes. ‘And where is his partner?’ he asked softly.
‘I will keep that one with me.’ She bowed her head. ‘They belong together. I hope and pray that he will bring you back to me.’ It was the first time she had said this. No promises. That was what she had always said before. Nothing about belonging. Nothing about forever.
He dropped the chinthe into his backpack. ‘I will take him with me wherever I go.’
Maya smiled to herself. If only he knew. But better he did not know perhaps.
‘Many people in Burma bury their treasures,’ she said. ‘It may be that when you go to war, you will have to bury him too. If you do …’ she smiled. ‘You must remember where and mark the spot, my love.’
Gently, he held her face between his two hands. ‘But I will never bury our love, Maya,’ he said.
‘Nor I.’ She looked into his blue eyes. ‘I will remember it for all of my days.’
He stroked her hair. ‘I will come back.’
She put a finger to his lips. ‘Whatever you do, my love,’ she said. ‘I will understand.’
She watched him go with his precious cargo slung over one shoulder. ‘Keep him safe for me,’ she whispered to the chinthe.
*
Later that night, after dinner, her father had grasped hold of her arm. ‘Mya?’
‘Father?’
‘Where is the other chinthe?’ He pointed up at the shrine where one lonely animal guarded the image of the Buddha who was, as he should be, placed higher than anything else in the room on top of a sandalwood box.
‘I have given it away,’ she said.
‘Given it away?’ He let out a curse. ‘How could you give it away? We may need that, when … when …’
She put her arms around him. She knew that her father, for all his bravado, was frightened too. The war was getting closer. They were all in danger. But she would far rather have the chinthe guarding Lawrence, than have the pair confiscated by the Chinese or Japanese.
‘He needs it more,’ she whispered.
‘So.’ He looked mournful. ‘You have given it to your Englishman?’
‘I have.’
‘Then you are a fool.’ He sighed, ran his fingers through his hair.
‘It was mine to give,’ Maya remonstrated softly. ‘My grandmother gave me the pair.’
‘I know. But still, it is a family legacy.’
‘I have respected the manner in which it should be given,’ she told him, love giving her a stubbornness she hadn’t known she possessed. ‘And I believe that it will come back to our family one day.’
He looked up at the shrine. Shook his head. ‘Does he know what it is?’
‘No. But he knows what it means.’
He patted her shoulder. ‘You must really love this man, my daughter,’ he said. ‘He must be your life.’
‘He is,’ said Maya. And that was the truth.
*
The rest of them were quiet as they listened to the remainder of her story. Maya wiped a tear from her eye.
‘And what happened after the war?’ Eva asked softly.
Maya could see that the girl was deeply moved.
‘After the war, I kept my chinthe safe in the shrine in the house in Mandalay,’ she said. ‘I always felt that the other would return.’ She smiled at Eva. ‘One way or another.’ Though she had never dreamt that it would be like this. That Lawrence’s granddaughter would come from England and bring it back to her. It meant so much to her that he had done this. And it told her a great deal. If only her dear father had known that giving the chinthe to Lawrence before he went away to war, had in fact guaranteed the safety of them both …
‘But one day,’ she continued with the story. This girl, bless her, was curious and wanted to know it all. And perhaps she too had in some way been sent? Perhaps she too could help? ‘I returned from our house here in Maymyo with Ramon’s mother to find that someone had broken in. They had smashed the windows to gain entry. And yet only one thing was taken.’ She sighed, recalling the dread she had felt in the pit of her stomach. And with it had been the sense of inevitability, that one day … ‘We always knew who was responsible. She had never forgiven my grandmother, you see, and neither had her family.’ If both chinthes had been there, of course they would have taken the pair. What use was one without the other?
‘Bitterness breeds bitterness,’ she said sadly. ‘Greed multiplies. They feel it all as if it were yesterday.’
CHAPTER 17
Even in the darkness, the yellow-stoned house looked as familiar as ever, but tired. Rosemary knew the feeling. Once she’d decided to come here, she’d acted quickly. She’d booked the next possible flight from Copenhagen and cancelled arrangements she’d made for the next couple of weeks. She didn’t book the return flight. She wasn’t sure how long this would take.
Alec had said very little. She just hoped he’d understand why she had to do this, and why she had to do it alone. It wasn’t just a question of coming back to West Dorset, of seeing her father and Eva. But he’d probably know that too.
She trundled her case up the flagstones to the front door. The house seemed to be in darkness, but the lights were probably just on in the back. He’d always been conscious of saving electricity; his generation were. He’d be in the kitchen, probably, reading a paper and staying close to the Aga. Her father lived in that kitchen in winter months. Rosemary smiled at the thought. She’d missed him. But it was hard to admit that, even to herself. Anyway, she’d phoned, so he’d be expecting her.
At the front door, she hesitated. It was her childhood home and she still had a key. But how would she feel, if—? No, she wouldn’t barge in. She lifted the brass knocker and let it fall. Heard the sound echo as if the house were full of empty rooms. Along with the darkness, it gave her an uncomfortable sensation.
She pulled off her leather gloves and rubbed her hands together. It was chillier than it had been in Denmark. An English November. She thought of Bonfire Night, her father lighting Roman candles in the back garden. Rosemary holding sparklers in her gloved hands, shouting with delight, waving them round and making glitzy patterns of fire in the night air. The Catherine wheels he nailed to the fence that never spun properly, stopping halfway; the rockets spurting from an old milk bottle.
Rosemary sniffed. The shrubs hadn’t been pruned, but her father wouldn’t have noticed. And the paintwork on the door was starting to peel. She’d take a good look around and discuss it all with him, she decided, make a list of maintenance jobs for the spring. They mustn’t let the place go to rack and ruin.
The phone call between them had been brief. ‘Dad?’ she’d said. ‘I’m coming back for a visit. Is that alright?’
‘Rosemary?’ He had sounded vague and confused. She hated it when he sounded confused. And she noticed he never called her Rosie any more. When had he stopped?
‘Yes. Can I stay at the house?’
‘Of course, of course.’ He paused. ‘Will you want picking up at the station? The airport?’
‘I’ll arrange it all this end,’ she reassured him. She told him when she would be arriving. ‘I’ll see you then.’
Alec had taken her to the airport. ‘Take care, Rosemary,’ he said when she got out of the car. ‘Say hello to your Dad for me. And to Eva, when she gets back.’
‘I will.’ It was the first time she’d gone back to the UK without Alec. It felt very strange.
She knocked again. Still no answer. What on earth was he up to? She supposed that he couldn’t hear her. He probably had the radio or the TV on and his hearing wasn’t what it was.
After waiting for a minute or two, Rosemary groped in her bag for the house key. It slotted into the lock but the door held fast. She opened it with a good shove of the shoulder. That door could do with a plane. Draft proofing was all very well but you had to be able to open and shut the thing. Another one for the list.
‘Dad?’ she called. ‘Hello!’ She left her suitcase in the hall and after a quick glance into the lounge, went straight down the end into the kitchen. She switched on the light. Everything was scrupulously clean and tidy, the Aga as warming and cosy as ever, her father’s rocking chair with the red tasselled cushion neat but unoccupied.
Silence.
‘Dad?’ Rosemary felt the panic stir, low in her chest. Had he forgotten she was coming? Gone out? But where on earth would he go out to on a cold November evening? ‘Dad?’
Nothing. She pushed down the panic, retraced her steps and stood at the bottom of the stairs. Had he gone to bed, perhaps? That would explain why the whole house was so dark and quiet. She started up the stairs, heading for her parents’ old bedroom. And then she remembered Eva telling her that he’d moved downstairs a few months ago; he couldn’t manage the stairs like he used to.
She should have thought. ‘Dad?’ Rosemary hurried back to the downstairs bedroom next to the lounge. It was an en suite. ‘Dad, it’s me.’ She spoke more quietly now. If he were asleep, she didn’t want to wake him.
But she could see immediately in the light coming from the hall. The bed was made up and there was a glass of water on the bedside table, a towel hanging on the chair. But he wasn’t here.
Now she was scared.
And then she realised that the light was on in the bathroom adjoining.
She rushed in. He was lying on the floor face down in his checked pyjamas and tartan dressing gown. ‘Dad!’ Rosemary put her hand to her mouth. It was an awful replay of the moment she had discovered Nick dead on the kitchen floor all those years ago. ‘No,’ she whispered.
She knelt beside him and she eased his face from the floor, frantically feeling for warmth, for a pulse. No, she was thinking. Not her father. Not now. Not like this. Please God. She couldn’t go through this again.
CHAPTER 18
‘But I don’t understand,’ said Eva. ‘Can’t you just report them to the police? The chinthe belonged to you and your family after all.’ And if the Li family thought they had the right to steal one of them … She looked over at the little animal standing sturdily at the front of the shrine. Would they not also think they had the right to steal the other?
It was just 9 p.m. The rest of the family must have eaten earlier; only Maya, Ramon and Eva were sitting around the circular wooden dining table. And finally Maya had finished telling her story. Or had she finished? From the significant glances now passing between her and Ramon it seemed there might be more to come.
It had been quite a feast. Rice was at the core of most Myanmar cuisine but what Eva loved most were the side dishes that accompanied the curries, the spicy salads, with lime juice, peanuts and tamarind; the tart leaf-based soup known as hin-jo, Ramon had informed her; and balachaung, a pungent combination of chillies, garlic and dried shrimp fried in oil.
‘It is not so easy here in Myanmar.’ With his fork, Ramon deftly plucked a slice of papaya from the dessert of fresh fruit which sat in a simple white dish at the centre of the table. ‘That family have connections.’ His dark expression was the only indication as to what sort of connections these might be.
‘And we have no papers to say that the chinthe is ours,’ Maya agreed.
‘Do they?’
Ramon shrugged. ‘Probably. Forged ones, of course.’
‘Why do you think it took them so long to steal it?’ Eva wondered aloud.
‘We used to take it with us when we travelled,’ Maya admitted. ‘This was perhaps the first time we left it in the house.’
But how would they have known that? Eva was indignant. She hadn’t come all this way to fulfil her grandfather’s last wishes, to return his chinthe to the place where it belonged, with its twin in the house of this family, to give up quite so easily. Nothing she had heard so far had convinced her it couldn’t be done, the opposite in fact. Now that she knew the true provenance of the little animal … It made it even more important to get the other one back. ‘But it isn’t right,’ she said.
‘Many things are not right,’ Ramon replied. ‘It may not be right that we still do not have a full freedom of speech, or that those who we elect to government never have enough power. It may not be right that workers are paid so little for doing so much. Or that there are those in our country who still suffer.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Because it is not right, does not mean it does not happen.’
It was quite a speech. ‘I appreciate what you’re saying.’ And she agreed with him too. ‘But the fact that so many other things aren’t right, doesn’t mean we should take this lying down.’
‘Lying down?’ Ramon frowned.
‘Accept it.’
He held her gaze. She recognised the passion there, and something else she couldn’t define. ‘No one is accepting it,’ he murmured.
Maya intervened, laying a gentle hand on Eva’s arm. ‘It is not good to worry over things we cannot change,’ she advised. ‘All will come to those who have a clean heart.’ She nodded sagely.
Was it her Buddhist faith that made her feel like this? Or was it living under a repressive regime for most of her life that had created such a sense of acceptance? But Eva was surprised at Ramon. He’d said he hadn’t accepted it, but what was he actually doing? How long was it since the chinthe had first been stolen? It made her blood boil that this Li family could steal someone else’s property and be allowed to get away with it.
