The Art of Hearing Heartbeats

by Jan-Philipp Sendker

  On the morning of the seventh day a young man appeared at her door. On his back was Mi Mi. Su Kyi recognized her from the market and knew that Tin Win spent afternoons and weekends with her.

  “Is Tin Win at home?” asked Mi Mi.

  “He’s sick,” answered Su Kyi.

  “What’s wrong with him?”

  “I don’t know. He’s not speaking. He’s not eating. He’s unconscious.”

  “May I see him?”

  Su Kyi showed her the way through the kitchen into the bedroom. Tin Win lay there motionless, his face haggard, his nose angular, and his skin ashen and lifeless despite its brown color. The tea and rice had not been touched. Mi Mi slid from her brother’s back and crawled to Tin Win. Su Kyi could not take her eyes off her. This girl moved with a grace Su Kyi had never before seen. As if her oddly formed feet had given her a different, heightened sense of her limbs and movements.

  Mi Mi took Tin Win’s head in her hands and laid it in her lap. She bent over him, and his face disappeared under her long black hair. She whispered in his ear. Her brother turned and went out. Su Kyi followed him. She made tea for the guests and scrounged up roasted melon and sunflower seeds from an old tin, then stepped into the garden and sat down in the shadow of the avocado tree. She gazed across the yard at the firewood chopped and piled neatly against the wall of the house, the tree stump on which from time to time she slaughtered a chicken, their vegetable garden, the slowly crumbling bench that Tin Win’s father must have built. Their six chickens ran about picking at the ground. She recognized the onset of sorrow growing within her. Su Kyi knew this mood. She abhorred it and always fought hard to stave it off—in most cases successfully. But now she felt the emotion gaining weight and strength. She could see no cause, and groundless sadness was for her nothing but self-pity, a thing she had resisted her whole life long. Was it Tin Win’s mysterious illness that troubled her so? The fear of losing him? Or the recognition, returning at long intervals, of how solitary, lost, and lonesome she was? Tin Win, too. Her sister. Everyone, really. Some felt it; some did not.

  At that moment she heard the song. It came from the house, faint as if from across the valley. An elegant and gentle girl’s voice singing a melody that Su Kyi did not know. Nor could she make out the lyrics—at least no more than isolated words. It was the melody and the passion that moved her so.

  This is a song that can tame ghosts and demons, thought Su Kyi. She sat transfixed under the tree. As if the slightest movement might spoil the moment. Mi Mi’s voice permeated the house and yard like a fragrance penetrating into every nook and cranny. To Su Kyi it seemed as if all other sounds—the singing of the birds, the chirping of the cicadas, the croaking of the frogs—were slowly ebbing away until only the song remained. It had the power of a drug. It opened every cell, every sense in her body. She thought of Tin Win. She need have no more fear on his account. This kind of song would always find him, even in the remotest hiding place.

  Su Kyi sat motionless under the avocado tree until her eyelids fell shut.

  The cool of the evening woke her. It was dark, and she had caught a chill. The voice sang on, just as gently, just as beautifully. Su Kyi rose and went into the house. A candle was burning in the kitchen, another in the bedroom. Mi Mi still sat beside Tin Win, his head in her lap. His face seemed fuller, his skin less pale. Her brother had left. Su Kyi asked whether she was hungry or wished to lie down. Mi Mi shook her head briefly.

  Su Kyi ate a bit of cold rice and an avocado. She was tired and didn’t feel there was much she could do. She returned to the bedroom, arranged a sleeping mat for Mi Mi, gave her a jacket and a blanket, then lay down herself.

  When Su Kyi woke the next morning it was quiet. She looked around to make sure she was no longer dreaming. Tin Win and Mi Mi lay sleeping beside her. She rose and noticed—without understanding why—how hale and light she felt. Almost too light, she thought, walking into the kitchen. She made a fire and some tea, washed scallions and tomatoes, and cooked the rice for breakfast.

  Tin Win and Mi Mi woke late that morning. It was warm but not too hot, and Su Kyi was working in the vegetable garden when she caught sight of Tin Win in the doorway, Mi Mi on his back. He looked older. Or maybe the exhaustion and the strain had left a mark on him. Mi Mi appeared to be giving him directions, for he walked around the firewood, a stool, and the ax as if he could see everything. They sat down on the bench along the kitchen wall. Su Kyi dropped her rake and rushed to them.

  “Are you hungry?” she asked.

  “Yes, rather,” said Tin Win. His voice sounded somewhat deeper than usual, almost a bit unfamiliar. “And thirsty.”

  Su Kyi brought rice and curry and tea. They ate slowly, and he seemed to grow livelier and stronger with every bite.

  After the meal, Tin Win announced that he would go for a walk with Mi Mi before bringing her home. He felt good, no longer tired at all. Su Kyi need not worry. His legs would support him, and he would be back before nightfall. He promised.

  Tin Win and Mi Mi took the rough path up to the crest and then along the mountain ridge. He focused entirely on walking, wondering whether he would ever again be able to put himself entirely in her hands, whether she would still pilot him so artfully past all obstacles.

  “Do you remember the past few days?” asked Mi Mi after they had been quiet for some time.

  “Barely,” he said. “I must have slept a lot. I never knew whether I was sleeping or awake. I heard nothing but whooshing and a dull cooing and gurgling.”

  “What was wrong with you?”

  “I don’t know. I was possessed.”

  “By what?”

  “Fear.”

  “What were you afraid of?”

  “When I got to your farm and no one was there and the neighbors didn’t know where you were, I thought I would never see you again. Where were you?”

  “We were visiting relatives up in the mountains. An aunt died, and we had to set out before daybreak.” She put her mouth very close to his ear. “You don’t need to be afraid. You can’t lose me. I am a part of you, just as you’re a part of me.”

  Tin Win was about to respond when his left foot stepped into nothingness. The hole in the ground was grown over with grass, and Mi Mi would presumably not have seen it even if she had been paying attention. Tin Win felt frozen in mid-stride, watching himself in slow motion. His foot groped for the ground, and it seemed an eternity before he found it. He tumbled, lost his balance, and noticed while falling how he suppressed the instinct to cover his own face with his hands, how instead he held Mi Mi closer. He did not know how far he would fall, when or where he would hit, whether he would land in the grass or on a stone or a bush that would scrape his face. His fall seemed endless, and the worst part was the uncertainty about what awaited him. He turned his head to the side and tucked his chin into his chest. Mi Mi clung tightly to him. They tumbled nearly headfirst. Tin Win sensed how he buried Mi Mi beneath him and how they then rolled sideways like a log down the grassy slope.

  He had fallen, but he had landed. They came to a stop in a hollow.

  Mi Mi was lying on top of him. Only now did Tin Win notice how tightly they clung to each other. He did not want to let go. Her heart was beating rapidly. He not only heard it; he felt it against his chest. Mi Mi felt very different lying on top of him. She was lighter than she was on his back, and he felt more than her arms around his neck. Her breast lay on his, her belly against his. Their longyis were disordered, their bare legs intertwined. An unfamiliar emotion took hold of him, a desire for more. He wanted to possess Mi Mi and to give himself to her. He wanted to be one with her, to belong to her. Tin Win turned aside, startled by his own desire.

  “Are you hurt?” she asked.

  “Not particularly. You?”

  “No.”

  Mi Mi brushed the dirt from his face. She wiped his forehead and cleared the dust from the corners of his mouth. Their lips touched for a fraction of a second. Tin Win shuddered.

>   “Can you walk?” she asked. “I think we’re in for some rain.”

  Tin Win stood up and lifted Mi Mi onto his back again. They crossed the field. A short time later they heard the rushing of the river, wild and full from all the rain in recent weeks. It had cut a little ravine into the land. Farther downstream was a bridge, but it wouldn’t be easy to reach from here. Tin Win attempted to gauge the depth from the noise of the waters raging beneath them. It had to be about ten feet. “How wide is it here?” he asked.

  “Six, seven feet, maybe more.”

  “How will we get across?”

  Mi Mi looked around. “There’s a tree trunk lying across the river over there.” She guided Tin Win past a small boulder. It was a pine, thinner than Mi Mi had thought, no thicker than her thigh. The bark had been stripped, and someone had trimmed the branches close to the trunk. Mi Mi hesitated.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “It’s a long way down,” she said.

  “Only if you look. For me it’s nothing.”

  He felt his way to the trunk and set one foot on it. His sole arched over the wood. Mi Mi tried to direct him with his shoulders, but he shook his head. “Trust my feet.”

  He had turned a bit to the side, one foot in front of the other. He was not taking proper steps but sliding the front foot forward a few inches at a time, feeling the wood until he had got the shape of it, then shifting his weight and dragging the other foot along. He could hear Mi Mi’s heart, pounding. At the same time, the rushing of the water was loud and clear now. They must be right above the river. Creaking ominously, the slender trunk bent under their weight.

  Tin Win moved slowly, but he never faltered. Not once. She felt dizzy and closed her eyes. He was right. It was easier that way. She just had to forget where she was.

  Tin Win inched along until the river once again sounded a notch quieter. They had reached the other side. Mi Mi rocked with relief on his back and kissed his cheeks and neck. His knees buckled with the excitement. He stumbled and only with difficulty regained his balance. A few steps farther on they heard a mighty thunderclap close at hand. He was frightened. Thunderstorms still made him uneasy.

  “There’s a shack a bit farther down the valley,” Mi Mi called out. “Maybe we can get there before it really opens up. Let’s run alongside the river.”

  Tin Win moved as quickly as he could. Whenever he strayed too near the river or too far from the bank she would tug on the appropriate shoulder. The rain came. The water was pleasantly warm. It ran over their faces, dripped from their noses, and ran down their necks and bellies. Mi Mi snuggled into him, and he became aware of her breasts moving against his wet back.

  The shack, a windowless shelter of wooden beams and boards, was no bigger than two or three sleeping mats and the floor was strewn with several layers of dried grass. Rain hammered on the tin roof like a thousand drumming fists. It fell so heavily that Mi Mi could barely see the river only a few yards away. The tempest was raging right above them now, and Tin Win shuddered with each thunderclap, but for the first time during a storm he did not feel ill at ease. It thundered so loudly that Mi Mi covered her ears. Tin Win flinched but wasn’t afraid.

  Inside the hut it was hotter and even more humid than outside. Mi Mi stretched out on the strewn grass. Tin Win sat cross-legged with her head between his thighs. He ran his hands through her hair, across her forehead, feeling her eyebrows, nose, and mouth, caressing her cheeks and throat.

  His fingertips electrified her. With every movement her heart fluttered more rapidly. He bent down, kissed her forehead, her nose. His tongue ran across her throat and her ears. Mi Mi could hardly believe how she was enjoying her body, every place that Tin Win touched. His hands brushed her face, her temples, the ridge of her nose. They traced her lips, stroked her eyes and mouth. She opened it a little, and it was as if he had never touched her before.

  He nestled her head on a bed of grass and took off his shirt. Mi Mi closed her eyes and breathed deeply in and out. He caressed her feet. His fingers explored her toes, brushed across her nails and the little bones beneath the taut skin, across the ankles. Up her calves to her longyi, then back again. Once. Twice. Mi Mi lifted her hips and pulled her shirt up a little, took his hand and laid it on her bare belly. His heart pounded, not quickly, but loudly and vigorously.

  He sensed her breath quickening. His fingers flitted over her body, barely touching her. Between fingertips and skin there arose a tension that was more exhilarating than any contact. He gradually worked his way along, lower and lower beneath her longyi until he felt the edge of her pubic hair. He knelt beside her. She saw his longyi stretched to a small tent around his hips and was shocked—not by the sight, not by his fingers, but by her desire, by her breath and her heartbeat, ever quicker and fiercer. Cautiously he withdrew his hand. She wanted more and caught hold of him, but he lay his head on her breast and did not move. He waited. Her heartbeat did not settle for a long time.

  It was a sound he would never take for granted. The reverence and respect he felt for every beat made him shudder. There it was, just inches from his ear. He felt as if he were peering through a chink into the lap of the world.

  Chapter 15

  NEARLY FOUR YEARS passed this way between Mi Mi and Tin Win. After those first few weeks they had not let a day go by without seeing each other. She waited for him after school, or he went to the market after his lessons. On weekends he would collect her at home first thing in the morning. You’re quite inseparable, her mother had said once, half in jest. Inseparable. In her usual fashion, Mi Mi had reflected on that word for a long time. She had turned it this way and that in her mind to see whether the sound of it appealed to her, whether it fit, and after a few days had come to the conclusion that there was no better description. They were inseparable. Her heart would flutter at the mere sight of him, and some part of her was missing when he was not around. As if the world stopped turning in his absence. She felt the lack of him in her entire body. Her head would ache. Her legs and arms would grow heavy and lame. Pangs shot through her belly and breast. Even breathing was laborious without him.

  During their third summer together, Mi Mi guided Tin Win to the lakes, to swim, and it became their favorite retreat. They always went to the smallest of the four ponds. It lay off the beaten track behind a small stand of pines. Other young people avoided it because it was reputed to host the greatest concentration of water snakes. She had seen two herself. When she asked Tin Win if he was afraid of them, he laughed and said that he had never seen any.

  On this day, Mi Mi watched Tin Win carefully. The wind picked up. It rippled the water, and Mi Mi heard tiny waves lapping at the stones at her feet. She was crouching on the bank of the little lake, her eyes upon him. He was no mean swimmer. He had developed a style all his own, lying sideways in the water and always keeping one hand in front of his body so that he would feel any obstacles. He was cautious and preferred to stay near the shore, where his feet could still touch bottom. But he had endurance, and he could dive very well.

  Mi Mi loved the water. Even as a little girl she had gone with her brothers to the four lakes about an hour’s hike from Kalaw. They had taken turns carrying her and quickly taught her to swim. These excursions were among Mi Mi’s fondest memories. In the water she could vie with her brothers and play with the other children. She was quick and adroit, the best diver of them all. Feet were irrelevant in the water.

  Tin Win had swum to the middle of the lake, where a stone large enough to sit on rose out of the water. He climbed atop and let the wind and sun dry him off. Mi Mi felt desire stealing over her. These afflictions vanished only when she found herself on his back again, putting her hands about his neck and feeling his shoulders. There was no place she felt safer or happier.

  Mi Mi could not help but think of that afternoon when the storm raged over them and they had taken shelter in the shack. He had really touched her for the first time then, and that touch had awakened a desire in her that w
as sometimes stronger than all of her other emotions combined. She wondered whether everything she felt in such moments had been slumbering within her. Had Tin Win merely brought it to life? Or had it come from some other place? Was he enchanting her? What was it he had woken with his kiss? Whenever his lips touched her skin? Every time his fingers brushed across her neck, her breasts, her belly, her thighs, she felt as if he were revealing her own body to her for the first time. Tin Win reacted no differently to her hands, to her lips. She could arouse his body, caressing him and stroking him until he twitched and chafed with uninhibited desire. At moments like this she felt so alive that she did not know where to keep all her happiness. She seemed to float on the wind, and she was light and weightless as otherwise only in the water. She sensed a power she had never thought herself capable of. A power that only Tin Win could call to life.

  He had taught her to trust, had given her the space to be weak. When she was with him, she had nothing to prove. He was the first and only one to whom she confessed that she found it humiliating to crawl on all fours. That she sometimes dreamed of walking through Kalaw on two sound feet and of jumping as high as she could into the air. Just because. He did not try to console her at such moments. He took her in his arms, said nothing. Mi Mi knew that he understood what she meant and how she felt. The more she spoke of her desire to walk on her own feet, the less frequently it tormented her. And she believed him when he said there was no more beautiful body in the world than hers.

  There was no step that she would not venture with him.

  Mi Mi looked over at him, and although he was little more than fifteen yards away, she could not bear the distance. She took off her shirt and her longyi, slipped into the water, and swam a few vigorous strokes. The sun had warmed the lake, but the water was still cool enough to refresh her. There would be room enough for both of them on the rock if she sat between his legs and leaned against him. She swam over to him. He reached out a hand and helped her out of the water. She leaned on him. He put his arms around her waist and held her tightly.