by Geoff Ryman
Oh! Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh! Her effrontery made her giggle. Sell to Singapore, Tokyo, Taiwan. Maybe even Paris or New York. The calls would be free, from Wing's magic free TV. Mae will send her offer with her pretty pictures, but it will not be fashion she is offering. She will offer something real, something from the mountain, something from a long-forgotten, beautiful people.
Love and ideas, how she loved her life now!
Visions of her screens danced in her head. She saw Kwan and Shen Suloi twirl in their embroideries; she heard the words: Native Eloi beauties model the traditional wear of their people.
This is the traditional wedding pattern. The yellow signs promise fidelity, the blue, understanding of foibles.
Mae's head seemed to swim, as if the air itself were a river, with currents. She felt herself picked up as if flying only a few inches above the road, and suddenly she saw her screens, very clearly indeed.
Mae saw her screens in fact. She was looking at the TV in a room at Kwan's house, not far into the future. Sunlight came through the window; her new screens glowed. In a video, Wing Kwan turned, modeling an Eloi collar.
This future would happen.
Why, then, sitting in that room in the future, did Mae feel sick in her stomach with loss? Why was she living with the Wings?
Mae shivered, and it was gone, this future full of promise and loss.
She went into her courtyard.
There were two men outside her doorway. A flashlight shone in her face. 'There she is,' said a voice.
'Who is it?' Mae asked, blinking. She saw movement, and she knew who it was from the way both bodies moved.
Joe was back. Shen stood with him.
'What is all this?' Joe demanded. 'What is all this about a man?'
CHAPTER 12
The world stopped, like a truck.
'What is what?' babbled Mae, looking back and forth between the two men. What do I do, what do I say, do I deny it, do I act like I have no idea?
Shen, the serpent, looked at her with eyes that seemed green. He seemed to be made of stained green copper like the statues in town of forgotten generals. She hated him; she knew why he had done it. Shen had decided to destroy her.
'You know, woman,' said Joe, and strode forward and hit Mae in the face.
The flesh of her cheek was like a pond into which a rock is hurled. It rose and rippled and washed about her eyes. Mae felt her nose give, just to the point of breaking.
Mae allowed herself to be knocked backwards. She landed and lay still to buy time for thinking.
'Joe, Joe,' she heard Shen say, gently restraining.
'Wake up, woman!' Joe demanded. He was leaning over her, she could feel his breath. 'You cannot pretend with me!' His voice broke. He shook her. Mae kept her head limp.
'That… uh… That was premature, said Shen. 'She can answer nothing now.'
'She is pretending. I know the vixen,' said Joe.
'Look at that bruise,' said Shen.
Mae's mind raced. Shen had seen only shoes and a shadow through the curtains in her room. Can I undermine his story? He is a feeble man; he will hate it that I have been hit. Can I make him retract through guilt?
And Joe? Joe is weak as well, but he will be full of pain. I bet he's come back with no money.
Mae groaned. She let the broken flesh and its black swelling speak for her. She moaned and started to cry and held her cheek. She sat up, on the cobbles of the yard, streaked with mud, and wept. The two men stood over her, one now constraining the other.
Joe was shouting. 'Well might you weep! Well might you weep!'
She was weeping for the happiness, the happiness that had been hers just a minute before. Mae wept for her marriage, her love of Mr Ken, her business. In the end, Mae wept for death. Many things would now die, little baby possibilities that she had been nursing. It was life. Dog eat dog.
'Joe, she's not up to answering much,' said Shen. He turned and tried to help her up. 'Come on, Mae. This has to be gone through.'
How was she going to play it? She could lie, try to disguise it, play the wounded and confused wife, but there was one problem. Shen had truth on his side and knew it. She saw that in his eyes. Fashion expert that she was, her powers of dissimulation were not up to it. She did not have the heart for it. She felt a gathering presence in her breast, a tension. She had decided to draw power by telling the truth.
She did not take Shen's hand. So, Shen, so you expected my poor farmer of a husband to react like a schoolteacher, did you? Ruin lives, but avoid making a mess. Is that what you thought you could do?
Mae rolled over and sat on the cobbles, near the ground, as if the ground could nurture her. She looked at Shen only. 'What you are doing is very evil,' she told him.
Shen warned her: 'I am not the one who has done harm here.'
'You are doing this because you want to stop the machine.' Mae said it wearily. 'You do not care about Joe. You will destroy him, destroy me.'
So be it.
'It is true, Joe,' she said, turning.
A throb of silence. 'Whore,' whispered Joe.
'Whores do it for money. I did it for love.' She still sat on the ground.
'You are not ashamed?' Joe was failing.
'A bit. Ashamed to be caught. I am the only woman in the village who has been caught.' She nursed her jaw. She would be a sight.
The two men rocked slightly.
She held forth while she still had the chance. 'What do you do when you are away, Joe? Eh? When you are drunk and looking like a comedian. You go with women.'
He looked comic now, hair askew, eyes bugged with both shock and sadness. He would not easily forgive being made to look so foolish. 'No,' he said in a wan voice. 'I… do… not.' His voice became fierce on the last line.
Oh, Joe. It was probably true. You probably did not. More fool, you.
'Who was it?' Joe demanded.
Shen said, 'That does not matter,' restraining Joe again.
Mae spoke. 'Oh no, you don't want the man to get into trouble, do you, Shen? You feel for the man. And more mess would weigh on your conscience.'
'Who is he?' demanded Joe; her foolish Joe going dark, fists clenched.
Shen sighed. 'Does it make a difference?' Which was exactly what Mae was going to say.
'I was so happy.' Joe was weeping. He pushed the palms of his hands into his eye sockets. 'I had looked all over for work, it took weeks, finally I found it, and there was this stupid thing and I had to go home. All I wanted to do was go home!'
'I was happy, too,' whispered Mae.
'Oh, yes,' said Joe, snatching away his hands. 'You were skipping. Back from your cock, you whore!'
The listening lights of the village were on. They reflected on the walls, on the clouds.
Mae's eyes were on the Teacher. 'Who do you think you have made more unhappy, Shen? Me or him?'
Shen did not answer.
'It was me,' said a male voice.
And that was Ken Kuei.
Oh, fine. Oh, good. You come in to take your share, to take your part of the blame. To protect me. Just when it all was quieting down, when Joe and I might have talked.
Why is goodness so stupid?
There he was, her handsome stupid man against her comic sad one, ranged in orange light, like fire, to burn. Joe's face said, in horror (Mae could see his thoughts): My neighbour, Ken Kuei?
Mae could see Joe think: We will meet each other every day.
Shen had covered his mouth in shock. Of course he would not have known who it was.
Mae said, 'Feeling proud, Shen?'
'I am sorry, Joe,' said Kuei. 'I have always loved your wife.'
Oh, even better.
'How long!' yelped Joe. He looked in horror between them. 'How long have you two done this?'
'Not long,' said Mae, shaking her head, in a quiet voice.
'Is Lung my son?' squealed Joe.
Oh, best yet! – better than anything she could have dreamed. The one thing right in
Joe's life was his boy.
'Of course,' she said, but she could not speak loudly. She had begun to tremble, deeply, inside. She felt like being sick again. 'Lung is your son,' she tried to say again.
'You pig,' wailed Joe, and launched himself at Mr Ken.
'No!' said Shen, and tried to stop Joe, and, to Mae's immense pleasure, Joe hit Shen full in the face with his fist. Shen spun, holding his nose, blood spurting from it.
Mae found that part of her wanted to laugh.
There will be news enough in this night to keep the village going for a year. We will be destroyed, will all lose station, dignity, voice.
Joe tried to hit Mr Ken. Kuei caught his fist.
'I don't want to fight you, Joe.' Oh, don't you? thought Mae. You will not have much choice.
Joe swung again, and connected.
'Joe, we could not help…' Mr Ken did not finish as a second blow was struck.
It is like a toy that you let go, and watch whizzing off until its batteries run down.
Joe wanted to fight. Joe wanted to die. Mr Ken wanted to talk. The two agendas were not compatible.
Joe swung again, and this time Kuei swung back.
'You're good at hitting women,' said Kuei, and swung again.
Joe was going to get beaten up.
Oh well, thought Mae, here we go.
Mae started to scream. She did it quite deliberately, almost without emotion, to rouse the village to the point of being desperate to see what was happening. They would stop the fight. The scandal would be immense.
'Stop it, you're killing him!' she wailed, choosing her words carefully.
That truly did it. Beyond her gates, doors bashed open, footsteps clattered, men shouted, women cried aloud. Old Mrs Ken came running out of her house, clutching at her bathrobe. Mr Oz came running out hopping into his trousers, panic-stricken. He trampolined towards his golden van to make sure it was safe. The gate boomed back against the wall, and there stood Mr Kemal, with a pitchfork.
'What is going on here!' Mr Kemal demanded.
There was Shen, bloodied, Kuei and Joe fighting, and a beaten woman on the ground.
'What is this brawl?' demanded Mr Kemal. 'Teacher Shen, I am surprised to see you involved in this!'
The dismayed expression on Shen's face almost made it worthwhile. Almost.
You should have stayed unconscious, advised Old Mrs Tung.
Mae had to leave her house and go to live with Kwan.
It would have been impossible to stay with Joe and even more impossible that she move in with Mr Ken. Joe would have murdered them in their bed.
Mae's brother arrived about a half hour after the fight, demanding she move in with him. 'I do not wish to do that,' said Mae. She was flinging her clothes into a bag as Joe was comforted by Young Mr Doh.
'You have no choice,' said her brother. Ju-mei followed her all the way up the hill, making demands. He did not even offer to help Mae with her bags. 'It is all right, brother, I got myself into this mess, I certainly did not expect any help from my family!' She turned and left him standing openmouthed.
'My god,' whispered Kwan, when she saw Mae's bruised face.
Kwan let her sleep late. About midday she came up to Mae's attic room with tea, and sat with her.
'Will you leave the village?' Kwan asked.
Normally, that would have been the answer. Mae and Ken would have packed up and gone away, to live in the city. Balshang, probably. God, what a fate, to bake in those sweltering tower blocks, with no money, no air, no friends. Until they ended up hating each other, as was normal.
Mae shook her head. 'I have to help here.'
Kwan held her hand. 'You are not in a good position to help.'
Mae shrugged. 'I will still have my school.'
'No one would come to it,' said Kwan. Her eyes were sad, her mouth firm. She held her friend's hand.
So Mae had lost the school, too. She looked at Kwan's hand. The hand was the village, all she had left of it. Mae loved the village.
The fields she had worked in all summer were her husband's. They were not hers to work any longer. The rice she had nurtured, watered with her sweat, was hers no longer.
The house she had cleaned was no longer hers, the pans, the brazier, all the old spoons. That house had seen her through three children. She had stirred the laundry and the soup alike as the babies fought and wailed around her ankles.
Her home.
She nearly lost even the rough old sewing machine. Mr Wing fetched it for her, and had to remind Joe that legally it belonged to Kwan.
The sewing machine now sat in the corner, next to Mae's suitcases. They looked small in the empty loft room. The only furniture was a couch that Kwan and Wing had wrestled into the space. The roof had a window through which sunlight streamed. Wing had taped clear plastic where panes of glass had been. Everything was coated in a fine white dust.
At midday, just under the tiles, it sweltered. In winter, she would freeze. Swallows cried urgently to be fed from nests under the eaves.
'Bloody Shen,' said Mae. 'Joe's come back with no money and who will buy dresses from me now? I don't even have the loan to pay for any cloth.' Mae sighed and shook herself. 'Still – nothing broke. I kept all my teeth.' Such was peasant luck.
'Joe has been getting drunk with Young Mr Doh,' said Kwan. 'People say that he lost his job through drinking. Siao and Old Mr Chung will work on the construction.'
Mae groaned for him. He had come back with nothing, to find nothing. 'What are they saying about Shen?'
'To me? Nothing. My dear, I am your champion. There are people who will walk past me as if I am not there.'
Mae pondered this for a moment. What was her position in this house? She would have to make some kind of contribution, both in money and in attention and gratitude. How long could she stay? She needed to stay, but every friendship can wear out.
'God, I hate being poor,' said Mae. Poverty afflicts everything, in the end, everything that should be sacrosanct. Love, friendship, the chance to dream, how you live, with whom you live.
'You can stay here as long as you like,' said Kwan, quickly, to get it out of the way.
'If I get my business back together, can I run it from here?'
Kwan faltered ever so slightly. She saw cloth, sewing machines, strangers coming into her house.
'I can work from one of the barns. I know it's difficult.'
Kwan fought her way to honesty. 'I have to ask Mr Wing.'
If not… Well, things would be bad if not. Well, things had always been bad and a dishonoured woman in a village had to settle for what she could get.
'Could you tell Joe for me about the TV charges? How I bargained with Sunni? And that the interest on the loan has been waived? That should ease his mind a bit.'
Kwan nodded and worked Mae's fingers in her own.
'You are still fond of Joe.'
'Of course. I lived with him for thirty years.'
'And Mr Ken?'
'The saddest thing of all is that I had decided to end it.'
Kwan sighed, and patted her arm. 'You rest,' she said.
Mae fought her way to honesty as well. 'There is something else,' she said.
Kwan could not help putting her hand on her forehead. What now?
'I think I am pregnant,' said Mae.
Sezen came to call, still blinking, with black hair in her eyes.
Sezen said, 'You sit in bed? You have work to do.'
Mae was not in a position to admonish her for rudeness. Merely visiting Mae had put Sezen in the position of being owed. 'I will start work again, soon,' said Mae.
'Your face is a mess, but no one has to see it,' said Sezen. 'Musa and I can get the cloth for you. No problem.'
'I'm not doing bad-girl clothes,' said Mae.
'Of course not,' said Sezen. 'Just whatever you need the cloth for.'
Mae adjusted to this in silence.
Sezen added, 'Aprons, oven gloves. Things people really use.'
<
br /> What is it with you, Sezen? Why can't I understand what you want? Why, in a word, are you sticking by me?
Sezen jerked sideways in an angry, harnessed way that was entirely new. 'I have bad news,' she said, and her jerking body expressed impatience with herself for not knowing how to begin. 'Han An has gone off to work for Sunni. I saw the two of them still going around with clipboards, trying to look as if you had not done it first.'
Mae judged the seriousness of the blow. Finally she said, 'That is the least of my worries.'
'She's a traitor,' said Sezen, pouting with scorn.
Mae thought she was going to defend An, but found she could not be bothered. 'Yes.'
'Hmm! She'd better stay clear of me or I will pull out all her hair. Musa and I can go this afternoon to buy your cloth. But we will need the money to do that.'
Her hard brown face, her demanding dark eyes.
Mae felt her deadened face strain towards a smile. 'There is no money, Sezen,' she said.
The girl blinked.
Mae kept explaining: 'The loan was to my husband. It's his money.'
'We will do something else, then,' Sezen said, her jaw thrusting out.
'We?' wondered Mae.
'That government man, he must be good for money,' said Sezen.
'You mean I should ask the government man for money!' Mae felt outdone in audacity.
Sezen shrugged. 'He keeps saying how advanced we are. Meaning you. So. Ask.' She sniffed and then said, 'I can't have you going soft, like my mother.'
'I won't do that' said Mae. It was a promise.
In the evening, Mr Oz called.
His eyes said: How could you do this to me? 'This is a serious setback to our programme,' he said. He tutted. Light caught his spectacles. 'I was relying on you to be our model.'
'If only I'd known,' replied Mae. 'I would not have fallen in love.'
'I have to write my report.' Mr Oz swayed, as if under a burden. 'I have nothing to say. Except to tell them it is all a mess, everywhere.'
'When hasn't it been?' said Mae, and thought: How could they send a boy like you out on his own?
Down below, on Kwan's landing, the men were gathered around the box. Mae could hear the barking announcer and a sighing crowd: the sound of fut-bol on TV.
