Air (or Have Not Have)

by Geoff Ryman

  Ju-mei suddenly stood up. 'What do you want?' he asked roughly. Mae couldn't figure out if he was angry or threatened or impatient or bored or sad.

  She might as well answer his question for real. She sat and thought for a moment and the answer came as a surprise. 'A little peace and quiet,' she said.

  ' Tuh, there is little chance of that for anyone else when you are around.'

  And there probably was some truth in that. 'Maybe that's why I need some myself.'

  Ju-mei stood up straighter. 'We are here to talk about a proposition.'

  Mae's eyes felt heavy. She had a choice. She could let them have the argument Ju-mei wanted, or she could choose to hold on to what Siao had shown her: something new.

  Mae found she was doing this for Siao.

  ' "Insurance" is too big a word for people who make their own candles,' she said. 'They have to see it. They have to see themselves. So. Your company will have something called day tah. It is Info the company uses to calculate answers to insurance questions. Maybe the company has videos, maybe about real people the company has helped.'

  It was like a fire kindled in herself. Mae suddenly sat up.

  'So what we do is, pull all this stuff together into a show. And we have Number One Expert. That's you. Maybe we put the show on in Mrs Wing's courtyard. We make it social. Maybe in spring. Food, flowers, everything is abundant. Ah! And you come, and you explain. You show some films, but also, you invite people to talk to the TV and it gets answers especially for them.'

  She'd done something wrong. Ju-mei's face was closing down. 'I've been selling insurance to this village for many years, Mae. I don't need you to tell me how to do it.'

  I have made a mistake. Here I am, the big older sister, telling him what to do.

  'I… I have let my enthusiasm carry me away,' she said. 'Plainly, this scheme would rely entirely upon you.'

  'You have never bought any insurance yourself,' he said.

  What, I should spend all that money with you, because you are my brother? Mae had to quell the rising-up of anger. After all, Mae, his wife bought your dresses. Families buy from each other. Solidarity.

  'That was my husband's decision,' said Mae.

  'Joe? Joe never made any decisions.'

  Ju-mei is being more honest in this encounter than you are, Mae.

  'I never thought we needed it,' said Mae.

  Until now. They needed it now, and for a reason. 'I don't expect you to believe me, Ju-mei, but I have only just realized what I want out of this.'

  'Money,' he said flatly, dourly, without hope.

  'I want you to get our village insured. Against flooding.' She thought for a moment. 'And I want my family back.' She felt a little sting of tears around the base of her eyes.

  Mae thought it was to no avail. It ended like a business meeting, with Ju-mei promising to consider her proposal. Before she turned and left, she looked about the house. There were small thin rugs on the floor, and a picture cut from a magazine in a frame. The shelves were empty except for an encyclopedia Ju-mei had bought second hand for his children's education. The room was clean and tidy – so much work and so cold. Her mother did not show her face.

  Mae got home and decided to buy some Flood insurance. She made tea, climbed up the steps to Madam Owl's attic. There was an e-mail for her.

  Sister,

  I have talked with the family and we have decided to accept your proposition. We think it would be better if we had the show here, in our own home. Mama is talking about decorations and food. Would you or Mrs Wing be able to loan us the television?

  There is something I did not understand. I did not understand before how much of what you do is done for the village. I thought you did it to make money. You dressed down and looked bad and I thought you had given yourself a different kind of air and grace, that you had set yourself up as something. It simply did not occur to me how much of what you were doing you were doing without thought of yourself.

  And so I find that I am more than happy to join with you in your project.

  Together we will get Kizuldah insured.

  Your brother,

  Ju-mei

  'Siao! Siao!' Mae called, overjoyed. 'Siao! Come see!'

  Mae and Sloop the engineer from Yeshibozkent put the demonstration together.

  Siao and Ju-mei wrestled her television into the Wang family house. There were indeed flowers, but winter flowers, made of paper, and tables full of food. Someone from every household in the village came. The grates were piled high with coals, and there was rice wine.

  Ju-mei stood in front of them all, and showed people how much money they could make, and how they could pay, so little each week. The faces of other farmers explained: They were buying protection. These were not videos; Yeshibozkent Home Guardian set up live links. Lined, weathered faces like their own answered the villagers' questions. 'Oh, yes, we lost all our sheep to foot and mouth, but the company paid back our losses.'

  The director of Home Guardian also came on a live link. He told Ju-mei that his show was a model of how to bring the insurance crusade to the people.

  Siao was there and bought insurance on behalf of the family Chung. He made a handsome gesture of paying for the insurance of Mae's weaving machine.

  Throughout, Mae sat quietly in the corner, wearing her best white dress.

  After the shaking of hands, and good-nights, and seeing her brother's overjoyed smile, Mae climbed up the ladder to her loft and went to bed alone. Her arms held nothing, except the memory of the party. She cradled it all night alongside the swelling shape of her unborn child.

  But she found herself thinking of Siao's smooth arms.

  CHAPTER 20

  Teacher Shen came to call.

  Mae opened her door and saw him against the glowing white-grey sky, and her heart thumped. 'Teacher,' she said, greeting him in the formal fashion, with a bow of respect.

  Shen looked awful. Disordered wisps of hair were on his chin. They were grey, like an old woman's whiskers. His eyes were encircled with concentric pouches of flesh.

  He stared at her.

  'It is cold for you; please come in, Teacher,' she said.

  He looked poor, he smelled poor. His coat was old, black, held shut. Something had been spilt on it. He had beautiful Eloi mittens, knitted by his wife.

  Mae kept talking. 'Oh, such weather to come visit, let me make you tea.'

  'It's not cold,' he said. 'It is unseasonably warm.'

  'Please – please sit at the table.'

  Mae cleared away Siao's breakfast things. 'I know what you mean about warmth. All that snow on the hills, in this warm weather. I fear there will be a Flood.'

  Shen's lip curled.

  Mae kept smiling, rattling out cups. 'There was one, you know, in 1959, and all the village of Aynalar was washed away. We need to be prepared in case it happens again.'

  Stop it, she told herself, you say that to everyone now. You chatter. He is not here for that.

  Mae bustled the kettle onto the brazier and rattled out cups for them both. She smelled his breath. Old sour wine. Chinese men could not drink well; the condition was called kizul, 'red' for the flushed cheeks, and the anger. It should also be called 'white,' for afterwards they were pale and shivery, like easily broken ice.

  He sighed and dug his fingers into his thick black hair.

  You were always so handsome, she thought. Friendship flowed down old familiar channels.

  'I didn't sleep last night,' he said.

  'I don't wonder at it. You have been removed from a most honoured position, most unjustly.'

  'Tub,' he said, looking at her as if she were the TV. His look said: You did it.

  'I did nothing, you know,' Mae said, sitting away from him. She found she was calculating how far he could swing if he went to hit her.

  Teacher Shen, I would ride in your cart upholstered with hops for the beer factory. That was always my favourite way to go to the city. You, me, and Suloi up early, all the fou
r a.m. birds singing all around us. The dawn would come up on your friendly faces and we would eat buns and you would tell all your old village stories.

  Shen said, 'My wife tells me you have been writing letters. You are trying to get me my job back.'

  Shen's face shivered, the ice broke, and he was weeping.

  'They won't give me my job!' He sounded exactly like a little boy, his face wrung like an old washing-rag. He stared at the table, drawing breath, trying to swallow. 'I am not a farmer, I have very little land. What I am to do for money?'

  He patted his pockets. Looking for a cigarette. Then remembering he had none, could not afford them.

  Mae leaned forward. 'You studied so hard to be a Teacher. It was not right of them to fire you.'

  'Fire me they did,' he said.

  'Kwan is trying to make a collection. Trying to get enough money from the village to pay you…'

  He shook his head over and over. Who had the money for that in winter? Who became a Teacher to end up living on village charity?

  Mae tried to explain. 'I would help collect it but…'

  Shen sighed and nodded. 'But no one will talk to you. Hard to lose a job, isn't it?' He looked up at her. 'It is what I did to you.'

  She shrugged. 'I was able to do something else. As we all will have to, Teacher. The world will not let any of us stay the same.'

  Shen sniffed; he sat up straighter. 'I have been thinking,' he said, 'that there is something I can do to help myself.' He sighed, sniffed, and repaired the damage to his manhood by wiping his cheeks. 'I can learn how to use the monster.'

  He pulled in a breath as if smoking self-respect cigarettes. 'If I use it, they will say, "Oh, he is no longer stopping progress."'

  Mae paused. Her response must be gentle. 'You are wise, Teacher Shen,' she replied.

  'How do I do it?' he said with a snap.

  She replied cautiously. 'It will take time, Teacher Shen, and the village needs you to be Teacher now.' Mae considered how to unroll Shen's mat. 'The effect we need to create is that you already know much about Info. And that you are willing to teach it.'

  Shen swayed in his chair. He looked trapped. He turned away and looked as if he desperately wanted a lungful of cigarette smoke to blow out.

  'Okay,' he said.

  'I can tell you what to say to the machine to set up an e-mail address. If you do it vocally, the machine will record that the commands came from you personally and that will be better, yes? The Office of Discipline and Education sees it comes from you. Then, we will send them a videomail. So they see that you don't just know e-mail, you are full Net TV person. So we must spruce you up a bit.'

  He almost laughed. 'Fashion expert.'

  'No longer,' she replied. 'But I am good at selling things. And make no mistake, Teacher. We are now selling you. Ah? I'm sorry, but we must be clear on what we are trying to do.'

  He was dismayed, he was helpless, and his picture of the world no longer worked. He nodded tamely.

  'I still have some things of Joe's,' she said, and stood up. 'Oh! The tea!' She quickly poured water into the pot and left him with it. He sat nursing the cup. He wanted to be comforted and to wash away the booze.

  By the sink were Joe's things, male things: razor, comb. When Joe left, he had hurled everything about the house. He and Tsang had flung everything about. They must have been drunk. Or very happy.

  'Here. You must shave. You must wash your hair.'

  Shen seemed frozen. Of course, he would have to take off his shirt. Imagine the scandal if one of the ladies of the Circle came to find him with Madam Owl and his shirt off.

  'I will check the machine and be back,' Mae said. She was growing very adept at zipping up and down that ladder.

  She unhooked the TV from the beam. It did not take much strength to wheel the machine around and crank it down onto the kitchen floor. 'Tell me when you are ready, Teacher Shen!' she called.

  Mae looked out from her skylight. The whole house clicked like knitting needles as water trickled continually down the eaves. The water butts were overflowing. It was cool, her breath was vapour, but only because the air was so wet it could not contain any more moisture; it was the vapour of fog, not of deep chill.

  Too warm, too warm, too warm.

  Mae broke off the thought. She talked Mrs Tung down. We will go on TV and get Teacher Shen back his job. The weaving machine is making all kinds of things, new things that never existed before. California ladies order bags, women in Japan order embroidered caps. Isn't Info great? Isn't business fun?

  Tm ready,' Mr Shen called.

  Mae clambered down the ladder. Her heart went out to Shen. He stood up straight, head back, as if to brave the buffeting waves of examination. His hair was black again, from being damp. There were shaving suds around his ears and Joe's old razor had left a rash. But he looked shiny and he sat up straight.

  'Oh, you look so professional,' said Mae.

  She talked him through setting up an account on her machine. He spoke the words slowly, hesitantly, through a stone face in which even the lips hardly moved.

  But the screen did a fan dance of pages, confirming, informing.

  I love this stuff, thought Mae. At no other time was her mind as clear. At no other time was Old Mrs Tung farther from her, less in step, more powerless inside her. So joy reinforced joy. Her beautiful TV was like a fount from which she drew something sparkling, wholesome, and clear.

  Shen was a double name. If he was Karzistani, and there was a lot of doubt about that, then the name meant 'Happiness.' If it was the Chinese name Shen, then it was too ancient to mean anything. It could even be an Eloi name, if you pushed – Shueng. What nation was he?

  Someone called Shen came from a people with too much history. They could be killed for the history embedded in their names. That made them permanently afraid, buffeted by fate. They were a peasant people only wanting to be left alone, and to not have to worry about which continent they belonged to or which tribe. That was all Shen wanted – to be left alone unnoticed.

  'Okay. Now you must look like you are going to your daughter's graduation.' She pulled the old coat from him and was grateful that he had worn a black shirt. It was rumpled and of variable colour, but on TV its darkness would be pristine. She wiped the soap from his ears.

  'Excuse me, you have a rash,' she said. 'Can I put some makeup on you?'

  Finally he smiled. 'I am a Talent,' he said, shuffling his feet even as he sat.

  Mae dabbed his chin with her own colourings.

  'I will be talking to the Secretary?' he said, something like terror overcoming him.

  'No,' she said hurriedly. 'No, no, of course not. What you will do is talk into the TV but the video will be sent like a letter they can open later. They will see that you are a good man, a serious man, and that you are at home with Info. They will see that they are wrong about you. Okay?'

  She looked into his eyes. The village hated the government, mistrusted it. He could bolt at any moment.

  'I'll tell you what, use the big screen like a mirror. That will show you how you look, and that can help you.'

  Shen seemed to wilt. 'I should not do it now. I should write out a speech first. What if I make a mistake?'

  'If it is a bad one, we make the movie again, okay? But listen, Shen, don't read a speech. You are a Teacher, you are used to talking all day in front of people. You are a smart man, I promise, you will do this well. Okay? Okay?'

  You poor good man.

  Mae turned on the camera and went onto record, and swapped the screen so it would show what the camera saw. Shen was suddenly struck by seeing his own face on TV. He opened his mouth and stared. Sweat from the heat trickled down his face, as if he were melting snow.

  'I don't know what to say,' he said. His face was slippery with panic.

  'Stop. Cancel,' she told the machine.

  Mae mopped his face and told him, firmly, 'You know what you need to say. The Secretary knows he is powerful, so don't waste h
is time grovelling. He knows you are asking for something. Just ask quickly. But make sure also that you say what you need to say.'

  He began again, and the Teacher in him emerged.

  'Secretary Goongoormush,' he said, and swallowed. 'I am Teacher Shen Yoh of the village of Kizuldah in Yeshibozkent Vilayet. I have recently been removed from my post of Teacher.' He cleared his throat. 'I understand why this has been done. It is my job to teach Info. And it is true that I did stop Madam Chung from teaching this subject. However, the village has no Teacher at all now. In winter, this means that the children receive no schooling. I request that I be reinstated. As you see, I have begun to learn Info from Madam Chung herself.'

  He paused and then said, 'We have always been the best of friends, and I am sure she will help me to become a good Teacher. Thank you for your time.' His breath rattled, and then he said: 'Queue message.'

  When had he learned that?

  'That's it!' she said, to encourage him. 'You've done it!'

  'Yes,' he said. 'Thank you.' His eyes were heavy, his whole bearing was weighted. As if lifting rocks, he stood up to go.

  It was time for them to be honest. Mae stood up, too. 'What you did to me was a very bad thing,' she said to him.

  'Yes,' he said. Still he did not, could not, apologize. He moved towards the door.

  'I am only trying to help us, help us all,' she said, finding herself trailing after him. 'We all must learn, to be part of the future!' What did she want from him? Something in return?

  He was being pursued, and speeded his progress towards the door. He picked up his stained coat and wrapped his scarf around his throat. His back was towards her. He was at the door, through the door, gone. Nothing else was said.

  Not even a thank-you? She went to the window. Shen's shoulders were hunched. He took a hand and mussed his tidy hair. His hands shook as they fought to open the ancient latch of the courtyard gate. Then, as if in a rage Shen flung the doors back so they shuddered against the cobbles and only slowly swung back to close after him. Before they did, Mae saw Shen hide his face in his hands.

  Then she looked to the other side of the courtyard. She saw Mr Ken, glaring after Shen, ready for a fight. She saw Kuei turn towards her window, and she darted back, into the shadows.