Air (or Have Not Have)

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