Air (or Have Not Have)

You only get one, said someone else's voice.

Remember him, remember his broad back, for he is walking into the past, into the Land of the Dead. Even if you meet again, you will both be different again, strangers or friends. Say goodbye now, for you will have no other chance; say goodbye for every moment to come without him. But at least you had him. For once you had him.

And again, that old question: Granny, Teacher, why is love pain? Why such a sweet sad sick hurt, a dragging-down in the belly, an ache, a yearning?

Because it always goes away,

Mr Ken paused at the gate and looked both ways, left and right, as if considering, though he had no choice. Then he walked on. Mae permitted herself to weep.

CHAPTER 13

Mae got her money.

She was working at three a.m., on Kwan's TV, when it announced that she had mail.

'I will read it for you,' the machine said. By now it knew that Mae avoided reading herself.

'The Republic of Karzistan, Ministry of Development, under the terms of the Taking Wing Initiative, is pleased to inform you that it will grant funding in full as requested in your recent application, under the following conditions…'

Mae was numb. The government was talking to her. The government knew who she was. They had just given her the money?

What conditions? Her mind went dark, ready to be hurt.

First, they wanted her to keep records of both sales and replies.

'The Taking Wing Initiative needs to know how successfully you have unrolled your mat. Please save the attached suite of Customer Care software. It will automatically record the data we need…'

It was a Question Map. The same information was recorded over and over – any letters she got, any orders she fulfilled, would be analyzed by country, referral, and type of business.

Mae kept listening for serious conditions. But there were none. No interest? No percentage?

Mae was enraged. What kind of foolish government was that, to arrange its business so badly? How could it prosper? Were they all children, like Mr Oz?

But praise the gods – Luck, Happiness, whatever – for giving them masters who were so naive. She had her money; she had her business back. Oh, could she ride this life like a leaf bobbing up and down on the river in a storm!

Mae needed to tell someone, but who could she tell at three in the morning? Poor Kwan who had nursed her but was now asleep? The Central Man, yes, but that would mean going back to her old house, to Joe, to Mr Ken… Who?

Mae went to Sezen's house. She knocked on the door. Then, beyond politesse, Mae pummelled it. This was good news.

There were hissed voices, shuffling, a child's cry, a shushing, slippers on the floor.

Sezen answered. She wore a little girl's nightdress and the spots on her cheeks had gone blue-black from merciless squeezing.

May seized her hands. 'I got the money!' she whispered. 'Sezen. It was as you said, the government gave us the cash!'

'This is a joke. This is madness,' said Sezen.

'They gave me every last riel of it. I asked for too much!'

'You mean we are going to do it?'

'Yes, yes, they loved it!'

Sezen squealed and hugged her, spun on her heel, and said, 'Let's get drunk. You have any booze?'

Mae shook her head.

'Rich woman, you will have whisky. You will have silks.'

You will build your mother a new house.'

'Tuh!' said Sezen. 'No. I will buy a motorcycle. Of my own.'

Mae pronounced her, 'Wild girl.'

'Look who is calling people wild. Eh? You? Adventuress. Madam Death. The man in her family. All these things people call you.'

Sezen bundled Mae into her own poor house. She threw cushions in abandon into a heap. In the middle of the night at the end of summer, the fleas were at their hungriest. They nipped about Mae's ankles in a mist.

Sezen knelt in front of a small keep in the wall. 'Here,' she said, pulling out a bottle. 'This is disgusting, but strong. Father made it. It is the only thing he does well.' Its creator snored behind the curtain, like a boozehouse accordion.

Rice wine. Amid the filth of Sezen's house, Mae sat and drank, and told Sezen everything about the grant application and the answer.

'Who needs the village?' Mae said. The rice wine was milky and tasted like chalk, but it seemed to creep up her spine, numbing it vertebra by vertebra.

'Ptoo! to the village,' said Sezen, and pretended to spit. 'Only their clothing holds them together.'

'Are we naked, then?' asked Mae.

'The naked are brave,' said Sezen, and raised her glass.

'To the naked!' said Mae, and raised her glass.

'To Mr Ken,' added Sezen. 'Oh! I want to be fucked.'

Mae was too drunk to be shocked. 'Musa,' she managed to say.

Sezen held out a graphic little finger. 'All you Chinese…' she said. 'He's a Muslim, but Chinese father.' She shook her head, and then suddenly laughed, and shook her head again. Still laughing, Sezen put down the glass suddenly, as if it were a great weight she could no longer bear.

'I am a pig and my family are pigs. All the men I meet are pigs and I shall have piggy children.' She picked up the glass and toasted her helplessness, or the house, or her fate.

The fleas around Mae's ankles rose and fell like flames. Abstracted by the wine, Mae hazily swatted and scratched. She watched helplessly, as she realized Sezen was no longer laughing.

'You only come to me because you are fallen,' accused Sezen, grumpy.

'If you want more people to come, just… clean up,' Mae said.

Sezen looked back at her bleakly. 'This is cleaned up.' She sputtered into laughter. 'I have just cleaned up, this is as clean as it gets! Listen, even the fleas are disgusted with this place.' Laughter ached out of her. A string of sticky spittle clung between her lips. 'I am such a lady, you see, I get bored cleaning. It is beneath me.' Sezen was not really ashamed.

In the future, there will be no ladies, thought Mae. All of the old channels we pour down will be blocked. Ladies, peasants, men, women, children, rich, poor, clean, dirty, we will all be churned up together. We will be churning clouds in the air, blown by wind, pierced by swallows…

'I'm drunk,' Mae managed to say.

'Poisoned, more like,' said Sezen, looking at the milky wine. She poured it onto the beaten-dirt floor. 'Maybe it will kill the fleas.'

'Welcome to the Mae-Sezen Fashion Emporium,' said Mae.

' New York… Paris… Singapore… Tokyo… Kizul-duh.' Hazily, Sezen stood up and did a model's turn. Her nightrobe was eaten at the hem and knees. 'Sezen-ma'am displays the fine cut and design features of her latest creation.' Sezen held up the rotten hem. 'Air ventilation for summer wear, illustrates the holes in Miss Ozdemir- ma'am's head through which Air seeps.' She grinned like a tigerish Talent, and batted her eyes. 'This year's