Air (or Have Not Have)

'Lung! Lung!' called Ju-mei.

'Uncle!'

Mae deliberated too and decided to let Lung greet his uncle without her. The two men hugged, and clapped each other's backs. Ju-mei wore a heavy Russian coat and pork pie hat. He looked like a Party chairman. Lung paused when he saw his Uncle Siao, and blinked in some surprise that the two families were friends. Siao shook his hand and winked. He and Lung hugged too, but the hug was gentler, less showy. Lung had grown up with Siao, who was more of a big brother to him than an uncle. Siao looked up. His eyes caught Mae's, and he gestured for her to come near them.

Very well, thought Mae. For your sake, Siao. She remembered: Siao has never fought me or called me bad names. She was surprised; she realized that she knew in her heart that Siao would keep things calm and good.

Mae saw her mother's plump face close up like a purse as she approached. Old Mrs Wang retreated from Mae behind Ju-mei's Russian back. His face looked like polished soapstone. Siao spoke first. 'Mae, how are things with you?'

'I am happy to say the business goes well.'

'And happy to see Lung,' said Siao.

'Indeed!' chuckled Mae.

Old Mr Chung blinked like an ancient tortoise, and bowed sweetly to Mae, out of respect or mere good form.

'We are all happy to see you, Lung.' Ju-mei grinned awkwardly and jabbed his upper body up and down like a crow pecking at road kill. He was trying to bow with respect to his officer nephew.

None of them were comfortable. Mae glanced up and saw a tight little knot of Alis and Dohs, peering at them over their shoulders. They were a spectacle: the family of the deserted husband in company with the adulterous wife and her brother.

'People are staring,' said Mae's mother miserably.

Mae felt sorry for her, so small and worried. 'Pay them no mind, Mama.'

'It is easy for you to say, you are a woman who has no face left to lose,' said her mother. 'You do not even come to call on us.'

So which is it Mama, are you ashamed of me or mad because I do not call, or are you just looking for another reason to be miserable?

Siao intervened. 'Perhaps it is because Mae is embarrassed that her husband's family are staying there with you, Mrs Wang-ma'am.'

'You credit her with delicacy,' said Mae's mother. 'Ju-mei, I cannot bear this. I am on show. I have been an object of show all my life. I thought all that had ended. But there is always something. I so look forward to the first winter party, but I must… I must…' Mama had stared to quaver again.

'You stay here, Mama,' said Mae. 'I was just going back into the kitchen.'

Lung looked dismayed. 'I'll be down in a while, Mama,' he said.

Mae smiled with gratitude at Lung and said goodbye to them all in turn. Standing as straight as she could, Mae turned sideways to slip through the crowd and down the stairs to Kwan's kitchen.

Kwan was at work, wearing her best dress. The tables were already full of food. 'It's a good thing I guessed the party would be here,' Kwan said. Whenever there was a power failure, there would be a party in someone's courtyard.

Mae's stomach suddenly felt heavy and she had to sit down. They were alone so Mae said quickly, 'I don't know what else these soldiers know, so it will be good to stay cautious.' In the half-darkness, the two women looked at each other. It was plain where Mae's loyalties lay. From outside there came a swelling of laughter. Lung had finished a story.

'Can I help?' asked Sunni.

Without missing a beat, Kwan smiled. 'Sunni! Hello. Yes, I am sure there is much to do.'

So there they were, the three of them, in Kwan's kitchen, with the ropes of garlic around the wall and the pile of round village bread.

'Shall I restore the bread for you?' Sunni asked. Village bread was dry and needed to be moistened.

Mae offered, 'I could string the beans.'

'Oh, it will be fun with just us three,' said Kwan, kneeling. She hoisted out a bucket of water and a tray for soaking bread.

'Yes, it will be good to sit and be convivial,' said Sunni, and smiled at Mae. The kitchen smelled of pork and rice. 'Oh! Soy and lard on boiled rice. Oh, that takes me home.' Sunni, though Muslim, had grown up in a liberal household.

Mae strung and snapped the beans. Sunni took out her corncob pipe and so did Kwan. 'Look at us, we look like old grannies!' said Sunni.

'We are, nearly,' said Mae.

'Oh! You talk!' said Sunni.

'Lung is to be married soon,' said Mae, not quite telling the truth. How could she admit that she had not been asked to the wedding?

'You bet,' said Sunni, 'He is a prince, and any girl with brains would get him as fast as she could.'

'She is a Western girl,' said Mae. 'She is very pretty, educated, and says she likes me. This is because of my screens. How can you like someone for their screens?'

'Oh,' said Sunni and looked sad. 'Then we will lose him?'

Mae let this sink in. 'Yes,' she said. 'I am sure he will stay in Bal-shang at least. And who knows, he may even go back to Canada with his wife.'

'Has he talked about what has happened?' Kwan asked. She meant the end of Mae's marriage.

'Yes.' Mae played with the beans and with the truth of the situation. 'Mostly he tells me he forgives me for what has happened. But I don't think he really has.'

'Ah,' said Sunni, getting down to the meat of it.

'I don't think he really understands it,' said Mae.

'I don't think I do,' said Sunni.

Kwan said nothing. Her back as she worked listened and was tense.

'It was love,' murmured Mae.

'Oh I understand that. I understand why you married Joe and I understand why you would tire of him. Speaking frankly.'

'Indeed,' said Kwan, for Sunni was being very frank.

'There is no other way to talk about these things. What I don't understand, now that Joe has gone off with the Pincushion, is why you are not with Mr Ken.'

'Ah,' said Mae. She had no immediate answer.

Sunni patted Mae's hand. 'Joe has left you. That evens things up. Go live with your Mr Ken. The rest of us will get used to things in the end.'

'I'm not scared of the village,' said Mae. 'But I do sometimes wonder if I love Mr Ken because his grandmother does.'

'Ah,' said Sunni, and her hand shuddered.

'I think I see him sometimes through Old Mrs Tung's eyes.'

The room seemed to hold its breath with the cold.

Lung strode in, booming, 'And what good things are you ladies cooking?'

Back to work.

The ladies carried out vats of quick-fried beans, swollen wet bread, and pots of rice with tiny chillies burning within it. The army truck played Lectro on its Balshang radio. Its vast army antennae could pull in signals from the capital. Kizuldah heard advertisements for hypermarkets, toilet paper, and clubs that could play Airfiles on giant TV screens.

The villagers hated the music. A cable was strung from the army van's battery to a cassette player, and more traditional music was played for the adults.

All four hundred people were crowded into the courtyard and barn despite the snow that was still falling, as if