More usually, she would sleep alone. She would pull the pillow that smelled of him between her legs.
And she might dream, always of the past, of beautiful thank-you cakes not delivered until stale. Or a prize dress forgotten on a line until the sun bleached it. The sense of unease would persist, as she sat up. The long hot day would begin again.
The next fashion season would not be until after harvest, in October. By then she would know how much Joe and Siao had brought in. She could leave deciding about her fashion business until then.
Mae thought she was doing all that she could.
Then Sunni set herself up in the best-dress business.
Mae arrived at the Kosals to interview them.
'Oh, Mrs Haseem has just visited and asked us all the same questions,' Mrs Kosal told Mae. 'See. She has sent us a leaflet.'
Mrs Kosal went to fetch it and passed it to Mae, her watchful face and smile not entirely sympathetic.
Mae felt sick. The thing she feared most had happened. Her knowledge, her ideas, had been taken and used by her enemy before she had had a chance to complete them.
And Sunni was richer and had more time and she had a television of her own.
Mae stood reading in the street, looking at the professional print job, alarmed and unhappy. An kicked grit beside her.
'I cannot bear to read it,' said Mae, and passed it to her. Did An know she could not read? Perhaps she did. An read it aloud.
TRUE FASHION
FOR TRUE LADIES
NOW THAT CERTAIN PARTIES HAVE BEEN UNCOVERED
AS OFFERING FALSE ADVICE, THE WAY IS NOW OPEN
FOR TRUTH AND BEAUTY.
Mrs Haseem-ma'am sets the new standard for fashion.
With her eye on the world, she sees what the world of fashion really has to offer. Visit her Fashion-Doctor surgery when you have a moment. See what she can offer you as a best dress. It will be
PROFESSIONALLY MADE BY BEST FASHION HOUSES.
She will also visit to listen with clear heart and true vision to what you have to say. Do not waste words like seed grain on barren fields. Only Mrs Haseem-ma'am can make your words grow into green fields.
Sunni was trying to destroy her.
Mae forced herself to be calm in front of An. She looked at the swallows. The swallows still darted, the sky was faithful. Mae took some comfort.
'The village has never had a leaflet before,' she said. 'I have to admit, it is a bold stroke, a great compliment. It says to us: "You are as important as rich city people, to have a leaflet printed for you."
It was the work of a professional letter-writer. And that, Mae saw, was wrong in many ways.
'She has made a mistake,' Mae said, saving face in front of An. 'She addresses us as an employer would. And who are these fine ladies she writes for? Mrs Wing? Only Mrs Wing, who I think is still my friend.'
'Yes, I see,' said An. But she still kicked grit.
'An, can you help me this evening? Can you stay late?'
An sat at her kitchen table and wrote thirty-three letters in her beautiful handwriting on pages torn from Mae's exercise books. Mae made sure every one of them was different.
Dear Mrs Pin,
Your husband feeds his children by fixing cars and vans. How would you feel if a rich man wrote everyone saying, 'Don't use Mr Pin, he can't fix things.'
This would be unkind and untrue. Sunni gives herself airs and calls herself Mrs Haseem-ma'am. She wants you to talk to her like she is your boss.
You can call me Mae, like I am your servant. I will work hard to get you a good best dress.
Your servant,
Mae
Dear Mrs Doh,
I am not rich and do not have the money to pay someone to write letters for me. I can't pay to have them printed in the City.
I am a plain person, who likes beautiful clothes and wants her friends to be beautiful. You do not need to call me ma 'am.
I have always made good dresses for my friends and always will.
Your friend,
Mae
And finally:
Dear Sunni,
I may be a servant, but I find I am still a fashion leader.
I start to wear men's jackets and so do you. I do a Question Map, and lo, so do you. Mr Wing brings television. Your husband, so original, does the same.
You follow me and that shows I give true fashion advice. Everyone in the village thinks that, too.
It will be good to have two fashion experts. Because both fashion experts must work harder. It will be fun for me to see you work hard.
Your servant,
Mae.
Hands shaking with rage, Mae folded up the letters and sealed them with rice paste. 'I will walk you home,' she told An, and then she delivered all the letters to the thirty-three houses, including Sunni's.
Mae looked up at the stars, as bright as the souls of her people. Something inside her thrashed like a fish pulled up onto the shore. At first she thought it was anger. It was the need to do something more. Instead of going home, she marched up the hill to Kwan's house.
Kwan's courtyard was empty, but the television was running an old film with no one watching. Mae sat down to work, speaking to the machine. Kwan's dog started to bark. Finally Kwan came out, saw Mae, and started to laugh.
Kwan sat on her steps in her nightdress, and shook her head. 'Mae! You have just written letters to everyone in the village and now what are you doing?'
'I am setting up a school,' said Mae.
Kwan was still laughing. 'What, tonight?'
'Yes, tonight. I feel like the whole village will be swept away unless we do something now. Come and see.'
Images of the five pens swam up onto the screen. Kwan came up behind her.
'I made these. There are the five pens that Air sets up in your mind. I will make the TV imitate Air and I will show people how to use them, what they will be able to do. What do you think?'
Kwan was quiet. 'That will be a good thing to do.'
'I will call in everyone. I will call in people during those times when they are not busy. I will ask men to come just after breakfast, I will ask women to come after lunch.'
Kwan started to chuckle again. 'You just thought of this.'
'I have been slow,' said Mae. 'We all have to learn, Kwan. Or Air will come and it will use us, not the other way around.' What she felt was akin to panic. What she felt was akin to flying.
'Audio. Poster. Pictures,' she ordered. 'Birds. Swallows. Blue on white.' The words flew onto the screen as if they were swallows. The screen said for her under the silhouette of a bird.
'We have the school here, ah? Okay?'
Kwan nodded yes.
Mae's words became a poster.
____________________
SWALLOW SCHOOL
BE LIKE A SWALLOW
LEARN TO FLY IN THE AIR
Mrs Chung Mae has been deep into Air. She has been learning a lot about how the TV works. She wants her friends to know it, too. She will show how Air will work by giving lessons on my television for free.
• Men come just after breakfast.
• Women come just after lunch.
• Rowdy unruly young pests come after school and not before.
Mrs Wing Kwan
(Lady Sunni-ma 'am. You do not need a letter writer and a printer to make a leaflet. Mae will do one for you.)