Sunni's gaze was not direct. 'I did not say that.'
'You said you would tell the Central Man, Sunni. You meant that you could betray Kwan and get the Wings into trouble. Didn't you?'
She was silent.
'Sunni. From the beginning, I have not wanted to be your enemy. If you tell yourself the tale of what has happened, you will see that the first hostile move was your husband's. And I am not always the most pleasant person in the world when I am angry. So, yes, I behaved badly.'
All Sunni wanted was to be first, and Mae was always ahead of her. Even now she had lost, for Mae was the first to propose peace and in such a way as to garner advantage.
Curiously enough, that was sufficient revenge.
'Talk to your husband, Sunni. That is necessary. The terms are simple. We are friendly rivals in business. We both work to teach the village. We both work against the party that wants the TVs off. And as a gesture, the loan becomes interest-free.'
It was all a bit of pretence. Mae was being clear, not for Sunni, but for Mr Haseem, whom she was reasonably certain could hear every word. Mae sat and waited.
Sunni's face was closed, not exactly in shame, but in hurt. How she wanted to be the village leader, the 'ma'am' of the village. But Kwan would always be that. Sunni would never be free, not until Kwan died. And by then it would probably be the turn of An, or someone like her. Mae found she did indeed pity Sunni. All that time with nothing to do because her husband would not let her work. Mae pitied her lack of application. Sunni, Mae knew, was not as smart as others.
Sunni said, 'I have the better fashion sense.'
Mae pondered this for a moment. 'I think you are probably right, Sunni.' For rich ladies, with money to spend, you are probably right. But you know, I think I will be the one to make the money. Mae chuckled to herself. 'You are certainly younger and better looking too.'
Sunni wasn't laughing. Sunni was not loved by a beautiful man, who cooked dinner for her, who had wanted her since he had been sixteen. Could Sunni stand to sleep with that harsh husband?
To be jealous is futile; we are all human, we all live in pain, and Sunni lives in more than most.
That does not give her the right to steal my shoes or stand on my toes.
'Sunni, I know you are very busy. Mrs Ali sometimes visits my lessons at Mrs Wing's. Perhaps she could tell me what you decide.'
Since you will not want to visit my hovel, or risk coming to Mrs Wing's.
'Is it really as much money as you say?' Sunni asked. Ah, money, the juice of life. At least yours. Their eyes finally met.
'Yes, Sunni, it is.' Mae stood up to go.
They exchanged polite greetings and Mae left.
Outside in the street, Mae felt a wild joy swing out of her, like when she had been a schoolgirl and flung her bag of books into the air. She was free of the interest on that loan! They would pay back twenty-five riels a year, and use the money as capital! She could use it to buy cloth or Joe could invest in the farm. Joe would bring back more money; they would be comfortable and happy.
She thought again that she must put distance between herself and Mr Ken. Otherwise the fabric of her life would be torn. She would tell Kuei that she would always love him, but that it was impossible to continue. She would hold the memory of him always to her, like pressed flowers hidden in schoolbooks, like clever old Mrs Tung and her secret love. And she would teach the TV and she would pick the brains of the Central Man.
Mae would learn to put up a screen, too, just like Kwan, only Kwan would wonder how she had learned so quickly.
A screen of what?
Of fashion? Of course, the whole world would want fashion from a mountaintop in mid-Asia. That was the very thing they lacked. Mae laughed at herself, and went, 'Wheeeeeee!' And spun, and saw Kwan's screens, of Eloi embroidery.
And suddenly she saw the screen slightly different. It offered Eloi embroidery for sale. The year's most unusual fashion statement. Expressing the model's interest in Third World issues.
Mae's smile was fading. Instead, excitement seemed to grip her stomach.
Native Eloi embroidery, unavailable except through these treasured outlets.
Either broaden what you make, or extend your geography, the Kru had whispered.
Videos could be sent for free to the big stores. She could tell the big stores about her Eloi fashion, and if they liked it, fine. Then she could buy the cloth and the bead.
Reduce your risk at every opportunity.
So she only makes them when she is paid.
Individually tailored to meet your requirements.
Oh! Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh! Her effrontery made her giggle. Sell to Singapore, Tokyo, Taiwan. Maybe even Paris or New York. The calls would be free, from Wing's magic free TV. Mae will send her offer with her pretty pictures, but it will not be fashion she is offering. She will offer something real, something from the mountain, something from a long-forgotten, beautiful people.
Love and ideas, how she loved her life now!
Visions of her screens danced in her head. She saw Kwan and Shen Suloi twirl in their embroideries; she heard the words: Native Eloi beauties model the traditional wear of their people.
This is the traditional wedding pattern. The yellow signs promise fidelity, the blue, understanding of foibles.
Mae's head seemed to swim, as if the air itself were a river, with currents. She felt herself picked up as if flying only a few inches above the road, and suddenly she saw her screens, very clearly indeed.
Mae saw her screens in fact. She was looking at the TV in a room at Kwan's house, not far into the future. Sunlight came through the window; her new screens glowed. In a video, Wing Kwan turned, modeling an Eloi collar.
This future would happen.
Why, then, sitting in that room in the future, did Mae feel sick in her stomach with loss? Why was she living with the Wings?
Mae shivered, and it was gone, this future full of promise and loss.
She went into her courtyard.
There were two men outside her doorway. A flashlight shone in her face. 'There she is,' said a voice.
'Who is it?' Mae asked, blinking. She saw movement, and she knew who it was from the way both bodies moved.
Joe was back. Shen stood with him.
'What is all this?' Joe demanded. 'What is all this about a man?'
CHAPTER 12
The world stopped, like a truck.
'What is what?' babbled Mae, looking back and forth between the two men. What do I do, what do I say, do I deny it, do I act like I have no idea?
Shen, the serpent, looked at her with eyes that seemed green. He seemed to be made of stained green copper like the statues in town of forgotten generals. She hated him; she knew why he had done it. Shen had decided to destroy her.
'You know, woman,' said Joe, and strode forward and hit Mae in the face.
The flesh of her cheek was like a pond into which a rock is hurled. It rose and rippled and washed about her eyes. Mae felt her nose give, just to the point of breaking.
Mae allowed herself to be knocked backwards. She landed and lay still to buy time for thinking.
'Joe, Joe,' she heard Shen say, gently restraining.
'Wake up, woman!' Joe demanded. He was leaning over her, she could feel his breath. 'You cannot pretend with me!' His voice broke. He shook her. Mae kept her head limp.
'That… uh… That was premature, said Shen. 'She can answer nothing now.'
'She is pretending. I know the vixen,' said Joe.
'Look at that bruise,' said Shen.
Mae's mind raced. Shen had seen only shoes and a shadow through the curtains in her room. Can I undermine his story? He is a feeble man; he will hate it that I have been hit. Can I make him retract through guilt?