“Is something wrong?” I asked hesitantly.
“You look”—he tilted his head to one side, apparently searching for the right words—“somehow different this morning.”
“In what way?”
“Enchanting. Enchanted. More beautiful than usual!”
“Ah, my sweet brother,” I sighed, and put a hand on his knee. I longed to embrace him for joy. “I feel just great. It’s beautiful here.”
Thar Thar returned with a bowl of rice, vegetables, and two eggs. I was so excited that I could hardly eat. We sat in silence on the steps. Chickens cackled in the courtyard. A dog dozed in the shadow of the staircase. It was warm, and it smelled like fresh flowers.
Thar Thar fidgeted with his fingers and breathed unevenly. He wanted to tell me something, but didn’t quite dare. At some point U Ba rose and went into the house.
I shot Thar Thar a tender look. “What should we do now? Sweep? Cook? Laundry?”
“Would you care to accompany me on a short hike? We would be back in time for the afternoon English lesson.”
“I’d love to. Where are we going?”
“I want to show you something.”
WE WALKED ALONG a path that led past brown, newly harvested rice fields, banana plants, palm trees, and bamboo stands. We crossed a narrow valley, balanced our way across a stream, and marched up a wooded hillside. Above us the arch of a deep-blue cloudless sky. We communicated with our eyes and spoke little. Between us was a silence that felt more comfortable with every step.
I wandered in thought back to the night before. I was not sure what to make of what had happened, only that it bore no resemblance to an ephemeral New York affair. Something about this night was different, and I was beginning to sense what it was. He had opened a door in me. He had taken me by the hand and shown me the hiding places of joy. He had relieved me of the fear of my own desire.
I felt an intimacy with him that needed no words. A familiarity that I could not explain. He was a soul mate like no man before him had been.
I felt the desire to take his hand, to stop right where we were, to touch him, to kiss him, but I didn’t dare.
Just before the crest of the hill we came to a stupa that had caught my eye even from a distance. The trees had been cleared from a small area around it so that it commanded a broad view of the valley below. There were several little temples and altars on which lay offerings of rice, flowers, and fruits. Devotees had placed dozens of Buddha figures in the recesses of the masonry.
The top of the pagoda was gilded. A few tiny bells tinkled in the wind. The side facing the valley was painted white, but the backside was bare stonework split by a large crack. Out of the crevices grasses and various plants had sprouted. In places they had overgrown the stone, and the rear part leaned so drastically that it ought to have fallen in years ago.
Looking at it from the side, it appeared that the laws of gravity had ceased to operate in this place.
“It looks like it could collapse any minute now,” I remarked, regarding it skeptically.
“It does make that impression,” replied Thar Thar. “Legend has it that this stupa was destroyed by earthquakes many times over the centuries, and that it was always rebuilt. Some decades ago a new quake left it in the damaged condition you now observe. Since then people have believed it would fall in, but apparently there is some force fending off collapse. That’s what all the altars are about. People come here and leave an offering in the hope that this power, this spirit, will also protect them.”
He pulled a thermos out of a bag and poured hot water into the cap, dug out a packet of instant coffee and a packet of crackers. He took out one of the crackers and set it in front of an altar. Then he pressed his palms together in front of his chest, closed his eyes, and bowed.
“What did you pray for?” I asked.
“I didn’t pray for anything. We merely had a brief conversation.”
“Who?”
“The spirit of the stupa and I.”
“What about?”
“About the fragility of joy. How it is impossible to preserve it. And crackers. He loves crackers.”
“Where did you get those?”
“I was in Hsipaw earlier this morning,” he said in a way that suggested it had not been pleasant for him.
We sat down in the shadow of the stupa. It was quiet. A gentle rustling of leaves was the only sound. “Tell me about yourself,” he asked.
“Again? About my important battle against patent infringement?” Thar Thar ignored my self-mockery. Smiling, he said, “Whatever is important to you …”
I reflected and took a sip of coffee. Looked down into the valley and at some point started my tale: of a young woman who set out on a quest.
Who thought she might be going crazy. Even though madness did not run in her family. Not that kind.
Who had forgotten how fragile love was. How precious. How much light it needs. How much trust. How dark it got when Deceit spread her wings.
Who had forgotten what love thrives on. How much attention it requires.
Who had in recent days rediscovered these things, and who was very grateful for that.
Thar Thar listened attentively. At times I wished he would embrace me or at least touch my hand, but he did not move.
When I was done, I looked at him. Uncertain and with a galloping heart.
I stood up and faced him, took his head in my hands. “Thar Thar.” His expression set my whole body aquiver. “I …”
He put a finger to my lips, stood up, and kissed me like I had never been kissed before. Why did I have to be thirty-eight before being able to lose myself in a kiss that way?
“Tell me about the heart tuner you knew.”
“That was long ago,” he answered, hesitating and sitting back down. “Why do you ask?”
“Because I want to know more about you.”
“More still? You know so much. More than I do.”
“But I don’t know the most important thing: What is your secret?” I crouched down beside him.
“What makes you think I have a secret?”
“Why are you not a troubled spirit?”
“I used to be. Most of my life.”
“I know, and now you are one no more. Why not? Who taught you to forgive? Father Angelo?”
He shook his head without a word.
“Ko Bo Bo?” I asked.
His eyes fell. The ghost of a nod.
Had he and Ko Bo Bo been lovers? They had shared some kind of secret, according to Maung Tun. I was too surprised to pursue it. And not only about that plot twist: I felt Jealousy swelling up inside me, quickly casting her deep black shadow.
“What exactly did Maung Tun tell you about him?” Thar Thar wanted suddenly to know.
“Not much. That he was the youngest of the porters. Small and wispy, but very brave.” As casually as possible I added: “That you two had been good friends.”
Thar Thar swallowed several times. “That’s all?”
“Pretty much.”
“Did he not speculate about the two of us?”
“Well, he said that you really liked each other,” I replied evasively.
“That’s all?”
“That’s all.”
Thar Thar nodded as if he had not expected anything else. “Ko Bo Bo had a secret.”
I bit my tongue and waited for him to go on.
“I was by chance in the yard when the truck brought him in. We had just hastily buried three corpses from the Death House and were on the way back to our huts. Most of the new porters already stood nervously in a circle around the vehicle. Ko Bo Bo had curled up in the farthest corner of the payload and did not want to get out. Only when the soldiers kicked at him did he get up and slowly climb out of the truck, a bundle with his things in his hands. I saw at a glance that he was different from the others. The way he moved. The way he looked at the soldiers. In his expression was the same dreadful fear we all shared, but there was also somethin
g else. I took it for pride, or a gratuitous defiance, and it was a long time before I learned what it really was.
“He spent the first few days huddled in the darkest corner of our hut, refusing to eat, or even to say a word. Again and again one of us would sit down with him and try to talk to him, but he kept his mouth shut. I was afraid he was trying to starve himself, and one evening, when he was already asleep, I carried him over to sleep beside me. He was so light. At some point he suddenly clasped my hand and refused to let go. He was awake and wanted to know how long I thought it would take a person to die. A second? An hour? A day? A lifetime? I didn’t understand his question, and we fell into a long conversation. I liked his voice, especially when he whispered. It sounded so soft and melodic, almost as if he were singing.
“Ko Bo Bo was not as rough as the rest of us, and we quickly struck up a friendship. At first I felt an obligation to protect him, small and wispy as he was. But our first mission together was so grim, and he was so brave. He saved the life of an infant. Did Maung Tun tell you about that?”
“Yes.”
“It was clear to me then that he did not need me to watch over him. At least no more or less than anyone else. We could all have used someone to protect us. From the soldiers. From the rebels. From ourselves. But that’s something different; that’s not what I mean. Ko Bo Bo could take care of himself. And others.
“I had never in my life known such a kindred spirit. I have since then had a long time to ponder why that was so. I felt good whenever he was nearby. A curious thing to say when you consider our circumstances, but there it was. He brought me peace without need for many words. He gave me joy without cause. Unfounded joy is the most beautiful and most difficult. He gave me the courage to live. His presence, one glance, one smile sufficed, and I knew that I was not alone. It was that simple, that complicated. Does that make sense?”
“Yes,” I answered again, although I wasn’t really sure it did. I didn’t want to interrupt him with a question.
“That was the greatest gift of all. Not to be alone in a place where everyone was thinking only of personal survival. Where they would have beaten you to death if they thought it would buy them one more day. Loneliness is the most severe punishment. We are not built to handle it. I’ve seen many porters and several soldiers die. Those who had strength to say anything before they died invariably called out for other people. Not for their enemies, but for people who loved them. For their mothers. Their fathers. Their wives. Their children. No one wants to be lonely.
“But Ko Bo Bo had taught me something else. Something more important still.”
Thar Thar faltered. I looked at him expectantly.
“What it means to love.”
“Were you …?” I didn’t dare to finish the sentence.
“That, too.” He paused, took a deep breath. “But that’s not what I mean. Ko Bo Bo loved someone else besides. His brother. Her brother.”
I didn’t know what he was talking about.
“Was his brother in the camp, too?”
“Her brother.”
“Why her brother? Thar Thar, I can’t understand a word of it. Help me.”
“There was no Ko Bo Bo. That was an invention. Ko Bo Bo’s name was Maw Maw, and he was a girl. A young woman.”
A catch in my breath. “How … how do you know … I mean …” It took a while before I could form a complete sentence. What was a woman doing in the camp? How had she gotten there? Why had Maung Tun said nothing about it?
Thar Thar said nothing. He fixated on the stupa, tears running down his cheeks, but his face was unmoved.
“I had long suspected he was hiding something from me,” he whispered without looking at me. “One day we were washing clothes at the river together. He slipped and fell into the water. Ko Bo Bo was not a strong swimmer. I jumped in after him and pulled him out. For a few seconds we stood there face to face, soaking wet, without a word. His shirt, his longyi, were clinging to his body, her body … She might as well have stood there naked …”
We sat next to each other, not saying anything while I tried to put my thoughts in order. Thar Thar’s eyes were still on the crumbling masonry before us.
“I didn’t realize that the military exploited young women as porters, too.”
“They don’t.”
“So how did Ko Bo Bo …?” I asked softly.
“Maw Maw.”
“… Maw Maw end up at the camp?”
“She disguised herself as a boy.”
I reached for his hand. “Who would have made her do that?”
“No one.”
“She volunteered?”
“Yes.”
The more I learned, the less sense it made. What possible reason could a person have to volunteer to go to that hell? Why had she been willing to pay so high a price? For what?
“Thar Thar?”
Still he was not looking at me.
“Why did she do that?”
He ignored my question.
“Why did she disguise herself as a boy?” I asked again.
Thar Thar lifted his head and looked me right in the eye: “Because she loved. And because she understood what that means.”
“Who did she love so much? Who did she do it for?”
“For her brother.”
“Her brother?” I echoed incredulously. How could a young woman make such a sacrifice for her brother, of all people?
“She had a twin brother. He was ten minutes younger than his big sister. The two of them were apparently inseparable. Right from birth. Their mother told them that as infants they would wail the moment the other one wasn’t there, and they wouldn’t stop until they lay side by side again. If one of them came down with a fever, it wasn’t long before the other one was sick, too. They got their first teeth on the same day. Their second teeth, too. Maw Maw was the first to walk. Her brother took his first steps holding her hand, until they both fell. As children they would never let the other one out of their sight. Sometimes it seemed to their parents as if one soul had been divided into two bodies. They lived in their own world, where they were sufficient unto themselves. When hurt, they did not look to their mother or father for comfort, but to each other. No one in the village had seen anything like it. Everyone called them little barnacles because of the way they clung to each other.
“When the soldiers came, going from house to house and taking all the young men, Maw Maw’s parents and brother were working in a field a good distance away. They wouldn’t be back before dark. Maw Maw heard the soldiers’ voices from afar, and she felt sick with horror. Like everyone else, she knew what would happen, that none of those who were taken would come back alive. She told me she thought her heart had stopped beating out of fear for her brother. Seeing his things hanging on the wall gave her the idea. Maw Maw quickly put them on and pretended to be him. From that moment on, she said, she was very calm. None of the soldiers noticed anything. She went to death for him. Can you fathom it?”
“No.” It slipped out quietly. Had I ever loved anyone so dearly that I would have let myself be tortured for him? That I would have sacrificed myself for him?
“I couldn’t understand it, either. Not at first. But what did I know about love? Nothing, Julia, nothing at all.
“Maw Maw taught me that a person is capable of anything. Not only of any wickedness. Every sacrifice she made was a small triumph over evil, if you understand what I mean. For me it was as precious as a cup of water to a person dying of thirst. Did Maung Tun tell you what things were like in the camp?”
“Yes.”
“It was dreadful. Several of us went mad with fear. Some porters pulled their own hair out, wept incessantly, or banged their heads against the beams until the soldiers came and shot them. A mercy killing they called it. As if we were rabid dogs. Did he tell you that, too?”
“No.”
“Maw Maw reminded us with every kick, every blow that she withstood without caving in that there was a power the sol
diers could not vanquish.
“When she went hungry because again they had given us no rice, she did it for her brother. When they tortured us and Maw Maw had to stand on one leg in the sun until she fell over, she suffered for his sake. And for ours.”
He was quiet for a moment. “She was the bravest person I have ever met. Her sacrifices gave me the courage to live. And through them she brought my heart into tune, a little more day by day, without my realizing it. At some point all of my bitterness had dissipated. My rage and resentment, my anger and my hatred just dried up. Like a brook with no more spring to feed it.”
Slowly he turned to me and gently pulled me closer to him. Little beads of sweat dotted his brow and shaven head. I noticed only now that he was shivering, and I put my arms around him. We sat long in silence, side by side, holding each other tightly, as if seeking shelter.
The sun was already low in the sky when he stood up, brushed the hair out of my face, and started to kiss me. On my forehead, my eyes, my lips. He picked me up, I wrapped my legs around his hips, and he carried me behind the stupa.
AND ONCE AGAIN I felt him intensely like no man before him.
Heard his rhythmic breathing. Lost myself in his unfamiliar, exhilarating scent.
Amid flowers and fruits who told their stories silently.
Behind a pagoda that refused to give in to the laws of gravity.
Amid temples and altars inhabited by hope.
As if there was something that could shield us and our happiness. Be it spirits. Or stars.
Chapter 8
THE NEXT MORNING Moe Moe woke me again. For one brief, wonderful moment I imagined I was still lying in Thar Thar’s arms. His warm hand on my belly.
Moe Moe knelt down beside me, and I saw right away that something had happened. Hers was not the smile of a cheerful person. She set the tea on the floor and cast her eyes down the moment they met mine. On top of the cup was a note that had been folded many times.
“For you,” she said, handing it to me.
“A letter? For me? Are you sure?”
A Well-Tempered Heart Page 25