by Rosanna Ley
‘You like?’ the man asked. He didn’t look as if he could care less.
‘Not really,’ she replied.
Once again, he shrugged. And it was that careless shrug that made something inside her snap.
‘Because it’s not really old, is it?’ she asked him.
He blinked. ‘It was bought in good faith, isn’t it? As to age, I do not know exactly.’
And yet he’d been willing to let her believe it was a hundred years old a few minutes ago. ‘So it wasn’t made here?’ She pointed to the back of the shop. She knew that she should stop, that it was extremely rash to stand here in the enemy camp making accusations. Klaus too had warned her to be careful. But she was so angry. Why should they get away with it?
‘No, not made here.’ The man almost snatched it back from her and replaced it in the cabinet next to its twin. ‘It look old to me. Why not? I am no expert, isn’t it?’
No expert? Didn’t he work in an antique shop?
The man turned around and let out a stream of Burmese clearly addressed to someone who must be lurking in the darker recesses of the shop. Eva tried not to panic. ‘Are you the owner of this shop?’ she asked him. Though she knew he couldn’t be. The owner of this place would have others to deal with customers who wandered in off the street.
‘It is my family who own this business.’ A different man spoke. He was walking towards them. His dark hair was slicked back from an unsmiling and unshaven face. His eyes were limpid, his shoulders drooped. He was also dressed in the traditional longyi but looked much smarter, his shirt clean and white. He glanced at her with a distinct lack of interest. ‘What it is to you?’
Li. This was the moment when she should walk out of the shop. But she had to make sure. ‘Who are you?’ she said instead.
‘My name is Khan Li.’ He gave a curt nod. ‘And what make you think the chinthe not old? You are expert, is that it?’
‘As a matter of fact, yes I am. I have a degree in antique restoration and the decorative arts.’ Eva spoke before she had the chance to think about it. ‘And I can certainly differentiate between genuine antiques.’ She paused. ‘And fakes.’
He didn’t even flinch. They stood there staring at one another, but Eva refused to be intimidated. She would not back down. She knew that she was treading a dangerous pathway, but would a man like him really be that concerned about the shop’s authenticity being challenged by an Englishwoman? She doubted it.
Sure enough, he looked her up and down with a sneer on his swarthy face. ‘You make accusation, yes?’ he said.
Even Eva wasn’t foolhardy enough to rise to that one. ‘No,’ she said. ‘But I’m surprised that you don’t value your company’s reputation more highly.’
‘My company reputation?’ He stared at her in amazement.
She supposed he couldn’t believe it, some young European woman coming in here daring to lay down the law. But this, she felt, gave her an edge. She thought of Ramon when he’d confided in her the other afternoon, she thought of Maya and Suu Kyi and the stolen chinthe, she thought of her grandfather. She just couldn’t stop herself. ‘Don’t you care about the credibility of antique dealers in Myanmar?’ she asked him. ‘How they are viewed by the rest of the world?’
He stared at her as if she were quite mad. And very probably, she was.
‘What you want?’ he growled. ‘What it is you look for?’
Why would he assume she was looking for something? But his words gave Eva the opportunity she needed. It was heavensent. If she was ever going to flush him out into the open, she had to take it. She might never get another chance. Eva took a deep breath. ‘I was hoping to buy something special,’ she said. ‘Something that is really old. That’s my business, you see. I’m over here buying genuine antique artefacts for my company in England.’
‘Something special, isn’t it?’ His eyes gleamed. ‘Why you not say?’
Once again, his gaze flickered over her, top to toe. Eva shifted uncomfortably. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling. But she could easily extricate herself from this situation at any time, she told herself. She knew what she was doing; this was her business. She would see what he had to offer and then she would leave. Simple.
‘Come.’ He beckoned her towards the back of the shop.
Eva saw that there was a desk and two chairs, one on either side. It felt a bit like venturing into the dragon’s den and she hesitated. But she had to do it. For Maya and her grandfather, she had to do it.
She sat down. On the table was some paperwork and she recognised the stamped blue-and-gold peacock logo on the letter heading – the same logo she’d seen on the boat two days earlier.
‘What kind of thing you want to buy?’ Khan Li sat down opposite her and stared at her with his limpid gaze. It was unsettling.
‘What do you have?’ she hedged.
He called out something in Burmese. Eva fervently hoped no one else was going to appear.
‘Some teak statuettes,’ he said. ‘Very old. Very unusual.’
‘What kind of statuettes?’ Eva couldn’t believe she was sitting here talking business with Khan Li.
He shrugged. ‘Robed Brahmin Priest blowing conch shell. Poona. Very good.’
And very expensive, Eva would guess.
‘Water carrier, nats, ox-cart guardian. All very rare. All teak wood.’
‘Can I see them?’ It sounded like quite a collection.
His eyes narrowed. ‘I not have them here,’ he said, as if she were foolish to imagine this might be so. ‘They special. But I can get them. If you want them, I get them.’
‘I see.’ What did he do, steal to order? He probably knew her own contact in Mandalay. They probably all knew each other. Heaven knows where they got all these artefacts from. Eva wasn’t sure she even wanted to think about it. She sighed.
He leaned closer. Eva noticed the gold signet ring he wore, the dark hair from his chest curling over the top button of his shirt. ‘What it is you want?’ he asked again.
He was reading her like a book. Eva made a snap decision. It was now or never. What did it matter that five minutes ago she had let loose a tirade on fakes and forgery? Now, they were talking business. This wasn’t the UK. Here, people didn’t seem to get offended in the same way. Here, if the price was right, they would talk to anyone. About anything. She had to do it.
‘My British client has an eighteenth-century decorative teak chinthe,’ she said quietly. ‘Very old and intricately carved.’ She lowered her voice still further. ‘With large ruby eyes.’ There she’d said it. That should flush him out.
His expression changed. He looked decidedly shifty. He raised a dark and scraggy eyebrow and one foot jerked as if in a nervous reaction. But instead of answering her, he yelled out in Burmese again and this time a young girl wearing a red longyi and embroidered blouse appeared. He must have called for her before. She was carrying a lacquer tray, her face almost invisible behind a curtain of dark hair. On the tray was a teapot decorated with weeping willows and sampans in a lake, two tiny white cups and a plate of thin sesame biscuits. She poured out the green tea, handed a cup to them both, gave a little bow and disappeared.
He was rattled. Eva could see that he was rattled.
Khan Li offered Eva the plate of biscuits. Perhaps he was giving himself time to weigh the situation up, she thought. In his line of business he’d have to be careful, always on the lookout, always prepared.
‘Your client owns one Burmese chinthe only?’ he asked when a few moments had elapsed.
‘He does.’ She nodded. ‘I see you have immediately grasped the point.’ Flattery, she hoped, might help her.
‘How big it is?’
She showed him with her hands.
‘Carved teak?’
‘Intricately carved, yes. Late eighteenth century.’
‘With rubies for eyes, you say?’
‘Yes.’ There must have been quite a few. Burma had long been rich in rubies; gems had been mined for centuries an
d anyway, she hadn’t told him how large the rubies were, or how rare. She hadn’t told him where the chinthe had come from either. Its elusive provenance.
‘But he is Englishman, yes?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’ She threw caution to the wind. ‘He is old. He lived here many years ago, before the war. He was very close to someone …’ She tailed off. That was enough. She didn’t want to overegg the pudding. ‘He would very much like to own the other,’ she said.
‘Of course, yes.’ He leaned forwards. ‘But you know, I think, the value of such a piece?’
‘Naturally.’ Eva crossed her legs. She wished she were wearing something a bit more business-like this morning than her flowery wrap-around skirt and pink cotton blouse, but she hadn’t expected things to develop quite so fast. This morning she’d planned to meet with Klaus and then visit Ramon’s factory …
‘And may I ask …?’ Khan Li’s voice was smooth and pleasant – for the moment, Eva thought. ‘Why you come to us?’
A good question. Eva bit into a sesame biscuit. She needed some thinking time now. ‘I have contacts,’ she said. ‘I had reason to believe you might be able to help me.’ But perhaps she shouldn’t be too specific? After all, the Lis had stolen the chinthe in the first place. She thought fast. ‘My contact said that if any man could locate such a piece, it would be you.’
He frowned. ‘And the name of your contact?’
Eva shook her head. ‘I cannot say.’
He seemed to consider, but only for a moment. ‘I am sorry,’ he said. ‘You have been misinformed, isn’t it? This is not our speciality. We run a modest business. I do not think we can help you and your client.’
Eva hid her disappointment. So he didn’t want to sell the chinthe. He wasn’t as greedy as she’d thought. ‘My client will be very disappointed,’ she said. She sipped her tea. ‘He is a rich man. He has owned the chinthe for many years and done much research on the provenance. But …’ She shrugged. ‘We will continue to look for its elusive twin.’ She pushed her cup to one side and got to her feet. ‘Thank you anyway.’
To her amazement, he chuckled.
Eva didn’t get the joke. ‘Sorry?’ she said. ‘What—?’ His laughter scared her. Had she said enough? Or had she said too much? She thought of Ramon, and suddenly wished she hadn’t come here alone.
‘You or your client read too many novels, I think.’ His eyes were hard now and unsmiling. But despite his calm demeanour, Eva sensed he was still on the alert. ‘The selling and export of gems in our country is strictly regulated and controlled. I cannot help you.’
And as she shook hands with him and looked into those limpid eyes, Eva wondered. Had she misread the situation? Had she failed to take something else into account? It seemed so. She had taken a huge chance and walked straight into the dragon’s lair. She could hardly believe she had done it. But it seemed that in the end, it had all been for nothing.
CHAPTER 34
Maya prepared for the journey to Mandalay. It was a mental preparation as much as anything. Eva’s sudden appearance had been a shock, she felt quite dazzled by it all. Lawrence was still alive. Lawrence still thought of her. Lawrence had given his granddaughter the precious chinthe to be returned to her family where it belonged. And so there was something very important that she must do. She had made her decision.
As she organised her things – she might be old, but she was still capable, she would not be treated like a child – Maya let her mind drift back to the war, her war.
One particular peaceful April morning was branded into her mind. It was the first time she had heard the noise and it shattered the peace like nothing else on earth. She didn’t think she would ever forget the sudden shriek coming from the sky outside.
*
‘Ba le? What is that?’ Maya’s aunt had been confused. She turned from one side to the other, made to move towards the door of the house.
‘Stop, Aunt!’ Maya grabbed her and pulled her down. The shriek, high and inhuman, was the whine and whistle of falling bombs, followed immediately by the crashing explosions. Wide-eyed and terrified, they clutched one another. The earth trembled. Lawrence, thought Maya, as she often did. Where was he? Was he safe?
Maya and her aunt held fast. Maya could see the terror etched on her aunt’s face. And it was not surprising. No one had expected this. Maya knew about the attack on Pearl Harbor, which had brought the Americans into both the war against the Japanese and a few days later the war in Europe, and she knew what Lawrence had told her about the Japanese invasion of Malaya and Thailand. She even knew that Japanese bombers had attacked Rangoon and, of course, that many of her countrymen had fled the capital and were travelling north upcountry. But somehow she, and most others she knew, had still not believed that they would be involved. They thought all the reports must be hugely exaggerated, they had imagined they would be safe here so far north of Mandalay; they had not felt the breath of the war coming closer.
When the low-flying Japanese bomber planes had let go of their load, they must have flown off to prepare for the next onslaught. Because there was more. Maya crawled from their hiding place behind the wooden sideboard. She put a hand to her mouth. She could see bodies strewn, injured and bleeding on the dusty ground, and that ground was stained with their blood. She could see an arm and, dear Lord Buddha, other dismembered limbs. Bullocks injured by flying shrapnel were bellowing in pain. Windows had been shattered. Bamboo huts and houses, even the stronger ones made of timber, had collapsed like dominos and were even now erupting into flames.
And then the planes returned and Maya crawled back to their hiding place. ‘It is not over,’ she whispered. It went on, hour after hour of ceaseless bombardment, the almost total destruction of the defenceless little town.
‘It is market day,’ her aunt whispered.
Maya knew what she was saying. If she had been in any doubt as to who were the heroes of this war – and in truth, she knew as all women knew, that there were no heroes, that war was a necessary evil that brought out as much cruelty and corruption as it did bravery and courage in the soldiers involved in it – this attack should have convinced her. For the Japanese bombers were not fighting the British here, although there were a few British living in the town. They were not fighting rebels, or even Burmese men who might rise against them. No. And the little town could have no military or strategic importance, surely? It was market day, as her aunt had said, and so the town was crowded with tribes-people selling fruit, fish, vegetables, woven goods. And the tribespeople tended to bring their families along for the ride. Largely then, they were fighting defenceless women and children. Those were the kind of heroes they were.
Maya’s aunt began to weep and still the bombs were falling. When would it end? Maya thought of her father in Maymyo. Was he safe? Was he still talking of Japanese liberation? And if so, what would he say when he knew what had happened here on this day? He should know that the people he was looking to for granting Burmese freedom were capable of such things.
After what seemed like an eternity, the planes finally flew off, leaving nothing but an eerie silence in their wake. And then they heard the moaning, coming from the street. The moaning, the wailing and the crying. Once again, Maya crawled out from behind the sideboard and held her hand out to her aunt, helping the poor woman to her feet. She was distraught, clearly suffering from shock. Gently, Maya led her to an up-ended chair, righted it and sat her down. Somehow, Maya’s aunt’s house had survived the blasts, though the windows had shattered and, as she stood in the doorway, Maya could see that most of the houses in the street had been destroyed. The air was full of the stench of blood, the acrid smell of the explosions and the scent of scorched flesh, the street was lined with the charred remains of burned-out houses.
Maya’s aunt came to stand by her side. ‘Now what?’ she whispered.
‘Now we help to pick up the pieces.’
They proceeded to do what they could for the injured nearby, fetching dressings and bin
ding wounds, bringing water to those who were probably dying, in order to ease their final moments on earth. Buildings were still burning and smoking. There was next to nothing left of Main Street where the Indian food shops were situated, now, it was just a row of charred shells. The small cinema had been destroyed and the shop that her aunt had always called the bits-and-pieces shop, because it sold everything you could need, was no more. The peaceful little town had, in a matter of hours, become one of mayhem and panic, noise and confusion, pain and bloody slaughter.
So many dead. And Lawrence? Was he still alive? ‘Kador, kador …’ she muttered. Please, please let it be so. Maya liked to believe that she would know, in her deepest soul, if he were not. Was he at this very moment involved in the act of killing a man – a Japanese? Or was he one of the wounded, one of the dying? It was this thought more than any other that persuaded her to take the path she next took. How could she not?
Maya and her aunt ignored the corpses lying in grotesque positions on the streets, and concentrated on the survivors, helping to take them by barrow or on foot to the local hospital, which, miraculously, was still standing. It was a simple one-storey building made of brick and stone with a sloping zinc roof and it had always served the village well. But how would the small building and the limited staff cope with this?
‘I would like to help,’ Maya told the Scottish matron, who was clearly rushed off her feet and desperate. And the streets were still full of people wandering around in a daze or moving from one place to another in blind panic, often injured themselves, desperately searching for their loved ones or for a glimpse of some previous sanity. How many more of them needed to be in this hospital?
‘It is dangerous,’ the Matron said. ‘Many people are leaving, if they are able. You should go too. The planes will surely come back.’ She busied herself with the next patient, making her comfortable, preparing to tend to her wounds.
‘Yes, we will go upcountry,’ said Maya’s aunt. ‘We will be safe there.’
Maya turned to her. ‘You must go, Aunt,’ she said.