by Rosanna Ley
‘Your father …’ Maya could see the pain in her eyes. They both knew what he thought of this war, and what he thought of imperialism too.
‘Perhaps he will come here,’ Maya said. ‘Or perhaps things will calm down and I can go and fetch him from Maymyo. We should be able to join you soon.’ She had no idea though, if this were true.
Her aunt nodded. ‘Very well,’ she said.
Maya turned back to the matron. ‘I’d like to stay and help,’ she said. ‘If you’ll have me.’
‘Bless you,’ she said. ‘We need to boil lots of water. And to stop the spread of disease we must start burying the dead without delay.’
And so … Maya’s wartime nursing career had begun.
*
It was several days before she even had time to return to her aunt’s house. There was very little worth saving, but some things might be useful, and these she gathered up to take back with her to the hospital. And then there was the chinthe. It was, she knew, her legacy and her security too. She tore a long strip from one of her longyis in the clothes drawer, and wrapped it up carefully in the fabric. She found an old trowel of her aunt’s, went out to the red flowering sein pan tree and dug a deep hole in the dusty earth. She gave the chinthe one last kiss and put him in the grave. ‘For safe-keeping,’ she whispered. ‘I will be back.’
*
And now, all these years later, the other had returned … Maya shook her head. The wonders of this world. And that was why she must do what she must do. It was a fair return.
CHAPTER 35
It was a relief for Eva to escape the stuffy, threatening atmosphere of Li’s. How had she found the nerve to do it? There were beads of perspiration on her brow as she stood on the corner taking stock. She glanced back at the showroom, the furniture and the ‘older’ artefacts and she took a swig from her bottle of mineral water, as if she might rinse the feeling of the place away. She walked a couple of blocks to get her breathing back to normal and to think, dodging the broken paving slabs and avoiding looking at the sewer that ran, visibly, just below. She had taken a major risk with a dangerous man. She just hoped that Khan Li had written her off as deluded.
She stopped at an open-air bar on the corner for a quick coffee. It was sweet and milky as usual, but she appreciated the caffeine hit as she watched the traffic weave by, the metal on the cars and scooters shimmering in the heat haze that was downtown Mandalay. Outside the dingy shack next door, a public telephone was stationed rather bizarrely on a rickety table and beside this, on the pavement, some street vendors had set up shop under the shade of a tree and were squatting in a circle, eating their lunch from a tin. Perhaps it was her state of mind, but the noise and humidity were overwhelming.
Eva flagged down a taxi, got in and gave them the address of Ramon’s factory. She sat back, relieved to feel the air-conditioning cool on her skin. But what would she say to him? Should she tell him where she had been? Confront him with what Klaus had told her? Eva sank further back into the leather seat. She would wait and see how things panned out, she decided.
Ramon’s company, ‘Handmade in Mandalay’, was situated on the edge of town and so, although it was a factory, it had escaped most of the city’s noise and pollution. The building was single-storey and made of wood and bamboo, and it was clear from the outset that it was mostly un-mechanised. Eva leaned forwards in the taxi as they approached. They might be having financial problems, but the place still seemed busy. A truck parked outside the building on the other side of the compound was being loaded with crates, presumably destined for shipping. A couple of men in flip-flops wearing longyis and loose shirts and carrying clipboards were talking by the factory entrance, another was taking some tools inside and several men were squatting as they worked on furniture on a wide terrace at the front.
Ramon was just coming outside. When he saw the taxi, he waved and came straight over.
‘Eva, you made it.’
‘Of course.’ He looked happy to see her and, despite everything, this thought gave her a bit of a glow. She took the hand he offered to help her out of the taxi. And fervently hoped that Klaus had got it wrong.
Ramon spoke to the taxi driver and handed him two thousand kyatts.
‘It’s OK, I’ve got it.’ Eva was fumbling in her purse.
‘It is done.’ Ramon waved her money away much as he had done after dinner last night, took her arm and led her towards the factory. His enthusiasm was obvious from the spring in his step. He was back in a red-and-black checked longyi and grey shirt this afternoon and Eva had to admit that it suited him. ‘And now,’ he said, ‘I must show you what we produce.’
*
They began at the back of the factory. It was badly lit, the raw wood stacked on shelves up to the ceiling, the floor covered in shavings. ‘This is where the process begins,’ Ramon told her. ‘The decisions of design have been made, the planks have arrived from the saw mill, we can now select the timber for each item of furniture.’
After this, she learnt, each potential piece – chests, cabinets, chairs, tables, some simple in design, some ornate – went on a journey through the factory, moving from one pair of practised hands to the next. It was about as different to what she’d seen at Li’s as it could be.
It was a long process and everything was in a different stage of construction. ‘Each piece must be sawn and planed using only traditional methods,’ Ramon told her. Which explained the lack of mechanisation. Eva remembered what Ramon had said about his business ethics, about the importance of retaining the hand-crafted element in quality furniture. This was what they stood for. And practically the only bit of modern technology she spotted was the electric router, though the man wielding it sat shirtless and cross-legged on a plank of wood. Others squatted or crouched at their work, their dark hair matted with wood-shavings, their arms and legs bare and dusty. The sound of tapping, sawing and the occasional drone of voices filled the air.
‘Some of our workers have been here for many years,’ Ramon said proudly as they watched a man wielding an ancient saw. He was barefoot and stood on a plank, using his toes like a vice to help support the wood as he worked it. There was a real connection, she realised, between the craftsman and his materials, between the human body and mind and what he was making. It was humbling. It was how things used to be in the rest of the world too, she thought. Before production speed became the driving force. Before time was money. But where something was gained, something was also lost …
They picked their way past the low stools, mats and items of half-made furniture, and moved on to the next stage of the process.
‘Who’s this?’ Eva paused by an old photograph in a frame on the wall. It was a black-and-white shot. A tall young man stood by an open topped British vintage car, one hand resting on it in a proprietorial gesture. He had longish dark hair, light eyes and Ramon’s smile.
‘My father,’ he said. He straightened the frame. ‘He began this company in 1965. It was unusual in those days. A very brave step to take.’
Eva nodded. ‘How old was he?’
‘Only twenty-five.’
And Eva could hear the pride in his voice.
Ramon showed her how they used paper templates of most of their designs, which were then carved out with a chisel and a wooden pestle, working carefully with the grain of the wood. She watched his demonstration. Ramon worked with an easy confidence, his brown arms flecked with sawdust, his fingers applying the pressure, swift and sure. She could see the narrow blue veins on the inside of his wrist as he guided the chisel, in his hands the most delicate of tools. And she watched his face as he worked, observing his instant absorption in the job in hand, his eyes still and yet alert. A master craftsman, totally at one with his subject. An artist. Eva breathed in the scent of the wood, sweet and smoky, rich and mellow, sultry.
‘We still have some of the traditional British hand-tools my father insisted were shipped over,’ Ramon said. He pointed to the chisel. ‘There is one. Also hand p
lanes and saws. He thought British construction methods were the best and he taught some of our workers his own father’s way.’ He laughed. ‘So now we have what you might call a fusion.’
East meets West, thought Eva. There were the hinges and the gluing and the cutting out for locks and handles. Sometimes there was delicate gilding work to be done. And then the final stages of staining, sanding and polishing. The final polishing of each piece was usually done outside and in daylight.
Much of the furniture was highly glossed. Which meant that it was coated with several layers of lacquer, each one left to dry, sanded down and polished until the piece positively shone. ‘This is what most of our clients prefer,’ Ramon told her. ‘We cater mainly for the Oriental market, of course.’ He leaned closer. ‘Although, as I explained, we are hoping for that to change.’
Eva was aware that he had already begun shipping elsewhere. She just hoped that the little business wouldn’t lose sight of its original values.
‘What are these?’ She picked up a small packet of coloured powder wrapped in cellophane from a whole stack lined up on a shelf. They looked like spices; turmeric or paprika.
‘Dye.’ He indicated the finished products: a set of dining chairs with long narrow spindles and curved backs in rich burgundy with gilded carving on their arms; a glass cabinet with ornate handles in the shape of swans in a teak so dark it was almost chocolate and a lamp-stand of light yellow wood, a delicate carving of a woman wearing a crown and a necklace of flowers carved on its base. Some were made of mixtures that had been subtly blended, and although the stained wood was not to Eva’s taste – she preferred the natural shade of teak that was also very much in evidence – she had to admire the craftsmanship.
The golden teak wood was her favourite, a natural shade that had been hand rubbed until it shone. But there were also contemporary finishes such as lime wash and teak oil. The range was considerable and the pieces that emerged were breath-taking in their quality, workmanship and lustre. And they were so solid. Eva ran her fingers over the shiny surface of a table that was smooth as a baby’s skin. But there the resemblance ended; these pieces were heavy. They were built to last.
‘And what’s the new development you mentioned?’ she asked him, thinking about what he’d said when they were on the way to Mandalay.
‘Ah.’ He led her over to a far corner of the factory. Here, a carpenter was working on a different looking wood. Old wood, she thought. ‘Recycling,’ he said proudly. ‘This is my new project. There will come a day when Myanmar must not destroy any more of its natural forest. And yet there are many neglected structures such as old cattle houses, derelict homes and bridges in our country that can provide old wood, good wood for the making of a different sort of furniture.’ He picked up some old, very wide planking. ‘We ensure that the wood is salvaged responsibly,’ he said. ‘And look at what we find. Its long seasoning time has given it good stability. It has weathered to show a richer heart within. Is it not beautiful, Eva? Look at the closeness and evenness of the grain. Does this piece not have a history?’
She nodded. Again their views were in unison. Why not use old wood to create new, rustic looking furniture with a unique character of its own? It was practical, environmentally friendly and creative.
‘I am only beginning this idea for my company now,’ he said. ‘But it is, I think, the way of the future.’
But what about their financial problems? And what about Li’s? It was impossible, surely, that Ramon could be involved with them. She thought of Klaus. If he could hear what she was hearing, if he could see Ramon’s factory, then he too would realise how completely off the mark his accusations were.
‘So what do you think?’ he asked her at the end of the tour.
‘It’s very impressive.’ She had seen the complete process involved in making a piece of hand-crafted furniture. It had been fascinating.
There was one room however, which Ramon didn’t show her.
‘What’s in there?’ she asked, pointing.
‘Ah.’ He seemed embarrassed. ‘It is another workroom. Sometimes I go in there to work on a special piece.’ He shrugged. ‘But there is nothing in there at the moment to interest you.’
His secretive tone made Eva want to go in. She frowned. He had been so open as he’d shown her round his factory and yet now he had closed up again, albeit briefly. Why?
They had tea in his office and when he found out she hadn’t had lunch, Ramon had a word with one of his female office workers who proceeded to conjure up Pe Thee Thoke, a salad with herbs and long beans, which proved delicious.
‘Did you enjoy your coffee with your friend?’ Ramon asked her, as he sipped his tea.
‘Mmm.’ Eva was non-committal. ‘But he’s not a friend, not really. I only met him in Yangon.’
‘And you did not know him before?’ Ramon seemed surprised, almost disapproving. His expression darkened.
She knew what he was thinking. But, ‘It’s different for Europeans,’ she said. ‘You’re drawn together in a strange country.’
‘So you are drawn to him, yes?’ His brow knitted. ‘In this strange country?’
Eva didn’t like the turn the subject had taken. ‘It’s not like that.’ She tried to explain, but in truth, she was beginning to feel some doubt herself. There had been that rather odd meeting at the Shwedagon. And now Klaus had tried to make her distrust Ramon. ‘It wouldn’t have happened like that at home,’ she admitted. ‘Or in Germany. But in Myanmar …’
‘Strangers in a strange land.’ He put down his tea-cup. ‘Foreigners stick together.’
Fortunately, his mobile rang and effectively closed the subject. It was Maya. Like Eva with her grandfather, Ramon had forged such a strong bond with her, she could tell, made more so, no doubt, by having lost his parents. She heard him mention her name and his face broke once again into a smile. He was, she thought, such a mixture of a man.
He moved the phone from his ear. ‘My grandmother has arrived in Mandalay,’ he said to Eva. ‘She asks if we will both join her at a local restaurant for dinner tonight?’
‘That would be lovely.’
‘She has something to tell you.’ Ramon’s eyes twinkled. ‘I think you will be surprised – and pleased.’
More story-telling, Eva wondered? She hoped so. She couldn’t get enough of hearing about the old Burmese days.
As Eva was just finishing her lunch, Ramon was called away and she sat alone in the little office for a few moments. One of his assistants came in to check something in the accounts book. He smiled and nodded to her.
‘Do you speak English?’ she asked him.
‘Yes, a little.’ He smiled again and bowed his head.
‘You are happy working here?’ she asked.
‘Oh, yes.’ He beamed. ‘Mister Ramon is a good man, isn’t it? A kind man. Yes.’
‘I’m sure he is.’ Eva smiled back.
‘My brother, he work here too,’ he went on.
‘Oh yes?’
‘He have operation for eyes, isn’t it?’ The man pointed to his own eyes.
‘Cataracts?’ she guessed.
He nodded. ‘They do operation at monastery in Sagaing, isn’t it?’
Eva remembered Ramon mentioning this on their day out. ‘That’s good,’ she said. ‘And he is better now?’
‘Yes.’ The man nodded furiously. ‘Mister Ramon, he take him, he help family.’
‘He took him to the monastery?’
‘Yes, yes. Very good. Very kind. He pay him while he off sick. He look after workers, isn’t it?’ He exited the room, still bowing and smiling.
Eva was thoughtful.
When Ramon returned, she got to her feet. ‘I should be getting back to the hotel,’ she told him. She had to meet Myint Maw at three and time was getting on.
‘I will take you.’
‘No, really. You’ve got so much to do here. I can easily—’
‘I insist.’ Ramon took her arm. ‘Afterwards, I will retu
rn here for a few hours,’ he said, ‘and then pick you up tonight at eight.’
They left the building by way of the small front office door to the right of the warehouse area.
‘I was talking just now to the brother of the man who had the cataracts,’ Eva said.
‘Oh, yes? Moe Zaw?’
Eva paused in the doorway. ‘He told me you had paid the man all the time he was off sick.’
He shrugged. ‘The family had need of the money. Any employer would do the same.’
She shook her head. ‘I don’t think so.’ She glanced out at the terrace where men were finishing and polishing the gleaming furniture. ‘Can the business afford to take on employees’ health care?’ she murmured.
He gave her a quick look. ‘I can put my hand in my own pocket, Eva,’ he said. ‘It is not too much to do.’
They stepped outside into the blistering heat. So he had paid for it himself. No wonder his workers were loyal to him and his company. ‘And the financial problems?’ she said. ‘The loss of orders?’
‘We will overcome it.’ Ramon flicked back the wing of dark hair. ‘Just as my father overcame his problems. Our materials are not cheap. We have lost a few orders. So be it. I have to believe that our way is the right way. That we will be winners in the end.’
‘I hope so.’
‘And before you go, I have one more thing to show you,’ said Ramon. ‘It is over in the warehouse on the other side of the compound. It will only take a minute.’
‘Very well.’ Eva followed him to a small truck and climbed in beside him.
‘We can do some more sightseeing tomorrow, if you like,’ he said as they drove across. ‘I could take an hour or two off.
You must see the Royal Palace. It may be a replica, but it will give you an idea of the original.’
‘I’d like that.’
As they got to the warehouse, a man came rushing out.
‘Ah, Wai Yan.’ Ramon introduced them. ‘This is my warehouse manager,’ he said to Eva. ‘This is a family friend, Eva Gatsby.’ They shook hands. ‘Do you have the key to the garage, please?’