Jane Vejjajiva Read online

  Kati slipped away. Behind the shelter, steps led down to the water, and Kati sat swinging her legs, letting her toes dip into the water. Tong was never able to sit idle and he had made a toy boat that floated on the water for Kati, a bit of coconut husk with leaves stuck in it as a mast and sails. They raced their boats, thrashing the water with their hands to make them go faster. If they went so far from the shelter that not even a long stick could reach them, then Tong would swim for them. He was a good swimmer who could stay underwater for long periods. But if you were comparing Tong to a fish, you’d have a hard time finding one whose white teeth were the first thing you saw as it came out of the water. When they were tired they sat and rested. Tong liked to ask Kati about stories she was reading or had just read. He said he couldn’t understand why when he read them himself they were nowhere near as exciting.

  It was a long time before the deputation left, and the sun was slowly setting when Kati walked back into the shelter. Grandpa was folding a letter and replacing it in an envelope. His face, when he looked up at Kati, seemed drained and weary, not unlike the old shelter which had seen sun and rain and so much of the world that every fibre of wood was steeped in the past and no longer had any hope for the future.

  Big Jars, Small Jars

  Kati wanted Mother to pick her up from school sometimes.

  Kati never tired of reading The House of Sixty Fathers. It was the story of a child orphaned in a war in China, and a fat pig whose owner had named it ‘Glory of the Republic’. The story ended with the pig and the boy meeting sixty American soldiers. Kati loved this story. Grandpa had read it aloud to her until his voice was hoarse while he was waiting for Kati to learn to read it herself. And it was because of this book that Kati liked to call her home on the water ‘The House of Sixteen Jars’.

  There were almost too many of these big water storage jars. Still, there was a reason behind each one of the sixteen, according to Grandma’s hygiene principles. The jars were strictly segregated according to their function: drinking water, washing water, cooking water. No mixing was allowed. Grandpa scratched his head wondering what the difference was. Whether the water went down your throat or washed your feet, it was all the same to him. But Grandma stood her ground. It was not the same. Cooking water went in the big dragon jar in the kitchen. Washing water went in the huge cement jar under the house (quite a spacious area as the house was the old-fashioned kind built on stilts). As for the jar that held the drinking water, that was the most special. It went under the rain pipe and the water in it was then boiled, decanted into bottles and drunk to quench your thirst. Grandpa said that for goodness sake there was such a thing as tap water, and why did Grandma have to create more housework for herself? Fortunately Grandma didn’t hear this remark.

  Kati’s favourite jar was a small ceramic one decorated with dragons. It looked precious, unlike the earthenware ones which were sold door-to-door from a loaded boat on the waterway. This jar was glazed inside and out. Inside it was a shade of blue-green Grandpa called ‘crow’s egg green’. On the outside was the dragon pattern. Most importantly it had a lid, and Grandma used it to store rice. When it was filled with rice, it was too heavy for one person to lift.

  By the stairs was a little water jar. This was for washing your feet, before you came upstairs from the yard or the area underneath the house. Along the path to the road there was a big open jar in which Grandpa grew water lilies, raised with his own hands. Yes, when you counted them all, there were at least sixteen jars. At the end of the rainy season they washed out the jars that held the drinking water before closing them up, ready to refill the following year. Kati liked to climb inside one of them and feel the cool earthenware against her skin. The biggest jar had plenty of room for Kati to make herself comfortable and it made a great hiding place known only to Kati. Grandpa never knew that Kati overheard him say to someone on the phone, ‘… so you want to wait till the end of the school term? Do you really think we have that much time?’

  Kati wanted to see Mother carrying the shopping home from market.

  ‘Good timing! I could do with an extra pair of hands right now,’ Grandma greeted Tong as he entered the kitchen.

  Earlier that morning, Grandma had made a big pot of pork curry to offer the monks for the meal they took before noon, their last meal for the day. She said it was her New Year offering, even though Grandpa reminded her that, in these parts, people made their big offering at the Songkran water festival in April. Grandma retorted that it wouldn’t hurt to make the offering now, just in case they happened to be somewhere else at that time, and anyway whose business was it when she felt moved to make an offering.

  Tong was dutifully returning one of Grandma’s cooking pots from the temple. Grandma pointed to the coconut scraper, known to the villagers as a ‘scraping rabbit’, in the corner of the kitchen next to a pile of split coconuts. Tong grasped the scraping rabbit and the basin of coconuts and briskly made his way to the yard area under the house. The shredded coconut would be squeezed and strained for its sweet white coconut milk – called ka-ti in Thai – which was an important ingredient in pumpkin dessert. Grandma’s voice followed him downstairs, calling to him to leave her a couple of coconuts. She would scrape them extra finely herself later to garnish her steamed rice cakes.

  Kati had often wondered why the coconut scraper was called a ‘rabbit’. Whichever way she looked at it, the scraper looked nothing like a rabbit with long ears. Finally she’d decided that the metal plate which did the actual scraping had teeth which stuck out like the buck teeth of a rabbit. Tong was an expert at this task. You could tell from the way he crouched with one knee on the body of the rabbit and the other touching the floor, smiling as he spun the coconut shells with a fluid movement. His white teeth and the teeth of the scraping rabbit gave them something in common.

  The evening meal passed quietly in contrast to the bustle of the afternoon. The breeze from the river was so cold it stung your skin as it, too, made a final salute to the passing of the old year. The huge moon beamed down on them, showing off its beauty, and Kati could see the rabbit in the moon quite clearly. The three people on the verandah gazed up at the moon as if spellbound. Grandpa said, quite casually, that wherever people were, they still looked up at the same moon.

  Kati knew that Grandpa meant one person in particular was looking up at the moon right now, just as they all were. The one person that Kati’s heart yearned for with every breath she took.

  The Pot-scourer

  Kati wondered if Mother ever thought of her.

  Grandpa called Grandma’s pot-scourer his ‘wishspurner’. Grandma spurned Grandpa’s wishes and refused to buy an electric rice cooker. ‘The world has progressed, you know,’ Grandpa’s voice sounded loudly from the kitchen door, and he stalked out shaking his head. He muttered to Kati that Grandma was worried that the villagers would not accept her as one of them, but she should know that all the villagers hereabouts plugged in an electric appliance to cook their rice.

  It was clear that Grandma hadn’t always been a housewife. Grandpa said it’d only taken her a couple of years to crack the role, and now there was no trace of the personal secretary to the executive director of a five-star hotel that she had once been.

  Grandpa felt constantly frustrated by Grandma’s making life difficult for herself. Sometimes Kati felt Grandma was scared of not having enough to do. She always had a project on the go in the kitchen, making sweet desserts to give to the monks when they came in the morning bearing their alms bowls. Grandpa said it wasn’t that Grandma was such a great cook, more that she invested in quality ingredients that did the trick.

  Kati always had wonderful snacks and sweets to fill up on after school. If she had to do homework or prepare for an exam, she didn’t have to lift a finger, Grandma would place the snacks right by her. Or else Grandma would store them in a row of big glass jars for her to choose from, just like in Uncle Chiang’s store at the bus stop. Kati wasn’t bothered by exams though she l
iked to get them out of the way as soon as possible. The holidays looked promising this year, with lots of fun activities. First would be stargazing. Grandpa had given her a telescope and a map of the constellations for New Year. She hadn’t even taken the telescope out of the box yet. Kati wanted to go on the special camp the school had organised, but she’d have to ask Grandpa’s permission when Grandma was in a good mood. If Grandma disagreed with Grandpa, there was a big chance that Kati would miss out on going to camp.

  Or then again maybe Kati would go birdwatching with Tong. Mostly they watched waterbirds or birds that lived on the edges of the fields. Tong carried his sketchbook everywhere, and when he saw a bird he’d sketch it and then compare it later with a reference book to find out what bird it was. Grandpa encouraged him in this, frequently getting him bird books from overseas. Everyone in the house counted Tong as a member of the household and Kati often suspected that, as well as helping out with the chores, Tong must have done some great favour for Grandma and Grandpa in the past.

  The rice was boiling in its pot on the stove. Kati looked for the pot-scourer to wipe up the rice water that had frothed over. She also needed to use it to tilt the pot over on one side so the remaining water would boil away, leaving the rice fluffy and dry. It couldn’t be that difficult, she had seen Grandma do it so often.

  Just then Grandma hurried into the kitchen. Her gaze swept the room as she complained that she couldn’t find the pot-scourer. Kati could only look at her in amazement. Couldn’t Grandma see that she was holding it in her own hand instead of complaining she couldn’t find it? When Kati told her where it was, Grandma seemed greatly put out, and sent Kati off to set the table.

  These days Grandma’s thoughts were often elsewhere.

  The Urn for Incense Sticks

  It was only Mother’s voice that Kati could remember well.

  The shrine room, with its tiers of gold-lacquered tables, was another place Grandma spent a lot of time each day. On the table rested the image of the Buddha.

  Kati picked jasmine blossoms and threaded them onto thin stalks of bamboo to place in the altar vases. When she’d had her bath and was nice and clean, Kati would take the vases in to Grandma. The shrine room always seemed cool and pleasant. Grandma said it was a blessing from the holy images whose merciful protection extended to everyone in the house. Grandpa muttered that actually it was because the shrine room was on the north side of the house and got all the wind and none of the sun.

  Before the shrine was a large urn for incense sticks. Grandma liked to light incense sticks in offering to the Buddha. Kati didn’t like the heady aroma of the incense and the smoke stung her eyes and throat. But she liked to see the flames of the candles, burning steadily under their glass shades. Kati would look into the flame for long periods while Grandma was saying her prayers. Line by line, verse by verse, her prayers seemed to go on forever. Grandpa said that if Grandma collected bonus points for all her prayers, there should be enough for a ‘frequent flyers’ ticket to heaven for him too. He’d laughed, enjoying his own joke, but Grandma had been cross with him for days afterwards.

  The incense urn was filled to the brim with

  fine white sand. Kati couldn’t imagine

  where Grandma had found such

  white sand; there was certainly

  none nearby as the sand round here

  was coarse and brown. Kati liked the

  sensation of pressing the incense

  sticks into the smooth surface

  of the sand. Once in a long

  while, the urn had to be taken

  outside and emptied, and the sand changed. Kati could lift the urn but couldn’t manage to carry it down the stairs. Grandma didn’t risk carrying it herself either; this was a task she found someone to help her with. Sometimes Tong helped. He would also help Grandma pour libations on the Buddha statue, wipe clean the platform that held the Buddha, and generally dust and polish every part of the shrine. Usually this spring cleaning was carried out just before the Songkran water festival.

  Wash, clean and get rid of all the grime that had accumulated over the year, to start afresh, with good fortune, said Grandma.

  If people’s hearts were like the white sand in the urn that could be emptied and refilled again, all clean and white, how good that would be.

  Kati started from her reverie when Grandma, having knelt and touched her forehead to the ground in homage to the Buddha, turned and looked at Kati. Kati would never forget that picture no matter how much time should pass, the picture of Grandma looking at her, and the sound of Grandma’s voice that accompanied the picture.

  ‘Kati, my dear, do you want to go see your mummy?’

  part two

  the home by the sea

  Peacock Flowers

  It had been many years since Kati had seen Mother.

  Red sprays of peacock flowers rushed by on either side and the car sped forward as if it were flying. Kati felt light and insubstantial like an empty box. For the past two days her heart had pounded with excitement. It was as though the events that followed Grandma’s question had happened to someone else, as though Kati could see herself moving and speaking from the outside. She saw Grandpa walk into the room. He pulled Kati to him and hugged her tightly. He spoke slowly when he told her that Mother was ill, very ill. She had been to many places for treatment but could not get better.

  Mother’s friend Aunt Da had come to pick up Kati and Grandpa and Grandma. Grandpa had let Kati decide for herself whether she wanted to see Mother or not. Grandpa shook his head when he said that, so far, everyone had made decisions for her, but this time it was up to Kati. They left early in the morning. In the car the air was very cool while outside the sunshine grew fiercer with every passing minute. Aunt Da drove with the practised ease of one who knew the route well. She slowed the car effortlessly to pause at the tollgates, then accelerated smoothly into the elevated expressway which swung round to the right and left like a roller-coaster in a fun park. The expressway ran between clustered skyscrapers and advertising billboards replaced the views of the countryside. It had seemed only a few seconds later that the car descended to the freeway which led away from the city. Kati’s attention wandered and she fell asleep, waking to see the red flames of the peacock flowers.

  The car headed south. On the left were the sea and the beach; to the right a range of mountains could be seen in the distance. Grandpa and Grandma were talking in soft voices in the back seat. Aunt Da spoke on her mobile phone from time to time, and Kati could tell that there was only a short distance to go before she would see her mother.

  Grandpa called peacock flowers ‘flame of the forest’. Kati had only recently learnt their real name. The Thai species had flowers of many colours – yellow, pink and red, not just the orangey-red she saw now. Kati liked the way the peacock flower trees were planted in an orderly row along the road. Grandpa said there used to be a lot more of them before they built the airport and cut them all down. When Aunt Da noticed Kati craning her neck to see the trees, she pulled over at a wayside shelter. Grandpa was happy to have the chance to stretch his legs and Grandma brought along her basket of snacks. The trees seemed different to the ones Kati had left at home. There was an unfamiliar tang in the air too, and Kati guessed it must be the salty smell of the sea.

  The mobile telephone rang again. Although the ringtone was soft, they all started. Aunt Da said gently into the phone that they would be there very soon. It was the first time Kati had ever seen Grandpa holding Grandma’s hand. Grandma was gripping her basket so tightly with her other hand that her knuckles were white. The tips of Aunt Da’s fingers were icy-cold where they touched Kati’s warm palm. Kati bent and picked up some of the little sprays of peacock flowers from where they lay on the ground nearby. They still had their pretty red-orange petals. She took them to give to Mother.

  The car stopped in front of a small house that looked clean and white with its contrasting window frames of bright blue. No one needed to t
ell Kati what to do; she opened the car door and let her heart lead the way.

  Mother kissed Kati over and over again. Her long soft hair smelled sweet and refreshing. Mother’s voice, though hoarser than in Kati’s memory, was no less loving.

  ‘Hug Mummy tight, Kati, my darling child.’

  It made no difference that it was Kati hugging Mother, not Mother hugging Kati. Their tears of happiness flowed and mingled together. Kati’s arms folded around her mother just as she had dreamt. Her embrace spoke the words of love she could not utter: that she loved Mother with all her heart, that she understood why they had to be apart, that she had missed her so. Kati did not know how long it was before she let go of her mother.

  The peacock flowers were in a glass vase by the side of the bed already.

  Wind Crabs

  No one knew how much time Mother had left.

  Kati had always thought that a beach would be made up of smooth, fine, soft sand stretching off into the distance. Only when she saw it for herself did she realise there was more to a beach than that. From the verandah of the house you could see the little pools of water the sea had forgotten and left behind the night before. A horse had left a long trail of hoof prints on the sand, right at the water’s edge. The person leading the horse had left footprints too. Grandpa said it was a good thing that the horse hadn’t left them a souvenir of a more substantial kind. He said nowadays people tending horses were armed with plastic bags so they could pick up the smelly dung and put it in the bins the council had provided at intervals along the beach.