nearest object to hand on which to demonstrate his skill. That day the clothes pegs had been right beside him.
The moveable stairs reflected Kati’s height. Now, at the age of nine, she needed only the first step to reach the line. But Kati liked to climb up so that she was higher than the clothes line. She would move her arms like a music conductor, like Mickey Mouse in Fantasia . The clothes danced to the song of the wind, and the moves were always new. Sometimes the sun was low in the sky before she finished taking in the clothes.
In the all-purpose room known as ‘Grandma’s office’, the washtubs waited in a line. Kati had to sort the clothes and place them in the correct tub: Grandma’s clothes, Grandpa’s clothes, Kati’s clothes, each in their own tub. The pillowslips and sheets, tea-towels and table napkins, the cleaning rags or ‘yucky cloths’, as Grandpa called them, were separated out, not only as a hygiene measure (an over-the-top hygiene measure, according to Grandpa) but also for the convenience of Sadap when she came to do the ironing for Grandma.
Grandma would come in and arrange the tubs in order of priority. Kati’s school uniforms took pride of place, as these had to be washed, ironed and worn again within the week.
The sound of the rain hissing and splashing on the roof was greatly improved by the plink-plonk drumming on the tubs which had been left outside. Kati lay and listened with pleasure. But she would begin to get jumpy if the rattle of the rain was drowned out by thunder rumbling from the skies. The sound of lightning strikes seemed always to be echoed by a cry of heart-stopping despair. Kati was never certain if this was just the thunder ringing in her ears or a cry coming from somewhere in the darkest recesses of her memory. Grandma would open the bedroom door and come to lie down, holding Kati in her arms until they both fell asleep. Kati lay curled up in Grandma’s embrace. She didn’t want to hear the sky, the rain, the cry, the sound of that woman.
Grandma’s cool smooth skin was faintly scented. Grandma never sang her a lullaby or told her a story to calm her agitated spirit, but she stroked Kati’s back softly, regularly, rhythmically, sending her to sleep. Once Kati half-opened her eyes to look up at Grandma and saw her eyes shining. A distant flash of lightning gave just enough light for Kati to see that, in the darkness, Grandma was crying.
The Paddle-boat
No one ever spoke of mother.
Grandpa bought a little flat-bottomed boat to paddle in the flooded fields when the rainy season came. He said it was a nice way to escape Grandma’s bustle. Kati and Grandpa would go off, just the two of them. They set off in the late morning, Grandpa paddling in a leisurely fashion, passing down the waterway, looking at the fruit trees growing along the banks: mangos and rose apples mingled with casuarinas that liked to grow by the waterside. Grandpa didn’t stop and rest but called greetings to all the people he saw. Uncle Sohn was hauling up his net from the pier in front of his house, and it looked like he had a good catch of tapean fish. Grandpa said that on the way
1 2
home he’d stop and get some for Grandma to marinate in anchovy sauce for Kati’s dinner.
The little boat drew away from the deep shade of the waterway and moved towards the open field that seemed to stretch as far and wide as the eye could see. The water in their wake was ruffled by a gentle breeze, and away in the distance the paddy fields glinted bright green. Grandpa let the boat drift in the centre of the field and began to pick lily stems. You had to look carefully to make sure that you had the pun lilies not the peuan lilies with their dry bitter taste. The pun lilies had bright yellow flowers and round leaves with no veins. Their crisp fresh stems were delicious dipped in the pungent chili sauce which Grandma had wrapped in lily leaves along with newly harvested rice for their lunch. Kati had fun
The moveable stairs reflected Kati’s height. Now, at the age of nine, she needed only the first step to reach the line. But Kati liked to climb up so that she was higher than the clothes line. She would move her arms like a music conductor, like Mickey Mouse in Fantasia . The clothes danced to the song of the wind, and the moves were always new. Sometimes the sun was low in the sky before she finished taking in the clothes.
In the all-purpose room known as ‘Grandma’s office’, the washtubs waited in a line. Kati had to sort the clothes and place them in the correct tub: Grandma’s clothes, Grandpa’s clothes, Kati’s clothes, each in their own tub. The pillowslips and sheets, tea-towels and table napkins, the cleaning rags or ‘yucky cloths’, as Grandpa called them, were separated out, not only as a hygiene measure (an over-the-top hygiene measure, according to Grandpa) but also for the convenience of Sadap when she came to do the ironing for Grandma.
Grandma would come in and arrange the tubs in order of priority. Kati’s school uniforms took pride of place, as these had to be washed, ironed and worn again within the week.
The sound of the rain hissing and splashing on the roof was greatly improved by the plink-plonk drumming on the tubs which had been left outside. Kati lay and listened with pleasure. But she would begin to get jumpy if the rattle of the rain was drowned out by thunder rumbling from the skies. The sound of lightning strikes seemed always to be echoed by a cry of heart-stopping despair. Kati was never certain if this was just the thunder ringing in her ears or a cry coming from somewhere in the darkest recesses of her memory. Grandma would open the bedroom door and come to lie down, holding Kati in her arms until they both fell asleep. Kati lay curled up in Grandma’s embrace. She didn’t want to hear the sky, the rain, the cry, the sound of that woman.
Grandma’s cool smooth skin was faintly scented. Grandma never sang her a lullaby or told her a story to calm her agitated spirit, but she stroked Kati’s back softly, regularly, rhythmically, sending her to sleep. Once Kati half-opened her eyes to look up at Grandma and saw her eyes shining. A distant flash of lightning gave just enough light for Kati to see that, in the darkness, Grandma was crying.
The Paddle-boat
No one ever spoke of mother.
Grandpa bought a little flat-bottomed boat to paddle in the flooded fields when the rainy season came. He said it was a nice way to escape Grandma’s bustle. Kati and Grandpa would go off, just the two of them. They set off in the late morning, Grandpa paddling in a leisurely fashion, passing down the waterway, looking at the fruit trees growing along the banks: mangos and rose apples mingled with casuarinas that liked to grow by the waterside. Grandpa didn’t stop and rest but called greetings to all the people he saw. Uncle Sohn was hauling up his net from the pier in front of his house, and it looked like he had a good catch of tapean fish. Grandpa said that on the way
1 2
home he’d stop and get some for Grandma to marinate in anchovy sauce for Kati’s dinner.
The little boat drew away from the deep shade of the waterway and moved towards the open field that seemed to stretch as far and wide as the eye could see. The water in their wake was ruffled by a gentle breeze, and away in the distance the paddy fields glinted bright green. Grandpa let the boat drift in the centre of the field and began to pick lily stems. You had to look carefully to make sure that you had the pun lilies not the peuan lilies with their dry bitter taste. The pun lilies had bright yellow flowers and round leaves with no veins. Their crisp fresh stems were delicious dipped in the pungent chili sauce which Grandma had wrapped in lily leaves along with newly harvested rice for their lunch. Kati had fun
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