Return to Mandalay by Rosanna Ley

bamboo and she talked of her family. Of her father who had commercial interests as a broker in the rice business, of her aunt, her mother’s sister, who lived near Myitkyina and of her grandmother, Suu Kyi, who had been a servant-girl to Queen Supayalat back in 1885 when the King and Queen had been ousted from their thrones in the Palace and taken into exile.
    ‘Where were they taken?’ he asked her, trying not to be distracted by the rich purple of the high-necked blouse she wore, elegantly draped over her
longyi
. It wasn’t so much theblouse, it was the metallic sheen of the purple against her burnished skin.
    ‘Madras in India,’ she said. ‘It was considered to be a place of safety.’
    ‘So far away?’ Lawrence was surprised. He knew little of Burmese history, he realised. He had come to this land knowing it was different, but all the differences he had experienced to date concerned the countryside, the people and the culture. Scottie had told him stories, but they were always told by the voice of imperialism rather than the voice of the people. He realised that now. ‘Were the King and Queen in so much danger then, to need a place of safety?’ He was confused.
    ‘The safety the British were thinking of was their own,’ Moe Mya pointed out dryly. ‘More tea?’
    ‘Please.’ He pushed his cup closer and she lifted the tall and decorative teapot once again. ‘What were the British so worried about?’ Though he could guess. And he realised that at this moment there was nothing he wanted more than to separate himself from those whom he called the British. He had always been a patriot, but it had been unthinking. Now, he was beginning to wonder.
    ‘An uprising,’ she said. ‘Even peaceful people like the Burmese have such moments.’
    He frowned. ‘But the King and Queen were not harmed?’
    She shook her head. ‘No, they were not,’ she said. ‘There was a British Protectorate, to ensure that they were well looked after.’ She passed him back his cup, now filled with the hot green liquid.
    ‘And to ensure that they stayed put and didn’t try to get back to Burma,’ he added. It wasn’t hard to work this out. How much support had the royal couple had among the Burmese people? It might have been possible for them to regain power. But the British clearly weren’t going to take that chance.
    ‘Precisely.’
    Out of sight, out of mind
. And now Lawrence felt more than shame, he felt guilt, for being British, for being part of imperialism, for the rout which must have affected so many, including Moe Mya’s family.
    ‘And what happened to your mother?’ he asked her gently, for so far she had only talked of the aunt in Myitkyina and of her father and the close bond between them.
    She bowed her head, but not before he had seen the tears fill her dark eyes. ‘She died when I was a child.’
    Moved, Lawrence reached for her hand, which was still resting on the handle of the teapot. It seemed so small next to his own and he marvelled at the tiny fingernails. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said.
    She acknowledged this. She looked at his hand too although she did not attempt to take hers away. ‘My father is a good man,’ she said. ‘If you like, you can meet him.’
    ‘Of course.’ Lawrence spoke automatically, though he was a bit surprised. After all she and he had only just met themselves. But he must see it as an honour and naturally he could not object. Damn it, he didn’t want to object. He wanted toknow all there was to know about her. ‘I’d be delighted,’ he added.
    She smiled then and extracted her hand from his. ‘It will not be easy,’ she warned. She lifted her cup to her lips and he followed suit, watching her over the rim.
    ‘Because he’s very protective of you?’ Lawrence would be protective of her too if he had the chance.
    ‘Because you are British.’
    Ah. Another reminder of the unpleasant fact that not all the Burmese were friendly and hospitable to their imperial masters.