father grew sullen and bitter after Mother died, but he always paid proper respect to the spirit of our ancestors. He never spoke in anger against him. We made offerings to our family spirit at the marriage, even though my father didn’t come to Pegu. Why then this harm?
When I set out for Pegu, I bowed my head, pressed my hands together against my forehead, and lay pickled tea, cooked rice, plan-tains, and palm sugar on the shrine at the village gate. I told the village spirit I meant no disrespect in leaving. I told him I would return with husband and children to add to those who honor him.
Before entering the path through the forest, I and my two traveling companions from the village made offerings to the spirits that reside there. We laid out betel leaves and rice and asked for protection from the tigers and wild boars roaming unseen in the thick trees. I kept silent as we passed through the spirit’s domain.
The cart jangled my insides, and when I could no longer stand it, I made sure to relieve myself in the tall grass far from any tree. The driver kept his tongue and didn’t curse, even when the ox decided to rest despite the sting of his whip. Why then this harm?
Other children laughed and hissed names at the witch who lived at the edge of the village when she passed by, but I never did.
I wasn’t any better than them, just more scared. Her gray eyes frightened me. The stories the aunties told of her turning into a bat or a snake that slithered across her victim’s mat in the darkness kept me far from her shadow. She had no reason to cause me this harm.
What sin did I commit in a past life to be so punished?
I waited in this city without complaint for four half-moons until the stars said it was an auspicious time to wed. Yesterday Chien and I pressed our palms together. Yesterday Chien and I fed each other rice from the same bowl. Today I am a widow alone in a stranger’s house. Today I am homeless in the world.
----
9 February 1599
Dear Joseph,
My household has grown since last I wrote. A young girl named Mya sleeps under the eaves in the back of the house. It is a sad tale.
She was the bride who came from upriver to marry the son of a local merchant. She is not much different from the others whom I have served. Perhaps a bit shorter and darker skinned than the women of Pegu, and more reserved, though it is hard to tell. These women and I share little more than touch, and who would not be shy in this circumstance? She barely said a word and was already lying in bed when I came into the room. Her body waited, her hands lay quiet by her sides, and she did not call out in pain or pleasure. Yet something happened that night that was different—perhaps I should be ashamed to reveal it: she was the first bride I entered more than once. I awoke in the night, and she was lying on her side staring at me—maybe her eyes had willed me awake. She touched two fingers to her lips, and then pressed them gently to mine. Such a simple gesture. No bride had ever done that before. I think I saw her smile in the dim light. She reached out and pulled me onto her, though I must admit, I did not resist. She said not one word during or after; and when I was spent, I fell asleep in her arms. She had already gotten up when the dawn light woke me. I heard water splashing and Khaing talking.
At the ritual hour, Mya waited, dressed and perfumed, on the verandah. No one came. After half an hour, I sent Khaing out to keep her company until her husband arrived. Midmorning and still no one had come. She sat in a corner of the verandah cradling the bloodstained bridal sheet in her arms, fingering her prayer beads, murmuring her prayers softly.
I sent Khaing to find Win. It wasn’t until noon that he returned with the sad news that her husband of one day had died the night before. Cousins and friends forced him to drink cup after cup of palm wine. They tied the cup to the wine gourd, and he couldn’t drink slowly or escape
When I set out for Pegu, I bowed my head, pressed my hands together against my forehead, and lay pickled tea, cooked rice, plan-tains, and palm sugar on the shrine at the village gate. I told the village spirit I meant no disrespect in leaving. I told him I would return with husband and children to add to those who honor him.
Before entering the path through the forest, I and my two traveling companions from the village made offerings to the spirits that reside there. We laid out betel leaves and rice and asked for protection from the tigers and wild boars roaming unseen in the thick trees. I kept silent as we passed through the spirit’s domain.
The cart jangled my insides, and when I could no longer stand it, I made sure to relieve myself in the tall grass far from any tree. The driver kept his tongue and didn’t curse, even when the ox decided to rest despite the sting of his whip. Why then this harm?
Other children laughed and hissed names at the witch who lived at the edge of the village when she passed by, but I never did.
I wasn’t any better than them, just more scared. Her gray eyes frightened me. The stories the aunties told of her turning into a bat or a snake that slithered across her victim’s mat in the darkness kept me far from her shadow. She had no reason to cause me this harm.
What sin did I commit in a past life to be so punished?
I waited in this city without complaint for four half-moons until the stars said it was an auspicious time to wed. Yesterday Chien and I pressed our palms together. Yesterday Chien and I fed each other rice from the same bowl. Today I am a widow alone in a stranger’s house. Today I am homeless in the world.
----
9 February 1599
Dear Joseph,
My household has grown since last I wrote. A young girl named Mya sleeps under the eaves in the back of the house. It is a sad tale.
She was the bride who came from upriver to marry the son of a local merchant. She is not much different from the others whom I have served. Perhaps a bit shorter and darker skinned than the women of Pegu, and more reserved, though it is hard to tell. These women and I share little more than touch, and who would not be shy in this circumstance? She barely said a word and was already lying in bed when I came into the room. Her body waited, her hands lay quiet by her sides, and she did not call out in pain or pleasure. Yet something happened that night that was different—perhaps I should be ashamed to reveal it: she was the first bride I entered more than once. I awoke in the night, and she was lying on her side staring at me—maybe her eyes had willed me awake. She touched two fingers to her lips, and then pressed them gently to mine. Such a simple gesture. No bride had ever done that before. I think I saw her smile in the dim light. She reached out and pulled me onto her, though I must admit, I did not resist. She said not one word during or after; and when I was spent, I fell asleep in her arms. She had already gotten up when the dawn light woke me. I heard water splashing and Khaing talking.
At the ritual hour, Mya waited, dressed and perfumed, on the verandah. No one came. After half an hour, I sent Khaing out to keep her company until her husband arrived. Midmorning and still no one had come. She sat in a corner of the verandah cradling the bloodstained bridal sheet in her arms, fingering her prayer beads, murmuring her prayers softly.
I sent Khaing to find Win. It wasn’t until noon that he returned with the sad news that her husband of one day had died the night before. Cousins and friends forced him to drink cup after cup of palm wine. They tied the cup to the wine gourd, and he couldn’t drink slowly or escape
Similar Books
