The Jewel Trader Of Pegu by Jeffrey Hantover Page A

their taunting challenges. Sickly drunk, he choked on his own vomit. His parents are grief stricken—he was their only surviving son—and they don’t want to have anything to do with the bride who brought ill luck upon their family. Win says he will try to talk to them when they are calmer; but they are under no duty to take her in, and he doesn’t think they will. The bride’s father, her mother long dead, had not come downriver for the ceremony and likely won’t want his daughter back, as she is now a widow in his eyes, the responsibility of her husband’s family. Like me, fate has orphaned her.
    Mya looked shocked and lost, like a child pulled from a burning building. It grieved me to see her struggle with her feelings—her face crumpling, her powdered cheeks “watered by tears of pain.” She trembled but did not cry or keen, all the while holding the stained sheet tight to her chest. It wrenched my heart to imagine her heart moaning like a panpipe. Where could she go so far from home? Win could not take her into his house, already full with family and servants. Alone in the city, she will have to indenture herself to a government official to survive, and who can say how long it would take for her to buy back her freedom. How could I enslave her?
    Uncle took me in. I could do no less for this young girl who had slept in my bed and sat weeping under my roof. Win will talk again to the groom’s family, and in the meantime she can help Khaing, whose arms and legs are weaker than her good heart. I am sure Uncle, more easily than I, can find a Talmudic tale to guide me. For the moment, I look to Dante.
    Angels of that base sort
    Who, neither rebellious to God nor faithful to Him,
Chose neither side, but kept themselves apart.
    I am no angel of any sort, but I could not stand apart.
    Your cousin,
    Abraham

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    I had little time to know him. Chien seemed a good man. I’m afraid his memory will soon fade away, like morning mist on the paddy fields. He is gone less than two days, and I can barely remember the way he walked, the creatures and signs tattooed on his legs, or the sound of his voice. In the many weeks here, waiting for the auspicious day and hour to wed, we were rarely alone. In front of his father he was quiet—as a son should be. I am his widow, but I was never his bride. I never touched his cheek. Never felt his heart beating next to mine.
    Maybe my father was tired of feeding me, tired of being reminded of the wife he had lost. He said I would be safer here behind city walls. He won’t want me back. My husband’s family won’t give me what they promised—I can’t blame them. They think I am a witch, a bearer of death, a crow casting dark shadows over every path. What man will have me now? If Uncle Win hadn’t convinced the master of this house, I would be sleeping on the hard ground under a cart in the market. Last night I slept in my master’s bed, tonight I sleep in the corner on a mat next to Auntie Khaing. Last night he took my maidenhood. Tonight I take rice from his pot and am grateful for his generosity.
    Before I came to Pegu, I had seen only one stranger. A warrior, he came with the king’s men to the village the year my ears were pierced. He was tall as a ghost, and I had never seen a human so hairy—hair exploded from his head and face. I could barely see his mouth, hidden in his thick beard. He and the soldiers stopped for water and some food. If they had spent the night, I’m sure I wouldn’t have closed my eyes for a moment, afraid he would devour me like a hungry ghost. Now I am a woman, and these strangers are more odd than frightening. They waddle down the street.
    They drip with sweat, their hair damp and matted like soaked dogs in an afternoon shower. They show their jagged dog teeth and turn red as raw meat when they are angry. Sometimes I want to laugh. I am sad for them—they seem so far from the Buddha.
    The master of this house is a quiet man. He has pale skin, and