Her father, U Po Thein, was seated in the cane armchair, his legs crossed lotus fashion, with the betel box on his lap, chewing a wad of betel and talking to some farmers. On the wooden settle near the marble-topped table sat two farmers, U Tha Kyu and the Indian Gaw Naw, neighbors who grew rice in adjoining fields. U Tha Kyu suffered from leukoderma, and his face and arms were covered with white patches. He always wore his “town” clothes: a dark serge jacket and a pink gaung-baung.
When she saw U Tha Kyu, Way Way smilingly greeted him and asked across the room, “Did you bring any mohn-san9 with you?”
“Oh yes indeed,” he replied in his polite country way, “and the missus sent some special fishballs and ngapi10 as well.”
Way Way was glad to hear that he had brought mohn-san. It was a family custom, when once a year this special treat came from the farmers, to mix it with a lot of sugar and coconut and share it with the neighbors. Going to the green, felt-covered office table, she sat down and opened the account books. The Indian, Gaw Naw, came up to her and asked her to total his accounts, reminding her to subtract from his wages the amount he borrowed in seed money during the rains. Way Way took a leather-bound ledger, looked for Gaw Naw’s account, and started calculating.
“Judging from the prices this year, it doesn’t look like the market will be too good … Steele Brother’s and Arakan11 have really kept the prices low …,” U Po Thein, his mouth full of betel, called across to U Tha Kyu.
“The babu12 who owns the Chotari rice mill says that the wholesale price of paddy will be about a hundred and eighty,” said U Tha Kyu. “I am thinking of selling the paddy I have left over at the going price, after paying for the seed rice and keeping aside the portion we will consume this year. I want to shinpyu13 my son, Ngatauk, this February. What will be the yield of the field?”
“Pretty good, I think,” U Po Thein replied to the younger man. Of all his tenant farmers, U Tha Kyu had the longest connection with him and was held in the highest regard. He was a farmer who lived by the sweat of his brow. At the time of World War I he had once worked a hundred acres of land and produced up to ten tons of rice a year. Then he was able to grow all the rice he could consume, and had all the bullocks and buffaloes he needed to till the ground. Later he fell on bad times, incurring debts and being forced to sell his animals. Consequently he could now only work fifty acres of paddy land.
“Take off half of what Gaw Naw owes us as payment for constructing the threshing floor, daughter,” said U Po Thein.
Way Way had so much work that she sometimes had no time for meals. Being the daughter of a good rice broker, she had learned all the ways money was used to produce profit in the paddy business. She knew all about the different strains of rice and measurement by the basketful, by weight, and by yardstick. She kept separate books for paddy transplanting and harvesting, for income and expenditure. In addition, she kept account of the weight of the gold pieces given by tenant farmers as security against money they borrowed. She was knowledgeable and efficient in dealing with the various business transactions in which landowners had to engage.
U Kya Ngan, the Chinese rice broker, came into the house. U Po Thein stood up, left his cane armchair, and came to sit at the table. They started off talking about Bullock Brothers opening up the rice center and then went on to discuss the rise and fall of paddy prices.
Way Way was so engrossed in Gaw Naw’s and U Tha Kyu’s accounts that she did not notice another arrival at the door.
Starting up from his seat, U Po Thein welcomed the newcomer in a fluster. “Come on in, come on in,” he cried. “Did you get any sleep at all last night?” Only when Way Way heard him say this did she raise her head from the account books and look up. U Saw Han had come, with two companions behind him. Remaining at the door was a watchman dressed in a dhoti and a long white turban wound around his head, the end of the turban falling behind him over his shoulders and halfway down his thighs. Accompanying him inside the door was a young man with a light complexion and gold teeth.
U Saw Han, who had been walking along with both hands in the pockets of his khaki shorts, took them out as he entered the house and, removing his pith helmet, glanced in Way Way’s direction before replying to her father. Way Way caught his calm, steady smile and blushed furiously, feeling suddenly vulnerable and defenseless.
“I did get some sleep,” he proceeded to say to U Po Thein. “This,” presenting the young man with gold teeth, “is my secretary. We’ve already found a building near the bazaar for our office.”
Although U Po Thein had risen from his seat and pulled out a chair for him to sit on, U Saw Han continued standing with his pith helmet in his hands as he spoke. U Po Thein’s face smiled pleasantly and nodded at U Saw Han’s secretary.
Then U Po Thein said, “This is U Kya Ngan, a paddy broker,” introducing the Chinese broker, who had been leaning on the handle of his curved walking stick and staring at the newcomer.
He was so happy to be introduced that he stood up and said in Burmese (with a Chinese accent), “Pleased to meet you, sir.14 Please let us know if we can help you in any way.”
U Saw Han looked at the smiling, eager face of the Chinese man and said sedately, “Thank you very much.” Way Way saw Gaw Naw and U Than Kyu, the two tenant farmers, gaping at U Saw Han and began to criticize them in her mind, thinking them very uncouth. She was ashamed and embarrassed at what U Saw Han would think of their sitting room. Glancing at the table, she saw the white enamel tray holding a teapot with a broken spout and cups set out for the plain green tea traditionally offered to visitors to a Burmese household. Her heart turned over for fear he might notice.
U Po Thein was saying, “There’s no need to feel embarrassed about anything. The house we arranged for you isn’t very nice, and we feel badly about it. We’ll call a carpenter to mend the gate. If you need anything, please let me know.”
U Saw Han appeared rather forbidding, but he spoke politely. “Thank you. I apologize for bothering you with finding me a house. If there is anything you want to see me about, please feel free to come to my office. The hours are from 8:00 a.m. to 12:00 noon and 3:00 to 5:00 A.M.”
Way Way could hardly believe her ears, listening to him say this in abrupt and halting Burmese. She thought, Here we are living next door to each other, and the man says to come and see him in his office! What incredible formality!
U Po Thein had realized from the start, when U Saw Han refused to sit in the chair he was offered, that he was not reacting as a Burmese would in a situation set up for natural conviviality. He was deliberately keeping aloof, not wanting to mix.
“Well then, … I will take my leave now,” said U Saw Han. Way Way did not look up. She could not raise her head. Her heart fluttered madly until the sound of his footsteps died away. In her mind she could still see U Saw Han’s reserved face, in contrast to the circle of smiling friendly faces. He was quite good-looking, with a wide forehead, shapely nose, and an air of distinction about him.
“The man seems quiet and poised and very dignified in his ways, U Kya Ngan,” remarked U Po Thein, “but very English. Seems he went to work with the company after finishing his degree not too long ago.”
U Kya Ngan, pouring himself some tea, gave his opinion, “Not bad. Seems nice enough. Quite good-natured.”
Daw Thet entered from the back room. “What