Three Flames. Alan Lightman
prophecy of bad things to come? Ghosts sometimes mixed future and past. Ryna half opened her eyes and saw among the throngs of people Makara and her husband, kneeling on mats. At the other side of the pagoda, beneath the photograph of the venerable monk, she saw Lakhena, sitting alone and wearing a white lace blouse with a lavender sash draped over her shoulder. Lakhena was looking intently at Ryna and her family. When she noticed Ryna looking back, she dipped her head in a bow. Ryna hesitated and then gave a slight nod in return. Lakhena surely had her own suffering, she thought, like all women. “May your ancestors bless you for what you are doing to release them from their misery and for offering them food,” droned the monks.
A week after the dry season had begun, after the mud turned to dirt and the dirt turned to red dust that hovered like mist in the air, Ryna saw Touch Pheng limping up to her front gate. When she went down to meet him, he told her that he had come to say goodbye. He was leaving Praek Banan. It had been five months since she first saw him in the village.
“You are leaving before the rice harvest?” asked Ryna.
“I have to go,” said Touch Pheng. “An old man has worn out his welcome. Do not feel sorry for me. I am alive. I’m going this afternoon, to a nephew in Banteay Meanchey. My bags are packed.”
“That is a long trip on the bus.”
“No matter.”
The old man leaned against the gate, thin as a reed even in his traveling shirt. He would not live long, she thought to herself. “I would like my daughters to meet you before you go,” said Ryna.
Touch looked at her as if he didn’t understand what she had said.
“Two of my daughters are here. If you are all packed.”
“I am packed,” said Touch Pheng. “I do not have much.” He began coughing and could not stop for a full minute. “All right,” he said, taking large gulps of air. “I will meet your daughters.”
With some effort, Ryna helped Touch Pheng up the ladder into her house. As always, he smelled of tobacco. He looked around without comment. Nita was napping behind the curtain, and Sreypov, just home from school, sat cross-legged in the corner with a book. Ryna introduced her daughter, who greeted the visitor and went back to her studies. The radio was playing some songs of Pen Ron. Letting his stick drop to the floor, the old man sank into one of the two chairs.
“Do you like her singing?” said Ryna.
Touch Pheng nodded. He seemed a bit out of breath and closed his eyes. Ryna was again struck by how thin he was.
“If you don’t like Pen Ron, I can change the dial,” said Ryna.
“Don’t go to any trouble for me. Whatever you want is fine.” Touch Pheng rubbed at the mole over his eye and shifted in his chair. “To be honest, Pen Ron is a little crazy for me.”
“Rock and roll,” said Ryna. “What about Sinn Sisamouth? There’s a channel that plays Sinn Sisamouth all the time.”
“I know,” said Touch Pheng, opening his eyes. “I like Sinn Sisamouth. ‘Violon Sneha’ is my favorite song.” Ryna turned the dial of the old radio until she found the Sinn Sisamouth channel. “Yes, that’s him,” said Touch Pheng. “It’s a song I don’t know, but no one can mistake his voice.” He closed his eyes again.
“My husband and I listen to him all the time,” said Ryna. She noticed that Touch Pheng sat so that he cocked his left ear toward the radio, as if he might be deaf in his other ear.
“No one sings like Sinn Sisamouth,” said Touch Pheng. “Listen to the words. He knew the pain of romance, didn’t he.”
“He’s my favorite singer,” said Ryna. She closed her eyes, and they both sat with their eyes closed, listening to Sinn Sisamouth on the radio. Some minutes passed, how many Ryna couldn’t tell. It was sweltering in the house, and she could feel the sweat dripping down the small of her back.
“Did you know that he went to medical school?” said Touch Pheng. “At one time, he was going to be a doctor. Think of that.”
They could hear Nita behind the curtain. She drew long breaths as she slept, and she turned over several times.
Ryna looked at Touch Pheng. He appeared to be dozing, his head drooped down to his chest. She stood up. “What?” he said, opening his eyes and looking around as if he did not remember where he was.
“Let me give you something to eat,” said Ryna.
“No need to feed me,” said Touch Pheng.
“You have a long journey,” said Ryna. She went down the ladder and came back with rice and pork. She watched as he ate.
“Neang will not eat?” he asked.
“I ate already.” She served him more rice.
“Thank you,” he said when he finished. “It was kind of you to allow me into your house. I doubt I will ever be back to Praek Banan.” He started to rise from his chair but then sat down again. “May I ask Neang a favor? May I stay a few more minutes more? It is old age. I need to rest a bit after eating.”
“Stay for a few minutes.”
While Touch Pheng was digesting his lunch, a thought came into Ryna’s head. “Why doesn’t Ta help me make diapers for my grandchild, coming in only a few weeks.”
“Diapers? I know nothing about making diapers.”
“It’s easy,” said Ryna, “I’ll show you.” She got her scissors, which she had been using the night before, and a piece of cloth and cut out a square fifty centimeters on a side. Then she took out her needle and thread and began stitching around the perimeter to keep the edges from unraveling.
Touch Pheng shook his head, as if incredulous that she would ask him to do such a thing.
“It’s easy,” said Ryna. “We are making diapers for my first grandchild, Nita’s child.”
“I could never do a thing like that,” said Touch Pheng.
“Of course Ta can. Let me just find another pair of scissors. I have plenty of cloth and thread.” Ryna began looking around the room. There were not many places to look. She went through the three drawers of the table. She looked on the floor next to the car battery, where they kept a box of odds and ends. She rummaged through her trunk. Underneath her clothes, her hands felt the heavy bat that Sayon had given her, and she paused for a moment. She gripped the bat. Then she let it go. At the bottom of the trunk she found the second pair of scissors. “Here,” she said, handing the old man the scissors. “Just do what I do.”
“My hands,” said Touch Pheng, “I have the pain in my fingers.” Ryna showed him how to hold the scissors. “I cannot do this,” said the old man.
“Yes, you can. Do what I do.”
Touch Pheng began cutting a square out of the cloth.
“You never thought you would be making diapers, did you?”
“I have never done anything like this before,” said Touch Pheng. “I have no ability at this.” But he kept cutting the fabric. He was sitting forward in his chair now, concentrating. Somewhere, in the distance, the radio was still playing Sinn Sisamouth.
“Do you need any help?” asked Ryna. She pulled her chair a little closer to his.
“No, I can see what you are doing.”
Even though Pchum Ben had been over for weeks, Ryna felt her father in the room. Here, now.
“Ta is doing a good job,” said Ryna, “making diapers for my grandchild. Is it hurting your hands?”
“No, it’s not hurting at all.” He continued cutting. “Look, I have finished one.” He held up the diaper, amazed.
They heard some rustling behind the sheet, and