to be finished with me and my luggage so he could collect his dime tip and get back to the lobby and his place in line with the other boys awaiting the next big spender. He was around fifteen years old and smartly dressed, wearing a cap with no bill—similar to a fez without a tassel—a tight-fitting, maroon waist-jacket with three yellow stripes on each sleeve. He also wore a brightly colored longyi, the traditional wraparound skirt-like garment worn by both men and women in Burma.
I took my cap from the counter and turned to follow Po-Sin. A few steps away, I glanced back to see Kayin watching me. A brief frown crossed her lips before she revived her commercial smile for the next guest.
“Welcome to Hotel Nadi Myanmar,” she said to a stiff young Englishman who flourished his furled umbrella before him as if it were some sort of benign weapon used to clear his path of any undesirables. The man wore spotless white ducks and a matching pith helmet, with a long albatross feather sprouting from the band.
I looked down at my dirty old sailor’s cap, then back at Kayin. Her words and smile for the Englishman were the same as she gave me only moments before.
* * * * *
It was an accident, my bumping into Kayin at the hotel’s front door—she coming out as I returned to the hotel after a walk down to the river. This was the day after I first met her at the front desk. Earlier, when I left my room and went out, I’d looked toward the desk, hoping she’d be unoccupied and I could ask some aimless question about where to find the nearest Buddhist temple or how far was it to the river. But she was busy with the hotel manager, an Englishman, and I thought it better not to interrupt.
“My sorry, Mr. Busetilear,” Kayin said to me on the street outside the front door of the hotel after we collided. “I am so awkward.” She knelt to pick up her packages.
“No, no.” I knelt down and deliberately bumped my head against hers. “It was my fault.”
She laughed and rubbed the side of her head as I rubbed my forehead. “Perhaps better next time,” she said, “that we should steer clear of each other so not to bring more harm.”
Her laugh was beautiful, and exactly the response I’d intended.
“Do you happen to know,” I asked, “where is the nearest Buddhist temple?”
Her eyes widened. “You are Buddhist?”
“No.” I took her elbow to help her to her feet. I couldn’t lie to her. I’d already deceived her with the head-bump, but that was justified. “No, I’m not a Buddhist, but I would like to see the inside of a temple.” I was certain she was Buddhist, as most Burmese are.
“I have only right now one hour for lunch, and I must run the errand at bank for that Mr. Haverstock, our manager, then also to American Express office.”
“Oh.” I was crestfallen. This was unpretended. I really was disappointed that she’d be otherwise occupied. “I see.” I had a sudden inspiration. “May I walk with you to the bank? Then you can point me in the direction of a temple.”
If she’d made up the story of the errands for the hotel manager and she was actually going to meet her boyfriend, or husband, then she’d tell me to mind my own business and find a temple by myself. A woman as beautiful as she was must have a boyfriend, if not a husband.
“Of course,” she answered right away. “I would be happy for your company on walk to the bank. It is quite long way to go.”
We chatted easily along the way about Burma, Mandalay, the hotel, her job, her boss, and just as we neared the personal information I really wanted to know, she stopped me.
“Well,” she said, “here it is, the bank where I must leave hotel money.”
I looked up at the imposing Romanesque building rising four stories above. Chiseled into a marble slab over the doorway were the words “Reserve Bank of India.” At that time, Burma was still part of India, and the British used the same currency throughout the area.
“Already!” I was genuinely surprised we were there. “But you said it was a long way.”
“We have come more or less twelve blocks, probably.” She stood beside the bank door, smiling sweetly.
“Oh,” I said after a moment. “Where is that temple?”
“Just go down here this way two or more blocks, then on your left side, walk a bit until you see bright color yellow side of house. Stop and try to see small bridge right just ahead of your left-hand side, another few minutes you will be presented in front of Shwe Nadaw temple.”
I couldn’t be sure, but I had the distinct feeling she tried to disorient me with her rapid directions.
“Did you say on my left was the yellow store, or right?” I tried to make it even more confusing.
“Wait right here three minutes or little more, then we shall walk by that place together.”
With a bright smile, she went inside the bank. I watched her through the window as she handed over the hotel’s money to a teller, then went to a young lady sitting at a desk and leaned over to tell her something. The lady glanced in my direction, and I looked away to watch a policeman ride by on his bicycle.
After leaving the bank, we walked along Yadanar Street to the banks of the Nadi Canal, where I purchased ohno khauk swe from a street vendor for our lunch. The food consisted of rice noodles and chicken cooked in coconut milk. It was very spicy, as most Burmese food is, and delicious.
We were late in getting back to the hotel, but Kayin assured me it was all right. I told her if she got into any trouble with the manager, I would make it up to her with a nice dinner at a nearby restaurant.
“Well,” she said, “might be just a bit of trouble I get into.”
At 6 p.m. when she got off duty, she would go home to change, she said, then meet me in front of the restaurant at eight.
It was a long wait for me, and I realized during that interminable afternoon that I’d never been on a date with a girl. Raji and I had done many things together, but nothing one could actually call a date. I was twenty-one and uninitiated, as my father would say. I wondered if Kayin was initiated. Why had I never been out with a woman? Why had Raji and I never made love? What was it like to make love? And why was I thinking about it so much now, since I never had before? And much more of the same, for many hours.
Finally, the evening came, and I’d already been pacing in front of the restaurant for forty-five minutes, wondering if I were on the wrong street. But there she was, promptly at eight, coming along the sidewalk toward me, her heels clicking a quick cadence.
I was very nervous and self-conscious. Sitting at a candle-lit table with a beautiful woman was new for me. I didn’t know whether to ask questions or talk about myself. I’d spent a lot of time with another beautiful woman; Raji, but we had an easy, almost familial relationship. Nothing romantic. I had a feeling there wouldn’t be any romance between Kayin and me either. I was such a klutz that I was sure to bore her to sleep. If she yawns, I decided, we’ll get out of here and I’ll walk her home.
But Kayin was no boor. She talked easily about Burma, her job at the hotel, and she asked questions about America and the freedoms we enjoyed.
At
