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 Nita appeared, her belly as large as a goat. “What are you doing, Mae?”
“Touch Pheng is making diapers for your child,” said Ryna, “for my grandchild.”
“That is wonderful,” said Nita, smiling.
“I made a diaper,” said Touch Pheng.
“Yes, you did,” said Ryna, and she looked out the window just in time to see a white-breasted plover flying straight for the river.
Limheang. Channsophea. Savada. These are the names she’s considering for her daughter, still only a small bump in her belly. In another month, it will be time to announce the news. Neighbors will ride their bicycles and motos up the gravel road to the house to congratulate her and perhaps bring some cloth diapers. They’ll use the visit as an excuse to inspect the rooms and the beds, to surreptitiously gawk at the refrigerator, and to see if the rumored silk curtains from Phnom Penh are really made out of silk. It’s a village of farmers who can’t read and dingy shop owners. It’s a gossipy village. It’s a village where people make sly jokes and innuendos about who is in debt and who is cheating on their spouse and who might be sneaking over the Thai border to buy and sell cocaine. Despite that small trade, the village is dirt poor, like her own village, more than three hundred kilometers away. This is her husband’s family home. In her two years here, she’s never been welcome. The villagers treat her politely, in deference to her rich husband.
Her face is round, with high cheeks, a strong chin, and eyebrows too inky and thick for a girl. Her teeth are good, and she has a silver star implanted on one of them, a beauty touch requested by her husband. Most of her hair has been cut short by her husband’s aunt. Too short. The remaining long strands she’s wrapped around her face in an imitation of the film stars she admires. Although she’s only eighteen, her skin is already worn, with creases beginning to form on her forehead. But on the whole she is an attractive young woman, not what anyone would call beautiful, but pleasant-looking. Her figure is slender, like her mother’s. And she has light in her eyes, an intelligence that some find appealing, and others just the opposite. At the moment, she’s taking a rest and sits in the kitchen holding an ice chunk against her face to fight off the sweltering heat. She can hear her auntie retching in the next room. She misses her mother and brother and sisters. She even misses her father, who forced her to come to this place. In her mind, she composes a letter to her mother: Dear Mae, I’m finally pregnant. I can hardly believe it. I’d given up. Nearly three months now. Next week, I’ll take the bus to Battambang City to look for baby clothes. I’ve learned to sew and am making something myself. A little girl is what I want. I’ve been a good wife, Mae. I have. I’ve kept the three flames.
She has told her mother the truth, but not all of the truth. For a moment, a slight breeze wafts through the open window, a tiny relief. She touches her tummy and thinks of the future—not her future, but the future of the little one inside her.
It was just before planting season when Pich decided that his daughter should drop out of school. They’d finished dinner, and Ryna was putting away the uneaten rice for breakfast the next morning. Nita was looking out the window; somebody’s cow had gotten loose and was wandering between the houses, and the rice fields beyond the village were turning purple in the dusk. Suddenly, Pich stood up from where he’d been sitting on the floor, with no shirt on, and said, “Kon, I want you in the fields with me tomorrow.”
“Nita has school tomorrow, and Father knows it,” said Ryna.
“Other girls help their fathers in the fields,” said Pich. “Sreynich, Dina, Veasna. Look at them.”
“Our Nita is different,” said Ryna. “She’s very clever. All her teachers say so.”
“Enough school,” said Pich. “Thida is gone. Sreypov is too little. Kamal and I need help.” He began waving his arms like he did when he was angry. Pich always looked bigger when he waved his arms. “Daughter Nita has no need of school,” he said. “In a year, she’s being married.” Ryna let her face go slack, as she always did when she had to be a good wife
