A Well-tempered Heart (37 page)

I had already made that mistake.

I did some math: my share of the proceeds on the sale of my parents’ house, if used sparingly, could last for many years—in Burma probably for the rest of my life. What else could I do in New York? Were there any alternatives to the life I was leading? It was a question that I had never before taken seriously.

I turned to my brother. He was breathing quietly, eyes
closed. I had come here to solve the riddle of a voice inside myself, a voice that was silent now. In its place I heard another, very familiar voice. It was my own voice, constantly whispering contradictory advice.

Pack your things!

Stay!

Trust your intuition.

What business do you have here?

What business do you have in New York?

It’s not going to work out.

Don’t be afraid.

Listen to me!

No, don’t listen to her. Listen to me!

My thoughts ran in circles; I felt paralyzed. Maybe U Ba was right. Maybe I had to try one thing to discover that I really wanted something else.

And hope that it wasn’t too late.

MY BROTHER INSISTED
on coming with me to the airport. A friend of his managed to get a car and take us to Heho.

U Ba held my hand the entire time. We didn’t say much. A look now and then was enough. How I would miss this amiable silence in New York. This wordless understanding.

Suddenly we were forced to stop. An army truck turned, blocking the narrow road. On the truck bed sat young, armed soldiers staring at us fiercely out of empty faces. Two shiny black boots approached our car. I could see in the rearview mirror how U Ba’s friend’s eyes opened wider and wider. I did not know that one could smell fear. It stank. It exuded the repulsive stench of fresh vomit. Even my brother was shifting somewhat uncomfortably in his seat.

His friend slowly rolled down the window. Red-stained teeth approached us through the window, curious eyes leering at us.

I thought of Ko Bo Bo. Of Maw Maw. And the longer I thought of her, the calmer I became. There is a force that resists black boots. That is not afraid of red teeth. There is a power stronger than fear. That opposes evil. I was convinced that Thar Thar was right: there was a bit of it in all of us.

The officer and the driver exchanged a few words, laughing a laugh I could not read. Then the street was clear again. The soldier waved us on.

We drove over the top of a hill, and suddenly there was the airport spread out in front of us. My heart was so heavy that I squeezed my brother’s hand tightly.

I didn’t want this.

The car turned onto a long boulevard—lined with oaks, pines, eucalyptus, and acacias—at whose end the terminal and little tower stood. We drove along slowly. Every fiber of my being was bridling. I felt sick, and I felt myself shivering on this warm day as if it were bitter cold.

We parked in a dusty lot. A tour bus was there ahead of us with a handful of tourists climbing out. None of us said a word.

U Ba got out first, fetched my backpack out of the car, and carried it across the street to an iron-barred gate, where a police officer brought him to a halt with stern words. I stood by passively, as if I had nothing to do with it.

“I can go no farther,” said my brother.

“Why not?”

His look made clear that it was a stupid question.

We stood there facing each other. I didn’t know what to say. He took both my hands and looked long into my eyes.

“See you soon,” he said.

“See you soon,” I answered. “Thank you so much for …”

He put a finger to his lips and I fell silent. He kissed his finger, then put it to my lips, where it rested for one fleeting moment. Then he turned on his heel and left.

Wait. Don’t go. Stay with me, I wanted to call out after him. I felt as abandoned as the little Julia at the window.

I took my backpack and looked around one last time. My brother stood alone on the sandy plaza holding the knot of his longyi in one hand and waving with the other.

His smile. Would I ever see him again? Would I keep my promise to return soon this time around?

I walked slowly up the ramp and entered the building hesitantly.

I didn’t want this.

The customs clearance was a small room with three counters that looked as if a carpenter had just now slapped them together as a stopgap measure. They weighed my baggage on an old rusty scale. They filled out my boarding card by hand.

The security officer waved me through a metal detector whose shrill peeping was of no more interest to anyone than my half-full water bottle.

RESTLESSLY I PACED
around the sparsely furnished waiting area, unable to sit even for a moment.

The plane was already waiting on the tarmac. A few minutes later our flight was called. My heart was pounding.

I didn’t want this.

No departure had ever been so difficult. There was at this moment nothing drawing me back to New York. Not the comfort of my apartment, nor a hot shower in the morning, nor a heated floor in the bathroom. Not even the prospect of talking it all over with Amy. There was nothing to analyze, nothing to assess. The pros-and-cons game no longer held any interest for me. Each word would have been one too many. I had only to decide. U Ba was right: the truth was within me. How free was I? How long were the shadows? What was holding me captive?

I TURNED AROUND
and looked for my brother. Behind a fence stood a handful of curious onlookers, a few children playing among them. No sign of U Ba.

There was a baggage truck parked beside the plane, loaded with bags, backpacks, and suitcases. Two airline employees were loading them piece by piece into the front of the aircraft. I spotted my backpack at the very bottom.

I didn’t want this.

I stood frozen on the tarmac. A flight attendant called to me. With heavy steps, I was the last passenger to climb the short foldout stairway. She met me with a smile.

I didn’t want this.

She asked me for my boarding card. I looked at her without a word. She repeated her request.

“I’m staying here,” I said.

Her smile was unaltered. As if I had said nothing.

“I’m not getting on the plane. I’m staying here,” I reiterated.

Her eyes betrayed her uncertainty.

I smiled back, turned around, and slowly descended the steps, weak at the knees. I went to the baggage truck and pointed to my backpack. One of the baggage loaders looked first at me, then at the flight attendant, confused. She shouted something to him. He pulled out my luggage and handed it to me.

I walked back to the terminal, perfectly calm.

In front of the building a taxi waited in the shadow of an acacia. Beside it the car we had come in. U Ba was leaning on the trunk, waiting. In his hand was a wreath of fresh jasmine. He didn’t move when he saw me. Only his quiet smile betrayed his joy.

I had no plan. But a dream.

From the author

My thanks to all the friends in Burma who have accompanied me on my travels over the past twenty years, patiently explaining their wonderful country and taking pains to answer all my questions. They have also been extremely helpful with the sometimes difficult research for this book.

Dr. Werner Havers, Dr. Christian Jährig, and Dr. Joachim Sendker assisted me greatly with the medical research.

Thanks to my sister, Dorothea, and to my mother for teaching me so much about big hearts.

I am particularly indebted, as always, to my wife, Anna. This book would not have been possible without her critical advice, her patience, her unflagging encouragement, and her love.

From the translator

My thanks to Krishna Winston, who first connected me with Jan-Philipp, and also to Sarah, Patrick, and Geneva for all their support, encouragement, and confidence.