1

Awiyao reached for the upper horizontal log which served as the edge of the head – high threshold. Clinging to the log, he lifted himself with one bound that carried him across to the narrow door. He slid back the cover, stepped inside, then pushed the cover back in place. After some moments during which he seemed to wait, he talked to the listening darkness.

“I’m sorry this had to be done. I am really sorry. But neither of us can help it.”

The sound of the gangsas beat through the walls of the dark house, like muffled roars of falling waters. The woman who had moved with a start when the sliding door opened had been hearing the gangsas for she did not know how long. The sudden rush of the rich sounds when the door was opened was like a gush of fire in her. She gave no sign that she heard Awiyao, but continued to sit unmoving in the darkness.

But Awiyao knew that she had heard him and his heart pitied her. He crawled on all fours to the middle of the room; he knew exactly where the stove was. With his fingers he stirred the covered smouldering embers, and blew into them. When the coals began to glow, Awiyao put pieces of pine wood on them, then full round logs as big as his arms. The room brightened.

“Why don’t you go out,” he said, “and join the dancing women?” He felt a pang inside him, because what he said was really not the right thing to say and because the woman did not talk or stir.

“You should join the dancers,” he said “as if – as if nothing has happened.” He looked at the woman huddled in a corner of the room, leaning against the wall. The stove fire played with strange moving shadows and lights upon her face. She was partly sullen, but her sullenness was not because of anger or hate

Go out – go out and dance. If you really don’t hate me for this separation, go out and dance. One of the men will see you dance well; he will like your dancing, he will marry you. Who knows but that, with him, you will be luckier than you were with me.”

“I don’t want any man,” she said sharply. “I don’t want any other man.”

He felt relieved that at least she talked: “You know very well that I don’t want any other woman, either. You know that, don’t you? Lumnay, you know it, don’t you?”

She did not answer him.

You know it, Lumnay, don’t you?” he repeated.

“Yes, I know,”

“It’s not my fault,” he said, feeling relieved. “You cannot blame me; I have been a good husband to you.”

‘Neither can you blame me,” she said. She seemed about to cry.

“You, you have been very good to me. You have been a good wife. I have nothing to say against you.” He set some of the burning wood in the place. “It’s only that a man must have a child. Seven harvests is just too long to wait. Yes, we have waited long. We should have another chance, before it is too late for both of us.”

This time the woman stirred, stretched her right leg out and bent her left leg in. She wound the blanket more snugly around herself.

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