Vile Regime

Mid-morning rain two days in a row, fierce little storms that lasted about forty minutes a time. Teeth-brushing care was taken with the faucet: these urban agglomerations all over the globe continued to cause scarcity. Precious water even in the tropics. The ancestral village in the hills of Montenegro was originally chosen for settlement because of its springs—named after them in fact: Uble—spring-water. And away then and racing in the same vein for the duration. We had scampered along Northbridge yesterday on the way to Peninsular Plaza for the chapbook printing, the first coloured cover trial. Two short crossings had us all pretty well drenched and laughing at the sights we made. Up at P.P. we needed to wait as the Myanmar Cyber had not opened. Two and a half hours in all, up and down to the specialist printer on the second level, checking pagination, numbering, text breaks &etc. &etc. At some point hammering at the PC the woman unexpectedly delivered a sheaf of print-out. No idea about that. But auntie, I didna print!….Ah. What?... This immediately roused the old uncle in the corner. Short tubby chap in his mid-seventies: shoes, trousers, shirt and singlet against the aircon. Handsome old devil. Possibly auntie's husband rather than father or uncle, woulda been a looker last time. She was tall. Seat the uncle at a polished table before a bouquet of flowers he might deliver an interim report on the government's latest measure to combat.... Real good front-man. On the TV the stumpiness would not be apparent and the fellow would take care with any photographs or other media that would expose the shortcoming. There have always been strong reminders delivered by uncle's particular visage, the older gen. of exiles from childhood at the kitchen tables in Spotty mulling over the past, their predicament in the new country, church-building and allied social projects. Here at P.P. the uncle was putting on the strongman's severity demanding payment. What in the blazes did you think? How do you imagine the print came out? Did you think we pressed the button? Bucket-loads of gravel as if he had turned up the highway, stern direct gaze, jowls trembling if not shaking. For the first half hour after the print it seemed quite impossible one could be charged with the action. Certainly there had been no intention. The pages delivered had been all scrambled in any case, text over the top of photographs, misalignments, a proper hodgepodge for which the uncle thought he ought to be compensated. Two or three rounds of verbal wrestling, wrestling and wrangling, before uncle abruptly ended all discussion. Now there would be no more about it. Enough, done and dusted. Uncle was not interested in any monies in any shape or form. Perfectly decided he was not going to accept any kind of payment however you turned it. The man had been pushed too far. A meeting half way, call it five dollars, was rejected. No thanks, you could keep it. No, no, no. Impossible to budge. Heels dug. Aduh!.,. Not all top of the range ire and slowly coming down a peg.... What the old Burmese wanted was due acknowledgement, owning up responsibly and no evasion. Uncle's English decent, little grappling involved. His father had been a teacher in one of the schools the colonial rulers had founded to raise the natives from their condition and provide a bureaucracy. Fair kind of operation there at P.P. handling a number of maid agency operators who relied on both the computer skills and also the familiarity with the Myanmar embassy protocol. (Burmese maids made up a small, but not negligible proportion of the domestic workers; then add the male labour gangs.) Turning a fair dollar uncle, repatriating home no doubt; hardship a plenty remained there in the nascent democracy. An unexpected rhetorical flourish from uncle toward the end of the imbroglio had rather surprised. We had negotiated safe ground pretty well, harbour in sight; auntie who usually collected the money audibly giggling at a number of points; Burmese compatriot looking on from the side smiling through his spectacles. A fair kinda theatre slowly unfolded; much respect accorded and delicate care with an elder of course and always. As we were fetching up to simmering, heat down, down, the old uncle fired a shot from behind a hedge in order to give you something to go on with. How do you think it was for us so many years under military rule then?... Fairly gobsmacked no shame admitting. A long second and one half T-I-C-K-I-N-G over.... Well, golly gee! Ah…Never any intention to deny that uncle. Most definitely not. Dear me yes. I mean NO…. They all loved their saviour of course, whose photograph graced every shop on every floor of P.P. (A remarkable expat colony of so many storeys.) You did not want to diminish the cruel hardship of authoritarian military rule. Fierce no doubt; brutal and capricious in Confucian/Buddhist Asia. There might not have been any careful, artful management up in those parts—gun barrels, sabres, jackboots. Cold storage-porridge. How precisely it was relevant right then and there in our predicament over the inadvertent printing of course was not immediately clear. Nevertheless and however that be. Well, we were soon done. All good and well. OK, no money. All would be well. A regular, polite customer after all over a number of years now. What were 7-8 double-sided prints in the larger scheme of things? Certainly the uncle had not resiled from his position; justice very much on his side. There had been no explicit acknowledgement offered: a partial possibility floated that went some way to satisfying the old uncle. Maybe, just maybe the left hand unaware what the right… Uncle’s jowls stilled, vestige of a smile. There were not too many white guys at that shop or P.P. generally who had ever managed a single word of Burmese. TEH - ZOO - DJE - BADE, paced properly and liberally sprinkled set the plaza alight wherever one dropped it over a counter. Utterly charmed, a delight. Warming the most flinty of heart. Many thanks and see you again then. Fairly took the breath away in the first instant. Going away and thinking later in the room and over dinner, in the morning again once more, one could begin to accept this was not such a long bow either of the uncle’s. No. Hardly. Quite understandable. Matters were on the improve to be sure, though other kinds of sharks were circling the homeland now.