Geoff Ryman - Air (or Have Not Have)

Mae judged the seriousness of the blow. Finally she said, 'That is the least of my worries.'

'She's a traitor,' said Sezen, pouting with scorn.

Mae thought she was going to defend An, but found she could not be bothered. 'Yes.'

'Hmm! She'd better stay clear of me or I will pull out all her hair. Musa and I can go this afternoon to buy your cloth. But we will need the money to do that.'

Her hard brown face, her demanding dark eyes.

Mae felt her deadened face strain towards a smile. 'There is no money, Sezen,' she said.

The girl blinked.

Mae kept explaining: 'The loan was to my husband. It's his money.'

'We will do something else, then,' Sezen said, her jaw thrusting out.

'We?' wondered Mae.

'That government man, he must be good for money,' said Sezen.

'You mean I should ask the government man for money!' Mae felt outdone in audacity.

Sezen shrugged. 'He keeps saying how advanced we are. Meaning you. So. Ask.' She sniffed and then said, 'I can't have you going soft, like my mother.'

'I won't do that' said Mae. It was a promise.

In the evening, Mr Oz called.

His eyes said: How could you do this to me? 'This is a serious setback to our programme,' he said. He tutted. Light caught his spectacles. 'I was relying on you to be our model.'

'If only I'd known,' replied Mae. 'I would not have fallen in love.'

'I have to write my report.' Mr Oz swayed, as if under a burden. 'I have nothing to say. Except to tell them it is all a mess, everywhere.'

'When hasn't it been?' said Mae, and thought: How could they send a boy like you out on his own?

Down below, on Kwan's landing, the men were gathered around the box. Mae could hear the barking announcer and a sighing crowd: the sound of fut-bol on TV.

'Can you continue your school?' Mr Oz demanded. 'Can you still teach others?'

Mae pondered just how much she needed this young man. She wanted to tell him off. 'My main worry now, Mr Oz, is my own life. I have lost a home and a husband.'

He understood that, and winced and rubbed the back of his neck.

'Mr Oz. Do you want to help?'

He looked up as eagerly as a puppy. 'That's what I'm here to do!'

'Then teach me how to make screens, so I can sell my goods.' Mae sat up on her bed. 'I want to specialize and spread my geography. I want to make things to sell abroad to specialist markets that will express the buyer's interest in Third World issues. I want to sell my goods to New York, Singapore, Tokyo…'

The government man was in love. His pulse had quickened, his eyes gleamed, this was what he yearned to report. 'Yes, yes, I can do that for you… I can set them up, I can show you how. I can show you how to tell people how to find your screens…'

Mae nodded. 'But I am now a poor woman on my own, with no money to invest. You are from the government. Do you have any way the government can help me?'

He paused to think. 'Not by myself. But… But I can help, yes, I can help. I can find forms, yes, I can help you fill them in. But you know, we will have to make a case to get the grant.'

'I have a case,' said Mae.

The Central Man, to his credit, was ready to move. 'Let's go now,' he said, beaming.

He really was fresh from the cradle. 'Mr Oz. I am a fallen woman. I cannot go out to those men, and chase them away from the machine!'

Down below, the crowd sounds roared towards a crescendo. 'No!' shouted one of the men. Their team was losing. They would be in a bad mood.

'That's okay, we can use mine,' said the government man, enthusiastic and oblivious. 'My van has a computer.'

They would have to walk out through the landing. The sound of the men, drunken below, rose up like the odour of a stew.

Mae climbed down the ladder from the loft, to the staircase and from there into the carpeted diwan that led to the landing. Her stomach was a knot of nerves. She felt as if a layer of skin had been stripped from her.

Just past the stone arch, the men were crowded onto the narrow landing. The barking voice finished and there was a swelling of jolly music. The game had just ended.

Allah! Please make them all decide to go home!

The men yawned. Chairs scraped on stone. Mr Oz started to walk. Mae grabbed his sleeve and he looked back at her in surprise. He finally understood that she was afraid.

'Okay, now a movie?' someone said. Chairs scraped again, and suddenly there was Bollywood music. Mae gave in and nodded yes to Mr Oz. She tried to be invisible. She tried to waft forward like a ghost onto the landing.

Men were crowded around the TV. Mae glimpsed among them Mr Ali, Mr Pin, and both Old and Young Mr Dohs. Joe was not there. Mae tried to slip around the backs of the chairs. The air seemed full of thick, half-cooked bread to delay her.

'Tuh,' chortled Mr Doh, in something like disgust. Mae did not look around.

'There's a funny smell,' said Mr Ali. ' Kwan should not keep pigs in her house.'

Mr Pin agreed. 'Ah. You should keep pigs in the basement. They like rolling in shit.'

The men chuckled. Mae was nearly at the head of the stairs. It would be easy to push her down them.

'The heat of their bodies warms the house,' said Mr Ali.

'It seems hot pigs fuck even government men.'

'Hot pigs must be killed,' said Old Mr Doh.

The very air seemed to shudder. Mae had to glance back then, in case the time had come to run.

Young Mr Doh had a hand on his father's arm. He looked at Mae in alarm and jerked his head towards the gate: Get out of here quick! Mae thought: You are Joe's best friend, and yet it is you who still treats me like a human being.

Mae scurried forward, her feet bouncing down the steps like a ball.

'Gentlemen,' said Mr Oz, Mr Sincere. 'Good evening. I am glad to see that you make such good use of the TV.'

Mr Oz stood with his legs planted apart and across the top of the stairs. Mae ran.

Mae waited in her old courtyard, trembling in the dark.

She had bolted her gate and crouched behind it. She had to hope that Joe did not come outside. Or Mr Ken.

There was a knock. 'It is me,' murmured Mr Oz.

'Ssh!' said Mae, and lifted the latch more gently than if it had been a blanket over a baby.

They tiptoed to the barn and closed the door.

Inside his van, Mr Oz said, 'I will drive you back home. If those dolts are still there, you can sleep here in the van.'

Mae slumped into the seat. She felt a weakness in her belly and had to hold her head for a moment as nausea passed over her.

She knew the signs. Yes, she was pregnant.

'Are you all right?' Mr Oz asked.

Mae was outraged. This… This youngster had only just noticed that she had been beaten, bruised, and cast out. 'No! I am not all right!' she said, angry.

Oz was used to kindness being returned, and was confused. He scowled.

'Oh, for heaven's sake, stop being such a child and help me if you are going to!'

He jerked somewhere just under his lungs, and leaned forward. He plugged in wires, and something whined to life. There was a tiny box with a flip-up screen, a kind of mini-TV.

'Go to "Info," ask for "Government," ' he said.

Mr Oz took Mae into new provinces of Info. There were rules, regulations, advice, offers of service, all from her own government. Up came a voiceform.

The voiceform kept asking impertinent questions. Are you over forty? How many children do you have? All over twenty years old? Any dependants? What is your annual income? 10,000 riels! 1,000 riels? It offered no figure that was low enough. Mae murmured: 500 riels.

'Is that true?' asked Mr Oz, quietly. 'If you say too much, you may be disqualified for some things.'

So she told the truth: One hundred riels a year. The Central Man looked sad, but his eyes did not catch hers.