Sunken Fish - Chapter 42
"No."
Madame Massey waved her hand, signaling her to move the pink roll aside. She patted the blue roll and smiled at her with satisfaction.
The seller patted the roll of cloth and then pointed to a man walking by wearing a loincloth.
Heidi interjected, "She meant that this color and pattern is for men."
Upon hearing this, Mr. Marseille immediately raised his hands, "No."
Madame Massey didn't look up and said, "I know this is for men, but I don't mind. I like it."
So the seller skillfully measured the size for the loincloth for the man, asked Madame Massey in Lanna, then gestured with two fingers as if cutting, then placed her thumb on the cloth while moving the fingers of her other hand up and down. "Yes," Madame Massey said, gesturing in the same way: cut it, sew it up.
Saving Drowning Fish (2)
The roll of cloth was tossed back to the young seller, who disappeared behind her stall for a moment, returning with the cut fabric. The older seller called to a young passerby, who, at her instruction, cheerfully demonstrated how a man should dress.
He stepped into the fabric, pinched a little bit of cloth in each hand, pulled the excess to one side, tied the two ends in a knot, and the excess bulged out like a tongue.
“Wow, it’s like magic,” said Mrs. Massey, gesturing for him to do it again, but slower. He repeated the movements, pausing slightly at each step.
Heidi clasped her hands together and thanked him with a smile. But when Madame Massey wanted to try, the seller stopped her with a smile.
"I know, I know, no problem."
The seller shook her head and took out another piece of fabric, a bright yellow with an intricate pattern. She pulled the excess aside, demonstrating the difference between a woman's and a man's dressing process, then folded the fabric up with her hands and rolled it around the waist of her skirt.
“Well,” said Mrs. Marseille, “I don’t like having the knot in the middle; it looks unsafe.”
Heidi smiled at the seller. "Thank you. We understand now. Men's and women's are very different."
She then said to her sister, "You can try again after you leave here."
The seller was delighted; she had prevented a respectable guest from being embarrassed in public. Madame Massey, Heidi, and Vera continued to gaze at the fabrics as if they were panning for gold. There were so many colors and patterns, each more beautiful than the last. But after a while, it felt too much, like eating too much ice cream. Their senses dulled; all these different rolls of fabric, initially extraordinary like exotic butterflies, became quite ordinary after a while.
In the end, Madame Massey only bought the blue checkered fabric, thinking she should find something cheaper and better elsewhere.
At this moment, Wendy and Wyman went to find the mysterious woman, and they arrived at another corner of the market.
A group of boys walked by, their heads freshly shaved, dressed as monks, with a deep orange-red cloth wrapped around their thin, tanned bodies.
They walked barefoot, like beggars. One of them timidly clenched his hands into the shape of a begging bowl. The monks could beg for food, but only in the morning. They would arrive at the market before dawn with bowls and baskets, and the shopkeepers and customers would fill them with rice, vegetables, pickled foods, peanuts, and noodles, thanking the monks for giving them the opportunity to do good, saying that good deeds would be rewarded in the next life.
They brought the food back to the temple, where the monks ate their breakfast and had their only meal of the day.
But children are children, and like everyone else, they are curious, wondering what foreigners would give them if they begged. A week earlier, they had turned nine, playing chinlon with sepak takraw, swimming in the river, and looking after younger children. But the day still came; their parents sent them to the local temple to complete their volunteer service, which could last from two weeks to several years.
They shave their heads in a family ceremony, tying a white ribbon around their hair as a pledge to follow the rules of Theravada Buddhism. They remove their own clothes and don the simple robes of monks; this is their coming-of-age ceremony. Once, a Lanna family invited me to witness this ceremony, and I found it very moving, much like how I felt when I watched BRIS.