The Golden Land (12 page)

Natalie was pleased with herself when she found a two-hour parking spot in Logan Road, not far from the Gabba cricket ground. She stopped outside an antique shop. She could see that it was a wonderland of delights and temptation, crammed with tasteful and trashy collectables. Not all the pieces were genuine, some were beautifully crafted replicas rather than collectors' gems but after the antiseptic plumbing shops Natalie loved the clutter. She dragged herself away and found the store she was after – Asian Antiques and Art.

In its window a long and lethal-looking Samurai sword rested on a stand against a stark white background. The stylish restraint made the sword look dramatic. Natalie went through the front door with its gilded lettering and into a beautiful room. A faint smell of incense, soft gamelan music, a hint of mustiness, and a huge and ornate Cambodian Buddha head greeted her. The fragile silk kimonos, brass gongs, intricate lacquered and gold-embossed screens and tall Chinese porcelain jars all sent a powerful message of prestige, knowledge and money to any prospective buyer. She realised when glancing at the discreetly displayed prices that the items in this shop were extremely expensive. These were obviously museum-quality pieces.

The proprietor turned to greet Natalie. She wore a business suit with a crisp white shirt, which, in casual Queensland, gave her an instant air of authority and gravitas. Natalie was reassured that here was someone who knew about Asian art and artefacts.

‘Adele Simpson? I spoke to you on the phone a few days ago. About looking at a piece I've inherited,' said Natalie.

‘Ah, yes, the kammavaca. Please come and take a seat.' She waved her hand towards two black carved lacquer chairs, inset with mother of pearl, which stood in a corner of the display room.

‘You have some beautiful pieces,' said Natalie. ‘Do they come from all over Asia?'

‘Mostly South Asia, though I do have a penchant for Japanese Imari ceramics. Now, let me see what you have.'

‘I've been told that palm-leaf manuscripts are pretty common, but this one is a bit different,' said Natalie as she took out the little teak box.

‘Hmm, possibly,' murmured Adele.

She was silent as Natalie carefully spread the kammavaca on the round table between them. She studied it slowly and carefully, handling it almost reverently.

Eventually she said, ‘This is quality work. And you're right, the cloth does make it unusual. Obviously the cloth was once a monk's robe. So the monks who did this work paid great attention to detail as they were working on sacred cloth.'

‘Can you read it? What does it say?' asked Natalie, pleased she seemed to know so much.

‘That's beyond my capabilities unfortunately. But I can tell you something about what I assume it says. Traditionally a kammavaca is a collection of extracts in the Pali language from the Vinaya Pitaka, the name given to the monastic code of discipline. As you probably know, they are still very common throughout South Asia, but only in Burma are kammavacas produced as such highly ornate and decorative manuscripts.' She paused and bent closer. ‘The artwork is so delicate and detailed. See, some of it is decorative but if you look closely you can see paintings that are quite figurative. This one looks like a monastery. There's a river.'

‘Really? I hadn't noticed.' Natalie leaned down and saw the quite distinct outline of a building. It looked ornate. ‘What are these curly bits? Is that a spire?'

‘I'd say fretwork. If the building was gilded, the artist would have added the gold leaf as he has on this Buddha image. No, I'd say that the fretwork and the lack of gilt indicates a wooden monastery. Probably teak.'

‘How beautiful. Look at the trees bending over the river. Do you think it's a real place?'

‘It might be, or it may be just an imagined building,' said Adele cautiously. ‘It would seem logical that if a monk was the artist, he would have depicted his own monastery. Do you know anything about the history of this piece?'

Natalie took a photocopy of Andrew Hancock's letter from her handbag. ‘This is a letter my great-great-uncle wrote to his sister, my great-grandmother.'

Adele read the letter and solemnly handed it back to Natalie.

‘How very interesting.' She turned the kammavaca over, gently refolded it and put it back into its box, finally saying, ‘If this was made specifically as a gift for King Thibaw, it gives it some value and interest over and above an ordinary kammavaca, even one as beautifully decorated as this. But I wouldn't like to speculate on its value without further research.'

‘Yes. I see. I'm not planning on selling it,' said Natalie. ‘But my husband was interested in a valuation for insurance purposes.'

‘Yes.' Adele gave a small smile. ‘I'm curious as to why this piece was never returned to the princess, as your relative seemed intent on doing?'

‘I found the answer to that. It's quite sad. He was killed before he could return it and it was among his possessions, which were forwarded to his sister, my great-grandmother.'

‘A fascinating story. I do know of a dealer in London who might be able to help you more than I can. I will put you in contact with him if you like. He's an expert on all things Burmese and he would be interested in your kammavaca, especially as I think it is of museum quality. He could give you a reliable valuation.'

‘Great, I will email photographs of the kammavaca and get his opinion,' said Natalie. ‘Now I've started, I want to go on.'

‘I'm sure you'll find him helpful. I know he has connections in Burma and he would be intrigued by the colourful provenance of your piece. I'm sorry I can't be of any more help myself.'

‘Oh, you've been very helpful. Would you give me the details of the dealer, so that I can contact him?'

‘Of course. His name is Peter Michaelson. I'll write out his email address for you.'

Mark linked his arm through Natalie's as they walked out of the doctor's rooms.

‘How do you feel after seeing your ultrasound?'

‘Strange to think that the funny little peanut we could see in the ultrasound is going to be a person one day. Seeing it makes it feel very real,' she said. ‘I wish the kids could understand. I suppose Charlotte will soon enough, but I think Adam's a bit young.'

‘I hate being away from you and the kids, especially now. I wish there was another way,' said Mark.

‘I know. These conversations go round in circles. All we ever seem to do is talk about the kids and money. Do you know what the other workers at the mine are doing with their money?' asked Natalie.

‘Not really, we don't talk about stuff like that. It's not like you and your friends at Jodie's preschool telling each other everything,' Mark said with a smile. ‘I don't think they're doing anything very original with the money. They seem to be buying homes, paying off mortgages, planning holidays, moving to flash places on the Gold Coast and one bloke is talking about buying a place in Bali.'

Natalie sighed. She patted her curved belly. ‘What Mum said the other day really made me start thinking. I worry about what we're doing to the environment. Do you really think that ripping the heart out of the land for minerals, iron, coal whatever, is a totally good thing?'

‘Hey, it's paying our mortgage,' began Mark, and then stopped. ‘But you're right. Perhaps we should question things. I'm like everyone else, thinking of my family, my hip pocket first. But, think of what's happening in other countries. I mean, what kind of a life would our children have if we were living in Afghanistan or Burma? I know that our country isn't perfect and there are always ways to do things better but, overall, we're pretty lucky to be living here.'

‘I know. Wouldn't it be awful to live in a place like North Korea? And Thi told me some terrible things about living in Burma, but what do we really know about it? In Uncle Andrew's letters, he talked about its people and the beautiful countryside, but life there now seems hard. We do live on a bit of an island, here in Australia, isolated from those sorts of troubles, don't we?' said Natalie thoughtfully.

‘And a bloody good thing, too,' said Mark cheerfully. ‘Come on, let's have a coffee before we pick the kids up.'

As they walked down the sunny street to a café, Natalie was still trying to identify the disquiet she felt. She put her tendency to be reflective, protective and concerned about the future down to being pregnant. Bringing new life into the world made her consider what sort of place this child would inherit. And, strangely, Mark's mention of life in Burma also had her thinking. She was so wrapped up in her day-to-day existence, worrying about what colour to paint a chair but, even though they had the expenses of the renovations hanging over their heads, she knew her children would never go hungry. What was it like for the mothers of Burma? She'd never thought about such things. And, she was sure, neither had any of their friends. They made sympathetic noises over coffee at the preschool when tragic world events broke through their daily bubble: tsunamis, cyclones, bushfires, floods. They helped with fundraisers and made donations but generally money flowed more readily if the cause was for something closer to home – a new soccer field, equipment for the school or the hospital, books for the library, things that were tangible and part of their lives.

The ongoing impact of events in far-off countries quickly faded from their consciousness. And the actual knowledge of conditions, glimpsed through news bulletins, newspapers or the occasional documentary, shocking as they might be, were sometimes difficult to comprehend. Famines, wars, political upheaval, climate-change disasters, mistreated and threatened animals – they were all part of a depressing parade that elicited momentary sympathy, or even a donation, before Natalie and her friends moved back to focusing on immediate personal issues.

‘I know nothing about other countries, really,' she told Mark over their coffee. ‘And I haven't really cared enough to find out.'

She continued to mull over new and complex thoughts during the next few days. After Mark had returned to the mine, she rang Thi.

‘It is lovely to hear from you again, Natalie. When are you coming back to see us?' said Thi.

‘Soon, I hope. Charlotte is pestering me for another pony ride and if you have any more figs I'd love to buy some,' said Natalie.

‘Oh, just come out to the house then. You don't have to wait till market day; the kids can help you pick them off the tree. There are still plenty.'

‘That's very kind of you.'

‘Did you find out anything about your kammavaca?' asked Thi.

‘A bit. I went to see a dealer in Brisbane and she's put me in touch with an expert in London.'

‘I'll be interested to hear what he tells you. Are you thinking of selling it now?'

‘No. I'm just curious. The more I can't find out, the more interested I become!' Natalie said with a laugh.

‘Interested just in the history of your little kammavaca, or curious about the place it came from?' asked Thi.

Natalie paused. ‘Funny you should say that. It crossed my mind how little I know about Burma. I never dreamed such a place would ever cross my radar. But now I feel I have a personal connection and I'm meeting people who are also connected with Burma. What do you think that means?'

‘I could give you a very Buddhist answer!' Thi said laughing. ‘Or simply say, life is a series of coincidences. It makes sense that you've rung me today.'

‘Why is that?' asked Natalie.

‘I'm arranging a get-together of a group, the Friends of Burma. Why don't you come, too?'

‘Sounds interesting. What goes on?'

‘Lots of things. We have a program of plans to raise awareness in the Australian community about Burma's plight. Most Aussies have no idea what's going on over there because Burma is so closed to the outside world. Apart from occasional small items in the newspaper, hardly anyone in Australia really understands what's happening there and how oppressed everyone is. Our group also tries to help the Burmese people. Now that you know what it's about, come along. Maybe you can help us.'

‘What could I do?'

‘You decide. Talk to our people, listen to their stories.' Thi's voice was enthusiastic. ‘Read some of the material we have about Burma. You're already one or two steps ahead of most Australians. You have a relative who lived there! How many of your friends would even know what a Burmese kammavaca is? Then, once you know more, you can tell them about the plight of the Burmese.'

Natalie laughed. ‘You're right. I can do that.'

‘You must come! You'll meet some lovely people. We meet on the coast, not so far for you to drive. Just come along and meet everyone, hear some of their stories. You can't really understand Burma until you know what has happened to its people,' said Thi.

The meeting was held in a room at the rear of a large house that served as a skin clinic. There was a flat above the clinic, while this back room opened onto a garden and was for private hire. From the notices adorning the walls, it seemed to be generally used for classes for origami and bridge as well as for small community meetings and social groups. A dozen chairs had been drawn up around a table, and other chairs lined a wall. There was a kitchenette to one side. Natalie came in with Charlotte and Adam shyly clutching her hands. Their eyes lit up when they spotted a woman carrying a plate of small cakes.

Thi bustled forward, embraced Natalie and greeted the children. ‘Hello, little ones. It's nice to see you again. Would you like a cold drink and a little cake, or a sandwich? A cheese stick?'

Thi gave the children a sandwich each, and introduced Natalie to the other people there. Natalie struggled to remember the unfamiliar names.

She was surprised that the Friends of Burma was such a small group. From the way Thi had spoken, she had expected there to be more people. Tea and coffee were served straightaway and the meeting was very informal and friendly. There were a couple of older Burmese men who were very charming. The children took to them immediately, especially when they commandeered a plate of food and shared it with Charlotte and Adam. There were no other children, except for a baby being held by a young Burmese woman who explained that her other children were at school.