hand, as she scolded me, as she led me back through the city and into the hot, musty air of the sleeper. She told me to go back to bed, so I did -- climbing the ladder to my fourth-level cot. Around me, a hundred throats breathed in the darkness: mothers and fathers, children, third and fourth and tenth-grandparents. When the wind blew, the bamboo struts creaked and the lattice-walls swayed.
"Pehlu," I whispered as I lay there, listening. I hooked my thumbs around one another and fluttered my fingers like a bird.
Nineteenth-grandfather ate a
kailun
the very next day. All of his family gathered in the city square to watch the ritual. I couldn't count how many of us there were -- I stood near the front with my mother, aunts and uncles, and cousins. Around us, the buildings loomed like giant, crooked fingers. The mountains beyond the city were cut into farming terraces.
My mother leaned over to whisper in my ear. "Nineteenth-grandfather is my father's father," she said. "What will that make you, when your children have children?"
It took me a moment to puzzle out the words. "Twenty-second-grandmother."
She patted my shoulder in silent praise.
Beside me, my cousins poked and jostled one another. "Only a good mother gives her children a name," one boy said to the other. He squared his shoulders, imaginary bow held in his hands. I knew the words he spoke -- all children did. "What do I see before me but a herd of wild animals, all of them brought up by bad mothers?"
The other, younger boy pranced from side to side, imitating a
kailun
in the form of a deer. "Ooh, me, me! I have a name! I have a good mother!"
And the first boy nocked a pretend arrow before letting it fly.
The dramatic "death" of my youngest cousin was enough to throw off the balance of several people behind us. One of my uncles seized both boys by their ears. "That's enough. Quiet, both of you."
They settled down just as first-grandmother emerged from her house with a
kailun
flask. I only ever saw first-grandmother during the rituals. Though her hair was white, her face was unlined, her hands thin and smooth. She wore a long, blue robe that swept the ground behind her. No expression marred her face.
Through the gaps in her fingers, I could see the bright glow of the
kailun
. The light flickered as the spirit moved. She brought the flask to the chair where nineteenth-grandfather sat. He hunched in his seat, his gnarled fingers curling around the armrests like tree roots.
After she uncorked the flask and tipped it over his mouth, her hands came away. A tiny blue light, so bright it hurt to look at, pressed against the glass. Nineteenth-grandfather's chest expanded as he sucked at the air in the flask.
The
kailun
disappeared past his teeth.
As we watched, nineteenth-grandfather, whom I'd always known as an old man, became young again.
"Pehlu!" I called out. "Pehlu!" My feet sank into the sand as I ran toward the waves. I spun in a circle, searching. The sandpipers scattered at the sound of my voice; none responded. My breath formed a mist in the early morning air.
"Pehlu, Ulaa comes for you!"
A lone sandpiper emerged from the sea grass. "I'm here, Ulaa, no need to shout."
I dropped to the ground, heedless of the sand upon my nightgown. "I'm so glad you came."
"Me too. I mean, glad that
you
came. I didn't think you would. Your mother seemed very angry."
I shrugged, though my stomach flipped at the thought of her scolding. "I do what she says, except for this. What is it like, being a sandpiper?"
He folded his legs beneath him and told me. And told me more than that. Before he was a sandpiper, he was a sparrow. Before a sparrow, he was a clam. The first thing he remembered being was a spider.
I told him of my grandparents, of my cousins, of my aunts and uncles.
"There are so many people," he said.
"Yes, there are."
We lapsed into a comfortable silence, listening to the waves upon the shore and the wind through the rushes, until my mother came for
"Pehlu," I whispered as I lay there, listening. I hooked my thumbs around one another and fluttered my fingers like a bird.
Nineteenth-grandfather ate a
kailun
the very next day. All of his family gathered in the city square to watch the ritual. I couldn't count how many of us there were -- I stood near the front with my mother, aunts and uncles, and cousins. Around us, the buildings loomed like giant, crooked fingers. The mountains beyond the city were cut into farming terraces.
My mother leaned over to whisper in my ear. "Nineteenth-grandfather is my father's father," she said. "What will that make you, when your children have children?"
It took me a moment to puzzle out the words. "Twenty-second-grandmother."
She patted my shoulder in silent praise.
Beside me, my cousins poked and jostled one another. "Only a good mother gives her children a name," one boy said to the other. He squared his shoulders, imaginary bow held in his hands. I knew the words he spoke -- all children did. "What do I see before me but a herd of wild animals, all of them brought up by bad mothers?"
The other, younger boy pranced from side to side, imitating a
kailun
in the form of a deer. "Ooh, me, me! I have a name! I have a good mother!"
And the first boy nocked a pretend arrow before letting it fly.
The dramatic "death" of my youngest cousin was enough to throw off the balance of several people behind us. One of my uncles seized both boys by their ears. "That's enough. Quiet, both of you."
They settled down just as first-grandmother emerged from her house with a
kailun
flask. I only ever saw first-grandmother during the rituals. Though her hair was white, her face was unlined, her hands thin and smooth. She wore a long, blue robe that swept the ground behind her. No expression marred her face.
Through the gaps in her fingers, I could see the bright glow of the
kailun
. The light flickered as the spirit moved. She brought the flask to the chair where nineteenth-grandfather sat. He hunched in his seat, his gnarled fingers curling around the armrests like tree roots.
After she uncorked the flask and tipped it over his mouth, her hands came away. A tiny blue light, so bright it hurt to look at, pressed against the glass. Nineteenth-grandfather's chest expanded as he sucked at the air in the flask.
The
kailun
disappeared past his teeth.
As we watched, nineteenth-grandfather, whom I'd always known as an old man, became young again.
"Pehlu!" I called out. "Pehlu!" My feet sank into the sand as I ran toward the waves. I spun in a circle, searching. The sandpipers scattered at the sound of my voice; none responded. My breath formed a mist in the early morning air.
"Pehlu, Ulaa comes for you!"
A lone sandpiper emerged from the sea grass. "I'm here, Ulaa, no need to shout."
I dropped to the ground, heedless of the sand upon my nightgown. "I'm so glad you came."
"Me too. I mean, glad that
you
came. I didn't think you would. Your mother seemed very angry."
I shrugged, though my stomach flipped at the thought of her scolding. "I do what she says, except for this. What is it like, being a sandpiper?"
He folded his legs beneath him and told me. And told me more than that. Before he was a sandpiper, he was a sparrow. Before a sparrow, he was a clam. The first thing he remembered being was a spider.
I told him of my grandparents, of my cousins, of my aunts and uncles.
"There are so many people," he said.
"Yes, there are."
We lapsed into a comfortable silence, listening to the waves upon the shore and the wind through the rushes, until my mother came for
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