After a moment, Guet Imm released Ah Yee’s head, letting it drop to the ground. A groan confirmed that Ah Yee was conscious, but—with the most sense he’d shown that evening—he stayed still while Guet Imm stormed off.
Ah Hin made an aborted movement, as though he was thinking of following her, but Tet Sang caught Fung Cheung’s eyes and shook his head.
“Never mind her,” said Fung Cheung. “Someone help Ah Yee. Ah Boon, go and have a look at him.”
“He said I fucked cows,” protested Ah Boon.
But Fung Cheung had exhausted his fund of patience for the day.
“Who hasn’t said you fuck cows?” he snapped. “We’ve all said it. You want to be sensitive, you can go find another group. You all are too much. Any more and I’ll report us to the mata myself. At least then I might get some peace!”
Ah Wing helped Ah Yee to sit up. Ah Boon went to tend to him, grumbling under his breath. The others started tidying up—a fair amount of rice porridge had got distributed across the camp in the course of the quarrel.
Fung Cheung turned to Tet Sang.
“What the hell was that?” said Fung Cheung.
Guet Imm was sitting cross-legged in the shelter Ah Hin had built for her, her hands folded. The uninitiated might have thought she was meditating.
“You’re sulking,” said Tet Sang.
“Where got?” said Guet Imm sulkily.
Conscious that this was less than convincing, she retreated into aloof silence. Her bad mood was palpable—Tet Sang could almost see the black cloud above her head.
Tet Sang stood for a while, considering his course of action, then sat down on a convenient bundle. He allowed himself to grimace while he did it, though there was merely a slight twinge from his wound.
Guet Imm glared at him.
“The relics are in there,” she said.
Tet Sang looked down at the mud-stained bundle. It was something of a comedown for the sarira from having been cherished in a gold goblet, but, “They’ll survive,” he said.
Guet Imm could hardly disagree, since orthodoxy held that the relics of the Pure Moon were indestructible, harder than diamond. Besides, his grimace had bothered her. She kept her meditation pose for a few more seconds, stealing looks under lowered lashes at TetSang, while he enjoyed the novel sensation of being the unflustered one.
Eventually, Guet Imm snapped.
“You’re hurt,” she said. “Did Brother Ah Yee poke your wound? I knew it!”
Tet Sang waved a dismissive hand. “It’s itchy only.”
“Let me look at it,” said Guet Imm.
Changing the dressing calmed her down. The black cloud dispersed. It left Guet Imm far from penitent but—Tet Sang thought—in a state that could be worked on.
“Ah Lau wants you to say sorry to Ah Yee,” he said.
Guet Imm’s head whipped up. “Say sorry for what? Brother Ah Yee’s the one who started it!”
“I’m not saying it’s fair,” said Tet Sang. “But a group like this is like a family. It’s important to maintain harmony. Ah Yee is under pressure. His mother is not well. His sister is a widow with children. If we don’t find some way to get the money, his relatives will not eat.”
Guet Imm was not impressed. “Would he like men to talk to his mother and sister the way he talked today?”
“If you want to say Ah Yee doesn’t know how to behave, that’s true,” said Tet Sang. “But when did he have the chance to learn? You are different. You’ve had advantages he’s never had.”
“The deity speaks to everyone,” said Guet Imm defiantly. “It’s whether they want to hear or not.”
Tet Sang waited while she washed her hands and dried them, scowling.
