The Meadow Annual Literary Arts Journal 2018

We talk about sports, about football and cricket matches, and what teams I’ll watch in America. I am touched when Tan tells me he is naming his dragon boat for me in this year’s races. “For the Vanaraj family,” he says. “For a peaceful future.” Hashim speaks of the Communist Party of Malaysia. “The CPM is ready to lay down its arms,” he says. During the Vietnam War the party had increased their armed attacks. My friends know of my time in Mitsushima and we don’t talk long of war. We sip our palm sap and fermented millet, chhaang, until Senaiah’s wife calls from the kitchen, “ Makan sudah siap. ” Dinner is ready. The scent of steaming cashew and cinnamon come through the arched doorway as bowls of nasi biryani are placed on the long mangrove table. Chapatti breads, dahls and curries infuse the room. Truly it is a feast, and Tala and I are honored that our friends arranged this gathering for us. Tan sits down beside me while the other men settle into caned chairs. I wonder if we will make friends like these and be invited to attend occasions like this in America. I hope there will be an Asian population in Maine to help Tala make the transition. Chopsticks, fingernails and silverware clink against bowls with the music of friendship and eating. “I hear that in America there are no repairing shops,” Tan says. “People buy new lamps if a cord tears.” Hashim’s teeth gleam white against his dark skin as he smiles. “Perhaps you will open a shop there?” “Their small businesses make them strong,” Tan says. “They have many.” “But electing an actor as president?” Hashim’s smile widens. “What do we make of this?” Senaiah sprinkles ikan billies, the small dried fish, over his food and passes the jar to me. “No country is without challeng- es,” he says. “But Joseph always overcomes them.” Again, my 144 The Meadow