Mae murmured to her about housing the machine in the old house. Sunni waved a hand, in a grand ladylike way that was also slightly crabby. Mae suddenly saw how she would be when she was old. Saw that Sunni was already getting old, but that somehow, getting old would be good for her.

'Oh!' Sunni said. 'I already told that man of mine, I said we will get nothing else for that old place, it's only good for giving to tenants and who needs tenants? They are trouble, you have to give them the house for free with the land. Pshaw! Fifteen riels a month.'

'Twelve,' said Mae.

'Twelve,' said Sunni. 'But only because I want to see to see the machine loaded.'

Both ladies got to sit on Lung's lap, one thigh each.

The snow still fell, shooting past the windscreen as the truck moved through it. The snow looked like shooting stars, as if they were travelling through outer space.

Their old house turned as if to greet them, grey as a ghost.

'I'll get the gate,' Mae said, and stepped down from the truck. She lifted up the ground bolts, and wondered why she did not feel more. Snow, power failure, Lung, machine, there was too much going on to feel the pain and the loss of what had happened. That was good.

As the gate opened amid a spangle of illuminated snow, it was more like a festival.

The huge green van bounced into the courtyard, just missing taking off the lintel from the gate. All Mr Ken's hens were inside out of the cold or surely some of them would have been crushed. The great truck swung around and backed up. Mae saw Mr Ken's house, darkened as if deserted.

Her washing line was folded, her kitchen door was locked, and the stump for chopping wood lay sideways. Mae went to open up the barn.

The bolts were cold on her hands; the old doors groaned as if in protest at being awakened. The earthen floor had been beaten flat as polished flagstone.

The floor sloped down, as did the entire courtyard.

Lung stepped out of the truck, holding what looked like a remote control. Sunni hung back behind him as if afraid. Mae walked out then.

'We've got to put it on something first,' she said.

'Why?'

'There are floods,' said Mae.

Mae felt as if elastic braces were drawing in around her heart as she knocked on Mr Ken's door.

She looked at the old grey wood of the door, and waited unable to breathe, feeling Lung's eyes on her back. She heard footsteps; the door opened.

There he was. Mr Ken. He looked older than she remembered, more rumpled, but then she had seen Hikmet Tunch, and her son Lung, since. His eyes quickened when he first saw her, widened, darted over her face, then looked behind and saw the truck. He tried to straighten his hair; he looked embarrassed, befuddled.

'Hello, Mae,' he said. 'What's going on?'

There was no time for yearning, remembrance, or even any sign of what happened. Not with Joe's son looking on.

'Hello,' she said with restraint. 'I am sorry to bother you like this. But we are putting a new machine in the barn…'

'My mother needs to talk to you about this…'

Mae cut him off. 'It is actually Sunni's barn and I rent it. You once said that you had no use for the stone drinking troughs. Can I have them?'

He looked at her with an expression that was impossible to read. You and I meet again and we talk about this?

'I'm moving back in,' she told him. 'I've only just decided.'

Behind her, Sunni said to Lung, 'I have the keys. Let's get the TV inside.'

Kuei's hands did a helpless little wave. 'Have them if you want. They are very old. What do want them for?'

It would not be right not to warn him.

'There will be a flood. Everything will be washed away. I need to have my machine on a platform, to save it.'

His whole face was wary. 'This is Grandmother talking,' he said. 'Every winter, she would always warn us about the flood.'

'This time it's true.' All right, don't believe me, she thought. I have no time to argue. The truck's engine is running and so is Lung's. She glanced behind and saw her TV lowered from the back of the van. 'May I have the use of the troughs? I can pay you for them, whatever you ask.'

Mr Ken held up a hand. 'Take them, take them.'

Mae nodded, smiling, hoping her eyes were also able to jam into such snatched time, a form of remembrance.

'I'll have them back when the flood does not come,' he said darkly, and shut the door on her.

Mae blinked, for that had been too sudden. She turned slowly, followed her TV as it was huffed and sighed into her old house.

'Here, here, into its new home!' enthused Sunni, too bright, too glowing. She was covering for Mae. The house was small and dark and smelled of dust. Noodles had stiffened on plates left on the table. Some of Mae's old dresses still hung from the wall, as if preserved by the cold. Lung glanced down, ashamed.

'Does it convert to Aircast?' Sunni asked tapping the top of the TV.

'Oh yes, I expect Sezen will use it to serve Collabo.'

'Can I rent it?' Sunni asked. Mae hesitated. 'I want to serve high fashion. We can split the market.'

'It has possibilities,' said Mae. 'We'll talk tomorrow.'

The two fashion experts nodded, eyes hooded. Then something happened. Listen to us both, they seemed to say, and both burst out laughing at themselves.

'Captains of industry,' said Lung, but he was smiling.

The truck roared back into Kwan's courtyard to find it full of preparations for a party.

A tractor ran its engine and its lights, and Mr Wing and Mr Atakoloo were moving tables. Children stuck their heads through the gate and turned to run back home. There always was a party with the first snow, this year it would be at the Big House.

The forecourt quickly filled with people. Hot wine was left on braziers that smoked as much as most people's mouths steamed.

Men took cups of warm wine and stood on Mr Wing's steps. Lung strode into their midst, shaking hands, remembering names. Mae, as his mother, accompanied him.

'Ah, you've grown!' said men snatching hats from heads, out of politeness.

Mr Ali squared up to Lung. 'Your father tells us much of your doings. You are a lieutenant now, I hear.'

'Yes, luckily enough, I had early promotion.'

'Your father is very proud of you,' said Mr Ali, glancing in Mae's direction, the fallen mother.

'That is good to hear. He lives in Balshang now, so I see him every day.' Lung smiled and plainly moved on.

'Good evening Mr Ali,' said Mae, deliberately sounding pleased. 'Lung has bought me a huge weaving machine. It is automatic, and intelligent. It will help the Ladies Circle meet all its orders.

Mr Ali was as heavy as lead. He glowered at her and did not answer. 'And you are looking so well Mr Ali,' said Mae in a little bell-like voice. 'So plump. If you don't mind me saying.' Mr Ali pushed past her as if to go for more red wine.

Mae saw her own family arrive. Ju-mei, his wife, Mae's mother and, after some deliberation no doubt, Siao and Old Mr Chung.

'Lung! Lung!' called Ju-mei.

'Uncle!'

Mae deliberated too and decided to let Lung greet his uncle without her. The two men hugged, and clapped each other's backs. Ju-mei wore a heavy Russian coat and pork pie hat. He looked like a Party chairman. Lung paused when he saw his Uncle Siao, and blinked in some surprise that the two families were friends. Siao shook his hand and winked. He and Lung hugged too, but the hug was gentler, less showy. Lung had grown up with Siao, who was more of a big brother to him than an uncle. Siao looked up. His eyes caught Mae's, and he gestured for her to come near them.

Very well, thought Mae. For your sake, Siao. She remembered: Siao has never fought me or called me bad names. She was surprised; she realized that she knew in her heart that Siao would keep things calm and good.