Electric Dreams
Men Arit’s Reverie
by Diana Darling
She’d wanted something of her own, so her husband built her a warung, a place to sell coffee and small daily essentials. Immediately it became a space for the whole family—Men Arit, her husband Pan Arit, Arit himself their son, and their young daughter Sasih. It was a normal warung, just a one-room space that opened up at the front, with a small back door into the house courtyard. There was a table and benches for customers, a refrigerator for cold drinks, and a TV set for company.
The electricity was borrowed from a neighbor. Being next to the road was good for business, but the warung got dusty fast from the traffic. The busy times at the warung were early in the morning when farmers came for coffee, then mid-morning when the schoolchildren were let out to buy snacks. Midday was busy, too, once Men Arit started cooking for the warung, preparing everything at home in her kitchen and then carrying it in pots across the courtyard to the warung. But the afternoons were quiet, and she was glad to have the TV.
Sometimes you want to turn away from life for a while, let yourself soak up somewhere else. Sometimes you need a little phantasmagoria.
Time leaves layers on the warung. When it was new, Men Arit couldn’t stop smiling at the freshness of everything—the walls, the gleaming new TV, the bright counter with its row of bottles, the view of the road from her own shop. Slowly it filled up and became familiar and used. You pick things up and there’s nowhere to put them. There didn’t used to be so much stuff in the world.
When she was younger, every three days she would get up in the middle of the night to go to the market, catching a ride with the other women in the back of a little pickup truck. Bundled up in warm clothes, they’d do their purchasing by lamplight and be back home by morning. Now her knees hurt and her neighbor brings whatever she needs for the kitchen or to resell in the warung. Sasih helps her after school, but Arit is always busy with his phone. He wouldn’t pick up his head if it fell off his shoulders.
Sometimes tourists stop at the warung, often a couple on bicycles looking for a cold drink. Sasih can speak English, so she waits on them and Men Arit counts the change. Sasih loves school but she’s going to have to stop next year. It’s hard enough to put one child through high school. The warung barely keeps them in rice and cooking fuel. Her husband sometimes earns just enough to buy cigarettes.
You never know what life will bring you or take away. Not like on TV, where you always know what to expect.
One afternoon, Men Arit sat dozing in the warung. The sunlight crawled up her arms and warmed her chest and face. From the TV came a soft warbling voice about a certain brand of honey.
“It’s good for you and good for your family,” said the voice.
“And where is your family today?” it went on.
Men Arit smiled but she couldn’t open her eyes. She wanted to reply, but she could only press out a murmur through her nose. The sunlight crept up over her hair, and TV crooned to her:
“Come swim in the sky.”
A vision of green and pink pastures unrolled gently below her. With supreme ease, she leapt slowly over a lake. Dancers twirled to a quiet music.
“Mémé, customers,” Sasih whispered.
Men Arit scrambled her feet for her sandals and greeted the people starting to come into the warung. They asked for instant noodles. Eggs, tofu. A bundle of greens. People were shopping for the evening. A couple of teenage girls bought sachets of shampoo and a bag of Cheetos. Sasih wrapped a kilo bag of sugar in newspaper. Outside there was the sound of motorbikes starting up and leaving. Pan Arit came in and took a pack of cigarettes from the shelf and settled down in front of the TV. Men Arit picked up a bundle of coconut leaves and began cutting them for offerings.
Before long, it was just the two of them, husband and wife. For a while they sat in the half-light of the TV.
“Waste of time going to town today,” said Pan Arit finally.
“Can I fix you a glass of hot milk?” said Men Arit. Without waiting for an answer, she got up and spooned some powdered milk into a glass. She added some sugar and then shook the thermos. Still half full. As she stirred the hot milk, she glanced over her shoulder at her husband. “Well, don’t worry about it,” she said. She put the glass on a saucer with a biscuit and set it down before him.
“Tell me about it,” she said, sitting down.
Outside, the streetlights were beginning to come on. In the houses, people were lighting their stoves, and the television sets sent blue flashes out the open doors. Screens flickered with the news, with sports and prayers and religious messages; with things to buy and ways of being younger, happier and cleaner with brighter skin and smarter children. The TV instructed people on how to have more energy, more friends; how to get rid of bacteria, stains, headaches, backaches, blisters, fatigue, boredom, stiff joints, and large pores; how to recognize discontent in modern times. People mostly ignored their TVs but needed them to be on.
Men Arit sat with Pan Arit until well after dark. Eventually he changed the subject; then at last he smiled and asked what they had to eat. They cleared the dirty glasses, turned off the TV, and walked out together into the warm night.
