The Art of Hearing Heartbeats

“At the beginning of a conversation he would close his eyes and concentrate on a person’s voice as if losing himself in a song, whereupon he seemed to know exactly what frame of mind people were in, how confident they were, whether they were telling the truth or bluffing. Supposedly it was something one could learn, but who had taught him, when, and where, he wouldn’t reveal, no matter how I pleaded. Not once in my life had I managed to deceive him.”

Julia makes these comments as part of a lengthy description of her father, Tin. With more context, the reader realizes that Tin maintained his ability to judge people by their voices and evaluate their moods and motives by their heartbeats. Julia’s description depicts an honest person with no pretense, yet ironically, one who also never reveals his past—not even to his beloved daughter.

“After you were born I found an old letter in one of his books. He had written shortly before our wedding. It was a love letter to a woman in Burma. He wanted to explain it to me, but I didn’t want to hear anything about it. […] I told him I would leave him if I ever found another letter like that, no matter how old it was, and that he would never see me or his children again. I never found anything else, though I went through his things thoroughly every couple of weeks.”

Julia’s mother, Judith, makes these comments as Julia prepares to search for Mi Mi in the hopes of finding her father. This quote epitomizes the couple’s growing distrust. Ironically, Judith distanced herself due to a lack of emotional intimacy, but this quote reveals that she rejected Tin’s one attempt to explain his past. Sendker contrasts the divide between Tin and his wife, whom he interacted with daily, with the timeless love between Tin and Mi Mi despite 50 years apart.

“The dead chicken lay right in front of the woodpile. She had nearly stepped on it. She found the second one right around twelve o’clock, the hour of the birth, the third and the fourth shortly thereafter, and the rooster in the afternoon. […] For Mya Mya there was no doubt. […] A curse lay upon her son. He was a harbinger of misfortune. The astrologer had prophesied it. She ought never to have borne a child on a Saturday, not in December.”

Mya Mya, Tin’s mother, embodies the opposite characteristics of Su Kyi, U May, and Mi Mi, who embody love and acceptance. She and her family rely on the village astronomer, a numerologist who provides cryptic information for them to interpret. Frightened of Saturdays in December much as some are leery of Friday the 13th, Mya Mya decides that the birth of her son will bring suffering to the family, a self-fulfilling prophecy that every painful event confirms.

“The old one looked at the slate, which revealed to him all the secrets of the universe. It was the book of life and death, the book of love. He could have told the parents what else he saw, the exceptional capacities this child would develop, the magic and power latent in this individual, and the gift of love. But he knew that Mya Mya was not listening and that Khin Maung would not understand. So he said, ‘In his eyes.’” 

Referred to as an astrologer, the village soothsayer consults numerological charts to make predictions. As unscientific as his advice is, in this case, it turns out to be true. Later, Tin’s uncle consults a different astrologer who also gives him accurate advice. Considering Sendker satirizes superstition and religion, his point is not that old prophetic methods work, but rather that the astrologer gained knowledge outside his practice. The author’s point is that, regardless of being superstitious or religious, a person can still be caring and insightful.

“It was Su Kyi looking after him. A vigorous older woman with a deep voice and laugh over which the trials of life had passed without a trace. Her only child had died at birth. Her husband had died later the following year of malaria. […] she read no deeper meaning into the misfortunes fate had dealt her. Nor did she believe that unfavorable arrangements of the stars had occasioned her loved ones’ deaths. Instead these losses merely showed that fortune was capricious, a fact one must accept if one was going to love life.”

Sendker describes Su Kyi, the woman who finds 5-year-old Tin (near death from waiting for his mother to return) and raises him for the next 13 years. Su Kyi is unlike most others in the village in that she accepts both the joys and sorrows of life, a perception she shares with Tin, Mi Mi, and U Ba. She is naturally drawn to Tin, recognizing his remarkable nature and abilities.

“Su Kyi was unsure whether the world had truly melted away before his eyes or Tin Win had somehow buried himself far from it. And if he was so inclined, how far would he go? […] he no doubt had the power to withdraw to the very ends of the earth. The boy could will his own heart to stop beating if he wished it, just as his eyes had ceased to see. In the deepest core of her soul she sensed that he would one day end his life in just that way and no other.”

Having first lost his father and then his mother, Tin gradually loses his vision. Su Kyi reads his silent introversion as him withdrawing from life. Her fear is accentuated by Tin’s complete self-control; she knows he has the ability to will himself to die. This insight foreshadows Tin’s death in that, once reunited with a dying Mi Mi, he lies in her arms and wills himself to die with her.

“I remember the sirens, my mother’s worried expression, and a young doctor with bushy eyebrows. He stitched the cuts, but still the bleeding wouldn’t stop.

The next thing I knew, my father was by my side. I’d heard his voice from the waiting room. He took my hand, stroked my hair, and told me a story. Not a minute had passed before the red stream from my head stopped. As if his voice had settled gently on my wounds, covering and stanching them.”

Julia’s childhood memory of her father’s healing presence centers on his voice. Throughout the narrative, individuals comment on the calming nature of Tin’s voice, though this quote is the only mention of it bringing healing. This is a quality he shares with Mi Mi, whose singing voice was reputed to heal others, emotionally and physically. Sendker repeatedly suggests that sound has the power to heal and impart spiritual wisdom.

“Su Kyi was hoping he would be able to take Tin Win under his wing, too, to coax him out of the darkness that beleaguered him, to teach him what [U May] had taught her; that life is interwoven with suffering. […] U May had told her again and again, life is a gift that none might disdain. Life, U May told her, is a gift full of riddles in which suffering and happiness are inextricably intertwined. Any attempt to have one without the other was simply bound to fail.”

Su Kyi takes Tin to the Buddhist monastery led by U May for two purposes. As a novice monk, Tin will learn how to live a practical, useful life despite his blindness. But more importantly, Su Kyi believes U May might lift Tin from his depression. Both Su Kyi and U May have Lost Loved Ones, yet learned to love life. Sendker implies that the ability to accept and embrace all aspects of life is a gift. Ultimately, Tin had faith that Julia would find her way to Kalaw and experience this truth herself.

“He heard buzzing and blowing, chirping and cheeping, rushing and rumbling. A daunting realization was creeping up on him. Might there be, parallel to the world of shapes and colors, an entire world of voices and sounds, of noises and tones? A hidden realm of the senses, all around us but usually inaccessible to us? A world perhaps even more exhilarating and mysterious than the visible world?”

While on his way to begin his training as a novice at the Buddhist monastery, Tin experiences his second immersion in the world of sound. His Full Depth of Awareness of minute sounds transforms into the ability to discern people and circumstances by sounds. Julia’s description of her father in New York reveals that he never lost this ability even after regaining his sight.

“Ambition and fear have something in common: neither knows any limits. But with power and wealth it is just as with the opium I sampled more than once in my youth—neither keeps its promises. Opium never brought me eternal happiness. It only demanded more and more of me. Money and power do not vanquish fear. There is only one force more powerful than fear.”

These are U May’s comments at the conclusion of a lengthy conversation about Tin’s struggle with fear. More precocious than the other novices, Tin internalizes his master’s insights. Though U May does not verbalize that love is the only force greater than fear, the contrast between love and fear pervades the narrative. In response to U May’s caution, that Tin will not find love if he goes looking for it, he soon encounters his true love Mi Mi.

. “‘Your heart. It’s your heartbeat I’m hearing.’

‘From such a great distance?’ She laughed again, but she was not mocking him. He heard it in her voice. It was a laugh he could trust.

[…] ‘You must have good ears.’

He might have thought she was having a laugh at his expense. Her tone revealed to him that she was not.

‘Yes. No. I’m not sure if it’s our ears that we hear with.’”

This exchange is the heart of Tin and Mi Mi’s first meeting, following the former hearing and trying to identify the latter’s heartbeat. This is Tin’s first time hearing someone’s heart. Since such an ability seems superhuman, Sendker opens the possibility that such a gift is not physical but spiritual, a different way of hearing.

“Others were sure the girl would bring calamity on the community, and there were even those who privately advocated that she be abandoned in the woods. Her husband’s family pressed Yadana to seek the counsel of the astrologer. An astrologer could tell for certain what suffering lay in store for the child and whether it might not be more merciful to consign her to her fate. Yadana would not hear of it. She had always relied more on her instincts that on the stars, and her instincts left no room for doubt: she had borne a very special child with extraordinary abilities.”

In describing the birth of Mi Mi, Sendker uses her mother, Yadana, to present important contrasts. Yadana ignores the possibility of bad luck following her child with club feet—in contrast to many others in Kalaw. She responds to her daughter with love, enhanced by awe rather than fear—in contrast to Mya Mya’s response to Tin. She trusts her instincts rather than outside wisdom—in contrast to Julia’s reliance on intellect rather than intuition.

“How often had he sat around the fire in the monastery with the other pupils or monks, wishing that he belonged, that he were part of some group, some system. […] The same fog that clouded his eyes seemed to have insinuated itself between him and the world.

But with Mi Mi—her eyes saw for him. With her help he did not feel like a stranger in his own life. She made him feel a part of things. Of the happenings at the market. Of the village. Of himself.

Tin and Mi Mi’s physical disabilities result in them feeling isolated and dependent on others. When the children find each other, as Tin recognizes in this quote, they essentially become one unified being. Tin becomes Mi Mi’s “legs” by carrying her, and Mi Mi becomes Tin’s “eyes” by describing everything he hears. Sendker’s unification of the two embodies the Buddhist notion of yin and yang: two distinct, opposite beings that cannot exist without each other.

“This is a song that can tame ghosts and demons, thought Su Kyi. […] Mi Mi’s voice permeated the house and yard like a fragrance penetrating into every nook and cranny. […] It had the power of a drug. It opened every cell, every sense in her body. She thought of Tin Win. She need have no more fear on his account. This kind of song would always find him, even in the remotest hiding place.” 

As a child, Mi Mi declared she would stop singing until the need arose to do so again. When she and her family disappear without warning, Tin falls into a coma-like state. To rouse him, Mi Mi sings, her voice a healing balm that restores him completely. Su Kyi recognizes the power of Mi Mi’s voice, observing that her singing can find Tin no matter where he is. This observation explains how Tin knew it was time to return to Mi Mi after their 50 years apart.

“He had taught her to trust, had given her the space to be weak. When she was with him, she had nothing to prove. He was the first and only one to whom she confessed that she found it humiliating to crawl on all fours. […] The more she spoke of her desire to walk on her own feet, the less frequently it tormented her. And she believed him when he said there was no more beautiful body in the world than hers.”

The childlike joy of discovery that marked Tin and Mi Mi’s relationship deepens into emotional intimacy and physical longing. Despite their longing, their relationship does not become sexual for four years—until the night Tin tells Mi Mi that he must leave for Rangoon at his uncle’s demand.

“Yadana took to calling him her youngest son. The longer she knew him, the better she liked him. […] Sometimes the sight of the two of them walking up the mountain would move her to tears. Despite his burden, Tin Win walked perfectly upright. He was not lugging Mi Mi. He carried her like a gift, happily and proudly. […] These two young people enjoyed an intimacy of which Yadana was almost a bit envious. She herself had never experienced anything like it with her husband, and truth be told, she did not know any other two people so close to each other.”

Tin and Mi Mi’s relationship is transformative for both them and the village, where they are viewed with respect and admiration. The perfection of their relationship introduces their community to love’s possibilities. When Tin’s uncle forces him to leave Kalaw, those whom he meets in the city rejoice his opportunity for higher education, travel, and restored vision. However, to Kalaw’s citizens, Tin’s removal disrupted something that didn’t need fixing.

“I suppose I even cried, yes. But I don’t remember for certain. Besides, whom would those tears have been for? For him? For myself because I had lost my father? […]

To be sure, he had never told us anything about those first twenty years and therefore had never given us the chance to mourn with or for him. But would I have wanted to hear? […] Do children want to know their parents as independent individuals? Can we see them as they were before we came into the world?”

Julia reflects on her father’s silence regarding his youth. Through her questions, Sendker moves from reflecting on the intimacy between couples to the intimacy—the trust—between parents and children. He questions why parents do not share their history or explain their youthful decisions to their offspring. In Julia’s case, U Ba fills in Tin’s blanks.

“Here I stood in a wooden house without electricity or running water, surrounded by thousands of books. […]

[U Ba] pointed to a couple of dozen books, took one of them, and handed it to me. […] THE SOUL OF A PEOPLE, it read in large font. London, 1902.

‘Should you care to learn more about our country, this is a good place to start.’

‘It’s not exactly current,’ I said, slightly irritated.

‘The soul of a people does not change overnight.’”

This exchange captures the disconnect between Julia and U Ba, expressed when the latter offers the former a copy of Hall H. Fielding’s book, The Soul of a People. Julia discounts the relevancy of a nearly 100-year-old biography. Yet, in this very quote, she notes that U Ba’s house still functions the way Burmese mountain homes have for centuries. Sendker implies that, to understand the current U Ba and Kalaw, Julia should read old material.

“He drew a deep breath and held it. Counted the seconds. Forty. Sixty. The pressure in his chest increased. […] Tin Win did not give in. He heard his own heart stutter. He knew he had the power to bring it to a standstill. Good.

Death appeared in the distance, approaching with long strides, looming ever larger until he stood right in front of Tin Win.

‘You summoned me.’

Tin Win was afraid of himself. He had summoned death, but didn’t yet want to die. Not yet. Not here. He needed to be with Mi Mi again.”

As Su Kyi anticipated, Tin possesses the ability to stop his own heart. Miserable without Mi Mi, he wants to end his life. However, he realizes he is not ready to do so—not without reuniting with Mi Mi. This is an instance of double foreshadowing: Tin eventually returns to a dying Mi Mi and wills himself to die.

“Tin Win could not determine from the heartbeats whether he was walking down a Chinese or Indian street, whether we was among the English or Burmese. Hearts sounded different person to person, betraying age or youth, joy, sorrow, fear, or courage, but that was all.”

With his eyesight restored, Tin safely walks through the multicultural hub of mid-20th century Rangoon. He feels relief at having retained his ability to experience the full range of sounds, including heartbeats. However, heartbeats do not reveal any information about an individual apart from their mood and wellbeing. With this observation, Sendker posits the universality of humans, implying that factors like race and social status only artificially divide people.

. “A burden had fallen away from him. He was free. He expected nothing more from life. Not because he was disappointed or embittered. He expected nothing because there was nothing of importance he had not already experienced. He possessed all the happiness a person could find. He loved and was loved. Unconditionally. […]

As long as he breathed, he would love her and be loved by her.”

Though two years have passed without any contact with Mi Mi, Tin’s love for her remains. Setting out for the U.S., as demanded by his uncle, he has no idea how long it will be before he sees Mi Mi again—though he continues to believe in their love. He approaches his new adventure without apprehension or excitement. Sendker portrays Tin as a completed soul who, having received and given love, no longer waits for the fulfillment of accomplishments or a career. Tin’s only goal is to live up to his potential.

“‘He might have come back after U Saw’s death.’ […]

‘U Saw died in May 1958.’

Three months before the birth of my brother.

‘Why did he marry my mother? Why didn’t he just wait for U Saw to die and then go back to Mi Mi?’

‘I’m afraid I cannot answer that question for you.’

It was the first time I detected any irritation in U Ba’s voice. He was more perplexed than angry.”

As Julia learns more about her father and U Ba, she plies U Ba with questions. These questions reveal her mindset—that her father never loved her mother as he loved Mi Mi, yet returned to Mi Mi later in life rather than sooner. Their conversation reveals that U Ba also wonders why Tin, his father, did not return until Mi Mi was dying. As it turns out, U Saw died a few weeks before Julia’s brother’s birth; it is implied that Tin likely chose not to return for the sake of his children (being someone who lost his parents).

“‘How long did it take you to get over it?’

‘Over it? I’m not sure I would put it that way. When we get over something, we move on, we put it behind us. Do we leave the dead behind or do we take them with us? I think we take them with us. They accompany us. They remain with us, if in another form. We have to learn to live with them and their deaths.’”

This is a highly ironic conversation in which Julia questions U Ba about his deceased parents—without realizing they share a father. Julia’s questions and U Ba’s responses illustrate the contrast between her western mindset—that grief is something one works through by moving on—and his Buddhist mindset—that grief is the process of repositioning the deceased in one’s life.