Before noon, an announcement came, telling everyone to come and wait inside the shrine’s gate. The vendors outside were doing such brisk business that their hands were like wheels spinning yarn. Everybody bought drinks and, for lunch, something small to tide them over.
Inside the gate, spaces under trees or any kind of shade were hard to come by. Most people were left searing in the sun. The men and the young people, unperturbed by the heat, gravitated toward the exit, positioning themselves to be among the first to receive free rice. The pregnant women, grannies, and mothers who had brought babies with them were the ones to sacrifice: they stood back and let the others go ahead of them. But once the whole crowd had come inside and was shut in, there was no free space; even shifting a little was a challenge. The sun was scorching, and everybody was dripping sweat, breathing in everyone else’s odor, and revealing their own.
People were just about at their limit with getting simmered, and they were ready to shoot out like water bursting through the gates of a dam—they only needed their cue. The staff conducting the giveaway were stationed at the exit now. The truck loaded with white rice was waiting with its tailgate down. With everything in place, the order was given to open the gate.
Now that the crowd had a way to escape, nothing could hold them back. The staff worked efficiently; the rice was swiftly passed out. Hands that got a bag got smeared with red paint, the stain designed to prevent people from coming back for another round.
Kampol moved with the bodies in front of him, and Mon kept a tight grip on his hand. Oan was on his father’s back. In the middle of being jostled and squashed along with everybody else, Kampol saw a slice of his mother’s face for a second—she was just over there. He got very excited. He yelled for her. In his excitement, his hand unlatched from Mon’s. Kampol tried to push forward in hopes of catching up to his mother but it got him nowhere. He shouted and shouted—no reply. He didn’t see Mon when he looked back either, and he was being squeezed ever more from all directions. People stepped on his flip-flops and they slipped off his feet, both of them. He couldn’t move his body, and his toes were no longer touching the ground. It felt to him like he was stepping on other people’s feet the whole time now. Even though he couldn’t walk or shift his body, he was moving forward, swept along at the whim of the sea of bodies.
When he looked behind him another time, he saw his father’s head, and Jon was wrapped around his neck. Kampol yelled to them. He attempted to crawl higher but his efforts failed, so he just kept shouting. And at last, a reply came through: “Boy, it’s Papa, over here. Meet me outside.” Kampol was heartened, and because of that, he cried out to each of his parents to relay the news:
“Papa, Mama’s just ahead!”
“Mama, Papa’s just behind me!”
“Meet me outside, Papa!”
“Meet me outside, Mama!”
“Jon, can you hear me?”
“Mama, Jon’s here, too! Meet us outside!”
Kampol was given a bag of rice, and the entire back of one of his hands was smudged with red. He hurried off in search of his mother, who had exited first. The area outside was still teeming with people because everyone was waiting for their family or the folks they’d come with to come out or was wandering around looking for them. Kampol searched and searched until he was worn out. Unable to find his mother, he went back to the mouth of the gate to wait for his father. A little while later, someone tugged at his arm. He turned. It was Oan.
“Here you are. Hurry, people are about to head back home now.”
“You go. I told my papa I’d wait for him,” Kampol said.
Toward the end, the pregnant ladies, elderly women, and mothers with babies in tow were the only people still passing through the gate. Kampol, wilting in the sun as he sat next to his bag of rice, kept watching until every last person came through. After everyone was out, the gate was slid all the way open. Kampol ran inside to do another sweep. All he found were his flip-flops, lying tossed in different places. By the time he came back outside, the crowd had thinned. He combed the whole area again: neither of his parents were anywhere to be found.
The street was empty. Everybody else had gone home. Kampol lifted the bag of rice onto his right shoulder. When it got tired, he switched the weight over to his left, and then back to the right, and then back to the left. The load was too much for him. He thought about abandoning the rice and was about to when he looked up and saw Chong.
Drained in every way, as soon as Chong put him on his back, he slumped over, asleep.
Dear Moon
A huge moon hung over the roof of Chong’s store. And just like that, a familiar place was transformed—the trees, the packed dirt, the street, the utility poles, the roofs of the tenement houses—they were the same yet altered by the spell of the moonlight.
“It’s full! It’s full!” the kids cheered.
“There! Above Hia Chong’s grocery!”
Together the children carried the daybed from beneath the poinciana and set it down under the open sky. Ampan, the oldest of Puang’s daughters, and her two friends Bow and Gib, were beginning to stand up straighter and starting to make dreamy eyes when they talked about boys. The three girls, all twelve, had recently finished sixth grade.
The pearly light of the moon sent the three of them into a reverie. They sat on the daybed, carrying on in adolescent whispers. The boys were in a gunfight, riding on horseback. As they waged battle, they admired the sharpness of their own brave shadows on the ground. As for Penporn, she stood quietly, her eyes tracking a soufflé of white clouds, which drifted toward the moon.
Over at Old Noi and Jai’s house, all was hushed. The only children inside were the twins, Gae and Gay, Jai’s granddaughters, who were folding laundry.
“Where are all those rascals?” Noi grumbled. “Gae, Gay, once you’re done folding, go and have a look, will you? It’s dark out. It’s time they come home. That silly Pen’s run off with the rest of them, too.”
The twins, once they’d headed out, were as lost as the others. Old Noi grabbed her trusty cane and went out after them. She could hear noises coming from the dirt yard in front of the tenements.
“It’s so late—don’t they know when to quit?” the old lady muttered as she made her way toward the noise. But then she noticed that her path was unusually illuminated. She looked at the sky. “Ah…it’s already the full moon again.”
Leaning on her cane, Old Noi made it to the daybed. “Here’s where you’ve all been hiding. It’s late—aren’t you afraid snakes are going to get you?”
“Grandma, look. The moon’s hiding behind the clouds again.”
Old Noi sat down. For a minute, she got lost gazing at the moon. Then she chuckled. “When I see the full moon, it makes me think of back when I was girl. What fun we had then. Us kids used to sneak out all the time. Oh damn, I’m craving betel nut. Can someone run and get it for me?”
As the old lady pounded her betel-nut mixture, she told of bygone days. “Once, I was really mad at Soon’s son, so I ran off to sleep in the barn in the middle of the rice fields. That night happened to be a full moon. He came after me, begging for forgiveness. He brought me palm juice.”
“Who was Soon’s son, Grandma?”
“It’s Keng—your grandpa, silly.”
“Oh! We were wondering!” The children laughed.
Old Noi broke off a bit of the mashed betel nut, popped it into her mouth, and started chomping. “All right, all right. Time to go. It’s late.” But the old lady only managed to get Penporn to come back with her. The rest of them were too stubborn and refused to go home: the three older girls, absorbed in their dreaming, weren’t about to get up and leave; the boys were caught up in their hijinks and continued to chase each other around wildly. But their game had changed: now they were attacking each other’s shadows. Kampol fired an imaginary round at Oan’s, which was twisting like a snake on the ground. But he had to protect his own at the same time because Jua was trying to
stomp on its head.
Chong was dragging his metal gate closed. After he had turned off the lights and locked up the store, he stood peering up at the moon.
“Hia Chong, come look from over here,” the children hollered.
“What do you say, ladies? Isn’t the moon a beauty tonight?”
Gae, one of the twins, giggled. “Hey, Hia Chong, let me tell you something. Those three girls all have crushes on you.”
Her twin, Gay, backed her up: “Yeah, they were saying they want to be your girlfriend when they grow up.”
“Really? Can you sing? You’ve got to be able to sing to go out with me.”
“Look who’s talking! Gae, Gay, you two were saying he was cute, too,” Ampan said.
“Hey now, there’s no need to fight over me,” Chong said, laughing. “Who can sing ‘Dear Moon’? Whoever can sing it will win my heart!”
All of them knew the lullaby and belted it out. The boys quit playing and came over to join in:
Moon, O dear Moon,
give us rice and give us curry,
give the baby a ring to wear,
give him a chair so he can sit,
give him a bed if you see fit.
Moon, O dear Moon,
Give him a play to watch of course,
give him a horse or pachyderm,
and if he squirms, give him Granny Choo,
and please give me Grandma Kerd too.
“What about you all? What would you want from the moon?” Chong asked them.
“Money,” Jua told him.
“Or even better, money and a bank,” Oan said.
“Boy, what about you?”
Kampol considered the question for a moment and then said, “I’d ask for a Grandma Kerd.”
Everyone fell quiet, but then Jua broke the silence, “You can’t get a Grandma Kerd, the closest you can have is Kerd the mortician. You want that?”
“Stupid Jua, die!” Kampol said, launching himself at Jua’s shadow, aiming straight for his chest.
War and Peace
Noi had declared war on his family, but he had retreated and was sitting in silent protest under the poinciana tree. A few minutes ago, just outside his house, his stepfather had stood with his teeth gritted, pointing his finger in Noi’s face. Kan, Noi’s mother, had stood behind his stepfather, adjusting her sarong over her chest. Then she had shaken her head wearily and gone back inside.
“Don’t show your fucking face back here again. I can’t even ask you to do one little damn thing,” his stepfather shouted before disappearing into the house. He reemerged a minute later carrying Noi’s clothes, which he stuffed in the trashcan by the roadside before going back inside again. The fight had been set off by his stepfather telling Noi to go to the store and buy him whiskey and cigarettes. Noi had refused.
Kampol and Oan happened to be hanging out nearby. They’d witnessed the entire sequence of events, and curiously watched to see if Noi would go and retrieve his clothes from the trash. Noi didn’t budge an inch. He simply sat, letting fury spew from his eyes.
At noon, his sister, Gib, came home to eat lunch. Since school was on break, she’d taken a babysitting job in the old housing development. Noi glared in her direction as she went inside their house. She reappeared, looking sour, as she headed toward the grocery.
“Gib, come here,” Noi called out to his big sister. “What are you going to buy?”
“What else? Cigarettes and whiskey,” Gib told him.
“With whose money?”
“Mine—of course.”
“Don’t buy them. Why are you going to buy them for that asshole?” Noi raised his voice. “He dumped my clothes in the trash. Just wait until he’s sleeping, I’m going to sneak in there and smash his head, that bloodsucking leech. He eats here every day, but when has he ever bought food? A fucking loser if I ever saw one—he leeches off of her like a pimp off a prostitute.”
“What about your house? He’s the one who pays the rent.”
“Hah! He rents it so that he can come here and sleep with Mama… And putting out’s not enough either, she’s got to spend her own money feeding him, too. He treats Mama like a whore…”
Noi got a head-turning slap for that. Still, he didn’t relent and kept repeating: “Mama’s a whore,” over and over. His sister ran away bawling. Noi was alone again, sitting silently under the tree.
Oan, who’d always looked up to Noi and wanted to get in his good graces, sidled up to him and said, “Noi, aren’t you going to go dig out your clothes?”
Kampol was right there with him: “Do you want me to go pull them out for you?”
“Don’t!” Noi barked.
“Your stepdad’s a pimp?” Oan asked, not backing off.
Kampol said, “Your mama whores for him?” This time, Noi’s lid blew off.
He snapped his head toward Kampol. “Who the fuck are you to say that? You’re going to disrespect my mama?”
Kampol was petrified and his eyes went wide. “No… just…but you said yourself just now…”
“It’s my prerogative if I want to say it, but not you, shit-head.” The words were barely out of his mouth before Noi punched Kampol in the ear.
Kampol stumbled back. His lips pouted as if he were about to break into tears, but he held them in and lunged at Noi even though Noi was far bigger. They grappled, both ending up on the ground, covered in dirt. Kampol didn’t hurt Noi at all, and even worse, he got punched a bunch of times more. But a long riiiiiip brought everything to a screeching halt. Noi’s shirt was so old and the fabric worn so thin—with a single yank the whole back came off in Kampol’s hand. Kampol took advantage of the opportunity while Noi looked, stupefied, at his scrap of shirt to make a run for it. Oan bolted after him.
Exhausted, Noi sat down hard. He held the torn-off piece of his shirt in his hands. No one knew if he was crying, because no one else dared to approach the poinciana.
At four that afternoon, Kan’s front door opened. Noi’s stepfather, in his khaki security-guard uniform and with hair neatly combed, walked out and got on the bike leaned against the front of the house. Kan had followed him out and handed him his dinner box in a bag. As he cycled past the poinciana, he turned and smirked at his stepson before riding on, whistling a melody, evidently in a good mood.
“Noi,” Kan called to him. “Go get your clothes out of the trash and wash them.”
Noi heard her but simply sat there, knowing full well that if he didn’t fish his clothes out today, the garbage truck would come by tonight and there’d be nothing left. All the clothes he owned were in that trashcan. Still, he refused to get up, even as evening set in. At times, there was a breeze, and he’d feel a chill down his back.
Kampol, sporting a fat lip and a black eye, was lazing around at Mon’s house, where he’d been hiding out since the fight. It was dark now, but he still didn’t dare to venture out. When Mon tried to get the story out of him, he wouldn’t speak, so it was Oan who told her the whole thing.
Mon left, but returned soon thereafter. She threw the pile of clothes in her arms into a plastic washtub and said: “Wash all of it, both of you together. And don’t you dare do a half-assed job.”
Oan scooped the water, and Kampol frothed up the detergent. Three shirts and two pairs of pants went into the suds.
“Hey, look. The butt of his pants is ripped,” Oan said, poking his finger through the hole.
The two giggled as they washed Noi’s clothes. Four hands in unison, scrunching and scrubbing, scrunching and scrubbing.
The Expired Pills
The following school year, Kampol got to reenroll at Baan Huaykapi School, which was where he went to first grade before he dropped out. His father gave Mon one thousand baht to cover his back-to-school expenses. Kampol bought two new school uniforms, a pair of shoes, and two pairs of socks. He still had his old backpack. Tuition was free since it was a public school. His books were also free, all he had to buy were notebooks and pencils.
“How was the first day of school?” Chong asked him. The grocer had already closed up for the day, so he put their dinners on plates and brought them upstairs so the two of them could eat on the balcony. They were having gunchiang fried rice.
Kampol rested his plate on his lap. He picked out the slices of sweet Chinese sausage and arranged them in a circle, like red flower petals, along the rim of his plate. Because they were his favorite, he was saving them for last.
“I have to repeat first grade. My friends have all moved on to second,” he told Chong.
“It doesn’t matter. It might even be a good thing. It means this year you’ll know more than everyone else in your class.”
“Not everyone. Chukiat and Saowarot flunked and have to stay back, too. Not Oan, though, he passed and is on to second grade this year.”
“How old are you now?”
“Six.”
“Time flies, doesn’t it? I blinked and suddenly you’re six. You know, I’ve known you since you were born.”
“Really? So you remember the thing about the contraceptive pills?”
“Huh? What contraceptive pills?” Chong lifted his chin and looked at Kampol.
Kampol chewed in slow motion, his eyes dreamy as he recalled the details of the story he was telling:
“Gae and Gay, Jua’s sisters, told us that the reason me, Oan, and Jua are all exactly the same age is because my mother, Oan’s mother, and Jua’s mother got pregnant at the same time. They had all taken the same expired contraceptives. Jua’s mother had gotten them from her factory. They handed them out for free, so she took some for my mother and Oan’s mother, too. And then all three of them got pregnant.” Kampol stopped talking but continued to think over the story in his mind.
Chong would have burst out laughing had he not been doing his best not to—he was tensing his face to the point that it was twitching, and managed to keep his tight-lipped smile steady. He had had to look away for a good long time, though.
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