“Is that your papa?” Kampol asked him. Quiet, Somdej nodded, keeping his gaze on the ground as he ate. “He can’t walk?” Somdej shook his head. “So he can’t fish then.” Somdej shook his head again. Kampol looked at his friend. “What about the boat? Does your papa really have a boat?”
Somdej looked up. “Yes, but we sold it when my papa got sick.”
Kampol’s brows knit as he thought. “And was your boat really bigger than a truck?”
“Yes, it was!” Somdej shouted. “It really was bigger than a truck. Look over there.” He pointed at the horizon, where far, far away, a string of boats with trains of fishing nets were tiny objects.
Kampol squinted in the direction of the tiny boats. There was no way he was going to believe it.
Kampol Goes to Heaven
I want to ride the Ferris wheel. “Let me go on the Big Wheel of Heaven!” Let me go on the Ferris wheel. “I want to ride the Big Wheel of Heaven!” I cry and beg, out loud and voicelessly.
My mother tugs at my arm, shushing me. “Quit whining. Do you want to stay or do we have to go home?”
Papa’s carrying my baby brother, Jon, and my mother’s holding my hand. At the rice-porridge stall, we veer off the main path and sit down. The Ferris wheel is right nearby. I’m not hungry but I make myself take big bites so I can be finished with my food. “After we’re done eating, can we please ride the Big Wheel of Heaven, Papa, okay? Okay, Mama?”
“Not me, I’m afraid of falling off,” my father says.
“It’s sky high, don’t you see? Aren’t you scared?” my mother asks.
I gaze up at the car at the very top, and there, all the way up there, are Oan and Jua looking down. I see their white teeth as they smile and wave to me. In the next car are the twins, Gae and Gay, and one down are Ampan, Gib, and Bow riding together in one car. On the other side of Oan and Jua are Penporn, Ploy, and Grandma Noi. The other Noi and Od are together; they’re rocking their car side to side, and it’s terrifying to watch. I point up, trying to show my parents all the people who are up there. I can’t stand being left down here another minute, so I begin to yell. Finally, my father takes me to the ticket booth.
“Are you sure you can go on alone? If you get up there and start crying, I’m going to spank you on top of it all once you get back down,” my mother says to me.
I step into the car. The door is locked. My heart races; I feel goose bumps. My car takes off, rising slowly. I giggle, waving to my parents and Jon. My father laughs and waves back. My mother is laughing, too. She points, telling Jon to look. The car goes up and up. I look down, farther and farther. My parents crane their necks to watch me rise and rise. The distance between us grows and grows. Then I look up and take in my bird’s-eye view of the temple fairgrounds. The lights, the musicians, the roof of the ordination hall, the movie screen, the likay stage, the votive show theater, the crowd fighting for a turn at the raffle-ticket tree. My car is descending. I look for them. My heart stops. My parents and Jon aren’t where they were before. My eyes swim: the ground below me is swarming with people. Oh, there. What a relief. Mama and Jon are at the shooting gallery, and over there, Papa’s at the darts booth. My car floats upward again. At the same porridge stall, at the very table where we had been sitting only moments ago, Hia Chong is having himself a bowl. I giggle and wave frantically to him, but he doesn’t see me. The wheel screeches to a halt—I’m stuck at the very top. As my car sways, my stomach ties in knots.
The Ferris wheel isn’t moving. It must be broken; it probably won’t start again. I’m all alone, so high up. I try to sit still, but the car rocks nonetheless, harder and harder in the wind. I’m sure I’m going to die. There’s no way I can survive. The Ferris wheel isn’t moving. I can’t get down. Papa isn’t at the darts booth; Mama isn’t at the shooting gallery. I look everywhere, searching: all I see are the dark heads of roaming people. The wind is steadily picking up strength; it whirs in my ears. My car is swinging hard now. I cower with knots in my stomach, breaking into the tears I can no longer hold back. I’m cold and my head hurts, as if I have a fever coming on.
I hear the sound of water, the sound of huge waves crashing. There really is water—a flood of ocean water bursts onto the temple grounds. There’s panicked screaming, but it morphs into laughter. Everybody’s swimming and having a great time. The water rises higher and higher. I tremble helplessly. Right before my eyes, the water eats Hia Chong, who had been sitting at his table eating rice porridge. The laughter gets quieter. All that remains is the swiftly rising deluge. Eventually, I hear it slosh against the bottom of my car. I close my eyes and wait to drown.
“Kampol! Kampol!” Somdej yelled, shaking him. “Let’s go home. My mama will drop you off.”
Kampol was stuck in his dream. He heard himself being called but couldn’t see where the voice was coming from. He tried to move his body but couldn’t—it was stiff because he was so cold. He thought he was about to die.
Somdej’s mother waded through the water and lifted Kampol from the inner tube. His body was burning up. As hard as the woman and her son tried to rouse him, Kampol didn’t respond. Mother and son put Kampol on the motorbike, swinging over his legs to straddle the seat, and then used a waistcloth to tie him to Somdej’s mother’s back. Kampol went in and out of consciousness, but he remained mostly steeped in the dream.
Somdej’s mother parked her motorbike right in the middle of Mrs. Tongjan’s neighborhood. She looked around, not knowing who to bring the boy to. Kampol was only semiconscious, but she shook him until her voice got through. Kampol cracked his eyelids and looked around him. He knew this place like the back of his hand. “My house is over there,” he pointed. Somdej’s mother carried him to the door and knocked.
Bangkerd the mortician answered. He eyed the middle-aged woman before him, confused as to why she was there, and he still couldn’t figure it out even as she placed Kampol in his arms. The woman said nothing. Having done her part, she got on her motorbike and left. When their bodies made contact, the mortician realized the child he was holding was burning up with a fever. He huffed loudly and swore, ill-tempered.
“Goddamn it! People are starting to bring ’em to me before they’re even dead.”
The mortician half walked, half ran toward the grocery, intending to unload Kampol onto Chong as quickly as possible. On the way, Kampol briefly opened his eyes. As soon as he registered who was carrying him, he knew he was dead. He assumed that the mortician was taking him to Samed Temple in preparation for his funeral. He closed his eyes again. He felt incredibly sad. But so many people had lost their lives in the flood. It was for the best that he had died. In heaven, he would get to see some of the people he had known.
Kampol was taken to the clinic. By the time he opened his eyes again, it was Sunday afternoon. One by one, the familiar faces hovered over his: Hia Chong, Mon, Oan, Jua, Uncle Dum, Aunt Tongbai, Uncle Gaew, Rah, Chai, Od, Noi, Gib, Bow, Ampan, Ploy, Grandma Noi, Penporn, Aunt Keow, Aunt Puang, Gae and Gay, Uncle Dang, and Grandpa Jai. Kampol was touched to see these people again, but at the same time he was so overcome with sadness that he couldn’t hold back his tears, for he hadn’t expected to be reunited with so many of them.
But Kampol suddenly smiled. His parents and Jon were nowhere to be seen. That meant the three of them were still alive. Kampol sighed, relieved. Now he could rest in peace.
Bright Page 15