by Gill Lewis
The glint of metal in the distance was getting bigger. It shimmered in the heat haze, a ripple of red and black and silver. It was getting nearer all the time. The drone from its engines filled the air. A motorbike emerged, its rider tucked close as if he were part of the machine. He lifted the front wheel off the ground as he roared past, leaving us in a whirlwind of dust and a puff of smoke. I looked across at Noy, but he stood openmouthed watching it disappear into the distance.
“Did you see that?” he said. “Did you see it?”
I rubbed the dust from my eyes and turned away. “Come on. I thought you said we were going to the river.”
The Mekong was larger than I’d expected. It was wide and slow, dust yellow, like the earth. It was nothing like the fast rivers of the mountains, which churned white and misted the air with spray. The Mekong was busy, too. Long, thin riverboats with open sides and tin roofs carried people and sacks, and animals of all sorts crammed in cages. The boats were traveling both ways up and down the river. On the far side, fishermen stood waist deep in the shallows, casting nets out into the water. A buffalo lay submerged, only its nose and wide horns sticking above the water.
I climbed down to the smooth rocks at the water’s edge. I guessed they were shaped by the Mekong in full monsoon flood. A scum of river froth and plastic clung in the still water trapped between the rocks.
I waded out knee deep, letting the cool water swirl around me.
Noy joined me. He dipped his head in the water and flung it back, spraying water in an arc behind him. He wiped the dust from his face and pointed at the longboats heading downstream. “Know where they’re going?”
I shrugged my shoulders. “Do you?”
Noy laughed. “Don’t you know anything, Tam? They’re going to the city.” His eyes widened as he said this and drew out the word “city” slowly from his mouth.
I bent down and washed my face, scooping the water with both my hands. It tasted different from our mountain rivers too.
Noy waded farther out. “There’s work in the city.”
I looked at him. His eyes were fixed downstream.
“We’ve got land to farm here,” I said.
Noy snorted. “There’s money in the city, Tam. That’s what I’m talking about. Money.” He turned and grinned at me. “We could go there. You and me. We’d get jobs there. We’d look out for each other.”
I stared at him. Was he being serious or playing games?
“We couldn’t leave the village,” I said.
Noy frowned, his face unreadable. “Couldn’t we?”
We stood in silence, staring out across the river. How had I not noticed? The water wasn’t still and calm at all. It churned beneath. Undercurrents boiled up from the depths, rising and swirling in spinning whirlpools and folding back under again, as if it were trying to hold its secrets deep inside.
Noy turned to face me. “One day, Tam, I’m going to go. And no one can stop me. I’m going to walk out of here and go.”
“What about your family?”
Noy snorted. “I’ll come back. And when I do I’ll be riding a motorbike like the one we saw today. Only it’ll be my bike. Bought with my money. My father will be proud of me. It will be me he turns to, not my brother. Maybe he will make me the chief.”
I watched him turn and walk away, kicking his feet against clumps of river grass that grew between the rocks. Noy and I had grown up together. We’d hunted together with our slingshots in the forest, caught our first fish from the fast river. We’d grown up like brothers. Yet as I looked at him, I didn’t feel I knew him now at all. Maybe one of his souls had strayed too far and couldn’t find its way back. Maybe one of his souls had already joined the Mekong and been drawn into its current, already on its way toward the city.
Maybe it was because another full moon had passed since we moved from our old village, but it began to really feel as if this could be our home here. The chickens had settled into their new roosts, and we didn’t need to corral the pigs to stop them wandering anymore. Ma had traded flower cloths on the highway for lamp oil and new nets to fish the Mekong. I’d killed six white-bellied rats for the pot with my slingshot. Ma was pleased, as we couldn’t hunt bush meat from the forest anymore. Our old life in the mountains became like a distant memory. It didn’t seem real anymore, more like part of a dream.
Mae and Sulee had been for lessons with the new teacher who’d come to teach in the shade beneath the spreading branches of the flame tree. I didn’t go with them. I had to help Pa in the fields, to clear the weeds and stones and dig the irrigation channels for the rice. We didn’t have much time before the rains came.
I slung the pick and shovel across my back and headed out to the fields. My feet scuffed the hot earth. My mouth felt dry. Everything felt dry. I imagined the throat of the earth waiting for the rain. I imagined rain pitting the dust, filling up the cracks and ditches and streambeds. It wouldn’t be long. The monsoon was coming. I could feel it. The dust in the air sparkled with it. One day soon the rains would come.
I passed other villagers bent double, their wide-brimmed hats keeping off the sun. Our field was the farthest away, set back into the corner of a low hill. Pa had worked hard to clear the stones, although we’d have to wait for the rains to soften the earth before we could plow and level it. He said we would plant fruit trees on the hill. Maybe even keep some bees. Not the wild ones, like in the forest; but we’d keep them in wooden hives. Pa understood bees. They understood him, too.
I found him marking out the irrigation channel along the border of our field. In the monsoon we would rely on water from the hills, but General Chan had promised us a water pump for dry season. It meant we would be able to grow other crops all year too.
Pa straightened up, pushing his hand into the small of his back. “We need the handcart, too, Tam. We have to move these stones.”
I laid the pick and shovel on the ground next to him. “I’ll get it now.”
Pa wiped the sweat from his face. “And a drink, Tam. Bring water when you come back.”
I ran along our field edge and only stopped when I reached the low rise of the hill. I turned back to look at Pa. He was stooping to reach the pickax. He looked out of place here. In our old village, my father was the Bee Man. He walked tall in the forest. He talked to the bees. The bees told him everything. But here, without the forest, my father was a just a farmer, just a man.
Sunlight flashed on the pickax as he swung it high above his head.
Maybe if the forest bees had been here, they could have warned him. Maybe the bees would have seen the rusted metal casing hidden untouched beneath forty years of mud and weeds.
But there were no forest bees.
I watched the pick swing in a slow arc and sink into the ground.
There was no warning.
None.
The ground exploded and lifted up into the sky.
Mud and earth and stone rained down.
And when the dust cleared,
my father,
the Bee Man,
was gone.
“Bombies!”
A man from the bomb clearance team held up a poster of a long metal tube filled with fist-sized metal balls.
“Cluster bombs,” he said.
The men in the van, with their padded jackets and metal detectors, had arrived the day after Pa was killed. One was foreign, a falang. He was a big man with yellow hair. His white skin was reddened on his face and forearms. He had a huge nose like an overripe tomato. The other men were from Laos, from the city. They had scanned the earth with their metal detectors, working slowly up and down the fields. Six bombs had been found in our field alone and two in the center of the village. They told Ma it was lucky that I hadn’t been killed too. But it should have been me. It would have been better if it had been me. I wonder if Ma thought that too. Who would work the fields now that Pa was gone? Where would we live now that there was no man to head our household?
“Bombies,” the man
said again.
Everyone from the village was crowded into the chief’s hut. Children sat on the floor and adults stood in a ring around the sides. Even General Chan was here, with two of his men in suits. They had arrived in his helicopter, spinning dust into the sky. I noticed he didn’t have his cameraman with him today. Noy said he’d heard the general wasn’t pleased about the bomb. Other villagers might hear about it and not want to leave the mountains.
I sat near the back with Ma and my sisters. It was hot and airless in the room. Mae buried her head into my chest. She hadn’t spoken since Pa died. Sulee gripped my arm. I could feel her fingers dig into my skin.
The man held up another poster, of bombs falling from a plane. “Three hundred million of these were dropped on Laos between 1964 and 1973. A planeload of bombs every eight minutes, every hour, twenty-four hours a day.” He spoke the figures slowly, then paused and looked around.
The room was silent. I glanced at Ma, but she was staring into space as if her mind was far, far away.
The man tapped his hand against the poster. “Our country has been the most heavily bombed country in the history of the world. Ever.” He said this with a strange mix of awe and national pride. He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “It was the Americans’ secret war.”
How could so many bombs have been kept secret? I knew Grandfather had fought as a boy soldier in that war, but he’d never spoken about it. The only sign was the long scar on his leg. Maybe it was his secret war too.
The man held up another poster of a bomb hidden beneath grass and weeds. “Many bombs exploded when they hit the ground, but many didn’t. Millions lie unexploded in our villages and fields.”
I stared at the picture. My head felt light and white. A bomb like this had waited for more than forty years to tear Pa’s souls apart. The man’s voice became muffled and sounded far away.
I got up and pushed past Ma. “I need some air.”
I started walking out of the village. I didn’t know where. I wanted to run and run. I had a crazy idea I could get to the mountains. Somehow start over again with Grandfather in the forest, like it used to be. Above, the sky had darkened. It glowed with the deep blue monsoon light. Cloud bellies swelled with rain. I could taste the water in the air. The distant ridge of mountains had merged into a haze of blue. On the mountains it was raining already.
“Hey, Tam!”
I turned.
Noy was running to catch up with me. “Where’re you going?”
I slumped down on the ground and waited for him. I dug my fingers in the dry earth. There was nowhere to run to. “I don’t know,” I said.
Noy crouched next to me and picked up a handful of dirt, letting it run through his fingers. I could see him watching me. “Rain’s coming,” he said.
I nodded.
Our field lay empty. The deep crater left by the bomb had been filled in. The irrigation ditches lay half dug. It wasn’t ready for the rice.
I looked at Noy. “What will I do? What will I do now that Pa’s gone?”
Noy picked up another handful and let it slip through his fingers. Around us, big dark spots of rain began to pit the hot ground, sending little puffs of steam into the air. He held out his palm to catch the rain.
“What will I do?” I said.
He got up and brushed the dust from his knees. “Come on, let’s get back.”
By the time we reached the village, we were soaked. The clouds had opened and rain hammered on the tin roofs and fell in sheets of water to the ground. It pooled beneath the houses and cut channels through the soft earth, running in red rivers along tire tracks in the road. The chickens had been flushed out from their roosts in the dirt hollows, and they huddled together on raised patches of dry earth, their feathers fluffed and their heads tucked beneath their wings.
I followed Noy up the wet steps into his house. The villagers had left. Only Noy’s family was there with General Chan and the men from the bomb clearance team. Ma was there too. They all turned when I walked through the door. Tomato-nose man put his hand on my shoulder and smiled at me. He spoke words I didn’t understand.
“He says he is sorry about your father,” said one man from the bomb team. “But he is very happy that the general will help your family.”
I glanced at General Chan. He was sitting on a low stool, sipping his tea. His eyes were fixed on Tomato-nose.
“Tam.” The chief walked over to me. Everyone was looking my way. Noy took a step back to let him pass.
The chief cleared his throat. “Tam, you are the man in your family now. You must help your mother, now that your father is no longer here.”
“Of course,” I said.
Ma wouldn’t look at me.
The chief glanced at Ma and then at me. “But you are not old enough to take on the land. You are a boy still.”
I looked at Ma and Sulee and Mae. What would become of them if I didn’t work?
“I can,” I said. “I will. I’ll work hard. I will plant our rice.”
The chief put his hand on my shoulder. “General Chan knows of a job in the city. It will pay well and you can send the money to your family. It may be the only way your mother can keep the house.”
I glanced at General Chan. He sat impassive, sipping his tea.
I lowered my voice. I hoped General Chan would not hear above the rain. “I can dig the fields. I can plant the rice. I know I can.”
The chief frowned at me and raised his voice. “Tam, I know you share our gratitude for General Chan. He wishes to help our village. He wishes to help you and your family. He has been kind enough to find you work on a farm in the city.”
I looked around. Tomato-nose was smiling and nodding at me. Ma wouldn’t catch my eye. Noy was glaring at me, his face dark like the monsoon sky. Was he jealous? Did he want to go the city? He could have the city for all I cared. I couldn’t go. Ma needed me.
I needed her.
The chief was still looking at me. “Any questions, Tam?”
The rain drummed harder on the roof, the sound drumming against my skull. My mind was blank. Empty. I stood in the center of the room, water dripping from my wet clothes, pooling at my feet.
“Then fetch your things,” he said. “General Chan will take you with him to the city today.”
My legs were heavy, as if they were stuck deep in thick mud. I watched General Chan finish his tea and stand up to leave.
How could I work on a farm in the city? I only knew about chickens and pigs and hunting in the mountains.
“General Chan,” I said.
He turned to me, as if he had seen me for the first time. The sides of his mouth curled downward.
The chief shifted from one foot to the other, his face strained. I knew I shouldn’t have spoken directly to the general.
The rain stopped as suddenly as it had started.
Water dripped from the gutters.
The ground outside hissed with the sound of steam rising from the hot earth.
“General Chan,” I said again. My voice was loud in the silence. “What sort of farm is it?”
General Chan glanced at the chief and at Ma. He wouldn’t look at me. He pulled the sleeve of his jacket to look at the gold watch on his wrist. “We must go,” he said.
He turned and left. His footsteps echoed hollow in the room.
I stared after him.
Why didn’t he answer?
My mind filled with that one question.
What did you farm in a city?
Ma helped me pack up the few things I owned: my clothes, my slingshot, and Pa’s new flip-flops, though they were too big for me still. She wrapped up a tin of forest honey in oilcloth. It was the last honey Pa and Grandfather had collected from the forest. It felt a lifetime ago, although only two months had passed. Yet now I was moving on again.
There was no time for long good-byes. Ma wrapped cotton around my wrists to keep my souls safe inside. She touched her palms against my face. “Remember who you are,�
� she said. “Keep safe, Tam, and come back to us.”
I put my hands on hers. I wanted to stay there in the darkness of our house. I wanted to stay with Ma and Sulee and Mae.
Outside, cars revved their engines. I heard the chief shout my name.
Sulee held on to me, but Ma pulled her hand away.
How could I leave?
Mae struggled to reach me, pushing her arms through Ma’s grip. But Ma held her tight.
“Tam!” The chief called my name again.
I couldn’t move. I stood, staring at Ma and Sulee and Mae clinging to one another. “I should go,” I said.
Ma nodded. She blinked back tears and smiled. “I will pray that Good Luck finds you.”
I took a deep breath, picked up my bag, and left.
I turned once to see Ma watching me through the door of the house. Mae clung to her skirts and Sulee screamed my name. What if something happened to them? Who would tell me? How would I know?
“Tam!” The chief was standing beside the bomb clearance van. “Come on. General Chan said these men will take you to the city.”
I looked around, but General Chan’s helicopter had gone. He and the men in suits had already left. The chief helped me into the back of the van, where I wedged myself between metal detectors and sacks and shovels. Noy didn’t show up to say good-bye. I could see him watching from the window of his house, his face half hidden in shadow. The chief slammed the van doors and plunged me into darkness. I felt the van lurch and slide along the track until we reached the highway. We picked up speed and I could hear the steady rush of air against the sides and the spray of water from the wheels on the wet road.
It was hot and airless in the van. A wire grille behind the driver’s seat let a little air and light through. I could see the back of the heads of the bomb men and Tomato-nose.
A voice called through the grille. “Are you all right back there?”