by Gill Lewis
I shifted in my seat and tried to push away the shovels that dug into my back. “Yes, thank you,” I said.
I hugged my bag of belongings against my chest. I could feel the tin of forest honey pressing against my skin. My stomach ached. I hadn’t eaten all day. I unwrapped the oilcloth and ran my fingers around the rim. Just one taste, I told myself. I’d save the rest. I lifted the lid and scooped some honey, sucking the smoky bittersweetness from my fingers. I closed my eyes. I tasted the forest, the leaves and flowers. I tasted the damp earth where the bear cub had curled safe inside its den. I tasted Ma sewing her flower cloths, and Mae and Sulee playing in the sun-bright pools below the waterfalls. I tasted Grandfather in his poppy field, calling the bees, and Pa smiling from under his wide-brimmed hat. I tasted all these things.
I sank my head onto my knees.
I was glad of the darkness.
I closed the tin lid and pressed it tight.
I promised myself I would never open it again.
Never.
I would never taste it.
I would never even try.
I was glad of the darkness, because in the darkness no one can see you cry.
The bang of doors woke me. Light flooded the van. I sat up and rubbed my neck. It was stiff from lying crooked up against hard boxes. The driver helped me out and dropped my bag on the ground beside me.
I stood blinking in the late-afternoon sunlight.
We were in a yard surrounded by high metal fencing topped with a roll of barbed wire. Two logging trucks, like the ones I’d seen in the mountains, were parked up on the far side. One was hitched up on its side having a tire changed. Cars with prices on their hoods were lined up against the fence facing the road. They shone beetle-bright in the sunlight.
Beyond the fence, cars and motorbikes and tuk-tuks moved in a steady stream along a wide road. The air was filled with dust and noise. So much noise. So this was what it was like in the city.
A man in blue overalls was walking across the yard toward us.
“This is Mr. Sone,” said the driver. “He owns Sone Motors. He will take care of you now.”
Mr. Sone stood in front of me. He was a tall man, taller than our chief. His hands were black with oil, and he clutched a wrench in one of them. He looked me up and down, his eyes resting on my torn shirt and my bare feet. He turned to the driver. “He looks young,” he said. “We were expecting someone older.”
The driver shrugged his shoulders. “General Chan said to bring him here.”
Mr. Sone walked in a circle around me. “How old are you, boy?”
I stared at the ground, watching Mr. Sone’s work boots come to a stop in front of me.
“What’s your name?” he said.
I concentrated on my feet, which were caked in a thick layer of dirt. “Tam,” I said. “My name is Tam.”
“Do you have family?”
I nodded.
Mr. Sone turned to the driver. “Then I think you should take him back.”
The driver ran his hands through his hair. He leaned in the window of his van. I could see him talking to Tomato-nose. Tomato-nose took a swig of water from a bottle and wiped his face. I felt their eyes on me. I couldn’t go back, however much I wanted to. I had to earn money for Ma. It was the only way she could keep the house we’d been given. She was relying on me.
I picked my bag up from the ground and slung it across my shoulder, trying to look more confident than I felt. “I am here to work,” I said.
Mr. Sone exchanged glances with the driver. The driver shrugged his shoulders and said something I couldn’t hear. I watched him climb into the car and rev the engine. Tomato-nose gave a thumbs-up and a cheery wave as they drove away in a swirl of exhaust and dust.
Mr. Sone watched them go and then turned to me. “Follow me,” he grunted.
I walked close behind him across the yard into the darkness of a garage and almost tripped on a pair of legs sticking out from under a car.
“My eldest son, Rami,” said Mr. Sone, striding ahead. “He works for me.”
I glanced back but could only hear the clink of metal on metal from underneath the car.
I had to run to keep up with Mr. Sone. At the far end of the garage he turned and slipped through a low doorway to a house next to the entrance to the yard. The smells of cooking rice and spices filtered through the open window. Mr. Sone kicked off his boots and walked through the door.
He put his hand out. “Wait there. I will call my wife.”
Inside, I could see big pans steaming on a stove in the corner. A boy my age sat at a table with books spread out in front of him. He rolled a pencil around in his fingers and stared at me.
“Kee!” shouted Mr. Sone. “We have our lodger.”
A small woman came through a door on the far side. She wiped her hands on her apron and looked at me. “He looks young.”
Mr. Sone washed his hands in the sink, working soap along his forearms. “He’s from the mountains,” he said.
The boy at the table put down his pencil. “He stinks,” he said.
“That’s enough, Kham,” snapped Mrs. Sone. She stepped closer to me and wrinkled her nose. “Are you hungry?”
I nodded.
She set a bowl and spoon on the table. “Eat first; then we will show you your room and the shower.”
Kham stared at me as his mother ladled noodle soup into a bowl.
I was so hungry that I ate one whole bowl and when Mrs. Sone offered another, I ate that too.
Mrs. Sone frowned and looked at her husband. “We’ll have to charge more if he always eats this much.”
I stopped eating and put my spoon back on the table. “I have no money to pay you,” I said.
Mr. Sone looked across at me. “The Doctor is paying your rent.”
“The Doctor?” I said. “Who’s he?”
Mr. and Mrs. Sone exchanged glances.
Mr. Sone took a sip of water and cleared his throat. “The Doctor is the owner of the farm. You will be working for him. He will pay me your rent before he sends the rest of your earnings to your family.”
I clasped my hands beneath the table. “Where is the Doctor’s farm? How long will it take to get there?”
Kham snorted a laugh. “Don’t you know?”
Mrs. Sone rapped her spoon down on the table. “Kham, eat up. It’s nearly bedtime for you. You have school in the morning.”
Mrs. Sone led me outside to a corrugated iron shed beside the garage. She pushed open the door. “This is your room,” she said. The shed was dark but smelled clean inside. A shaft of light cut through a high window on the far wall. She pulled a cord and lit the room from a bare lightbulb on the ceiling. The room was empty except for a mattress, a small cupboard, and a table in the corner. She pressed a towel into my hands and nodded toward another shed propped up against the garage buildings. “You can use the shower Mr. Sone’s workers use. There’s a faucet on the wall inside. Turn it one way for on, the other for off. Make sure you don’t waste water and leave it running after your shower.”
I stood there, clutching the towel in my hands.
Mrs. Sone put her hand on her hip. “Any questions?”
“Where can I find the Doctor?”
Mrs. Sone turned to leave. “The Doctor will come for you in the morning,” she said. Her face softened and she put her hand on my arm. “Make sure you are ready for him.”
I closed the door and listened to her footsteps fade away. My room was small, but at least it was my space for now. I had a place to eat and sleep and a job with the Doctor, who would send my money back home. I pulled the light cord. Off. On. Off. On. A moth batted around the lightbulb. I tried to imagine our house in the village with electricity. I imagined it lit up like the city. I pulled the cord again and stood in the darkness. Outside, the sky had darkened. The orange haze of a streetlight filtered through the high window. I listened to the sounds of the city night. Car horns. A siren. Tuk-tuks and motorbikes buzzing along the road
outside. Music pumping from a car. Shouts and laughter.
I pushed the table beneath the high window and climbed up to look outside. I could see Mr. Sone talking to a truck driver beneath the floodlights of the garage yard. Beyond the road and the dust clouds stirred up from the wheels of the traffic lay a long, low concrete building. It was windowless except for narrow openings just beneath the flat iron roof. Next to the building, tall metal gates were firmly closed and locked with a thick chain and padlock. In the evening light I strained my eyes to make out the image painted on the gates. It looked like a bear, a moon bear, but it seemed so strange to see it here. Somewhere inside the building a hard white light flickered, making the darkness seem a deeper dark.
I shivered.
Beyond that building were more buildings, going on and on. Nowhere could I see any green. Not even a scrubby patch of grass.
“Tam!”
The light flicked on. I spun around to see Kham holding up a clean T-shirt and shorts.
“Ma said you’re to have these,” he said. He laid them on the mattress and climbed up next to me. “What are you looking at?”
I pointed to the concrete building. “What’s that?”
“Didn’t anyone tell you?” Kham stared across the road. “That’s the Doctor’s farm.”
My mouth felt dry. “What sort of farm?” I said.
Kham took his time to answer.
“Tam,” he said. “Have you ever seen a bear?”
I woke to loud banging. I tried to push the sleep from my head and remember where I was. The noise. The traffic. A pale light slanted through the window grilles. It was morning already.
Still the banging. Thump, thump, thump.
I sat bolt upright and spun around to look behind me. The banging was coming from my room. A man was standing in the doorway, thumping his fist against the door frame. He was small and wiry, wearing skinny jeans and a tight white T-shirt. His sunglasses sat perched on his slicked-back hair. His right leg jiggled, and he chewed gum as he spoke. “Well, Mountain Boy, first day at work and you’re late.”
I stared at him.
He threw a pair of gum boots. They bounced on the ground and skidded to a halt against the mattress. The soles were worn, and the rubber had split along the heel on one boot. “You’ll need these for the job. I’ll take them from your first week’s pay.” He spat out his chewing gum. “If you don’t get a move on, I’ll dock a day’s pay too.”
I scrambled to my feet. So this was the Doctor. I thought of Ma and the money she needed me to earn. How could I have overslept, on my first day? I pulled on a top and shorts and slid my feet into the gum boots. They were much too big. My feet slipped around inside. Maybe they were the last worker’s boots. I wondered what had happened to him.
I pulled the blanket straight on my bed and faced the Doctor. “I’m ready.”
The Doctor gave a short laugh. He smiled, showing a gold tooth in the corner of his mouth. “Really?” He leaned close. “No one is ever ready for the bears.”
I closed the door of my room and followed the Doctor out onto the street. The sun had not long been up. It hovered above the rooftops, a pale yellow ball veiled by dust and smog. The city was awake already. Tuk-tuks and cars filled the road. A line of shaven-headed monks walked along the sidewalk, their saffron robes bright against the paler yellow of the early morning sky. I watched them pass. Some were boys not much older than me. They bowed to collect the offerings of rice from women kneeling on the ground. I saw Kham’s mother with them. She placed sticky rice into their bowls. My stomach ached with hunger. I guessed I’d have no food until later on in the day.
“Hey, Mountain Boy, come on.”
I turned and stepped out onto the road. A truck’s horn blasted in my ear and I felt the Doctor’s fingers dig into my arm and pull me back. The truck’s wing mirror flicked against my shoulder.
The Doctor glared at me. “Careful, Mountain Boy. You don’t want to get killed on the road.” He caught me by the elbow and half pushed and half dragged me through the traffic. He pushed open the tall red gates of the bear farm. “We’ll let the bears do that instead.”
Beyond the high metal gates was a bare dirt yard surrounded by walls. Bags of trash, pooled in dirty water, were heaped up in a corner. A bicycle was propped up against one wall, and a motorbike stood on the only patch of clean concrete. A small office room was attached to the low concrete building. Sliding metal doors to the building were firmly shut. It was strangely quiet in there too. Dead quiet.
Through the office window I could see a man slumped in the chair, a beer bottle resting on his belly. His head was tipped back, and his mouth lay open. He was half hidden behind a fog of cigarette smoke.
“This way,” said the Doctor. He kicked the door open, and the man shot up in his seat. His beer bottle fell onto the floor. It bounced and spun, spreading a circle trail of beer. The man picked up some papers on the table and shuffled them.
“Asang!” The Doctor picked up the bottle and thumped it on the table. “I have found you another assistant.”
Asang wiped his mouth and glanced between the Doctor and me. His belly bulged through his shirt, some of the buttons long since missing. A spiral of smoke drifted upward from his cigarette.
The Doctor gave me a shove. “Mountain Boy. This is Asang. Asang tells you what to do. And I tell Asang what to do. Is that clear?”
I nodded.
The Doctor picked up a sheaf of papers and flicked through them. Beads of sweat ran down Asang’s face. It was hot and stuffy in the office. A broken fan hung from the ceiling. Piles of papers were stacked on a filing cabinet in the corner of the room, and the tabletop was littered with pens and cigarette butts. The shelves above Asang’s head were lined with small glass bottles. Some bottles were empty; others were filled with a dark brown sludge. There were clear plastic envelopes containing white pills and powders, labeled with words I couldn’t read. Each label bore the picture of a black bear standing on its hind legs, a white crescent on its chest.
“Come,” said the Doctor. “It’s time our Mountain Boy did some work.”
The Doctor took off his sneakers and slipped his feet into a pair of gum boots. On the way out he picked up a long metal bar from behind the door. As he gripped the metal, I noticed how clean and smooth his hand was, not a farmer’s hand at all.
Asang followed, slopping along in rubber shoes. We stopped at the low concrete building. Asang hauled on the sliding doors, and they rolled open, metal grating on the concrete. I could hear movements from inside the building, but it was too dark to see. The only light came from the window grilles high up on the walls, cutting in bright blades of light across the roof space high above our heads.
I covered my face as the stench filled my nose and mouth.
The Doctor turned to me. “Bears stink,” he said. “Get used to it.”
The air from the building stank of dirt and dead things. It was nothing like the clean earthy smell of the bear den.
The building had fallen silent again, as if whatever was inside was waiting for us.
The Doctor stepped in and reached up beside the door. Somewhere deep inside, a white light flickered and buzzed into life. Three strips of neon lit up in a row high above the center of the building.
The Doctor swept his arm inside. “Welcome to the bear barn,” he said, and looked right at me. “It is time we introduced you to my bears.”
I didn’t know what to expect. Maybe I thought I’d see bears running freely in the building. But in the harsh glare of the neon strip-lights there were eight cages, set in two rows on either side of a long central drainage channel. The cages were held up from the floor on metal posts fixed into the concrete. Beneath each cage the concrete was crusted in bear filth. Trails of brownish liquid ran toward the drainage gutter.
The Doctor put his hands on his hips. “These are all my bears,” he said. “Come, Mountain Boy. Come and see.”
I couldn’t move. I just stared. They didn
’t look like bears at first. They were huge black shapes, filling up the space inside each cage. Some lay, their paws dangling through the bars. Others sat, swaying from side to side. I could see they were moon bears by the crescents of white fur on their chests.
“Come, Mountain Boy,” said the Doctor. He pulled my arm. “Don’t tell me you’re scared.”
I walked behind him along the row. He ran his metal bar along the metal of the cage fronts. The noise rang out inside the building. The bears became restless. They hooted and moaned and moved to the far side of their cages, pressing themselves against the bars. They were so big, so close, so real. I never knew bears could be kept like this. What did the Doctor keep them for?
I followed the Doctor to an end cage. Inside was a huge bear, much bigger than any of the others. Unlike the other bears, this bear didn’t cower when the Doctor approached. It faced him, its head pressed against the bars. The Doctor slammed his metal bar against the cage, and the bear exploded, snarling and lashing out with its paws.
I shot backward.
The Doctor laughed. “This is Biter. My first bear.” He held up his left hand, and I noticed for the first time that two of the Doctor’s fingers were missing. The Doctor pulled something from under the neckline of his T-shirt. Bear teeth were threaded to a strip of leather around his neck. The Doctor leaned close. “He took my fingers. So I took his teeth.” He struck Biter in the belly with the metal bar. “We have an understanding, don’t we, bear?”
Biter lashed out and bit at the cage bars. I could see the line of broken teeth along his jaw. The bear pushed his paw through the bars. His long claws slashed the air. I backed away into another cage, where the bear inside groaned and pressed itself against the farthest bars.
“And that one’s Mama Bear,” said the Doctor, banging his bar against her cage. “She was pregnant when we got her. That’s her cub over there.”
Mama Bear flattened her ears and moaned. She rolled her eyes, the whites showing. Her mouth hung open. She panted in the heat. Her cub, in the next cage, was a full-grown bear. He swung his head from side to side, hitting his head against the bars each time.