by Gill Lewis
I put him back in his cage and scratched behind his ear. “I’ll come back for you,” I said. “Maybe I could find us a riverboat to the forests.”
Sôok-dìi held my hand in his paws as if he were listening.
I pressed my head against his. “That’s what we’ll do, Sôok-dìi. When I come back from seeing Ma and Mae and Sulee, I’ll take you away from here. We’ll escape. I’ll take you back, to the forests.”
“Tam?”
I turned.
Kham was standing in the gap of the barn doors. “Who are you talking to in there?”
I closed Sôok-dìi’s cage. “No one,” I said.
Kham glanced back over his shoulder. “Your friend wants to see you,” he said, “the one from your home.”
I jumped up. “Noy? Noy is here now?”
Kham frowned. “Tam, listen . . .”
“Noy is here!” I said. I pushed past Kham to see Noy standing by the gates, lit by streetlight. “Noy!” I shouted and waved.
I crossed the road to him. Noy was leaning against the fence, his hands deep in his pockets, but he was smiling.
“Noy!” I said. I couldn’t take my eyes from him. “You found me.”
Noy grinned.
“You’re not mad at me still?”
“No,” said Noy.
“Come,” I said. I led him toward the yellow light of my room.
“Tam!” Kham backed away toward his house. “My father is shutting the gates soon. Your friend cannot stay long.”
Noy looked around the room, taking in the thin mattress, the low table, and the chest of drawers. “I thought it was true that you’d gone and left. I didn’t realize you’d been working all this time.”
“And I didn’t realize my boss hadn’t been sending the money,” I said.
Noy paced around the room, fiddling with the drawers and poking behind the clothes and peanut treats on my shelves. “You must earn a bit with the dancing bear,” he said.
“More than just a bit,” I said.
Noy lifted up a packet of silks and pulled out a few golden threads. He whistled softy. “This must have been expensive.”
“It was,” I said. “I’m taking it back to Ma.”
Noy frowned. “You spent it all on silks?”
“No,” I laughed. “There’s more. Loads more. Enough to buy a buffalo.”
Noy put down the silks and looked at me. “Let’s see.”
“It’s safe,” I said. Something stopped me from telling him where I’d put the money. I could trust Noy, I’d known him all my life, but this money for Ma was so precious I didn’t want to show anyone.
Noy shrugged his shoulders and slumped on the mattress.
I lay down next to him and we turned on our backs, looking up at the bare lightbulb as if it was the moon we’d shared our secrets with before. “You haven’t told me what you do here in the city,” I said.
“Me?” said Noy. “I carry things.”
“What things?”
“Parcels . . . that sort of stuff.”
“Who for?”
Noy sat up. “Why the questions, Tam?”
“Do you earn enough money?”
Noy pulled back his sleeve to show a huge gold watch on his wrist. “See, my boss is very generous. He gave this to me.”
I stared at the watch. I couldn’t tell if it was real gold, but it looked expensive.
“I’m going back,” I said, “to the village.”
Noy turned to look at me. “It’s not the same,” he said. “There are new people, from other villages.” He frowned. “It’s not the same.”
“What about your TV? Did you get to watch it?”
“It’s my brother’s TV now.” Noy laughed. “There is electricity, but we can’t afford it.”
We lay in silence, listening to the buzz of the electric light above our heads and the sounds of the traffic on the road outside.
“You know the bear cub?” I said
Noy frowned. “What cub?”
“The cub we tried to take from the den?” I said. “Well, it’s the bear here at the farm, the dancing bear.”
Noy turned to look at me. “Is that so?” he said. He gave a short laugh. “The three of us ended up in the city to find our fortune.”
I smiled. “I didn’t tell you, but I was terrified that night. I thought the mother bear was going to kill me.”
Noy’s face broke into a grin. “I thought so too.”
“D’you miss our old home in the forest,” I said.
Noy didn’t answer.
I smiled. “Remember when we thought we were so big and clever for making a rope bridge across the fast river?”
Noy nodded. “We got in a whole load of trouble for that, didn’t we? Ma said we could have drowned.”
I laughed. “Grandfather taught me how to tie good knots after that.”
Noy put his hands beneath his head and stared up at the ceiling. He drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “It was simple back then, wasn’t it? It was good. I don’t know why I couldn’t see it.”
“Come back with me,” I said.
Noy looked at me.
“Come back with me to the village. I’m going tomorrow. I’m catching a slow boat at dawn and taking Ma the money. I’m going back.”
Noy stared at his watch and turned it around and around his wrist, watching the gold strap catch the light.
“Noy,” I said, “the village needs us both. Maybe it could be like old times.”
He pushed his sleeve over his wrist and looked at me and smiled. “Okay,” he said. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe it is time we both went back home.”
The river was busy at first light. The sun’s rim broke above the distant hills, igniting the sky and casting the ground in deep chocolate shadow. Monks walked along the riverside, their saffron robes the color of the dawn-reflecting Mekong. The rich scent of coffee and spice and sandalwood mixed together, a sweet heady mix in the still air.
There were already lines for the riverboats. The rains had swelled the Mekong. The river ran fast, churning currents from deep below. Kham had warned me that sometimes the boats could not run in full flood. I hoped I’d be able to board a boat today.
I stood at the river’s edge and closed my eyes. The chanting of the monks soothed me. It made it seem possible that soon I would see Ma and Mae and Sulee. I held the shoulder bag I’d borrowed from Kham tight against me. It was packed full of the silks and threads and presents for back home. I felt for the hard edges of the money-filled honey tin inside the bag. I thought of Ma’s face seeing the money. I thought of all the things we could use it for.
“Hey, Tam.”
I opened my eyes and turned. Noy was walking toward me. I smiled and waved. Part of me had wondered whether he’d really come today. But now we would return together, as it should be.
“Have you got the tickets?” he said.
I shook my head. “Which boat?” I said. They all looked the same to me.
“Come,” said Noy.
I followed him, weaving around stalls and people with bags and cages and woven baskets of rice. My stomach growled. I hadn’t eaten, and I was starving. Noy spoke to several of the boatmen. Some of the boats were already full.
“Tam,” said Noy, “stand in this line and I’ll get the tickets.”
I stopped beside a woman with a basket of chickens and a bicycle wheel.
Noy held out his hand. “I need some money,” he said, “for the tickets.”
I opened my shoulder bag and pulled the tin to the top of the bag. “How much for the tickets?” I said.
Noy looked around him. “I’ll take the tin,” he said.
I shook my head. “I don’t want people seeing how much there is.” I pulled out some bills and handed them to him. “This should be enough.”
Noy took the money and disappeared through the crowd. I stood in the line clutching my bag to me.
Our riverboat was an open-sided longboat, painted red and
green. Its low, flat roof reflected the gold of the sky. I could see the captain, a small skinny man in a T-shirt, shorts, and a peaked cap. He was busy with the engine. Puffs of thick black smoke belched out from the back of the boat. Another crewmember pushed a long, thin plank from the boat to the riverbank and beckoned us to board. I looked around for Noy and saw him pushing his way through. He shoved a ticket in my hand. “It’s a round-trip ticket,” he said. “Keep it safe.”
We inched forward. I could see the boat filling up in front of us. One crewmember was slinging bags and luggage across to another while the passengers edged across the thin plank. The crewman threw my bag across and Noy went first. I watched the plank bow and bend beneath his weight.
Noy picked up my bag and turned to face me. “I’ll find a seat for us!” he yelled, and disappeared beneath the low roof of the boat.
I edged my way across the thin plank, keeping my eyes fixed on my feet. Below, the yellow waters of the Mekong swept beneath me. If I fell, I’d be pulled beneath the line of boats moored along the riverbanks. I would stand no chance. I climbed into the boat and squeezed my way through people and bags and cages and baskets. I couldn’t see Noy at first; then I saw him at the front on one of the hard seats, his arm safe around my bag. He waved for me to join him. I scrambled over cages of chickens and sat down beside him, taking my bag from him. I held it close, feeling the hard edge of the honey tin against my chest.
I looked at Noy, but he was frowning, looking out to market stalls and vendors lined up along the riverbank. His leg jiggled against mine.
“Nervous?” I asked.
Noy jumped.
“I am too,” I said. “It’ll be strange going back.”
He looked at me, and a brief smile broke along his face. “A bit,” he said. “My brother and I didn’t leave on good terms.”
“He’ll understand,” I said. “I bet he’s missing you.”
But Noy wasn’t listening. His eyes scanned the market. “Are you hungry?”
“Starving,” I said.
Noy jumped up. “I’ll get us some food and drink. It’s a long trip.”
I pulled him down. “The boat’s about to leave.”
Noy pulled away. “I won’t be long. They’ll wait for me.”
I watched him walk back along the boat and cross the thin plank to the riverbank. I lost him in the crowd, catching fleeting glimpses among the faces. The engines of the boat roared into life. Puffs of black smoke rose into the air.
“Noy!” I yelled. I saw him again, beside a rice stall. I stood up and leaned out of the boat. “Noy!”
I glanced to the back of the boat to see the captain pulling up the plank.
“Noy!” I yelled.
But Noy wasn’t buying rice. He was standing in the road, waving his arms, but not at me. A motorbike veered through the crowd and stopped beside him. The rider’s face was hidden beneath his visor. Noy swung his leg over the motorbike and clung to his back.
Noy looked around once. His eyes locked on to mine, and I couldn’t tell if it was regret or good-bye, but in that one moment, in that fleeting second, I understood.
I knew I would never see Noy again.
I sat back down and felt a pit of sickness rise from deep inside me. I reached into my bag for the honey tin. But I didn’t even need to look. I already knew what I would find.
I opened the tin.
The empty space stared back at me.
The money,
all of it,
was gone.
A fine rain was falling as the longboat pulled up at the nearest town to the village. The hills and limestone peaks of the mountains that had lined the last two hours of the journey were veiled from view. I was glad of the rain. It hid me too. I was returning with no money, and I wondered what Ma and the villagers would think of me.
The village was quiet as I entered. Children I didn’t recognize stood beneath the stilts of their houses, their big eyes watching me pass. An old man leaned on his stick. He wasn’t from our village either. I wondered how many new people had moved here. What if my village had been moved on again? I felt like a stranger here. Dogs barked but didn’t leave the shelter of their dry spots beneath the houses. I looked back at what had been the chief’s house, but the shutters were closed against the rain. There was no sign of Noy’s brother.
The mud was slick and red. It squeezed over my flip-flops and between my toes. It was hard walking, trying to keep the bag with Ma’s silks out of the mud.
And then I saw them. “Sulee!” I shouted “Mae!”
Sulee turned. She grabbed Mae and stared at me, openmouthed.
“Sulee, it’s me!” I yelled. I started running toward her. They ran to me too, and I was on my knees, my arms around them and their arms around me. Mae buried her head in my neck, and I felt home again.
“Tam!”
I looked beyond my sister to see Ma running down the road toward me, her skirts flying out behind her.
“Tam!” She crumpled down beside me in the mud and put her hands on either side of my face and pressed her forehead against mine. She stared deep into my eyes and didn’t wipe the tears that fell down her face. “I thought I had lost you.”
I put my hands on hers and smiled. “I promised I would come back.”
Ma traced her fingers across my face and nodded. She turned to Mae and Sulee. “Go tell everyone that Tam has returned. Come,” she said. “We have much to celebrate. My son has come home.”
I walked with Ma back to the house. I was relieved to see she had been allowed to keep the house given to her when we moved to the village. In the time I’d been away, Ma seemed to have grown older. Fine lines now crinkled across her face where she’d had smooth skin before. I felt older too, by years rather than just months. There seemed a whole world between me and the boy I used to be.
“Sit down,” said Ma. She fussed around me, finding me a soft rug to sit on. She lit the small stove and put a pan of water on to boil. The room was dark inside, the shutters closed to keep out the rain. Ma pulled a bunch of herbs from a basket and started chopping them on a board. I smelled the fresh scent of mint filling the air. I had so much to say, too much. My mind ached with lack of sleep and the exhaustion of just being here. Still, I was safe here. I could sleep and wake, knowing I would be with my family. I could tell Ma sensed this too. She just let me sit with my thoughts in the darkness while she chopped and prepared the food. The fresh tang of lime mixed with mint and coriander and the salt scent of fish paste. Mrs. Sone’s food was good, but Ma’s cooking was the taste of home.
I felt my head drop and my eyelids close. I was aware of footsteps on the wooden steps outside. The door swung open, and I lifted my head.
A man stood, silhouetted in the doorway, his wiry frame blocking the light. “Tam?” he said.
I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and stared at him. “Pa?”
The man knelt down beside me, and only then could I clearly see his face. “Grandfather?” I said. I reached out to touch him, to make sure it was him, to make sure he was real. “What are you doing here?”
Grandfather studied my face before he spoke. “I came when I heard about your father,” he said.
“How did you hear?”
“The men at the logging station told me when I was trading forest meat. I came back to help your mother.”
Ma opened the shutters. “Look,” she said. “The rain has cleared.”
A pale sun shone through the golden mist left by the rains. Mae and Sulee burst through the door.
“The chief is on his way from the fields,” Mae said.
Ma poured two cups of hot water infused with mint leaves. I sipped mine and stared into the steam.
“Noy told me you didn’t get any of the money I earned at the bear farm,” I said.
“Noy?” said Grandfather. “You have seen Noy?”
I bit my lip and stared into my cup.
“Tam,” he said. “I think you have a story to tell us, and I think th
at we should hear it all.”
And so I told it. All of it. About Kham and his family and about the Doctor and about the bears. I told them about General Chan and his daughter, too. They laughed when I told them about the lady bear in the city. I told them about all the money I’d earned with Sôok-dìi. When I got to the part about Noy, I stalled. I said we’d met and that Noy was going to come back with me.
“But he didn’t,” said Grandfather.
“No,” I said.
“But he wanted the money?”
I folded my head into my lap. I didn’t want him to read my face and see the truth. I didn’t want them to know Noy had taken all the money, but Grandfather guessed it anyway.
Ma sat down next to me. “It’s not your fault, Tam,” she said. “You are here. That is what matters now. It is enough that you have brought yourself.”
“I have these for you, though,” I said. At least I wasn’t empty-handed.
Ma opened the bag. She ran her fingers along the bolts of silk in red and gold and forest green. “These are beautiful, Tam,” she smiled. “I will be able to make much for the tourists and the markets with these.”
I handed the two dresses to Mae and Sulee, and they ran off to try them on.
Ma filled my cup again. “Drink up, Tam. The villagers will be here soon to welcome you back home.”
People crowded into our house. Women admired the silks and cloths I’d bought for Ma. As darkness fell, more people brought drink and food, and it turned into a party. We waited for Noy’s brother to arrive so that he could perform the Baci ceremony of tying white cotton around my wrists to keep my souls safe inside. In truth, I felt they’d stayed close beside me all the time. Grandfather opened a jar of rice whiskey and handed it around to the adults. Mae and Sulee curled up against me and fell asleep. Ma wouldn’t leave me alone. Although I wasn’t home in the mountains, I felt I was home with the people I belonged to.
At the end of the evening Noy’s brother slid down next to me. His eyes were glazed from whiskey. I noticed Grandfather looking our way. Noy’s brother was only three years older than me, yet now he was the chief.