Our own section is starting to divide into two groups also—a few boys who follow the captain’s elite and the rest of us who don’t. Tai is fast becoming the leader of the second group. His water buffalo maneuver and survival in solitary have earned respect.
U-Tha-Din, too, starts giving Tai more responsibility. We recruits continue to work at finishing the latrines, and the sergeant tells him to organize us at the beginning of the day.
“Nine of us working today,” Tai says. “The rest are helping with rifle practice.”
“Why don’t we work in shifts?” I suggest. “Three of us can do the heavier work while three others measure, and three work with smaller tools. Then we’ll switch. That way we won’t get tired at the same time.”
“Good idea, Chiko,” Tai says. “But we need to keep track of the shifts to make sure everybody gets a turn to rest.”
“If I had some paper, I could set up a system,” I say.
“Did you hear that, Sergeant?” Tai calls. “Chiko could use some paper.”
U-Tha-Din hands me his clipboard. “Tai tells me you can write, boy,” he says. “Use this to figure out your system.
And while you’re at it, why don’t you take a look at some of these other letters? I’m—er—much too busy to do paperwork.”
I like the feel of the clipboard and pencil in my hands. “I can’t read and write without my glasses, sir,” I say. “The captain told me not to wear them.”
U-Tha-Din glances around. “Do you have them?”
“They’re in the gym.”
“As long as you don’t wear them around the captain or any of his men, you’ll be fine. These fellows won’t say anything, right?”
The seven boys standing with us agree, and I race to get my glasses. I’m safe for now; the captain’s soldiers are at the far end of the field, concentrating on shooting practice. Two recruits from our section are helping to set up targets.
I list the names and ages of the nine workers on the blank piece of paper attached to the clipboard. Dividing us into three groups, I balance the younger boys with the older ones. Although it seems like I’m ordering them around, the others don’t mind. They see that my plan is fair.
When it’s my group’s turn to take a break, I pick up the clipboard and flip through the rest of its contents—several forms that haven’t been completed, an unfinished budget report with a lot of math mistakes, and six unopened letters. Why would such important paperwork go untouched like this? Is the sergeant too busy to read his mail?
I walk over to U-Tha-Din, who’s dozing in the shade. As I watch his face, the jowls shaking with each snore, the truth dawns—I’ll bet the man can’t read.
U-Tha-Din stirs and sits up. “What is it?”
“Do you want me to read these letters to you, sir?”
He looks at me suspiciously, but I keep my expression blank. “Good idea,” he says. “My eyes get—er—tired from the sunshine. Another boy used to help me, but he’s gone now.”
“What happened to him?” I can’t help asking.
“The captain sent him to the front lines.”
I slit open the first envelope, noticing Tai and the other boy in our group watching. “Find something useful to do!” U-Tha-Din snaps, and they back off.
The first letter is from Yangon’s military headquarters. It’s a commendation about the negotiations U-Tha-Din arranged with the neighboring farmer. Major Wang-De visited the camp and noted your leadership abilities. We have decided to raise your salary accordingly.
U-Tha-Din is grinning. “You’re a good reader, Chiko,” he says. “That requires a thank-you note; put it in a ‘reply required’ pile.”
The other letters are also from Yangon. One is the most interesting. It seems that our platoon’s trained soldiers might be called out earlier than expected. They’re needed to push back a “fierce tribal onslaught in the jungle.” I think of Bindu’s good-natured round face; we’re always happy when he’s assigned to train or guard us. How much longer will he be with us in the camp?
“They’re making a big fuss over nothing,” the sergeant scoffs. “Don’t say anything to the other boys. No use worrying about things that might not happen. Is that it?”
“Yes, sir. Four of these require replies.”
“That will take some time. It would be good if you did paperwork with me every now and then during the morning work sessions.”
Extra time off from hard labor! What a gift Father gave when he taught me so well! I can only hope he’s earned some special privileges, too. Wherever he is.
Suddenly a new thought hits me, and I can hardly breathe. Maybe I can use this assignment to find out about Father—to know for certain that he’s alive! I might even be able to discover where he is and send Mother the news.
I hand the sergeant the clipboard and envelopes. “Here you go, sir,” I say, trying to keep the excitement out of my voice.
19
The jeep careens down the hill in the evenings every other week or so. I’m grateful that the captain has to oversee other platoons so he can’t stay for long, but I don’t dread his visits as much as I used to. Each time he comes, he hands Win Min a pile of letters and papers. “For the sergeant,” he says.
The sergeant catches my eye as he gets the mail. The size of this new stack promises me hours of escape from hard work. U-Tha-Din hands over the letters I’ve written, and the captain tosses the replies into the back of his jeep. Then he
walks to where we’re waiting in formation. I steady myself, waiting for more special attention.
But to my surprise, he ignores Tai and me altogether. Instead he addresses our entire platoon, with that fatherly smile fixed on his face. “I have a treat for you. We are going to watch a film in the gym. Soldiers and recruits both.”
Most of the boys cheer, and we file into the gym. A sheet is pinned to one wall, and someone lights the lamps. We sit cross-legged on the floor, facing the sheet, while two soldiers bring in a film projector and a small generator. U-Tha-Din begins setting it up, muttering under his breath as he twirls buttons and knobs.
The captain is talking, making some of the boys laugh with small jokes and praising our hard work. His teeth gleam in the flickering lamplight.
“My sons,” his deep voice says, “our country is putting her hopes into your hands. You, my dear ones, will lead our beloved country to peace and stability. We Burmese will return to school and college, travel abroad, make discoveries, and help make the world a better place for all countries. Our only obstacle is the rebel army—enemies and foreigners who care only about their own needs. Because of them, we waste time spending money on weapons instead of books. We waste time training soldiers instead of doctors and teachers. If we stop them, our motherland can move forward to join the ranks of other civilized nations.”
Am I imagining it, or did his eyes linger on my face with the words books and teachers? A hunger to read is gnawing in a corner of my mind. Does he know it’s there? And I can’t keep my heart from leaping at the thought of living in a country at peace. What would that be like?
Behind us the sergeant is getting more and more flustered over the projector’s wires and knobs.
“Hurry, U-Tha-Din! We’re running out of time!” the captain barks. The change in his tone shatters the spell of his words—at least for me. Quickly he catches himself and calms his voice again. “Do any of our brave new soldiers have a plan to stop our enemies?”
Tai raises his hand.
I can’t believe it. I want to dig my elbow into his side. Does he want to draw the captain’s attention? Maybe he likes spending time in solitary and getting kicked. The other boys are as surprised as I am, and whispers travel around the room.
But the captain stays in propaganda mode. “The street boy has a desire to serve Burma,” he says. “I noticed his leadership potential from the start. That’s why I’ve been hardest on him during this training. Do you have an idea about how to stop the traitors, my son?”
&nb
sp; “No, sir,” says Tai, standing up.
“Then what do you want?”
U-Tha-Din has stopped fumbling with the projector and is staring at Tai.
“I want to watch the film you’ve brought us, sir,” Tai says. Keeping his hands behind his back so that the captain can’t seen them, Tai slaps the side of one fist into the other open palm.
“I do, too.” The captain flicks a look of impatience at the sergeant.
Sheepishly, while everybody’s still watching, U-Tha-Din responds to Tai’s clue, picks up the power cord, and plugs the projector into the generator. A square of light flashes onto the screen. Everybody cheers.
Tai sits down. “Stupid buffalo,” he mutters so that only I can hear. “I was trying to save him. He could have waited to plug it in when nobody was looking.”
“Not everybody is as smart as you are,” I whisper back. In fact, hardly anybody is. I think of Daw Widow—it’s uncanny how much Tai reminds me of her.
“Nice work,” the captain tells the sergeant in a mocking tone. “Start the movie.”
Scenes of the Burmese countryside glow on the white sheet. Our national anthem plays. A woman’s lilting voice describes how the “Kayah” and other tribes are “determined to destroy our foundation of stability and the hope for progress.” Photos of brave Burmese soldiers flash on the sheet, cutting a path through the jungle, marching proudly over a bridge, standing at attention with rifles tilted at the same angle.
I almost—but not quite—manage to forget the captain’s presence. When the movie is over, he gives another flowery speech, repeating how proud he and the leaders of our country are of us.
Soldiers and recruits alike begin to cheer. Tai claps his hands loudly and slowly. I don’t join in at all. I can tell by his narrowed eyes that the captain has noticed both Tai’s fake zeal and my lack of it, but this time, he lets it go.
20
I have to make myself indispensable to U-Tha-Din to get information about Father. At first I write replies exactly as he dictates them. I obey so diligently that he heaps me with praises.
But after transcribing dozens of letters word for word, I pick a reply that’s addressed to a childhood friend of the sergeant’s—a friend stationed at army headquarters in Yangon. After dictating the letter, U-Tha-Din starts reminiscing about this buddy and their family connections. He doesn’t notice me adding a postscript to the letter: Can you find out where this prisoner is located? I pencil in Father’s full name, fold the letter, and seal it in the envelope while the sergeant is still talking.
I can hardly wait to get an answer about Father. Knowing he’s alive will give me the courage to endure anything that’s ahead.
Later that day I flex my biceps in front of Tai’s face. “Take a look,” I tell him, unable to keep the pride out of my voice. Is this the same spindly arm that waved good-bye to Lei in Yangon?
Tai takes a huge bite out of a juicy slice of papaya. “You’ll be ready to take on Captain Evil in no time.”
I shake my head. How can Tai talk lightly about a man like that? I never feel ready to face the captain; every day that passes without a visit from him is a gift. And Win Min and his cronies don’t bother us much when the captain’s not around.
“I hope a truck comes soon,” Tai continues. “It’s still the only way I’m going to get out of here.” He pushes his face deep into the papaya rind to savor every last piece of the sweet, orange flesh.
“There has to be another way, Tai,” I say. “Now that I’m scribing for the buffalo, let me see what I can find out.”
“I promised Sawati, Chiko,” Tai says, tossing the limp rind of the papaya aside. He digs into his bowl of rice and beans. “I’ve even got some money now. Several paychecks’ worth.”
The captain was telling the truth about one thing, at least—the army is paying us a salary. Tai is taking his payments in cash, and I can only hope that my earnings are being sent to Mother, as I asked. I relish the thought of her using them to pay back our landlord or to buy fish at the market. Without me around to eat everything in sight, she’ll be able to make my earnings go far and send some for Father, too.
My longing to see them is growing more intense as the weeks go by. And Lei’s picture is an addiction. I’ve started carrying the photos in my pocket under my uniform; the button keeps them safe. Glancing over my shoulder, I see that Tai’s still concentrating on his rice bowl. Carefully I slide Lei’s picture out of my pocket and cup it in my palm, holding it at a distance because I don’t have my glasses.
“Why do you always stare at that?” Tai asks suddenly, from right behind me.
I put Lei’s photo away as fast as I can.
“Who is she? Your cousin?”
“A neighbor,” I tell him, turning to my own rice bowl.
Tai and I are friends now, but it’s too soon to show him how beautiful Lei is, or to reveal my hopes for the future. Do I even have a future? When this group of soldiers heads out to battle, we recruits will become soldiers in their place. Some will help U-Tha-Din run the camp. Others will join the captain to round up and train a new group of recruits. And then it will be our turn to run through the jungles with rifles, fighting tribal people.
“You look at another photo, too,” Tai says. “Who is that?”
I take out the photo of Father. This one I can share.
Tai studies it for a while. “I don’t remember my father at all,” he says, handing it back. “He left just after Sawati was born. I like to believe he’s a good man, like yours.”
“I hope you meet him someday. And my mother.”
“I hope Sawati is with her, Chiko.”
“That does it,” I say, making my tone sound irritated. “Do you really want to help your sister?”
Tai looks at me, surprised, and nods. Papaya juice is smeared around his mouth. In the fading twilight, his face looks younger than it usually does.
“You have to learn to read and write,” I say. “I can teach you quite a bit, even in a short time. You’ll get a better job in the city if you can read and write—you said so yourself.”
Tai is silent. Then he says, “Can you start teaching me to read? We usually have some free time after training. And maybe more time after dinner, if I eat fast.”
“You? Eat fast? Now that’s going to be hard.”
He grins as I pass him the last bit of rice in my bowl. I keep my slice of papaya—watching him relish his has made me hungry for mine. Once the rainy season ends, fruit will become scarce. Closing my eyes, I take a bite, letting the sweet juice fill every part of my mouth.
21
I filch bits of paper from the sergeant’s clipboard for Tai’s reading lessons. I still have the pencil stub I found in the gym, and for our first lesson I print the alphabet carefully on the back of an envelope. We’re resting during the break after dinner, and not everybody around is safe. I can’t risk wearing my glasses, but I know the shapes of the letters by heart.
As I write, a small group of boys gather around us. At first they’re joking and laughing, but soon they’re watching my fingers as intently as Tai. I notice Bindu gazing awestruck at the letters I form, his mouth open.
Tai’s a quick learner, just as I hoped. By his third session, he’s reviewing the first twenty characters. The novelty wears off, and the group around us dwindles to just one other boy—Bindu. This means the three of us can move to a quiet part of the field and I can slip on my glasses. Bindu and Tai take turns practicing, but Tai is learning at least twice as fast as Bindu. Bindu doesn’t seem to care, though, and is happy each time he masters a new letter.
While we study, the recruits play cards, swap stories, or sing songs. One evening we hear the sound I’ve been dreading—the roar of a jeep careening through the jungle, growing louder by the minute.
“Captain Evil’s back,” Tai mutters.
I tuck my glasses away. We hide the scraps of paper and pencil and join the others in formation.
The jeep stops, and the captai
n climbs out. He’s smiling, his arms wide open as though he wants to embrace all of us. As he walks up and down the rows, he pats his loyal recruits and soldiers on the shoulder. “You’re dismissed, my son,” he says, and the boy heads off to the gym or the barracks for the night.
Now the only ones left in formation are the rest of us. The boys the captain has given up on. His father act hasn’t fooled us, and he knows it.
We lower our heads and salute as he passes through our ranks. Tai does it smartly; I can almost see him clicking his heels together. I, too, manage a salute, but I can’t keep my hand from shaking.
“Call that a salute, Teacher?” the captain snarls. “Show some respect.”
I do it again, trying to steady my hand.
“Not good enough,” he says. “Maybe a few days to yourself would help. Unless your friend here would like to take them for you again. What about it, street boy?”
“Yes, sir,” Tai answers, as calmly as though he’s being offered an extra helping of rice.
“No!” I say. “Don’t send him there again. Sir.”
The captain lifts a corner of his lip. “Why not? Should I send you, then?”
I don’t answer. I can’t. I’ll never survive in that small space—I’ll die or go mad.
“I’ll give you a choice, Teacher,” the captain tells me, holding out the bamboo stick. “Give your street friend a beating or he goes back into the cell.”
“I’m sorry, sir?” I ask. Have I heard him right?
“Take the stick!” he says. “Take it and hit him. Hard.”
I back away. “I … I can’t.”
“Then send him to solitary. It’s your choice.”
I throw a desperate look at Tai, who’s moved slightly so he’s behind the captain’s back. He’s trying to tell me something, and I glimpse his expression of total pain followed by a quick smile.
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