A Wish in the Dark

by Christina Soontornvat

  “They do, they do,” sobbed her mother. “I can see it when we go out together. Everyone can tell. It’s so obvious to everyone but you!”

  “My darling,” said her father gently. “You know how sorry I am. But I can’t change the past. We have had this conversation so many times. You were in agreement with me when we made the decision. It was the right thing to do. You wanted to do it as much as I did.”

  “Yes, I did . . . I still do. But imagine what this is like for me. . . .” Nok’s mother took a deep, shaking breath. Her voice calmed and she spoke more measured and low. “You have to think of your son. Next year he’ll graduate and be out in society. He’s primed to make a good match with a girl from a good family. But no one will come near him if the truth comes out. No one will want to take on that kind of scandal!”

  Nok heard footsteps pacing the room — her father’s. “So what are you saying? That we turn our family upside down because of gossip? What was the point of everything we went through if you just want to rip everything apart now?”

  “Please don’t be dramatic,” said Nok’s mother. “No one is ripping anything. I love her as much as you do. But someone has to think about what is best for the whole family. If our reputation is destroyed, it won’t be any good for her, either. We can set her up in a comfortable place away from all the chatter. She can grow up happy and healthy and someday marry a nice boy from the country, someone respectable but not connected to anyone in town. Your next official trip is to Tanaburi. I heard that the village school is actually quite good. She could come home for holidays. It wouldn’t be forever. Just a little while.”

  “I don’t know. . . .” said Nok’s father.

  The wood floor shook as her mother got to her feet. Nok could imagine the scene on the other side of the wall — her tall father, trembling before her slim little mother. “This is your fault, and you have to make it right,” her mother demanded. “If you love your children, you’ll do what’s best for them.”

  Nok didn’t wait to hear his answer. She flew back down the hall on her Nothing Steps and into her room. She knelt on her pallet in the darkness and clasped her hands together on her knees. Her thoughts galloped wild in her head.

  Nok had realized long ago that she was not her mother’s daughter. But she was her father’s — she was sure of that. It wasn’t just because they looked alike. She knew it from the way he smiled at her tournaments and beamed so proudly when she brought home her reports from school. She was his perfect, golden girl.

  Nok’s parents had never once spoken about her birth, and she had never asked. She didn’t feel the need to know any more than she already did. This unnamed secret was something passed silently among the three of them, like a pebble one of them always kept tucked inside a pocket. It was enough to know it was there — she didn’t need to hold it up for a closer look.

  But based on what she’d just overheard in the hallway, their little secret had clattered out onto the floor. Every week, Nok’s mother’s society friends gathered around her family’s dining table for cards, dealing out gossip as they dealt out their hands. It didn’t take much effort to imagine those same gossip sessions happening at some other dining table, with her own family as the subject.

  Well, she’d just have to give them something else to whisper about. She needed to do something so impressive that it would overshadow any rumors about her birth — something so incredible that no one would dare speak ill of her family.

  Nok squeezed her fingers tight together. She took another breath and let it out slowly, reminding herself of the words that had given her strength over the years, words she’d heard spoken by the Governor himself:

  Light shines on the worthy.

  Yes, light and love and pride, and everything that had shone on her from time to time, like that night at the spire-fighting championship. Nok clung to those words.

  “I can do this,” she whispered to herself. “They just need a reminder of how much I bring to this family. Then nothing else will matter.”

  And so when she came face-to-face with Pong, she was distracted, racking her brain, wringing it out to think of what she could do to prove to her parents — to everyone — that she was worthy of being called their daughter.

  That was why she didn’t notice that the young monk-in-training trembled as he hid his left hand tight behind his back.

  All afternoon, Pong’s throat seized up as if he’d swallowed a fish bone. The Sivapan family had followed Father Cham back to the temple to pay their respects. They sat before the old monk in the prayer hall, chatting and drinking chilled tea while Pong pretended to repair a bench just outside. As afraid as he was of being recognized, he had to figure out why they had come.

  He learned that Warden Sivapan was now the Chief Law Commissioner, a position that reported straight to the Governor himself.

  “Orbs provide more than just light,” said the Commissioner, raising his cup to his lips. “When your villagers buy them, they’ll help pay for police and hospitals, and for officials who could ensure that the laws of the province are being obeyed.”

  The old monk smiled. “Commissioner, I like you very much, so please don’t take offense, but we don’t need an official to tell us whether our neighbors are taking good care of one another.”

  Commissioner Sivapan took a sip of tea and sloshed some on his shirt. His wife cringed and looked away. “Father Cham,” he said, brushing the fabric dry, “your village is charming, but the law is the law. Fire is dangerous, and it’s a danger you don’t need. Everyone in the province uses orbs. I’m afraid I can’t make an exception just for you.”

  “Why not?” asked Father Cham innocently.

  “Well, because . . .” Commissioner Sivapan straightened his glasses. “Because then everyone will expect me to make exceptions for them.”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  The Commissioner fluttered his lips. “Because then law and order would completely break down.”

  “I see,” said Father Cham, nodding slowly. A pained look spread over his face. “It seems you take very good care of the laws in Chattana City.”

  “That is my job,” said the Commissioner. “What could be more important?”

  Pong didn’t hang around to hear the rest of their discussion. He swept the temple grounds, his palms sweating as he waited for the moment when one of the Sivapan family would come charging across the courtyard, finger pointed at him, shouting, “There he is! The one who escaped!”

  But incredibly, the family didn’t recognize him. The entire afternoon passed without incident, and as evening approached, the Sivapans finally got into their carriage and left for the house where they were staying in the village.

  Pong was so relieved when they left that he felt dizzy. He needed to talk to Father Cham right away. But what would he say? Surely his teacher wouldn’t have invited Commissioner Sivapan to the temple if he knew he used to be the warden of Namwon. Should Pong tell him? Or keep quiet and just try to hide until the family left?

  No, that wasn’t going to work. He’d have to figure something else out. In the meantime, he needed to find out what the Sivapans were doing in Tanaburi and how long they were planning to stay.

  Pong found Father Cham in the prayer hall. He slipped off his sandals and walked up the steps, then paused, knowing that he shouldn’t disturb his teacher in the middle of his meditation.

  Without opening his eyes or turning his head, Father Cham smiled and said, “Ah, Pong, I’m glad you’re here. I wanted to talk to you.”

  The eels in Pong’s stomach wriggled. “You did, Father?”

  Father Cham opened his eyes and leaned back in his chair. “Yes, come up.”

  Pong walked farther into the hall and knelt in front of Father Cham. Had Commissioner Sivapan said something about him after all? He tried to act normal, but he couldn’t stop sweating.

  Father Cham reached out to the shiny black set of drawers. He pulled out a white string and held it up for Pong. �
��I noticed you’re about to lose one,” he said, nodding at the dingy white bracelets around Pong’s left wrist. “Let me replace it for you before it snaps.”

  Pong sighed, relieved. “Yes, Father, thank you.”

  He held out his wrist so the monk could tie on his bracelet. He stared down at the strings and thought about all the blessings that had accompanied them over the years. May you sleep through the sound of snoring and May you never spill hot tea on your friends. They were little blessings, funny sometimes. Small as they were, every single blessing the old monk had given him had come to pass.

  The villagers all had stories to tell about Father Cham’s “gift,” about the wishes that came true. There was the fisherman who Father Cham had wished would never get a hole in his boat. When a sudden storm battered the other boats at the dock, his had been the only one spared. And what about the poor widow who had only one hen? Father Cham had told her, “May that bird always provide for you.” Thirty years later, the widow claimed the chicken still laid an egg every day.

  These stories were so well known to Pong that they felt as ordinary as the village itself. But maybe Father Cham’s gift was less ordinary than he thought.

  Pong recalled the baby at the school. He remembered the blaze of light that only he had seen, the special cord tied to the baby’s wrist, and what Father Cham had said just before he blessed her:

  The most vulnerable among us always deserve the greatest blessings.

  Pong’s fingers trembled where they pressed together in prayer. He lowered his hands to his lap, and the next words he spoke slipped out before he could stop them.

  “How do you choose?”

  Father Cham raised one eyebrow. “Choose what?”

  Pong swallowed. “How do you choose which blessings to give to which people?”

  Father Cham’s face remained calm, but he didn’t answer.

  “All your blessings come true, don’t they?” pressed Pong.

  The monk nodded. “They do.”

  “The big ones as well as the small ones?”

  Father Cham looked into Pong’s eyes a long moment before nodding again.

  “And so the baby that you blessed today,” said Pong. “You wished for her to walk in peace. That will come true.”

  Father Cham smiled. “It will. But I hope it would have come true anyway, without me.”

  “Why that blessing, though? Why not wish her to be a wealthy woman? Or to live a long life?”

  The monk’s forehead creased into dozens of crinkled folds. “Now, Pong, surely I’ve taught you better than to think that wealth is a greater gift to bestow on someone than peace. Wealth can be as much a curse as a blessing, and no guarantee of happiness. And a long life? It can also be a difficulty, if you are in pain or if the people you love have already passed on. You don’t understand now because you are young.” Father Cham’s smile lessened for a moment. “You can’t imagine yet that one day you’ll be ready to bid this life goodbye.”

  Pong took a deep breath and let it out again. Father Cham didn’t understand what he was trying to say. “If happiness is the goal, then you could wish her to be happy.”

  “Is happiness the goal of a person’s life?”

  Father Cham was talking in riddles. It was so frustrating. Today Pong wanted straight answers. “I don’t know. I — I just don’t understand why you didn’t give her something that she really needs. Something she might need one day very badly.”

  “Pong, you are talking around and around the thing you want to say, and we both know that’s my job.” Father Cham’s smile left his face. His brow creased again. “Why don’t you come out and tell me what you really want to know?”

  Pong felt trapped — squeezed by the walls of the temple, by the walls around his heart.

  He held out his left wrist. “All these blessings and prayers,” he blurted, pointing at the bracelets. “What are they for? They’re to protect me, right? They’re supposed to cover up my mark so no one will see it. But why not just wish the mark away? Why not erase it completely instead of making me hide?”

  Pong was trying hard to keep his voice level, but he couldn’t hold back the angry crackle in his words. He burned with shame to hear himself speak like this, but he also couldn’t stop.

  “I could be out there,” he continued, “walking in the world without worry. You could have wished me to the sea. You could have wished for me to be free. You said that the most vulnerable among us deserve the greatest blessings. But I’m vulnerable, aren’t I? All these years I’ve been here, scared every day that someone will discover who I am and take me back to jail. When all this time . . .”

  All this time you could have stopped it, Pong thought.

  A deep sadness washed over Father Cham’s face. “Oh, my boy. My dear boy. I have considered erasing that mark for you. But what if someday you need it? What if I do more harm than good?”

  Pong knew he couldn’t speak without sounding even more disrespectful than he already had been, so he kept silent. Who could believe he would ever need his wretched tattoo?

  Father Cham sighed heavily. “I have been doing this a very long time. There was a time when I was a younger man, before I learned my lesson, when I did grant the types of blessings you are talking about. I wanted to use my gift to help people, to wish away all the pain and suffering in this world. But it was arrogant of me to think that I alone could save the whole world. And my gifts went awry.”

  “How?”

  Father Cham looked out the open doorway. “In ways that were more complicated and unexpected than you can imagine. I learned the hard way that it’s not up to me to save people or to force the world to bend to my desires, even if I have good intentions. That’s not what my gift was meant for.”

  Pong looked down at the carpet. More philosophy, more teaching. He was asking for something so small. Let Father Cham talk about saving the world some other day. Pong needed this now.

  When he looked up, the old monk had his eyes closed and his lips shut in a straight line. His brow was wrinkled and tense.

  “Father Cham,” said Pong. “Please, I’m begging you . . .”

  “We can finish this conversation another time,” the monk whispered hoarsely. “I must complete my meditation now.”

  “Father, I may not have another time —”

  “It’s time to go, Pong,” said Father Cham more sternly. The conversation was over.

  Pong’s eyes filled with hot tears. He bowed low and left.

  Pong went straight to Brother Yam’s quarters. He knocked softly on the door, even though he knew that Yam was out. He swung open the door and stepped into the small room.

  Brother Yam kept a schedule of the boats that docked at the base of the mountain in case a sick villager needed to be transferred to the hospital in the city. Pong found the schedule and scanned it. There would be one southbound and one northbound cargo barge the next day, both departing the dock at two o’clock.

  As soon as the morning meal was over, Pong would make his way to that southbound boat and head for the sea.

  Nok had already lain awake for an hour before she decided to give up on going back to sleep. The sky was still dark. Maybe she could get in some spire-fighting drills before her parents woke.

  As she Nothing-Stepped down the staircase, she heard the sounds of their housekeeper in the kitchen. Nok peeked her head inside and bowed to the old woman. “Good morning, Mrs. Viboon,” she said.

  The woman gave a little cry and wheeled around. “Oh, Nok! You scared me. You’re up much too early. Young ladies like you should sleep late.”

  “I’m not up any earlier than you are. Can I help you?”

  Mrs. Viboon scratched at the talcum powder caked to her neck. “Thank you, but I’m just finishing up making some fish and rice for the monks. I’ll take it to the village square, then I’ll come back and start your breakfast. Your mother told me that you two are going to visit the school today. That should be fun.”

  Nok’s stoma
ch clenched. Her mother hadn’t said anything about visiting the school. It could be a charity visit, Nok told herself. Her mother was always going to places like schools and shelters and giving them money. But if that were the case, she wouldn’t take Nok with her. No, the only reason would be to introduce her to her future teachers. Well, maybe I just won’t be here when she wakes up, then.

  “Mrs. Viboon, why don’t you let me take the food to the monks this morning?” Nok asked.

  “Are you sure?” asked the woman as Nok stepped into the kitchen. “If you don’t mind, that would be helpful.”

  “I don’t mind at all,” said Nok, taking the covered dish. “I never get to do this at home. And besides, I’d like to see Father Cham again.”

  Before the sun rose, Nok walked up the road to the village, the fresh smell of green herbs and steamed fish rising up from the dish. It was true, she did want to see Father Cham again. He’d talked with her father for a long time when they arrived, and even though the two of them disagreed about almost everything, Nok liked the old monk right from the start.

  By the time she got to the village square, the sky was pale gray and the monks had almost finished their walk through. Nok slipped off her shoes and joined the villagers standing in line. They all held dishes of food, and as the monks came to them, they spooned it into their wooden bowls. Father Cham wasn’t there, so Nok gave the fish to the other monks.

  Afterward, she stood beneath a tree, watching the villagers. It was a market day, and people had come from the surrounding countryside to buy and sell goods on the main street.

  Nok’s eyes wandered to the row of shops along the road. In the center, a grocery store sold vegetables and takeaway meals wrapped in banana leaves. The shop owner had just finished setting up a tidy pyramid of fresh-baked sweets: golden egg-flour cakes, the insides probably stuffed with sweet beans or pineapple jelly.

  Nok’s mouth watered. She started to get up, planning to buy some to take back to Mrs. Viboon, when she saw a brown five-legged spider crawling on the display. It took her a minute to realize it was a hand. The hand belonged to a barefoot little boy.