Why No Goodbye?

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Why No Goodbye? Page 4

by Pamela L. Laskin


  that is all there is.

  Now

  I am ready

  to learn

  how to be a man

  even though I am hungry

  even though I am thirsty;

  I want to know

  how to touch a woman

  without all the anger in my belly,

  how to make her smile

  how to give her all the trust

  that I have lost

  out at sea.

  Wake up, son.

  My sleep is a dead sleep.

  Wake up, son.

  It is time.

  We will find her

  I open my eyes

  to the day

  to Ha Jia’s smiling

  face

  to his belief

  in the impossible,

  to his belief

  in me

  that he has called me son

  that there are reapers in his hand

  to cut through the forestry,

  and for one

  brief

  moment in time

  I believe

  that the world

  is filled with goodness.

  But then I remember

  Zahura is not just running from me

  and my rage,

  she is running

  from the tsunami

  of all the men

  who have hurt her,

  and she is good

  at being a chameleon

  she did it for a year

  ate

  and drank

  from the little the woods

  had to offer.

  But I am ready

  ready for discovery,

  I will race with it

  until I find it,

  and though there are men

  who want to destroy me and my people

  and keep the women tame,

  I will not let them

  and Ha Jia will protect me.

  I never heard sounds before

  not like this,

  it is a he

  a mean man

  who breathes heavily

  and Ha Jia is small

  so am I

  these woods are laughing at us

  ready

  to bring us down.

  Ha Jia tells me this story:

  I ran away from home

  I was young and stupid

  and I did not want to be a farmer.

  I dreamed I would find my way

  to Bangkok,

  and work for someone

  so I could pay my way

  to college.

  I met your mother in these woods.

  she had the same plans,

  but I never touched her

  because I was scared

  she was so beautiful.

  Why would that stop you?

  Oh, she was more educated.

  She talked of poetry

  the light of the moon,

  and how it would guide us

  to a good place.

  What made you come back?

  What made May-may

  return?

  We were not going

  anywhere

  just woods

  and more woods.

  We stayed away

  a long time.

  Finally

  we missed our families.

  I miss my family

  I am afraid

  I will never see them again.

  Ha Jia holds me

  and we sleep

  under the cover

  of night

  and the mean man

  breathing heavily.

  I am scared

  of never seeing my family again

  of never seeing Zahura

  of the noises in the night

  of the hunger in the day

  (though Ha Jia has brought

  nuts

  and raisins

  and berries);

  I am scared

  of being in this forest forever

  oh, not the real forest,

  the one with the brambles and branches

  where there is no way out.

  Ha Jia is amazing

  he knows all these odd places to look

  covered bush

  dead leaves

  dead trees,

  and he has taught me

  to crawl through this

  so no one can hear

  our footsteps;

  tomorrow

  we will travel at night,

  better chance, maybe,

  since she has to sleep

  some time.

  She has to sleep

  some time in my heart.

  She has to sleep

  some time in my soul.

  She has to sleep

  so I can hear her breath.

  She has to sleep

  so I can smell her hair.

  She has to sleep

  so I can sleep, too,

  since mostly

  I am not sleeping.

  Hard work

  harder than the water pails,

  crawling through bush,

  sleeping

  on dead limbs

  of trees,

  bathing in dirty streams,

  just so she won’t smell the sweat of men

  which Ha Jia says

  is easy to smell,

  and walking

  walking

  walking

  with no direction.

  We crawl through the night

  on our hands and knees.

  We crawl through the night

  and I am told

  to not breathe so heavily,

  to keep my coughs silent.

  We crawl through the night

  where I never knew

  so many small animals

  crawling up my arms and legs,

  and then

  and then

  and then

  there she is

  sleeping

  hidden in a tree.

  I want to scream.

  I want to shout.

  I want to jump up and down.

  Shh

  Ha Jia tells me.

  Do not awaken her

  she will be scared

  she will try to run

  and will get hurt.

  We will block

  her exit from this tree

  and sleep in front of it,

  and when she awakens

  we will be there.

  Oh,

  she looks

  no older

  than a young child.

  Sleep, son.

  Sleep.

  No.

  No.

  No.

  Fear.

  Terror.

  It is fine.

  You are safe.

  We will take care of you.

  It is fine.

  You are safe.

  We will take care of you.

  Ha Jia says this

  over and over.

  And suddenly

  words, which I usually love

  have all but disappeared.

  Tell her,

  son;

  tell her

  how you feel.

  I am so

  so

  so

  so

  so

  so

  so

  so sorry.

  I will never

  ever

  never

  ever

  never hurt you again.

  And I will never leave you,

  I add,

  but she looks at me

  with those large, dark eyes

  and I can tell

  she does not know

  whether to run-

  or not,

  but when Ha Jia says

  come back with us, Zahura,

  she falls into my arms

  and cries

  cries

  cries

 
like all the tears in the world

  are inside of her.

  Cha-ma-chin-go-chit-the *

  I tell her.

  Cha-nor-kin-mya-go chit-teh,

  she tells me back.

  * I love you!

  We walk back together

  I hold her hand

  and Ha Jia

  assures her

  that her secret

  is safe with us,

  and I promise

  never again to touch her

  unless she wants to

  and her eyes tell me

  she does.

  We hold hands

  as we walk,

  and Ha Jia

  sings a song

  with the woods,

  about the trees

  how they will protect us,

  and keep us from harm.

  I missed you

  I could not l sleep without you,

  I missed you, too

  I dreamed about you

  every night.

  I am sorry.

  I am so, so sorry.

  I say it again

  because of her silence.

  I know

  she says

  I wanted you to find me.

  So why did you run away?

  You scared me

  I have known

  too many violent men;

  vicious boys

  become violent men.

  Everyone always told me

  I was sweet

  I never knew

  I had that in me.

  Sorry.

  Sorry.

  Sorry.

  I fantasize

  you say that to me

  instead of the bullshit letters

  where you tell me

  how little you had for lunch.

  Bullshit.

  Whoever taught me

  to say sorry?

  Surely not

  YOU.

  We walk.

  I hold her hand

  like a leaf

  I will protect

  from storms.

  Walk

  till the bottom of my feet

  are the forest

  filled with mud and muck,

  and the splinters

  bite me,

  they bite Zahura, too,

  who I want to carry,

  but I can’t,

  and finally

  we arrive

  back home.

  Is this our home?

  the forest of nowhere.

  Now what?

  I look to Ha Jia

  for answers.

  Now you will get back to work

  and the two of you

  will get back to learning

  you will read

  and write

  both of you.

  And at night

  when the sky goes to sleep

  you, my son,

  will protect her.

  You will sleep close

  and tight,

  and speak to no one

  about this

  not even my wife

  or children.

  I understand

  how hard this must be

  for Ha Jia

  who went with me

  for days,

  whose feet

  have bigger blisters to bear,

  and now must make up

  some excuse

  to his family

  of where he went,

  and then he shows me

  the fish he has caught

  in the stream.

  I have gone fishing

  for food,

  the sun shines through

  the missing teeth

  in his smile.

  How do I know

  he won’t rat me out?

  How do I know

  I can trust him?

  Do you understand

  if they find me

  they will kill me,

  do you understand that?

  How do I know

  I can trust you?

  I put my arms around her

  and steer her close to me.

  This is what I know:

  Ha Jia can be trusted

  I trust him

  more than myself.

  That night

  our bodies are wrapped around

  the other

  like we own

  the same skin;

  you can’t tell

  where her small arm begins

  and my large one

  ends,

  and for the first time

  in a long time

  I sleep,

  way after the sun has come up,

  and Ha Jia

  is smiling like a lunatic

  when I come

  to fetch my pails

  at noon.

  Min-ga-la-ba *

  she says.

  Can I help you?

  I feel so useless,

  Here

  read this.

  I give her

  The Good Earth

  the book I told you about

  the one by Pearl S. Buck,

  and she reads like she is ravenous,

  and by the afternoon, after I have fetched many

  pails of water

  she asks for more

  more.

  More!

  *Good morning

  I think she means books

  (which she does),

  but she also means

  me,

  the kiss

  I just gave her.

  She doesn’t want to let go

  like we are on raft

  and know we won’t drown

  since we have each other.

  What are you doing?

  She turns to me

  in the middle of the night.

  What does it look

  like I am doing?

  Smoking a cigarette

  Why?

  Are you an idiot?

  Nga lo chit mae thu *

  When you were gone

  I was lonely,

  and I wanted

  to be a man,

  so I saved them

  found them

  in town,

  and I smoked them;

  they were

  my friends.

  Idiot, she says.

  *You are driving me crazy

  I am crying

  I can’t stop it

  I never did this

  in front of her,

  and the

  mosquitoes

  can’t shut up.

  She takes

  the cigarette

  out of my mouth,

  (makes certain the light is out)

  moves my arms to my side

  rubs them up and down

  like I am an infant,

  drags me down

  to the ground

  takes me

  a man

  double her size

  into her lap

  where she rocks me

  sings to me

  says

  she will protect me.

  In the middle

  of that dank and dreary night

  my face still moist

  my breath still saturated

  with smoke,

  I find her

  on top of me;

  her tongue

  slips effortlessly

  into my mouth,

  and we are rocking

  our ripped clothes

  tossed wildly to the side.

  I trust you

  she says,

  and that night

  sleep is a dream

  of happiness,

  and when morning comes to greet us

  we are the ones

  who have set the sun

  on fire.

  The mosquitoes

  feel less itchy

  the smell

  of dead dogs

  does not bother me

&
nbsp; since I smell

  her hair,

  the trees

  applaud her

  with the little air

  the earth has given them.

  And this

  becomes our routine

  each night,

  and I am never tired

  no matter how many pails of water

  I must carry.

  Sometimes

  Zahura helps me.

  Other times

  she rests beneath the umbrella

  of the tree

  reading,

  telling me

  she is plotting our escape.

  Suddenly

  the brazen bugs

  seem beautiful.

  Part III: The Great Escape

  I believe

  we can escape

  like we do at night

  inside each other,

  legs wrapped around

  each other,

  arms entwined

  like branches

  my breath

  to her breath,

  so mosquitoes

  monkeys

  dead dogs

  water rats

  leave us

  to our dreams.

  You have to read this

 

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