The Merit Birds Part 15

"Why are you here, anyway?" I asked him the next morning.

"Karma," he replied. "Learning from the mistakes of my past."

Then he told me his story in a steady rhythm. He was a Buddhist monk who had once lived in a monastery on a remote Thai island. He said there were more birds, lizards, and frogs on that island then there were people. It was surrounded by the sapphire Gulf of Thailand and br.i.m.m.i.n.g with lush, green jungle. One day a Hmong-American tourist was sailing around the southern tip of Thailand and stopped at the island. He visited the temple at the small monastery every day and he and Sai became good friends. He told Sai about his people, the Hmong, an ethnic minority in Southeast Asia. Droves of them fled from Laos to Thailand in the 1970s because they were facing violence and persecution for fighting against the communists. Nearly thirty years later, they were being forced back. Some Hmong who returned to Laos were never seen again. Others were thrust into political re-education camps. Most faced discrimination.

After his friend left, Sai's conscience told him he needed to do something. He wrote letters to the Thai government demanding that Hmong people wanting to remain in Thailand be allowed to do so. He travelled to Wat Tham Krabok, a Buddhist monastery in the middle of Thailand where ten thousand Hmong were seeking refuge. There he heard more stories of persecution. He decided to travel across the Mekong into Laos to see what peace he could bring. He was in Vietiane for less than a week when he was imprisoned for political crimes.

"And you've never had a trial?" I asked.

"No."

I heard the sliding locks slip out of their receptacle. It was time to work. I hoped I would be a.s.signed to the same task as Sai, but I wasn't. I never was. I chopped wood for the rest of the day and was glad for my long, deep breaths, slowly taking me far away from my prisons.

Spring Roll Lady.

Seng.

Seng wandered through Bangkok streets, keeping his head down to avoid making eye contact with anyone. He didn't know where he was going, but he didn't care. He was out on his own, walking down the street by himself, finding his own path, not following anyone. He could do this.

He kept walking until he began to feel tired. He looked up briefly to read a street sign. He was on Khaosan Road. It was packed with businesses advertising to tourists. AUTHENTIC THAI Ma.s.sAGE HERE! screamed one sign. CHEAP INTERNET ACCES said another. Thai women stood in front of the stores, pa.s.sing out flyers and convincing backpackers to come inside. Sweaty and tanned Europeans, North Americans, and Australians milled around street vendors selling slushy lemonade or T-shirts with Thai lettering. Seng watched them, fascinated. He had never seen so many foreigners in one place before. Is this what it would feel like to be in America? The thought made him sad. He would never go to America now. He found the stoop of a closed-up shop and sat there, watching from the sidelines.

As the hot sun rose in the sky his stomach began to rumble. He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten. Amidst the bustle, he spotted an older woman selling greasy, fried spring rolls. He fingered the Thai coins in his pocket. A tourist had given them to him for a squirt gun for Lao New Year. He had packed the baht when he was fleeing home. He would buy himself something to eat. He didn't need to rely on Vong.

Seng watched the spring roll woman carefully as she counted out his change. Something had given him pause. Despite the scarf around her head, the farmer's hat and the dark sungla.s.ses, something about her seemed familiar. He couldn't say why. She didn't look at him as she counted out his spring rolls and handed him his baht with a wrinkly, thin hand.

He took his change and thanked her.

"Kop jai," he said without thinking.

The woman looked at him abruptly, a puzzled look on her face.

d.a.m.n, he thought. He had spoken in Lao. Vong would have never made such a careless mistake.

The woman stared with her mouth hanging open, as if he were a ghost that had just appeared. He was suddenly terrified. Did she know who he was? Was there a search warrant out for his arrest? He turned on his heel and walked quickly away. He needed to find the guesthouse.

He walked in the direction he'd come from, but couldn't remember whether to turn left or right off Khaosan Road. He looked over his shoulder to see if the woman was watching him, but she was gone, merged into the crowd. The streets teemed with people. Bangkok was such a loud, swarming city compared to Vientiane. He was disoriented. He began to walk east. He walked until he was so thirsty he had to stop and look for water. The sun was starting to dip in the sky. He really hoped he was going in the right direction, but as the sky grew darker his doubts grew bigger. I should have brought a map, he thought. He wished Vong was there. When the sky was finally completely black he hailed a tuk-tuk and told the driver the name of the guesthouse. He paid the driver all of the baht he had left. As they wobbled back to the guesthouse Seng tried to remember every detail of the streets, the soy-milk vendor on this corner, the big French supermarket on another.

When he finally let himself into their guesthouse room, Vong was in a panic.

"Where were you?" she asked breathlessly.

"Out," he said, and liked the confused look on her face. I don't need you to watch over me, he thought. I can do things on my own. I'm not as stupid as you think.

That night as he and Vong lay sleepless in bed he thought about the Canadian boy. He wondered if the police had found him. Guilt pressed down on him, dark and hard, so that he felt like he couldn't breathe. He tried to brush the thoughts out of his mind. He thought of the spring-roll woman instead.

"How tall was Meh?" he asked Vong.

"Shorter than us," she said. "Maybe a metre sixty or so? Why?"

"Just wondering," he said.

Jailbreak.

Cam.

Sai and I made a deal with the guards. We gave them the little bit of money that Julia would slip into my hand during her visit. The money was to buy food for the catfish that swam in the murky trenches and ponds on the prison grounds. In exchange we were given fish to eat and wood to build a cooking fire. The protein helped to bolster my energy, and soon my ribs weren't sticking out quite as far.

August, the wettest month of the year, set a permanent, depressing grey cloud over Khang Khok Prison. The sound of downpours on the prison roof became monotonous. Work on the prison grounds was like a giant mud-wrestling match. I remembered what Nok had said about the Mekong swelling at this time of year. I wondered if downtown Vientiane was flooding. I'd been in Laos for eight months. I should have hated this country even more than when I'd first arrived. But there was something about it that had snaked its way into my heart. Something gentle, accepting, and strangely freeing, despite the harsh government rules. I liked how slowly people moved. How in the end all they really wanted was to laugh and make jokes with their friends and family. For a small, land-locked country there seemed to be so much s.p.a.ce. So much room in a friendship, so much time in a minute. Or maybe all of the breathing I was doing with Sai was making me loopy.

Summer slipped into a cool, damp Lao autumn. I still hadn't had a trial. For one gruelling week in November we were not permitted to leave the cell, not even for work. We didn't see the light of day. Sai said most of the guards were off for the That Luang festival. The jail was operating with a skeleton staff. One day there wasn't even a guard to bring us our rice and measly bowl of broth.

I remembered how Nok had said she would take me to the festival. It had seemed so far away from that night in April. I would never have imagined that when it came she would be dead and I would be in prison.

The nights had turned so cold that I would wake up to find myself shivering and huddled into Sai's back on the floor. Back home I would have been creeped out about sleeping closely to so many guys, but you don't think about that kind of stuff when you're just trying to survive. Besides, Lao guys never think about it. They walk down the street with one arm draped around their guy friend and no one thinks twice. In Canada we're so free, but at the same time we're not.

Shivering through the night, the one big blanket we had to share between the five cellmates became a problem. Huang was the master of it. Throughout the night he'd be coc.o.o.ned in the faded fleece blanket while the rest of us shivered and our teeth chattered. I guessed he had seniority because he'd been in here for so long. Either that or no one wanted to p.i.s.s him off for some reason I didn't understand.

"What do we do to get some blanket?" I asked Sai after one almost sleepless night. I pointed at Danh still sleeping beside Huang, his body ramrod straight and the both of them covered with the grey, holey thing.

"Forget about it. Better to learn how to sleep in any situation."

That morning, one of the few guards remaining made me spend the day cleaning up catfish caught from the prison's trenches. Most of them would be sold at the nearby market. The guards would pocket the cash. I slipped some kip that Julia had given me during our last visit into the guard's hand so at least one of the fish would be for Sai and me. At first the smell and sight of so many fish guts made me want to puke. I didn't know where to begin. I'd never cleaned a fish before.

"You don't know how?" the guard asked, slapping me lightly on the back of my head. "Every idiot knows how to clean a fish. Your father not teach you anything?"

He showed me how to take each clammy, slippery fish in my hand and slice its jelly-like underside open with a knife. He stuck a thick, grimy finger into the fish's belly and dug around until he pulled out a clear, transparent organ, long and slimy.

"There, now do them all," he said, after the fish in his hand had been totally gutted. He pointed to a heap of limp, black catfish surrounded by a crowd of happy flies.

By the time I was finished I was covered in fish guts and slime. I reeked like death. If I hadn't been so starving I don't think I would have ever eaten fish again.

The guard ordered me to light a fire and gave me the biggest fish in the pile to cook for Sai and me. I had noticed that every now and then a guard would let his harsh exterior slip, let the Lao in him shine through. Sai said they were just fathers trying to feed their families, after all. My stomach growled. We'd only had sticky rice and watery pork-fat soup all week.

The guard led me back to the cell; his keys jangled against the cold hard bars as he slid open the locks and opened the door. Huang was sitting in the corner, head hung between this knees like always. But this time his head snapped up as the guard slid the locks shut behind us.

"You have fish?" he asked. It was the first time I had heard him speak English.

"Yeah."

"You give to Huang."

So far there hadn't been any problems in the cell with us eating fish. I figured they all worked their own deals so they could have some, too.

"No way," I said.

"Okay, you give me Sai's share." Huang's gummy eye was sealed shut, his dark lashes stuck together with some disgusting goop.

"Not on your life." There was no way I was going to betray Sai. He was keeping me alive in this nightmare.

"You think Sai so good. Sai no better than me. You stay cold. When you tired of freezing you come see Huang, if Sai doesn't get you first." His good eye winked at me as I got ready to take a shower. I decided to place the fish in a bucket just outside the shower so Huang couldn't get his hands on it.

The water felt good as it slid down my sweaty back, but the few minutes I had to myself created too much s.p.a.ce for thoughts. Could anyone in this country really prove that I didn't kill Nok? I let out a long exhale. It didn't work. The lack of sleep combined with malnutrition was making my mind do funny things. I thought about what might happen if I smashed through the small slit of a window in the bathroom. I knew I had to help myself somehow. I couldn't just sit around waiting for other people to decide if I was going to be freed or not. I poured the water over my head faster and faster, hoping it would wash away the fear. Finally I heard Sai's voice as the guard let him into the cell after his day of work. I dried off with a thin, scratchy towel and rounded the cement corner that separated the small shower area from the cell.

"Good to see you," I said.

"Hey!" Huang lifted his heavy head again. His good eye looked at me, then Sai, then back to me again. "You remember what Huang say."

"Yeah, okay." But I had already forgotten. Something to make me doubt Sai. I would never - I had learned too much about friendship in this country. I thought of Somchai's latest letter.

"Cam! From Somchai!" Sai had exclaimed, picking it up from the place where a guard had slid it underneath our cell door. He was just as excited about it as I was. Contact with the outside world. I had told Sai all about my friend Somchai.

I ripped it open and it felt like I was holding a bag of gold even though the letter was short and written on thin, blue airmail paper. Somchai liked his job at the sandwich shop, his sister was coming to visit from Thailand and Meh Mee was as gossipy as ever. But my mom, he said, had gotten really quiet. She stayed home all the time, except when she was working; no one came to visit her but Meh Mee and Somchai. She's not the same, Cam, he wrote. I chewed on my nails.

That night I couldn't sleep. I was freezing. I could feel gooseb.u.mps p.r.i.c.king my skin. In the moonlight I could see Danh lying beside Huang. His face kind of looked like he was in pain or something. I heard Huang's breathy sounds and thought I could see something moving under the blankets. I rolled over to my other side. I hugged my knees, trying to get some warmth. Hours seemed to pa.s.s and finally Huang's noisy breathing faded into a soft snore. I remembered his words about Sai. I had to get out of this place. I listened to the footfall of the guard patrolling the verandah outside of the cell. I had heard that they sometimes fell asleep in the middle of the night when they thought their supervisor wouldn't see. They said a Nigerian man had escaped once when the guard patrolling his room had dozed off. No one has heard from him since.

I imagined how it might be to run down that red dusty road and through the prison gates into freedom. How it would be to have some control over my life again. What it would be like now that things were so good between my mom and me. All of a sudden a hand at the small of my back interrupted my thoughts. Gentle and soft, like a bird fluttering by.

Sai.

I shifted farther away from him. He seemed to roll in towards me. I could feel his nose pressed into my back. His hand reached for the small of my back again.

"What the f.u.c.k?" I brushed it violently away.

He sat up and rubbed his eyes, as if I had woken him. Despite the darkness I could see a look of surprise on his face.

"What is it?"

"Don't play stupid. You think I'm like Danh over there? Giving it up for a piece of blanket?"

"Cam - I ..."

"Don't f.u.c.king touch me again."

I saw him wince and realized my mistake. He turned his back toward me and I could tell he was working hard to keep his breath long and deep.

s.h.i.t. He was the only person who gave a rat's a.s.s about me in this place. I wouldn't give away his piece of fish, but it didn't take me long to betray him with my quick anger. I thought I had learned a lot about friendship in this country, but obviously I was still an idiot. Jail was destroying me. I would find a way to get out.

Khaosan Road.

Seng.

This time Seng remembered how to get to Khaosan Road. He walked up and down the bustling tourist area scanning the sidewalks for the spring-roll woman. Hours pa.s.sed and he couldn't find her. Finally he stopped to ask a street vendor selling pad Thai if he knew her. He didn't want to draw attention to himself, to have another person acknowledge his existence in this city, but he had to know.

"Do you know how many old ladies sell spring rolls around here?" the vendor laughed as he pa.s.sed hot sauce to a black guy with a Canadian flag sewn on his backpack. Suddenly Seng didn't feel so good. He walked back to the guesthouse, but he came back the next day. He told Vong the walks were doing him good. Helping him to clear his mind.

"Don't you think you should stick around here? Hide out in the room?"

"It's making me crazy, staying in there all the time. Besides, don't you think the guesthouse staff wonder why we never go out?"

"Okay," she said, like she was giving him permission. "Just keep your head down."

The pad Thai vendor laughed when he recognized Seng in the throng.

"You still looking for your lady?" he asked.

Maybe Vong had been right. He should really stay in the room and not risk being noticed. But he had to know.

Suddenly he spotted her. She was wearing the same conical hat and pa.s.sing a flimsy paper plate with spring rolls to a blonde tourist. He barely even noticed the girl's pretty face. Instead he sat and watched the old woman. He could see her forehead shining with sweat underneath her hat. Her well-worn skirt was decorated with grease stains. Sometimes she would take a break and sit on the curb, rocking back and forth and rubbing her hands up and down her thighs. Something wasn't right with her, but Seng didn't know what. She placed a hand on the small of her back and stood up stiffly, surveying the cement sidewalks for her next point of sale. He strained to hear her through the crowd, but she rarely spoke. He grew more agitated. He needed to know.

She bent over her giant pot of spring rolls as he approached her.

"How many?" she asked, without looking up. Somehow he wasn't surprised to hear her Lao accent. He really should go. If she was Lao, she might have heard about him. But his feet were frozen in place.

"I'm not here for spring rolls." He didn't know what to say now that he had approached her. The woman looked up and then gasped.

"Where are you from?" he asked.

He couldn't see her eyes behind her dark sungla.s.ses, but her head turned slightly from side to side, as if she was scanning the streets anxiously. She acted as if she hadn't heard him.

"Are you Lao?" he asked. She hobbled hurriedly in the direction of the bus stop.

"Wait!" Seng called, but she kept walking. He followed her. She glanced over her shoulder at him and tried to quicken her pace, but Seng caught up to her feeble gait.

"Are you from Luang Prabang?" he called out to the back of her wrinkled brown blouse.

She wheeled around to look at him. She dropped her basket of spring rolls. One rolled out of the basket and onto the grey street littered with cigarette b.u.t.ts. Her jaw briefly dropped.

"Who are you? You are with the Lao government?" She made an effort to stand taller.

"No."