The Merit Birds (11 page)

Seng

Seng thought he would take a shortcut to the main road. He would flag down the first vehicle he saw and ask the driver to get a doctor. If only they were in America and he could call an ambulance. If only he owned a cellphone. This was all his fault. The
Pi Mai
moon wasn't helping him to see anything. There was so much darkness. Was he going the right way? He shook his head violently, trying to clear away the fog from his mind. None of this could really be happening. Nok was going to be okay. She probably just had a bad cut on the back of her head. She was going to be — he stopped short. He couldn't hear cars or motorbikes. This couldn't be the right way. He turned around. He couldn't see a thing. He suddenly noticed that his ankle was throbbing. He must have twisted it or something when he fell off the bike. His heart hammered inside his body and his mouth was dry. He was panting like a wild animal.

The smell of earth and bush was all around. He tried to block it out. The only smell he wanted was hers. He was afraid something else would replace it. He didn't want to forget. He plugged his nose with his fingers but then he couldn't run as quickly. If only he wasn't so fat, then he could run faster. This was wrong, all wrong. He wanted to start from the beginning. When all five of them were together — his entire family. How he had failed Meh now! He had killed her baby. Killed his sister! He
was
a wild animal. But no, he was wrong. He couldn't afford to think this way. Nok was going to survive. She was too strong not to. Besides, he couldn't live without her. If she was dead he would be as well.

Sweat poured down his forehead. He was so afraid. Where was he? He still couldn't hear the sounds of a road.

“Someone help me!” he screamed. “Help!”

All of a sudden he tripped over a thick tree root. He felt his body go down, his head slam against something hard. And then there was nothing. Absolutely nothing.

There would never be anything again.

Not without her.

Seng

Seng woke with a start, disoriented and confused. He sat up and looked around. Dawn in the forest. Through the black silhouette of trees he could see the blue-gray of a lightening sky. His tongue was like sandpaper. His head throbbed. He felt the back of it and through his thick, damp hair he found a large goose egg. Birds noisily announced the beginning of a new day, a new year. With a flash of pain the memory came back.

“Nok!” he whispered and stood up too quickly. He stumbled, feeling dizzy and weak. He looked all around but could only see the trunks of trees. He turned and limped through the woods as quickly as he could.

When he came to the edge of the road where he had left her he saw the massive truck. The driver was standing beside it with white gauze taped on his forehead. He held on to the truck's door handle as he talked to a man dressed in the beige uniform of the investigative police. The officer nodded, listening intently, and writing furiously in a notebook. Seng walked closer toward them. Hopefully, he scanned the scene for his sister, but she was gone. Only the stain of her halo remained on the dirt road. He was relieved to see the men and was about to step out of the roadside brush and call out to them when the driver slammed his hand violently onto the side of the truck. Seng froze in his place in the bushes.

“That son of a bitch! A girl is dead because of him. And now her death will be part of my karma. If I see him I will kill him myself. Such a beautiful, young girl. Dead! And he left her alone! He took off. He deserves to die, that driver. He deserves to die.” The driver slammed his hand against the truck again.

“He very well might,” said the officer said in a way that was almost hopeful.

The truck driver stopped his outburst and looked up. “What do you mean?”

“The government is looking to make an example of someone. No one takes the drunk driving laws seriously. If this guy is charged with manslaughter everyone will take notice. Especially if he gets the death penalty for it.”

“The death penalty? For driving drunk?”

“For driving drunk and killing someone,” the officer said.

“But how do you know he was drunk?”

“You said he was driving on the wrong side of the road, weaving back and forth?”

“Yeah, that's right.”

“Classic sign.”

“Mr. Phon, where's the girl now? I need to see her. She died because of me.”

“Based on your statements you did nothing wrong.”

“If I hadn't been driving on this road …” The truck driver's voice trailed off as he looked at his feet. Seng could see him wiping his eyes.

“She's at the morgue,” Officer Phon continued.

Seng's heart plummeted and he closed his eyes, stunned. He couldn't move.
This isn't real
, he said over and over again in his head.
This can't be real.

“We found a business card on her body,” the officer continued. “She worked at one of the massage houses. Her co-worker identified her.”

“Not her family?”

“Apparently there is a brother, but we can't find him. The co-worker said there is a boyfriend, too. A
falang
. She said they were both supposed to be at the party.”

Seng fell to his knees. The officer suddenly turned in his direction, peering carefully into the bush, as if he had heard something, but then he shrugged, seeming to dismiss the idea. Seng buried his face into his trembling hands. Then he covered his mouth to stifle his sobs.

Finally he heard the engine of the officer's motorbike starting. He turned to look up and could see the truck driver crouched over the place where Nok had fell, his head bent. Seng stood up slowly, as quietly as he could. He wanted someone with whom to share his grief. He would go to the man and they could weep together. Seng took a step forward, but then thought again. He turned around and darted back into the deep bush.

Cam

Julia had freaked out about my injuries from the fall in the cave.

“They sewed you up without anesthetic? How do you know the needle was clean? Somchai should have contacted me.”

“Somchai was perfect. I'm glad he was there instead of you.”

“We need to take you to the international clinic as soon as Lao New Year is over. I'm making an appointment.”

But the day after Lao New Year I woke up before Julia and painstakingly biked past farmers ushering their water buffalos through fields. My slow pace was making me feel like a water buffalo. I didn't care about my stupid ankle. I only wanted to see Nok. That's what I needed to feel better. I was so anxious to get to Fa Ngum Massage, but my ankle kept sending twinges of pain up my leg, even though the doctor in Vang Vieng said I could begin putting weight on it after a few days. It was taking me so long to get there. I was desperate to find the door to the massage house propped open just as it always was in the mornings to allow the cooler air in. I arrived at last, breathless and sore, and was totally relieved when I saw Nana unlocking the front door. I had driven by five times during the last day of Lao New Year, but the door was always locked. I waved at Nana and attempted a smile. She didn't smile back. The corners of my mouth shook with nerves. I was definitely not playing it cool.

Nana stopped fiddling with her keys and searched my eyes apprehensively. Was she afraid that I was still angry? She didn't understand English, but before I could put the Lao words together to apologize she launched into a staccato monologue. She was frantic. I tried to follow, but she was speaking so quickly. Nerves stymied my brain. Her chubby hands were waving all over the place, her eyes looked terrified. I was making out some words: terrible, New Year, Nok's gone, not here. But as she rattled on, and the searing sun began to prick at my neck, my impatience grew and made it even more difficult for me to understand. Soon Nana's story became so twisted and disjointed in my head that I pretended I understood and quickly left in a haze of frustration. I needed Somchai.

I biked to the plastics factory near our village where he said he was going to look for a job. He wasn't going to even bother trying to go to school this semester. My mind was so frantic I didn't notice the rain. After months of living in a dry sauna the few drops promised that the wet season would finally come. I should have been doing pop-a-wheelies for joy. Instead I was freaking out. Had something awful happened? Or was Nana giving me a piece of her mind for losing it on her friend?

I skidded my bike into the plastics factory courtyard and spotted Somchai standing in a long line of men, their hands turned upwards towards the sky, trying to feel the relief of raindrops on their sweaty palms. He saw me and waved me over.

“Rain!” he said with a laugh, his bright face turned up to the darkening sky. Then he turned to look at me. “Hey,” he said, “you shouldn't be biking yet.”

“Somchai, you've got to come with me.”

“What? Why aren't you at school?”

“It's Nok. I think something bad has happened. She's not at the massage house. I need you to translate.”

It was only after Somchai doubled me on the back of my bike and we were halfway to the massage house that I realized he had left his place in line for me.

When we got back to Fa Ngum Massage, the other masseuses scattered as soon as they saw me. One of them called for Nana. Nana walked down the stairs to the front desk of the massage house and held her hand up to her heart as she began to chatter anxiously to Somchai. My gut wrenched. I didn't understand a thing. I watched Somchai's face fall. I was so afraid and powerless, standing there, stupid, yet at the same time knowing that things would never be the same again. All I could do was wait. It seemed like they were talking for an eternity. Finally, Somchai turned to me.

“Brother,” he said, and I could tell by the softening of his voice that it was really bad. He paused, trying to find the right way to tell me.

“I'm so sorry.” He swallowed. “She is gone. Nok died. I'm sorry, Cam.” His gentle face, the empty room, Nana's sad eyes watching me closely — it all blurred at the edges. I couldn't see right. I couldn't have heard right. Somchai wrapped his strong, sinewy arms around me.

“No, it's a mistake,” I said. “It can't be.”

Somchai hugged me tighter.

“How?” I looked up from Somchai's shoulder, tears like monsoon rain down my cheeks. Nana just shook her head. My voice squeaked. “Somchai? How?”

“It was a motorbike accident, brother,” he said gently. “After a New Year party.”

I hung my head. The party I was supposed to go to.

“Who was driving?” I wanted someone to be angry at. Someone to blame.

“Nana doesn't know, Cam. She said there is a police investigation underway.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nok was alone, by the bike. The police said she fell off the back. The driver has disappeared.”

It had to be a mistake. It couldn't have really happened. I must still be in a fog from Vang Vieng. Once it cleared, everything would be back to normal. I just had to wait it out. In a trance, I let Somchai double me on my bike back to our village. My body felt so heavy I could barely move it. I slumped up against his back as his feet pedalled up and down, up and down.

Everything was in slow motion. I watched, as if I were watching images on a TV screen, as Somchai prayed at a tiny replica of a temple perched on a white post in front of his home. A spirit house, he called it. The spirit house — white and red with an ornate roof curving up to a sharp, golden point — looked like a miniature version of the temple where Nok had taken me. I had noticed that most Lao homes had one in front. The tall palm trees of our village rustled nervously. Somchai lit a stick of incense and the fragrant smoke drifted languidly around us. He placed it by the small front door. I saw him close his dark eyes, place his hands in prayer at his forehead, and mouth a prayer. I heard the air eddy about his lips as he chanted wordlessly. Bad spirits out, good spirits in. I staggered. Nothing felt real.

Seng

Seng crouched in the shadows, tossing pebbles at the shutters of Khamdeng's window. After hearing what the investigative officer told the truck driver, he had spent the day in the bush, drinking water from a trickling stream to replenish his tears. Nok was gone. Dead. There would be no university, no
falang
love, no hope. He had never felt so alone or so terrified. The death penalty? He would have gladly died in the accident instead of Nok. In fact it should have been him. But it was another thing to have his life taken by the government. He shook his head. He couldn't believe he was even thinking about these things. He'd give anything to worry about something as stupid as how many plastic combs he could sell.

It was as if he existed outside of himself now. It was like he could watch himself in the forest, as he bent to splash his face with water from the stream or bury his hands in his face. He watched his chest heave as he wept. Saw himself take a piss and sit staring at the ground, completely lost. He had to go to her, to retrieve her body. Bury her properly.

The morning had slipped into noon before he remembered Khamdeng. The motorbike belonged to him. Officer Phon would have wasted no time tracking him down. Seng had heard rumours about investigative police beating people up in order get them to talk. What would they do to his friend? His nerves shook as he wrung his hands together, desperate for night to fall so he could get to his friend in secrecy. The late afternoon seemed to last for days. Now, finally, Khamdeng called out through closed shutters.

“Who's there?”

“Brother, it's me.”

Khamdeng slowly opened the shutters. In the moonlight Seng could see his puffy, black eye. Seng gasped.

“They were here,” Seng said, hanging his head. Khamdeng held a finger up to his mouth to shush Seng. He motioned for Seng to go around to the front of the house. Seng's blood raced through his veins as he skulked to Khamdeng's front door. His friend let him in and they knelt together, whispering, in a dark corner of Khamdeng's home. The moonlight seeped in through the slats of a shutter, eerily illuminating the room and Khamdeng's face.

“You can't stay here. They are looking for you. That Officer Phon is on a mission. He wants to make an example out of you,” Khamdeng whispered frantically.

“What did they do to you?”

Khamdeng didn't answer. “It's not safe for you in Vientiane, Seng. You have to leave.”

“Khamdeng, what did they do?”

His friend looked into his lap. After a while he began to talk. “There were three of them. It didn't matter what they did to me. I wasn't going to tell them anything. They took turns, but my mouth wouldn't move. I wouldn't say your name, Seng.”

Seng began to scratch the back of his head furiously. “You should have just said it! I deserve everything I get, but I am not good enough for your loyalty.” His voice quivered.

Khamdeng was quiet for a long time. Then he swallowed. “It was when they turned on Meh, Seng. Two of them did. I said it then. So they would stop.”

Seng felt his heart pop. He whispered in a shaky voice, “Your
meh
— is she okay?”

Khamdeng nodded.

“No one should suffer but me,” Seng said. “You did the right thing, giving them my name.”

“But it wasn't your name, brother.”

Seng met his eyes. He couldn't speak.

“What do you mean?” he finally asked.

Khamdeng fingered the bottom of his T-shirt. “I said it was the
falang
. The Canadian boyfriend.”

“But —” Seng was stunned.

“What else could I do? I don't even know his name, so they don't have his details. All they know was that it was a foreigner.”

“But he wasn't there! He's innocent!”

“Shh, keep your voice down.” Khamdeng swallowed. “I know, I can't stop thinking about that. But it's my duty to protect my family and friends. I didn't know what else to do.”

“I'm going to turn myself in right now.”

“No! If you do you will be charged with manslaughter. That's what the officer said. They want to prove to the world they can get tough on drunk driving — apparently the tourists were getting worried about it. They will know that I lied. We will both be dead.”

“But what if they find the
falang
?”

“He's a foreigner. They will take it easy on him. Besides, his government will bail him out. They'll have all kinds of fancy legal people to prove that he's innocent. He'll be safe in Canada in no time.”

“This is so wrong. It's all wrong, Khamdeng. We can't do this.”

“Seng, hasn't your family lost enough? They took your parents. Your
pa
and
meh
wouldn't want them to take you, too.”

Seng hugged himself and then collapsed forward in his cross-legged position. His forehead met the floor. Soon it was slick with tears and snot.

They sat silent for a long time. His mind raced. He couldn't do this. Finally Khamdeng said,“I sent an e-mail to your big sister. I didn't say anything in it that would blame you — they check e-mail, you know. I just told her that Nok died. She is on her way.”

“What?” Seng sat up. He wiped his face with the back of his hand.

“Vong. She's coming — to Vientiane.”

“No! I don't want her here.”

“Seng, she needed to know. About Nok. Maybe she can help you.”

“No, she's never helped me.”

“She took care of you after your parents were taken! She was only a teenager herself.”

“And then she left us.”

“After you were grown. Look, Seng, she's your family. Aren't you always missing having your family together? She needs to know.”

“I don't want her to know how I have failed,” Seng said, looking down. “I don't want her to know what I've done!”

Just then they heard a rustling sound coming from deeper inside Khamdeng's house.

“Seng, you have to go now. I don't want anyone to know you were here. In case someone asks them.”

Seng nodded and crept as quietly as he could outside. He had no clue where to go or what to do next.