Bamboo People (18 page)

In the morning my first thought is of Peh, searching for Karenni in the jungle. It’s been a week since we said good-bye. What dangers is he facing? Will he, too, come back without a leg, an arm, his eyes? Will he come back at all?

Chiko’s still asleep when Ree Meh and the healer arrive, bringing breakfast again from Mua. “I want to teach you about antibiotics today, Nya Meh,” Auntie Doctor says. “They are miracle medicines, but you have to use them sparingly.”

Ree Meh and I head off to school. “Ready for your second day?” I ask.

“It’s not as bad as I thought it would be,” she admits. “Thanks to your sister, the girls think I’m some kind of hero.”

“You are,” I say, and she smiles.

We part ways at the door, and she makes her way to the girls’ side of the room. At recess, when the other boys surround me again, I ignore their questions and teasing and walk away. I’m almost as good at kickboxing as Sa Reh, and the strongest wrestler in school by far, so they don’t follow me.

Before I leave that afternoon, I quietly approach the teacher. I know I can trust him. He used to scold Sa Reh and me about the way we hated the Burmese. “Revenge makes you a prisoner,” he’d tell us, and we’d nod, but afterward we’d joke about how he probably lost his manhood along with his leg.

“I do have a few English books that a foreigner left behind,” the teacher says now. “Why do you want them?”

“They’re for the Burmese boy in the doctor’s hut,” I say, keeping my voice low. “He can read English. And he misses books.”

“I’ll take them to him myself,” the teacher says. “Your soldier sounds like a smart kid, Tu Reh.”

There it is again—“my” soldier. Am I ever going to change that?

That afternoon Nya Meh comes to visit the site for the new hut. She’s carrying an empty bucket. “The doctor needs more water,” she tells us.

Ree Meh describes for her sister how we’re going to orient the building, with the windows facing the river and the door toward the village.

Smiling her approval, Nya Meh wades into the shallows to fill the bucket. Ree Meh, Mango, and I are heading to the far shore to cut more bamboo when we hear splashing behind us. I turn to see Sa Reh approaching the healer. He’s ignoring me and Ree Meh completely, but for once he’s not chewing betel nut.

“I did tell him to talk to her,” Ree Meh mutters. “But I didn’t think he’d take me up on it.”

I try not to make it seem like I’m staring or spying. Sa Reh’s interest in the healer seems curious to me, but maybe he just wants to get to know her better. He did say he thought she was pretty.

I see him take Nya Meh’s bucket. After filling it for her, he stands beside her for a while. I can’t hear them, but I can tell he’s doing most of the talking, with Nya Meh listening intently.

Let her talk, too,
I want to tell him. But who am I to give advice? Some kind of girl expert? It’s a good thing Ree Meh likes to work without talking because I’m not too confident about my own conversation skills.

As Sa Reh and Nya Meh leave the river together, I can’t help feeling a bit more hopeful. If anybody can convince Sa Reh that I did the right thing, it’s Nya Meh. Maybe they’ll get to that subject soon.

Ree Meh, her grandfather, and I work on the girls’ hut until dinnertime. Nya Meh joins us later that evening. She doesn’t say anything about Sa Reh, and her sister doesn’t ask. Neither do I, of course, but I can’t help wanting to know what they talked about. Did he tell her more than he told me about losing his mother? He changed the subject when I brought it up once or twice after he confided in me. But I still have my
mua,
and neither Nya Meh nor Sa Reh have theirs.

I’m glad to see that the girls’ company keeps Mua from worrying too much about Peh. When we give thanks for the meal, she says a prayer for Peh’s safety, and her voice trembles. But afterward, beside the fire, mending clothes and talking, she seems to forget her fears as she tells the girls stories from her childhood. I stay as long as I can, enjoying their teasing and laughter, but soon Mua shoos me out the door.

After the lively talk inside our hut, the long walk to the doctor’s hut seems dark and dull. Chiko will be waiting for me there, with his stump, his sad eyes, and his questions. Suddenly I long for Sa Reh’s company. I wish he could be there with me—to banter insults back and forth, and maybe even to make Chiko laugh.

As I pass Sa Reh’s hut, on an impulse I climb halfway up the ladder and peek inside like I used to before I left for the mission. A few men are gathered around a map, pointing and talking. Sa Reh spots me first and—I can’t believe he does this—actually spits a gob of red betel juice right at me. It lands short, but the men look up, and I see that they’re Bu Reh’s allies—the toughest warriors in camp.

“Looking for a new place to sleep, Tu Reh?” asks Bu Reh. His tone is pleasant, but I notice he hasn’t scolded his son for spitting at me. “Why not come all the way up?”

I don’t move. “No. No, thanks. I’m all right.”

“Can’t wait for the meeting on Friday,” he says, sitting back in his chair. “We’ve got a plan for your soldier that we think the camp is going to like.”

The men laugh.
“He
won’t like it,” Sa Reh says, tipping his head in my direction.

“Isn’t that Oo Reh’s boy?” one of Bu Reh’s cronies asks. “How did a brave man like that let his own son get soft?”

Bu Reh shrugs. “I’m looking forward to asking him when he gets back.”

I make myself climb down the ladder before I leap into the room and kick someone—preferably Sa Reh.

I’m
not
soft! I care just as much about the cause as they do! Thankfully, their reminder of Peh brings to mind that surprising moment when he put his hands on my shoulders and looked me in the eye.
He
knows what kind of Karenni man I am, at least—and that’s what counts. My thoughts turn to the plan they’re concocting. It can’t be good news for Chiko, I’m sure.

When I get to the hut, Chiko is holding a book close to his face in the dim light of the kerosene lantern.

“Your teacher came by,” he tells me. “He told me all about getting a new leg. He walks decently, Tu Reh.”

“Told you.”

“If he can be a teacher with only one leg, why can’t I?”

“You probably could if you wanted to.”

“He loaned me three books in English—they’re called
The Lord of the Rings.
Written by a British author. He hasn’t read them, but the foreigner who gave them to him told him they were good. I’m almost halfway done with the first one. It
is
good, Tu Reh. Want me to read you a bit? I can try to translate it into Burmese.”

“Not now. We need to sleep. Tomorrow you can finish it.”

“But Frodo has the Ring, Tu Reh. The Ring!” He hands me the book and his glasses reluctantly.

I have no idea what he’s talking about. I put his things on the nightstand beside his bed, make sure he has water to drink, and blow out the lamp.

The next afternoon, I spot Sa Reh and the healer sitting on the bridge where he and I used to fish. Again he’s talking earnestly, and the healer’s listening, her eyes fixed on his face. Nya Meh smiles as I pass, but Sa Reh ignores me.

Sa Reh’s not the only one in camp who wants nothing to do with me. The teasing at school is getting worse each day. Adults are brushing past me, too, not meeting my eyes—not many, but enough to make me wish Peh were here to stand with me on Friday. This council meeting is my last chance to prove that

I’m still a Karenni fighter. I have to show them all that I’m the same Tu Reh I was before I left on the mission.

But am I? That night, as Chiko talks about his home, family, and dreams for the future, I can hardly believe this is me, Tu Reh, listening to a Burmese soldier. Am I forgetting? I close my eyes to picture the soldiers who threw the burning torch on our house and bamboo grove. Sadness comes winging back like an arrow. I’d still do anything to get our village back—anything to keep my people alive. But somehow this boy isn’t a part of that anymore.

“Your
mua
came by to bring me lunch,” Chiko tells me. “She reminds me a lot of my mother.”

I’m glad Mua came. She never questioned me after hearing what Peh said, but I could tell that she had doubts. Now that she’s met Chiko, I’m sure she understands exactly why I decided to bring him here. “Her Burmese isn’t great,” I say. “Were you able to talk?”

“She asked a lot of questions about my family. And she told me about your home in the village, Tu Reh. And how it was burned. I’m—I’m sorry.”

I can’t answer. It’s a strange sensation, hearing a Burmese soldier apologize. What am I supposed to say?

“Do you have dreams for the future, Tu Reh?” Chiko asks suddenly.

“Not as big as yours,” I say. “Some land, some rice, a family, a home. That’s all.”

“That’s enough. Who needs more than that? I hope you get it.”

“I hope so, too.”

His leg is healing well, but his face grows sad as he reaches out to finger the bandages on the stump. It’s gone forever—there’s no changing that. But will he survive long enough to get a replacement? Or will the camp decide that he’s too much of a risk?

When Friday comes I can hardly concentrate on school. Ree Meh and I work on the hut through the afternoon without saying much. Tonight’s the meeting. Tonight the people will decide what to do with Chiko. Somehow I’m going to have to prove to Sa Reh and everybody else in camp that I’m my father’s son, a patriot, a man for the Karenni. I keep slashing and cutting bamboo for a while even after Ree Meh leaves to get ready. The familiar motion relaxes my tense muscles.

When I arrive at the meeting, the large room is already packed. Auntie Doctor is sitting with Mua and the girls in the second row. The president gestures to me, and I join the grandfather on the bench in front of the girls. Sa Reh and his father are across the aisle. Sa Reh’s face is stony, and he doesn’t glance my way.

I’m not on trial. I haven’t done anything wrong. So why does it feel like I’m about to get sentenced?
Peh, where are you?
Wouldn’t it be amazing if he got back right now, right this minute? But I know his mission isn’t finished. Peh would never come back early if he could help it.

As usual, the pastor starts the meeting with a prayer and a Bible reading before the president takes over.

“Come up here, Tu Reh.”

I rise and go forward. “Tell the people how and why you brought your soldier to the healer’s hut.”

Trying not to flinch at his choice of words, I keep my eyes on Ree Meh as I tell the whole story again, sticking to the facts. The room is quiet as people listen closely.

“And then Peh told me I had to choose what to do. So I decided to take the soldier to the healer’s hut.”

“Why?” the president asks, but he doesn’t sound accusing. Not yet, anyway.

I take a deep breath. “He’s younger than I am,” I say. “I couldn’t leave him there to be killed by animals.”

“Why didn’t you do a mercy killing, then?” The question rings out from the back of the room; I can’t tell who’s asking it.

I shrug. “He’s just a boy,” I say again. “Go and see for yourself. He’s in the doctor’s hut.”

“He’s a spy! His father’s a criminal!” This time I know who said the words—they came from the front row. From Sa Reh’s angry mouth.

“Raise your hands to comment, please,” the president says. “We must have order in our meetings. And Tu Reh’s right. The soldier is quite young. I questioned him myself, and I personally don’t believe he’s a spy. Others might still have doubts, but I’m fairly sure this particular soldier doesn’t know much.”

My heart lifts. Somehow Chiko managed to convince the right person that he was telling the truth. Those big words he used must have helped.

“Thank you, Tu Reh,” the president continues. “We don’t forget what your
peh’s
doing right now for our people. And that you’re his son. Be seated.”

I slide back onto the bench, relieved. Maybe I’m finally done with this whole mess. But across the way, Sa Reh is still glowering. And in front Bu Reh is muttering something to the man sitting beside him.

“The next question, then, is what to do with the soldier now that he’s here,” says the president. “Any suggestions?”

Bu Reh raises his hand and gets permission to speak. “Once he’s able to leave the medic’s hut, he’ll find out more about us and our plans. Spy or no spy, we have to get rid of him now.”

“Yes, but how?” the president asks.

“Kill him!” That same voice rings from the back of the church. “He’s Burmese!”

A few people cheer here and there.

The grandfather stands up suddenly. He’s a small man, but suddenly the room grows quiet. “May I speak, sir?” he asks the president.

The president nods.

Slowly the old man turns to face the crowd. “As you’ve heard already, this soldier is a boy, forced into the army against his will. Now he’s suffered the loss of his leg. Doesn’t God command us to defend
all
who are weak, my dear friends, not just those who speak our Karenni language? We must think carefully about how we treat this young stranger. If we give way to hatred, we won’t be any better than our enemies. I could no longer call myself a Karenni if we killed him.”

This is what Peh was trying to tell me in the jungle, I realize. It’s what we need to hear again and again, each time we’re attacked, oppressed, beaten down. Suddenly I can’t stop myself. “They can’t control us!” I call out, leaping to my feet. “We are the Karenni!”

And then I know exactly what to do. Saluting the flag in the front of the room, I start singing the national anthem. My voice is terrible, but it’s loud, and Ree Meh and Mua join in by the third word. The pastor grabs his guitar to strum an accompaniment. Soon all of us—the president, Bu Reh, and even Sa Reh—are standing, saluting, and singing our Karenni song in unison.

When we’re done, the room explodes in loud cheers. The president has to rap the table several times before people start to sit down.

He waits until it’s quiet. “Thank you for reminding us of how we must live, my father,” he says to the old man.

“But the question remains, my fellow Karenni. What shall we do with our stranger?”