Bamboo People (7 page)

During dinner, I grin as Tai imitates my groans and moans. “Sounded like somebody was killing a pig,” he says. “You sore?”

“Definitely. But not as much as I might have been without your training. And if those buffalo hadn’t done our work, I’d probably be dead by now.”

“Buffalo like to help each other,” Tai says, nudging me. I laugh; he’s pointing at U-Tha-Din, who’s chewing his rice absentmindedly, looking just like Yan and Gon.

As camp begins to close down for the night, I watch the road. Tai may not care, but I do. What will the captain say when he finds out what we’ve done? I’ve almost convinced myself that he isn’t going to show up when the jeep comes hurtling down the hill.

The inside of my mouth tastes like I’ve swallowed sawdust instead of fried rice.
One day at a time,
I tell myself.
Mind your own business. Stay out of trouble.

Carrying kerosene lanterns, the soldiers run to open the doors of the jeep. The captain steps out,

followed by his guest, a portly man with several ribbons on his uniform. We lower our heads to show respect.

“U-Tha-Din,” barks the captain, after the bowing and saluting is over. “What kind of a leader are you? Why are the recruits not working? Have they cleared that river as the farmer requested? We must maintain good relations with that man. If not, the major will make sure somebody else is assigned to take over this camp.”

U-Tha-Din grins broadly. “The work’s on schedule, sir! The farmer already sent his first payment in gratitude for our work.”

“What?”

Grabbing a lantern, the captain heads for the construction site. The major and U-Tha-Din stay behind, but everybody else follows the captain, with Tai at his heels and me at the rear of the procession.

Moonlight sparkles on the river. The captain stops short when he catches sight of the rocks piled in two huge mounds, just as he ordered. He studies the irrigation channels in the farmer’s field. Then, in one swift motion, he turns and grabs Tai’s collar, yanking him close. He’s so angry, he’s forgotten to keep up his fatherly façade. “Did you put the stones back into the river?” he growls. “All of them?”

Bindu steps forward. “We found them there this morning, sir. Isn’t that right, boys?”

The captain lets go of Tai’s collar. His voice is more controlled this time. “Tell me exactly what happened.”

Before anybody can answer, the major joins us, followed by a grinning U-Tha-Din. “I heard that two of your recruits managed a difficult task quite efficiently,” the major says. “Where are those boys?”

The other recruits nudge and shove Tai and me forward. I catch Win Min’s scowl in the crowd of faces.

“These boys borrowed a cart and two water buffalo, sir,” says U-Tha-Din, his beady eyes gleaming. “They talked the farmer into the loan.”

The major smiles and claps U-Tha-Din on the back. “Good work, Sergeant. The captain said you want to see action on the front lines, but I think we need you here.”

U-Tha-Din beams even more brightly.

“Isn’t that right, Captain?” asks the major.

“Yes, sir,” the captain answers, but that muscle in his cheek twitches like a snake about to strike. “Soldiers dismissed.”

The major heads back to the jeep, but the captain lingers. “Get ready for some time alone, street scum,” he tells Tai. “And you, too, Teacher.”

“It was my idea,” Tai says quickly. “Chiko had nothing to do with it.”

“Is that right, Teacher?” the captain asks, turning to me. “Should I punish your friend?”

I try to make myself speak, but nothing comes out of my mouth.

Tai answers for me. “I’m the one,” he says, elbowing me out of the way.

With the major waiting, the captain doesn’t have much time. He calls U-Tha-Din back and barks his orders. “Give the street boy three days of solitary. Starting immediately.”

I wait for U-Tha-Din to protest, but he salutes his commanding officer.

It’s done. Tai is going to confinement, and I’m not.

So why do I feel like the one who’s condemned?

U-Tha-Din tells Tai to go to the gym and change out of his uniform. He places one hand on Tai’s shoulder before walking away. I stay with Tai, trying to think of something to say.

Tai puts on his old
longyi.
“I’ll be fine, Chiko. It’s only three days. Two nights. Stay out of trouble while I’m gone.”

That’s my problem,
I think.
I try to stay out of trouble.

I can’t meet his eyes.

Win Min and two other soldiers escort Tai to the confinement room behind the barracks. They don’t let me follow; the place is off-limits to everybody except the captain’s favorites.

Bindu is on guard in the gym, so I ask what the place is like. “It’s a cell no bigger than a box,” he tells me. “No windows and no bathroom. Just a hole in the ground.”

The next day, I approach one of the captain’s men with a kyat note and ask him to give Tai some of my food and water, along with a blanket. The soldier takes the money—snatches it, in fact—and agrees to the food and water, but refuses to give Tai the blanket.

For two nights I can’t sleep. I toss and turn, hating myself more than ever, worrying that Tai is cold, or sick. How could I let him shoulder the blame for something we both did? Will I ever stop being a coward?

On the third day after dinner, Tai is released. He’s weak but still upright. I’m waiting for him as he comes around the barracks. He even manages a smile when I rush to his side. I’ve brought his other
longyi
along and help him to the river so he can bathe.

I take his dirty clothes, go downstream a bit, and scrub them out while Tai washes himself from head to toe. Thank goodness it’s time to sleep—he looks exhausted.

“I’m sorry, Tai,” I say when we’re finally settled in the gym. He’s shivering, even though he’s under his blanket, so I give him my blanket, too.

“For what?” he asks. “For not getting thrown in there with me? The stink was bad enough without you adding to it. And thanks for the food, Chiko. I’d be dead if it wasn’t for you.”

“How did you …? What was it like?”

He’s quiet for a minute. “I could hardly breathe. Not being able to stand was the hardest. I made it only by picturing Sawati’s face.”

“I’m sure she’s with my mother, Tai.”

But he shakes his head, unconvinced.

Tai’s body recovers quickly, but the anxiety over his sister gets even more intense. No matter how hard he tries, he can’t figure out a way to escape. Cars and trucks don’t come now that the material for the latrines has been delivered. The dense jungle cuts us off from the rest of the world better than any wall or chain-link fence. Two or three of the captain’s soldiers are on patrol at all times, showing off the new rifles only they are allowed to carry.

The camp has a small number of expensive foreign-made assault rifles that are assigned to “trustworthy fighters for Burma.” And how does a soldier earn that label? Judging by the sections trained before ours, only a proven admirer of the captain’s can handle that kind of weapon. The rest of us never come close—we’re stuck with older, less reliable rifles made cheaply in Burma’s factories.

Our own section is starting to divide into two groups also—a few boys who follow the captain’s elite and the rest of us who don’t. Tai is fast becoming the leader of the second group. His water buffalo maneuver and survival in solitary have earned respect.

U-Tha-Din, too, starts giving Tai more responsibility. We recruits continue to work at finishing the latrines, and the sergeant tells him to organize us at the beginning of the day.

“Nine of us working today,” Tai says. “The rest are helping with rifle practice.”

“Why don’t we work in shifts?” I suggest. “Three of us can do the heavier work while three others measure, and three work with smaller tools. Then we’ll switch. That way we won’t get tired at the same time.”

“Good idea, Chiko,” Tai says. “But we need to keep track of the shifts to make sure everybody gets a turn to rest.”

“If I had some paper, I could set up a system,” I say.

“Did you hear that, Sergeant?” Tai calls. “Chiko could use some paper.”

U-Tha-Din hands me his clipboard. “Tai tells me you can write, boy,” he says. “Use this to figure out your system.

And while you’re at it, why don’t you take a look at some of these other letters? I’m—er—much too busy to do paperwork.”

I like the feel of the clipboard and pencil in my hands. “I can’t read and write without my glasses, sir,” I say. “The captain told me not to wear them.”

U-Tha-Din glances around. “Do you have them?”

“They’re in the gym.”

“As long as you don’t wear them around the captain or any of his men, you’ll be fine. These fellows won’t say anything, right?”

The seven boys standing with us agree, and I race to get my glasses. I’m safe for now; the captain’s soldiers are at the far end of the field, concentrating on shooting practice. Two recruits from our section are helping to set up targets.

I list the names and ages of the nine workers on the blank piece of paper attached to the clipboard. Dividing us into three groups, I balance the younger boys with the older ones. Although it seems like I’m ordering them around, the others don’t mind. They see that my plan is fair.

When it’s my group’s turn to take a break, I pick up the clipboard and flip through the rest of its contents—several forms that haven’t been completed, an unfinished budget report with a lot of math mistakes, and six unopened letters. Why would such important paperwork go untouched like this? Is the sergeant too busy to read his mail?

I walk over to U-Tha-Din, who’s dozing in the shade. As I watch his face, the jowls shaking with each snore, the truth dawns—I’ll bet the man can’t read.

U-Tha-Din stirs and sits up. “What is it?”

“Do you want me to read these letters to you, sir?”

He looks at me suspiciously, but I keep my expression blank. “Good idea,” he says. “My eyes get—er—tired from the sunshine. Another boy used to help me, but he’s gone now.”

“What happened to him?” I can’t help asking.

“The captain sent him to the front lines.”

I slit open the first envelope, noticing Tai and the other boy in our group watching. “Find something useful to do!” U-Tha-Din snaps, and they back off.

The first letter is from Yangon’s military headquarters. It’s a commendation about the negotiations U-Tha-Din arranged with the neighboring farmer.
Major Wang-De visited the camp and noted your leadership abilities. We have decided to raise your salary accordingly.

U-Tha-Din is grinning. “You’re a good reader, Chiko,” he says. “That requires a thank-you note; put it in a ‘reply required’ pile.”

The other letters are also from Yangon. One is the most interesting. It seems that our platoon’s trained soldiers might be called out earlier than expected. They’re needed to push back a “fierce tribal onslaught in the jungle.” I think of Bindu’s good-natured round face; we’re always happy when he’s assigned to train or guard us. How much longer will he be with us in the camp?

“They’re making a big fuss over nothing,” the sergeant scoffs. “Don’t say anything to the other boys. No use worrying about things that might not happen. Is that it?”

“Yes, sir. Four of these require replies.”

“That will take some time. It would be good if you did paperwork with me every now and then during the morning work sessions.”

Extra time off from hard labor! What a gift Father gave when he taught me so well! I can only hope he’s earned some special privileges, too. Wherever he is.

Suddenly a new thought hits me, and I can hardly breathe. Maybe I can use this assignment to find out about Father—to know for certain that he’s alive! I might even be able to discover where he is and send Mother the news.

I hand the sergeant the clipboard and envelopes. “Here you go, sir,” I say, trying to keep the excitement out of my voice.

The jeep careens down the hill in the evenings every other week or so. I’m grateful that the captain has to oversee other platoons so he can’t stay for long, but I don’t dread his visits as much as I used to. Each time he comes, he hands Win Min a pile of letters and papers. “For the sergeant,” he says.

The sergeant catches my eye as he gets the mail. The size of this new stack promises me hours of escape from hard work. U-Tha-Din hands over the letters I’ve written, and the captain tosses the replies into the back of his jeep. Then he

walks to where we’re waiting in formation. I steady myself, waiting for more special attention.

But to my surprise, he ignores Tai and me altogether. Instead he addresses our entire platoon, with that fatherly smile fixed on his face. “I have a treat for you. We are going to watch a film in the gym. Soldiers and recruits both.”

Most of the boys cheer, and we file into the gym. A sheet is pinned to one wall, and someone lights the lamps. We sit cross-legged on the floor, facing the sheet, while two soldiers bring in a film projector and a small generator. U-Tha-Din begins setting it up, muttering under his breath as he twirls buttons and knobs.

The captain is talking, making some of the boys laugh with small jokes and praising our hard work. His teeth gleam in the flickering lamplight.

“My sons,” his deep voice says, “our country is putting her hopes into your hands. You, my dear ones, will lead our beloved country to peace and stability. We Burmese will return to school and college, travel abroad, make discoveries, and help make the world a better place for all countries. Our only obstacle is the rebel army—enemies and foreigners who care only about their own needs. Because of them, we waste time spending money on weapons instead of books. We waste time training soldiers instead of doctors and teachers. If we stop them, our motherland can move forward to join the ranks of other civilized nations.”

Am I imagining it, or did his eyes linger on my face with the words
books
and
teachers?
A hunger to read is gnawing in a corner of my mind. Does he know it’s there? And I can’t keep my heart from leaping at the thought of living in a country at peace. What would that be like?