The Lizard Cage (10 page)

“Metta, karuna, mudita, upekkha. Metta, karuna, mudita, upekkha. Metta, karuna, mudita, upekkha.” He chants the words in a low voice for a long time, until the chant is part of his breath and the syllables flow together without separation. Teza realizes he is a poor Buddhist. He feels no metta for Handsome. He tries, in his meditation, but the well of the breath, rising and falling, is filled with anger and sadness.

Sadness? For himself—yes. Is there anything else there, in the chest? It would be there, the place where the ribs anchor in the breastbone. When he releases a long exhalation, he feels a sharp ache.

Sadness for the jailer? Could that be it?

There might be a small gift of sadness for that arrogant, good-looking face. During the uprisings, the students believed that their struggle for freedom was for everyone, including those who didn’t understand what they were doing, even the generals and those who supported them. Therein, he knows, is the heart of the matter. Metta means to love the enemy also. In one of his Buddhist texts he once read,
The only way to end the war is to stop hating the enemy
. But he can’t really do it. He tries, but he cannot. He cannot get out of the cage. None of them can get out of the cage.

He starts to whisper a prayer. “Whatever beings there are, may they be free from suffering. Whatever beings there are, may they be free from enmity. Whatever beings there are, may they be free from hurtfulness. Whatever beings there are, may they be free from ill health. Whatever beings there are, may they be able to protect their own happiness.”

When Teza opens his eyes, the first thing he sees is three large cockroaches licking up traces of curry water, nibbling away at bits of rice he missed in his cleaning. He feels mudita for them, joy at their good fortune. He doesn’t disturb his cellmates but lets them protect their own happiness. They eat as much as they want.

L
istening to the rain of late afternoon, he decides to sing, quietly at first. “The Father’s Tale,” one of the
Twelve Songs
. The words resonate in the back of his throat, expanding to fill not only his body and his memory but the cell itself, as though the teak coffin has become the hollow darkness inside an instrument.

H
e thinks that maybe Handsome will deny him his second meal, but Sein Yun appears shortly after five o’clock with the food tray. There is a markedly large amount of rice under the thin curry.

“Where is he?”

“He sent a warder in his place. He likes to order his underlings around.”

“Where’s the warder?”

“Don’t start yelling again, okay? You’ll wreck my night. He’s down at the end of the hall, reading the newspaper. Please don’t make a fuss.” The palm-reader points his finger at Teza like a chiding schoolmaster. “About this morning—you were retarded. I’m not going to say I told you so. You know Handsome is easily provoked.”

“So am I.”

“A perfect match. That’s why he’s your jailer.”

“And why are you my server?”

“To keep you entertained.” The grin cuts the serious edge off the conversation. “To wit, can I ask you a personal question?”

“No.”

“Oh, come on, Little Brother, it’s not
that
personal.”

Teza sighs, shoveling some rice into his mouth, unable to wait. Through the food he mumbles, “Ask your question.”

“What makes you cry?”

Still chewing, Teza looks carefully at Sein Yun to see if he’s joking. He is not. Teza swallows and replies, “I don’t cry anymore.”

“What do you take me for, an idiot? You’re an intellectual. Intellectuals bawl their eyes out.”

“I cried at the beginning. Not now.”

Sein Yun thrusts out his lower lip, a balloon of doubt. “Fine, then. What
would
make you cry?”

Teza is not insulted, only surprised by the pointedness of the question. Tears are private. He’s not troubled by his lie.

“Why don’t you take away my shit pail? While you’re gone, I’ll come up with my answer.”

Hoisting the pail, the palm-reader replies, “I don’t want just any answer, I want the truth! This is a psychological test.”

When he returns and hands Teza the pail, the singer immediately notices that he hasn’t cleaned it this time.

Sein Yun replies to his glance. “Sorry, the water wasn’t running.”

“Is that why I’m not allowed a proper shower? For fuck’s sake, it’s the rainy season. You’d think we were living in a bloody desert.”

“No, just a backward country. You know what the water supply is like. So tell me, what would make you cry?”

“The sight of a clean toilet.”

“Seriously, Little Brother.”

“Why do you want to know? Are you helping them devise a new method of torture?”

“I’m doing a survey.”

“I hope it’s not for another betting racket!”

Sein Yun’s yellow eyes become round. “Ko Teza! Never! I’m just a dedicated student of human nature.”

The singer gives in. “I suppose eating my mother’s food at home would make me cry. Especially after bathing properly with as much soap as I wanted.”

“A fine answer! An honest answer, I would say. Well, that’ll be me, in
a year or so. Of course it won’t be my mother’s food, it’ll be my wife’s. Even if she’s gone and shacked up with someone else, I’ll make her cook for me, though I can’t imagine it will make me cry.”

“Ko Sein Yun, it’s hard to imagine anything that would make you cry. Now I’ve answered your question, why don’t you answer mine? Is there any news about Daw Aung San Suu Kyi?”

“What do you think I am, BBC Burmese Programming? All I can say is that the bets are in her favor. Fewer inmates think that the SLORC will have her knocked off. You know what that means?”

“What?”

“They don’t want her to die. Even these dirty criminals adore her! They want her to liberate them from the cage so they can join the BLPA.”

“The BLPA? Who are they?” It has always been a challenge to keep up with the endless acronyms and initials of Burmese politics.

The palm-reader’s mouth drops open. “You don’t know? Wasn’t the BLPA already in operation when you were still outside? You don’t mean to tell me you weren’t a member of the BLPA?”

“Ko Sein Yun, what is the BLPA?”

“The Beautiful Lady’s Private Army!”

“The betel is wrecking your mind as well as your teeth.”

“Good thing too, or I wouldn’t be talking to you, would I?”

“No news at all, then?”

“Nothing new, nothing juicy.”

“Speaking of juicy things …”

Sein Yun holds up his yellow palm and asks indignantly, “How would I know where the food parcel is? You ask me the same question every day and I state my case: nobody tells me anything.” He lowers his hand. The familiar grin begins, but slowly, changing his face by subtle degrees. “Shouldn’t you be starting your hunger strike right about now, Songbird? Isn’t that what you said you were going to do?”

Teza swears under his breath.

“Sorry? I missed that.”

“Where is the fucking thing?”

The two men stare at each other until Sein Yun places his right hand over his heart. “You must understand—none of that has anything to do with me. The last thing I am interested in is your food, Ko Teza. Really. I
have more important things to worry about. You know that the Chief Warden is pissed at the politicals because of Daw Suu Kyi’s release. Maybe that’s why your food parcel still hasn’t come. I don’t know for sure.” He bobs his head from side to side and injects an Indian lilt into his loud voice. “Sahib, I will do my best to find out what the hell is going on!”

“You won’t have this job for long if anyone hears you. You’re not supposed to be talking to me.”

“Don’t worry. They’ve run out of people to feed you, so I’m sure I’ll be visiting for a while yet. I have friends in high places.”

“What do you mean? There are thousands of men here who could bring me my food and take away my crap.”

Sein Yun spreads his arms. “Oh, Little Brother, you are so wrong. Not just anyone is good enough for you and your shit! Criminals who serve evil political stooges like yourself must be beholden to the prison authorities. We must be cowardly and controllable—otherwise they’d suspect us of smuggling radios to you.”

“Yeah, and television sets.”

“Women!” Sein Yun titters.

“News about Daw Aung San Suu Kyi.”

The palm-reader doesn’t miss a beat. “That’s right, Songbird, and materials for building bombs to blast your way out of this shithole. Yes, the authorities took one look at me and knew I would not be such a man. I am definitely not in the movement. But I’ll keep my voice down in the interests of my career. Thanks for the tip, buddy.”

Teza shakes his head.

The palm-reader leans toward him with a critical eye.

“What is it?”

“You really do need a proper wash. And a shave.”

“You are so kind, Ko Sein Yun.”

“Just trying to be helpful. I know you don’t have a mirror in here.” The palm-reader slaps his leg gleefully. “Listen, you should be grateful you don’t have a big beard.” He delicately pulls on the wiry hair of his mole. “Shall I tell you a story?”

Teza smirks. “Of the Buddha’s past lives, perhaps?”

“Ha! I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist my powers.” The palm-reader steps deeper into the cell and begins in an urgent whisper. “This is
a verifiably true story, and someday it will appear in a book because it is a tale to warm the hearts of all people. Just a few months ago, one of the men in my hall mouthed off to one of the inspection captains, and the captain turned around and socked him in the eye, made him drop into a squat for an hour, nothing serious.” He pauses for emphasis, head cocked to the side, eyes wide with the drama of it.

“But then they refused to give him a shave. The more he howled, the faster his beard grew. He was Indian, so it got to be a big scruffy thing, like a cat stuck on his face. The bedbugs almost ate his chin off. It was hot season and the poor bugger was going crazy. Anything, he said, anything, any other punishment but this! Of course that’s just what they wanted to hear, so the whole hot season went by and he had this piece of fur suffocating him. Not a single inmate with a razor would touch him, out of fear of the captain. In protest, the Indian started throwing his shit through the window at the top of the cell, and one day, what happened but it landed right on the Chief Warden’s head!” Sein Yun claps his hands, applauding this karmic display of justice.

“You’re lying!”

“No, I’m not, that’s what’s really incredible! It’s a true story. The Indian got the shit kicked out of him and two more years added to his sentence for gross indecency and assaulting an officer. The fuckers! But isn’t it priceless? You throw a piece of shit out a window and it goes splat! Right back to an asshole!” The palm-reader flaps his arms. “Isn’t that brilliant? What are the odds of it? One in ten million!”

“Come on! I don’t believe that happened.”

“I swear to you it did. You could ask one of the warders.”

“They’d knock me in the head if such a question came out of my mouth.”

“Ask Jailer Chit Naing—he would tell you.”

When Teza says nothing, the palm-reader leans over and whispers, “Not to worry, Songbird. I’m just observant. I hear he is very concerned about your food parcel …”

“What have you heard?”

“You were getting too friendly with each other, so they sent him away to do other work.”

“Away? They’ve sent him away?”

“Oh, don’t get upset, they haven’t sent him to another prison. He’s still
here. I saw him this morning. I think he’s overseeing the first two halls now. You know, prisoners awaiting trial. He’s a clever fellow. He’ll find a way to visit you.” The little man places a new leaf-wrapped pack of betel in his cheek. “Want some?”

“No.”

“Don’t worry. Your food is coming.” He gives Teza a thoughtful look. “I could get you a rat. Would you eat a rat? They sell them cooked, you know.”

“Where do the rats come from?” It’s another one of Teza’s rules, besides never eating what the cockroaches have touched. No rodents. Lizards are cleaner.

“There’s a snot-nosed little rat-killer who whacks them on the head when they come out of the drains. He makes good coin selling them.”

“Which drains?”

“Shower drains, as often as not. Outside the bathing rooms. I’ve seen him out here a few times, beside the coffin. Out by the big walls too. The cage is full of rats. I suppose he catches them wherever he can.”

“Do
you
eat them?”

The palm-reader grimaces in disgust, pulling red lips back over gold incisors. “Are you out of your fucking mind? Eat a rat that’s been eating who knows what?”

“Ko Sein Yun, why do you offer me food that you would not eat yourself?”

“Because you’re hungrier than I am, Songbird!”

Teza exhales a defeated laugh.

“Your parcel will come soon enough. Remember, patience makes a man wise.”

“And skinny!”

“But the Buddha himself was very skinny, Ko Teza, so you know you’re on the right path.” A sharp laugh pokes the air as the palm-reader steps out of the teak coffin. Before closing the door, he sticks his head back into the cell. “And if you’re really that hungry, Songbird, just eat more of your little friends.”

The door slams shut.

U
nbelievable, really, the things you have to do to win a man’s trust.

Storytelling and rat-selling and cajoling the skinny bugger every time I visit that hole. The palm-reader wipes his hands on his longyi. And as if I don’t have enough to deal with already, I have to listen to Handsome, that arrogant bastard, laugh at me. It’s a good thing he’s so useful.