The Merit Birds (10 page)

“Good for hangover,” he said.

“Somchai, I —”

“It's okay, Cam,” he said, pronouncing my name like the Lao word for gold. “I know it's the
falang
way.”

I closed my eyes. I didn't know what hurt more, my head or my heart.

Dizzy and dry-mouthed, I eventually followed him outside to find a place to eat breakfast, even though it was well past lunch. We passed a group of tourists trying to negotiate a cheaper rental price for an inner tube. They kind of looked ridiculous. To them, the cost would have been the equivalent of one beer. Meanwhile the storeowner probably could have bought a day's worth of food for his family for the same amount. The guys had no shirts and one of the girl's bra straps fell out of her tight tank top. Another had underwear peeking out from her short-shorts. Normally I liked getting a glimpse of bra straps and panties. But the tourists looked oversized and tacky next to the classy Lao women in their tailored
sins
and Lao families working their butts off in the oppressive sun.

“Forget breakfast. Let's walk,” I said to Somchai. My ankle was killing me, but I was afraid that if I stopped I would somehow melt into this place. I'd assimilate so there would be no difference between them and me.

“You don't even ask me if I want to walk. You just assume I'll follow you,” he said.

I stood there, shocked. I didn't know what to say. I'd never seen Somchai angry before.

Then he turned and began walking anyway. I toddled behind him. We walked for a long time. I tried to think of a way to make things better, to make him see that I wasn't like that, but I didn't know how to without sounding like an idiot. The guy would do anything for me, absolutely anything, and I had treated him like crap.

As we walked in silence out of the tourist area and into the surrounding village, it looked like there was a lot of commotion happening for a sleepy Lao neighbourhood. Groups of women sat on their haunches in the shaded spaces that existed underneath houses built on stilts for air flow and flood protection. They hacked at papayas and chopped tomatoes, cilantro, and carrots. Women walked by wearing shiny
sins
with gold or silver thread and men wore crisp, starched cotton shirts with Nehru collars. A Buddha image covered with garlands of orange flowers sat outside a dilapidated temple with lazy smoke winding its way up from a stick of incense burning at its feet. The thick scent of the incense mixed with the smell of spring rolls frying. I noticed there weren't any tourists, even though the village was only minutes from the guesthouses.

My mind was busy beating myself up for how I had treated Somchai when suddenly a gang of barefoot boys attacked me with Super Soaker water guns.

“Sabaidee Pi Mai!”
they screamed, laughing wildly and shooting me without remorse.

Somchai smiled for the first time since the night before. He saw the stunned look on my face. The hard stream of water torpedoing out of the boys' guns pounded my cheek relentlessly. I winced.

“Lao New Year,” he explained. “They're washing off the old to be clean for the new.” Then he looked off in the distance and mumbled, “I should be home with my family.”

Balanced on my crutches, I wiped my soaking-wet face with my forearm. “Instead you're here with me.”

Somchai didn't say anything. A stream of ice-cold water pummelled my back. Finally, the boys fled to find their next victims, leaving me drenched and standing in a puddle of mud that had formed at my feet. I could still hear them calling out to each other in excited, breathless voices, making plans for their next attack, as they rounded the corner, leaving Somchai and me alone. I turned to him.

“Look, I was a real ass last night,” I said. “It's not the
falang
way.”

He shrugged and left me to hobble back to the guesthouse alone.

Seng

Seng was so excited for the Lao New Year party at Khamdeng's house. He was wearing his best shirt, the one that Nok had saved up a month's salary to buy. The last button was missing, but he didn't think anyone would notice. He hadn't worn his Grateful Head T-shirt again. It suddenly seemed very ugly.

Nok was wearing one of the
sins
Vong had left behind. She looked pretty in the purple matching top, even though the tailor had sewn it for Vong, who was pudgier.

“Didn't you say your
falang
boy was coming with us?” he asked as they walked up Khamdeng's laneway. Now he was even more eager for Nok's foreign romance to happen. He realized how badly she had to get out of the massage house.

“Cam isn't coming,” she said.

“So sorry to hear that.” Seng tried not to look too disappointed. He wanted to quiz the guy about visas to America. Surely a Canadian would know about that kind of stuff. “Why not?”

She shrugged. “I was stupid.”

“Why?”

“It's complicated, you know. Lao and
falang
.”

He didn't know, but he wanted to find out. Going out with a foreign girl would be his dream come true.

“It's only as complicated as you make it,” he said.

“I know. You're right.”

I am right?
he thought.
I can give her advice?
He stood a little taller.

“I think I made a big mistake,” she said.

“I can see your heart is hurting, little sister.”

She nodded and he could see her eyes starting to get watery. He pulled her in toward his chest.

“Is it too late to fix it?” he asked, hopeful.

She smiled. “No.” She wiped her eyes and raised her chin. “It's not.”

Just then Khamdeng's brother came out. “
Sabaidee Pi Mai!
Come in! Come in! Everyone is here.”

Together they walked into the massive tent Khamdeng's father had rented for the party. Guests sat in small circles on plastic chairs under the tent to shield them from the hot April sun. The blue, yellow, and red canvas reflected onto their sweaty faces as the temperature rose. They laughed and shared jokes while eating forkfuls of
laap
, fried rice, and Lao salad. People dressed in their best clothes wove through the crowd with buckets of perfumed water, pouring them down each other's backs and wishing each other a happy Lao new year. Seng was giddy with anticipation.
Pi Mai
was his favourite time of year.

“You're looking handsome,” Khamdeng's mother said to Seng as she poured water down his back. “
Sabaidee Pi Mai
!
”

“Happy New Year to you too!”

A man shouted overtop of the blaring music and encouraged people to start dancing.

Khamdeng circled the party, pouring shots of strong rice whiskey for everyone. If a woman refused, her husband, brother or male friend would have to drink her share. If someone said the alcohol was disgusting he would have to drink an extra shot. If someone said the alcohol was good he would have to drink an extra shot for lying. It was the way drinking was done in Laos. Seng always had to drink Nok's share, but he never minded. She made sure he got home safely at the end of the night.

Khamdeng continued to circle the party with the bottle and the shot glass until the
lao-lao
was nearly gone. Not wanting his friend to lose face by running out of alcohol, Seng offered to take Khamdeng's motorbike to pick up some more.

Nok overheard. “Are you joking again? You're too drunk and you know it. You're not even good at riding a motorbike sober.”

Seng called Khamdeng over to pour a shot for Nok.

“
Muht
! All! Drink it all!”

She drank the bitter liquid and he laughed, until he slowly realized that she only drank it because she knew it would be his if she refused. She smiled weakly at Khamdeng and he saw that his friend didn't want to be pouring it any more than she wanted to be drinking it. He suddenly felt like throwing up.

“Seng! You are not getting on that bike.”

“
Boh penyang
, little sister. Don't worry. Why are you always so serious? It's
Pi Mai
! Hey, I just had an idea.”

“Here we go,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“I'm not an idiot,” he said, standing up to her for the very first time. He saw the look of surprise on her face.

“Seng, I'm not saying you're an idiot.”

“But that's what you were thinking.”

“No it isn't.”

“Let's pick up Canada Boy on our way,” he said. “You can say sorry and make things okay.”

He saw her brighten.

“See, I'm not an idiot. Do you know where he lives?”

She nodded. “But let me drive.”

“You don't always have to rescue me, Nok.” It felt good, saying what he really thought.

“Okay, fine. You're not an idiot, Seng. That's not what I meant. But if something happens to you I will be alone.”

“I'm going to look after you always, little sister.”

Nok rolled her eyes and said, “
Oi
! You mean I'm going to look after you always.” She playfully slapped him on his sweaty back. She climbed onto the back of the Honda Dream.

Seng liked the feel of his sister's strong body balanced on the seat behind him. Her confidence somehow gave him confidence. With her he was somebody. The sound of the motorbike starting drowned out the music of the dancers.

The night air felt good whipping across his face. It cooled him down. It was so hot underneath that tent. He decided to go a little faster. Nok tightened her grip behind him. He could feel the bumps of the road vibrating his body. His love handles jiggled and it made him laugh out loud. If only he could have a motorbike like this. He'd have to sell a lot of plastic combs and buckets to be able to afford it. Someday. In America he'd have a big, loud Harley-Davidson.

He decided to turn onto a quiet side road just in case the traffic police were out tonight. They didn't care much about drunk drivers — everyone in Laos did it now and then — but Seng had noticed the new government banners strung across Lan Xang Boulevard. In bright red characters they bellowed out a new campaign to stop drunk driving. Must be some new policy the government had come up with to appear more modern. He had seen American ads on TV telling people not to drive after partying.

As he completed the turn onto the quiet, gravel road, he noticed a truck up ahead. It looked like it was coming right at them. It looked too big to be on a little road like this one. And why was it on the wrong side? He felt Nok tapping on his back. He turned to the side to try to hear what she was saying, but the wind took away her words.

When he looked back the truck was even closer. Seng could smell its diesel, but its lights were so bright he had to squint. Nok started hitting his back forcefully.

“What?” he yelled, turning slightly to try to see her in his peripheral vision, but as he did he saw her fall off the back of the motorbike. She slid off easily, like someone slipping into a pond for a swim. He couldn't see her face, just her long hair flailing around violently in the wind. Then she was gone.

There was a flash of light and he turned to see the truck upon him. He could see the terror in the driver's eyes. Seng swerved the bike sharply to the side and fell into a ditch. The truck screeched to a halt.

He could hear blood pumping in his brain. Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion. He jumped off his bike and raced toward his sister, expecting to see her dusting off her
sin.
He was an idiot. Such a big, stupid idiot. He saw a brilliant halo of blood circled around her head. Her eyes were open, looking off to the side, frozen in terror. He knelt down and placed his fingers in her warm blood spilling over the dirt road.

“Nok?” he shook her shoulders gently. Her body was limp.

“Nok!” he screamed. He placed his ear to her chest, wanting to hear the rhythm of her heart, or the waves of her breath. There was nothing. Her body was absolutely still. Suddenly the truck's horn began to blare continuously. Seng was hopeful that someone had arrived to help. He looked up and saw the driver slumped up against the wheel.

“No!” He held his hand up to his mouth. “No!” His entire body began to quake. He tasted salt in his mouth and turned into the bushes to heave. He looked around desperately for someone to help him. There was nothing on the silent street except for the passed-out truck driver and some rice paddies. He went back to his little sister and gently closed her eyelids with his shaking finger. He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead, inhaling deeply, trying to commit her smell to memory.

Then he turned and ran as fast as he could into the bush, leaving her broken and alone on the ground, her quiet confidence split open on the street. He ran with all of his might. He would run until he found someone who could bring his sister back.

Cam

Each time the bus back to Vientiane careened over a pothole, pain radiated from my ribs throughout my entire body. I tried to brace myself each time it looked as if we were going to hit a bump, but the stiffening of my body only made the hurting worse. The wound on my chin was puffy and thin; red lines were snaking up from it toward my jaw. I wondered if it was infected.

Somchai sat on the hard, metal seat across from me looking out the window. He had only said a few sentences to me since two nights ago when I'd gotten high. When he smiled at the bus conductor or the three children crammed into the seat behind him it seemed forced. I leaned across the bus aisle toward him.

“Hey,” I said. “What are you thinking about?”

“My sister.”

“Will she be there when we get back?”

“No, she'll be back in Thailand by now. She has to work tomorrow.”

“She doesn't get a holiday for Lao New Year? There's still one day of
Pi Mai
left, right?”

“This weekend was her holiday. It was my only chance to see her. She cleans rooms at a Thai hotel. Hotels don't boot all of their guests out for New Year.”

“Somchai, I really am sorry,” I said, swallowing the lump pressing on my throat.

“I know you are.”

“Damn, I have a lot of making up to do. First Nok, now you. What is wrong with me?”

Somchai didn't say anything. He looked out the window. After a while he leaned across the aisle and said, “It's all about you, Cam.”

“What do you mean?”

“You put yourself first all the time. It's all about how you feel and what you want.”

His words stung. I didn't know what to say. I sat quietly, shocked and hurt.

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” I finally asked, snappy and irritated.

“No. I'm not trying to make you feel better. You asked me what was wrong with you.”

“In English that's usually meant as a rhetorical question.”

“Rhetorical?”

“You're not meant to answer it.”

“Why bother asking it in the first place, then? I'm just saying, you can never be happy that way.”

I shifted in my seat. I didn't like what he was telling me.

“So why are you always so happy then, Mr. Fucking Sunshine?”

“I'm not perfect,” he said. “All I know is that I feel good when I think of something bigger than myself.”

I met his eyes.

“I mean, it's good to know what you like and want in this world, but focusing on yourself all the time can drive you crazy. That's why all you Western people are depressed,” he said.

“We're not all depressed.”

He shrugged. “You're all about the individual. Here we put the family or community first.”

“And that's working out real well for you, isn't it? You're going to flunk out of school because you have to make money for your family.”

“I'm not saying it's faultless, I'm just saying —” He sat and thought for a second, “maybe there's a middle way between serving you all the time and serving others.”

I sat quietly, unable to think of a defence.

He turned to tickle the kid in the seat behind him who had been pulling on his little neck hairs throughout our entire conversation.

I looked out the bus window.

“Are you going to go see Nok when we get back?” he asked, breaking the thick silence between us as we got closer to Vientiane.

“I don't know if this is a good time. I feel like crap.”

“Don't let any more time pass. There are lots of handsome guys in Vientiane. Like me.”

I held in a laugh only because it would make my ribs hurt.

As the bus barrelled along jungle roads, scarcely missing emaciated village dogs crossing the street, and bands of children wheeling frayed bicycle tires along the roadside with sticks, I played over in my head how I would apologize to Nok. By the time the bus belched us out in Vientiane, I was groggy from the concussion, the winding roads, and thinking about what Somchai had said. Maybe I did think about myself too much. I wouldn't go to the massage house right away. I'd go home, sleep off Vang Vieng, and go to apologize in the morning.

“Go now,” Somchai urged, slapping me on the back. “Maybe she'll think crutches are sexy.”

“Why do you put up with me?” I asked.

“Because that's what friends do,” he said.

“You Lao take your friendships seriously.”

“Most important thing,” he said. Then he turned his back and walked toward a colony of
tuk-tuk
drivers, milling about the dusty Vientiane bus station like a swarm of ants on the outskirts of a picnic blanket.

“Go see Nok. I'll catch you at home,” he called over his shoulder.

“Hey, Somchai!” I called out. “Here's some money. For the doctor and stuff. I hope it's enough.” I handed him a fat wad of dry
kip
I had kept tucked in my backpack. He nodded.

There's nothing like nerves to clear away a hangover. My heart hammered up in my temples. Would she change her mind about me?

Turns out I didn't have to worry about it just then. The door to the massage house was locked. A torn piece of white paper with swirly Lao characters was taped to the window explaining why. I couldn't read it. I balanced on one crutch so I could knock on the door. No answer. Why would it be closed on a Sunday afternoon? Weekends were their busiest times. Nana would never miss out on the business. Something wasn't right.

A rusty pickup truck rounded the corner filled with a mob of teenagers, their buckets of water and massive water guns barely visible through the spray. So that was it.

Closed for Lao New Year. My stomach sank. It was another day until the holiday ended.

Damn
, I thought, resting my forehead against the massage house door. I felt my shoulders tense up again. I wanted to see her now. I knew what to do to make things right again.