The Merit Birds Part 8

"It's finished," Somchai said. Then he negotiated with the doctor to buy some crutches. I saw some money pa.s.s between them. Then I remembered. This wasn't Canada; there was no public health care here. All of this was costing Somchai. He must have had to pay all that he could to get the doctor to come to the cave. I would pay him back, but for right now the bills in my pocket were soaked with my own p.i.s.s.

I wrapped one arm around Somchai and leaned on the crutch on my left side. Together we hobbled to our guesthouse, moving as slowly as a farmer after a long day in a sweltering rice paddy. That night I slept fitfully. Every time I woke Somchai was there, sitting at the foot of my bed reading Thai comics.

"Need some water?" he asked. I propped myself up as he held a straw to my mouth.

"Go to sleep," I murmured.

"The doctor said I have to watch you because you've had a concussion."

"Come on, Somchai. You've done enough. Sleep - otherwise you'll look like an old man and you'll never be able to find a girlfriend."

"Don't be so sure of that," he said, and gave my arm a playful shove.

My body felt a lot better by the next night, but lying in bed doing nothing was making me replay the scene with Nok and the drunk guy over again. Would she still want me to go to the Lao New Year party with her? I remembered the night she'd clutched my hand underneath the table of the riverside cafe. If only we could hit rewind and start again from there.

I needed some air. Somchai held on to me as I tried to get used to the crutches.

"Let's go for a walk," I said.

Somchai laughed. "Not yet, brother. Take it easy."

The next day I tried the crutches again.

"Come on, let's go," I said. "I'm going mental just lying here."

Somchai laughed. "Sitting still gives you falangs a nervous tic, doesn't it?"

"I can't stop thinking about her." I was beginning to hate the word falang.

"Okay, come on then," Somchai said, giving in.

We hobbled out to the main road. I could barely open my eyes in the bright sun. My body was stiff and ached everywhere, but it felt good to be outside. We walked some more and I paused to catch my breath. Three sweaty, s.h.i.+rtless guys walked past with Canadian flags sewn onto their backpacks. The flags caught my eye. I made eye contact with one of them.

"Where are you from?" I asked, leaning forward on the crutches and pointing my chin towards the flag.

"Edmonton. You?"

"Ottawa."

"Been in Vang Vieng long?"

"A couple days. This is my friend, Somchai. We live in Vientiane."

"You live there? That's cool, man. I'm Jake. We're going to get something to eat. Want to come?"

Somchai looked at me with a grin. I knew he'd think it would be a great chance to practise his English.

"Do you want to eat here or there?" Jake pointed at two nearby restaurants. Nudee Restaurant sat right beside Give Pizza a Chance. I noticed a sign out front with the painted words: NEED TO GET DRUNK? GET DRUNK LAO STYLE! Something about it made me feel depressed, although the beer went down really nicely. The inside of the restaurant was dim and shadowy compared to the garish sun outside. Before I knew it a parade of empty bottles stood in front of me and I was bragging about my fight with the Thai basketball guard. Somchai sat silent beside me, obviously not understanding the slang and the quick pace of the conversation. I didn't bother slowing things down or explaining to him. I don't know if it was the beer, or because I was so hungry for easy, English conversation with someone who understood my culture. Whatever it was, I needed this. Besides, now he knew how I felt in Vientiane.

"You smoke? I've got some good stuff I bought from an old lady on the way here," Jake said.

Normally I wasn't into weed. It turned the next day's basketball game into c.r.a.p. But I was still suspended and couldn't play ball for weeks. And I really wanted to get away from everything - just for tonight. Besides, the throbbing in my ankle and ribs was making me crazy.

"Yeah. Pa.s.s it over," I slurred.

Somchai looked at me blankly. Then he leaned over and whispered, "Do you think that's a good idea, brother? I mean after the concussion and all."

I shrugged and took a swig of beer.

"Is that your mother?" one of the guys asked, gesturing toward Somchai.

I didn't say anything. The other guys laughed. Somchai sat there for a while, his ma.s.sive smile fading like the setting sun, and watched us pa.s.s the joint around the thick, wooden table.

"I take it you don't want any?" Jake said when it came time to pa.s.s it to Somchai.

Somchai turned to me. "Cam, I'm tired. I'm going back to the guesthouse."

"Suit yourself."

"What'd he say?" the drunkest guy asked. "I can barely understand him."

I don't know if it was the alcohol, drugs, or hunger for a taste of back home that made me laugh with the others. Even as the sound left my lips a self-hatred flared inside that the pot couldn't douse.

I sat, numbly unaware of the conversation eddying around me in the dark, beer-smelling room. Finally I couldn't bear myself anymore. I got up to leave, but I stumbled forward as I grabbed for my crutches. I knocked some bottles off the table.

"Whoa, a little bit drunk, eh, Vientiane guy?" Jake said, laughing.

"It's my ankle. I sprained it," I said, trying to stand upright.

No one pa.s.sed me my crutches. No one asked if they could help. They just all sat there, watching me with drunk, stupid looks on their faces. I staggered back to the guesthouse on my own, but Somchai wasn't there.

The next morning the sunlight temporarily blinded me as it gushed through the worn drapes of our cheap guesthouse room. Somchai didn't look me in the eye when he came into the dingy room carrying clear plastic bags filled with nam wan.

"Good for hangover," he said.

"Somchai, I -"

"It's okay, Cam," he said, p.r.o.nouncing 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 pa.s.sed 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 s.h.i.+rts 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 cla.s.sy Lao women in their tailored sins and Lao families working their b.u.t.ts 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 a.s.similate so there would be no difference between them and me.

"You don't even ask me if I want to walk. You just a.s.sume 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 c.r.a.p.

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 s.p.a.ces 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 s.h.i.+ny sins with gold or silver thread and men wore crisp, starched cotton s.h.i.+rts 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 was.h.i.+ng 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 a.s.s last night," I said. "It's not the falang way."

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

Alone.

Seng.

Seng was so excited for the Lao New Year party at Khamdeng's house. He was wearing his best s.h.i.+rt, the one that Nok had saved up a month's salary to buy. The last b.u.t.ton was missing, but he didn't think anyone would notice. He hadn't worn his Grateful Head T-s.h.i.+rt 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 ma.s.sage 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 ma.s.sive tent Khamdeng's father had rented for the party. Guests sat in small circles on plastic chairs under the tent to s.h.i.+eld 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 wis.h.i.+ng each other a happy Lao new year. Seng was giddy with antic.i.p.ation. 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 gla.s.s 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."