Bamboo People (16 page)

Mua takes one look at Ree Meh’s face and hands her the piece of cardboard she uses to scoop up dust piles. “Work keeps me from worrying, too,” she says gently. “Later I have some embroidery for you to do.”

“I can’t sew,” Ree Meh says, sweeping as though her life depended on it. “Our
mua
taught Nya Meh, but I was too little when she died. I can hunt, though. I killed most of our food in the jungle.”

“I’ll teach you to sew,” Mua says. “In return, will you teach this daughter of mine to shoot? Girls these days need both skills.”

Ree Meh smiles and keeps sweeping.

Nya Meh turns to me. “Tu Reh, Auntie Doctor asked for a boy to stay with Chiko through the night—get him water, maybe help him to shift positions. Will you do it?”

“Go, Tu Reh,” Mua tells me, rolling up my mat and handing it to me. “You can’t stay anyway. It’s all girls here for a while.”

I really don’t want to see that soldier right now. He’s made enough trouble for me.

“Please, Tu Reh. The doctor’s exhausted, and Chiko asked for you. He trusts you. Won’t you stay there just for the night?”

The healer is working her magic again, and I can’t bring myself to say no. Well, I need a place to sleep anyway, and the boy will probably be unconscious. “Okay, okay, I’ll go.”

“We’ll join you first thing in the morning,” Ree Meh says.

“Good,” I say. “The council’s going to grill me again, and I need the support.”

“I’ll come then, too,” adds Oo Meh.

“Not you, my daughter,” says Mua, making Oo Meh frown. “You have to go to school, remember? Your brother and Ree Meh can meet you there later in the day. I’ll send breakfast over, Tu Reh.”

I pick up my bamboo pole and start climbing down the ladder, but the healer stops me. “Chiko doesn’t know about the leg yet. You’ll have to tell him if he wakes up, Tu Reh.”

It’s a dark night, so nobody spots me heading to the doctor’s hut with my sleeping mat tucked under my arm. I don’t know what’s going to be worse—the interrogation in the morning or having to break the news to the boy about his leg.

Auntie Doctor greets me with relief, pulls a curtain around her cot, and starts snoring within minutes.

Leaving the kerosene lantern burning, I spread my mat on the floor near the soldier. I’m not looking forward to telling him about his leg. I’ve thought a lot about what I would do if it happened to me—so many boys our age are missing legs, arms, fingers, toes. Even eyes. I don’t know if I could endure it, but I’d have to, I guess. Just like he will.

He’s fast asleep, one hand still stretched across his pocket. Once again I wonder what’s in there. His lashes do look like my sister’s—even though I know he’s fifteen, he doesn’t look much older than ten-year-old Oo Meh. An animal howls somewhere in the jungle, and the boy stirs. His eyes fly open.

“Did they cut it?” he asks right away.

I hesitate. Enemy or no enemy, this is a bad thing to have to tell anybody. “Yes. They had to. They saved your knee, though.”

His whole body freezes for a long second, and then he bends one arm across his face.

“I’m … I’m sorry,” I can’t help adding.

He’s so still it scares me, so I start talking fast: “They have good replacement legs now. I’ve seen boys our age playing soccer. Running. Jumping. The fake feet even look like they’re real.”

I have a feeling I’m making things worse by babbling like this, so I shut up. There’s a square of clean bandage on the table; I get it and tuck it into his hand. After a while he presses the cloth against his eyes, even as his other hand travels back to that pocket.

“What’s in there?” I ask after a long silence. Partly I’m trying to distract him, but I’m curious, too.

He moves the cloth aside, unbuttons the pocket, takes out two photos, and hands them to me. I stare at them in the flickering light. One is of a Burmese girl. The other is of a young man who looks a bit familiar.

“This is your brother?” I ask, forgetting to speak Burmese for a second.

“My
peh.”
He uses the Karenni word; he must have overheard us using it.

“You look a lot like him.”

He lifts his head to see my face. “Really? How?”

I take a moment to study the photo again. Their features aren’t the same, really. So why is there such a strong resemblance? “You have the same look in your eyes. It’s like … like maybe you’re thinking about the same kinds of things. Where is he?”

“In prison. For resisting the government.”

“How long has he been there?”

“Eight months. I’d do anything to get him out of prison. Anything. But now what can I do, with my leg missing?” He flops back on the bed again and winces in pain.

I don’t know how to answer his question. “How did you end up as a soldier?”

“They grabbed me and forced me into it. I wanted to be a teacher, not a soldier.” His voice breaks, and he fumbles for the cloth again and presses it against his eyes.

For some reason I want to keep distracting him. I hold up the other photo in the flickering light. “And this girl?”

“My neighbor.” His voice is flat, but he peers out from under the cloth.

“Must be a special neighbor for you to carry her around in your pocket all this time.” I hand the photos back.

“She is. She was.” He tucks the photos into his pocket and refastens the button.

“Are you in pain?”

“No. But I’m sleepy.”

“The doctor must have given you painkillers. I’m staying here tonight. Wake me if you need anything.”

“Thank you. I’m glad you’ll be here.”

It’s my turn to take something out of a pocket. “Here are your glasses. Third time now?”

He takes them from me, and I catch a trace of a smile. Once again I’m reminded of Oo Meh. This boy can’t be a spy. He’s not even much of a soldier.

“Tomorrow the camp leaders are coming to ask you questions,” I say suddenly. “Tell them what you told me about your father being in prison and how they forced you into the army. Your life depends on convincing them that you’re not a spy. Can you do it, Chiko?”

There’s a rustling outside the open window. I hurry to the window and glimpse a shadow disappearing into the bamboo. It looks familiar, and my heart sinks. How long was Sa Reh standing there? How much did he overhear?

“Who was that?” Chiko asks.

“Nobody. Get some sleep.”

I’m so tired that not even the thought of Sa Reh overhearing me talking to Chiko can keep me awake. I don’t stir until I hear Nya Meh and Ree Meh arriving early the next morning. Before they enter the room, I hurry out the back door to splash water on my face and comb my hair with my fingers.

When I come back Nya Meh is helping the doctor clean Chiko’s wound and rebandage his stump.

“It looks better,” Auntie Doctor says. “As soon as it’s healed we can get it fitted for a prosthetic.

Nya Meh, I’d like to teach you how to do this kind of surgery. It can save lives if you do it right.”

“I’d like to learn, Auntie Doctor,” she says.

Ree Meh serves me the breakfast Mua sent along. “I am saying a prayer for quick healing, my brother,” she tells Chiko as she puts a plate of rice by his cot.

Chiko doesn’t answer; he’s gritting his teeth as the wound is cleaned. Auntie Doctor gives him an injection, and he manages to eat once the pain has diminished.

“Is he going to be ready when they question him?” Ree Meh asks her sister.

“I hope so,” Nya Meh says.

It isn’t long before the girls’ grandfather and the three council members enter the room, with Sa Reh at his father’s heels. I brace myself for this second round. I know they’re coming to question Chiko, but somehow I feel like it’s me who’s on trial.

The four men stand in a semicircle beside the cot, with Sa Reh behind them. The doctor is at the foot of the cot; Nya Meh, Ree Meh, and I are behind her. This means that Chiko’s surrounded by Karenni faces, and he shifts uncomfortably as his eyes dart around the room.

“Tell us about your mission,” the president asks him in Burmese.

For long moment Chiko gazes at the healer, as though he’s drawing the strength he needs from her calm expression. Sa Reh frowns as he catches this unspoken communication between a Burmese soldier and a Karenni girl.

“Speak up, boy!” orders Bu Reh.

“Our captain didn’t like me much,” Chiko says. “He ordered me to walk ahead and make sure the way was clear for the others. I didn’t do my job. One of my friends was killed—he was a good boy.”

“Did you have a weapon?”

“No. The captain didn’t trust me with a rifle.”

“That’s a lie!” It’s Sa Reh, sticking to Karenni. “Tu Reh had a rifle when he came into camp.”

“That one was mine,” says the grandfather quickly. “I gave it to Tu Reh. And he used it just as a Karenni man should.”

“I’m not good with a rifle,” Chiko says. “I was the mine clearer—that was my job. I could never kill anybody, I promise.”

“He’s lying, I tell you! His father’s a criminal!” It’s Sa Reh again.

“What? How do you know this?” the president asks, turning to face Sa Reh.

“I heard him last night. He said he’d do anything to get his father out of jail. Ask him.”

“Is it true your father’s a criminal?” the president asks in Burmese.

Chiko looks at me. Slowly he takes the photo of his father from his pocket. “My
peh
is in prison for resisting the government.” Again he uses the Karenni word for father, a smart move, but his Burmese then grows so proper I can barely understand him. “He is the one who first told me about your courageous fight for freedom. He had a beloved Karenni friend when he was in university.”

The photo passes from hand to hand until it reaches the grandfather.

“You look like him,” the old man says.

“That’s what Tu Reh said, too,” says Chiko.

Did he
have
to share that? It makes us sound like we’re friends.

Suddenly Sa Reh snatches the photo from the old man’s hand and flings it on the floor. “He’s an enemy! A Burmese! Why are we treating him as a guest?”

“Be still!” It’s Bu Reh. The look he gives his son could make a troop of soldiers put down their rifles.

Sa Reh takes a step back, eyes on the ground. His mouth is still; he’s stopped chewing for once.

I feel a twinge for my friend. I’d be ashamed, too, if my
peh
corrected me like that. But Peh would be just as furious as Sa Reh’s father if I was the one to disrespect an old man like that.

Nya Meh picks up the photo and hands it to Chiko.

“Thank you, my sister,” Chiko says, and she smiles.

The president doesn’t like this friendliness between a Karenni girl and a Burmese boy any more than Sa Reh did. “Step back, girl,” he tells Nya Meh sharply. “Your training center, soldier. Where is it? How big? And who runs it?”

Chiko obeys with a lengthy description. My Burmese is decent, but I’m finding it hard to keep up. He’s still using a lot of big words I’ve never heard.

“I know that place,” Auntie Doctor says suddenly. “Used to be a Karenni school, I think. There’s a gym, and it’s near the river, right?”

“That’s where new recruits sleep,” Chiko replies. “Have you been there?”

“Yours isn’t the first Burmese leg I’ve amputated, young man. A couple of soldiers I treated in the clinic also told me about that school.”

“I’m glad to hear your words, Doctor,” the grandfather says suddenly. “Listening to this interrogation, I was beginning to wonder if Karenni ways of hospitality have changed faster than I realized. In my day, we knew how to treat an enemy. It’s in the Book, isn’t it? Please excuse me. I’ll be waiting in the church if you need me.”

It’s the president’s turn to seem a bit ashamed. The grandfather pats Sa Reh on the shoulder as he leaves.

The questioning continues. Chiko describes the training regimen, estimates the number of soldiers and recruits who pass through the center, and shares a few details from letters that came from army headquarters. After a while, though, Chiko starts to sweat, and soon he’s clenching his jaw in pain.

Nya Meh reaches to straighten the sheet over Chiko’s leg and gives the doctor a quick look.

“Our patient is suffering,” Auntie Doctor says immediately. “He needs more medicine.”

“That’s enough for now. We’ll decide what to do with him at our next council meeting. Thank you, Doctor.” The president turns to the girls with a smile, obviously trying to make amends for the crisp tone he used earlier with Nya Meh. “We’re glad you’re safe with us now, my daughters. I hear one of you is quite a healer.”

“I try, Uncle,” Nya Meh says. “I’d like to train to be a real doctor someday.”

Auntie Doctor is trying to herd as many people as she can out of the room. “She definitely has the gift. I’d be happy to teach her. Now if you’d kindly step outside, Nya Meh and I can give this boy his medicine.”

“Your
peh
was a brave man,” Bu Reh tells Ree Meh as we walk to the threshold. “I fought beside him once or twice.”

Ree Meh smiles for the first time. “Thank you, Uncle.”

The men start walking to the council headquarters, and Sa Reh follows without saying a word to me. “Maybe I should go with them,” I say.

“But your
mua
said you had to go to school, Tu Reh,” Ree Meh reminds me.

“School! Hah!” I snort, but I stay where I am. “My
peh
thought I was ready to skip it—he took me on the mission, didn’t he?”

Ree Meh sighs. “I know. Come on—maybe I can talk Nya Meh into joining us.”

Girls. What a mystery. This one stayed beside me in the jungle with bullets flying around her head. Now she doesn’t want to face a dozen or so girls her age.

Inside, Auntie Doctor is sitting and mopping her face. “I’m getting too old for this kind of pressure. Give the boy his painkillers, will you, Nya Meh?”

But Chiko props himself up on his elbow, his glasses askew. “If I could get back to the training camp, the army might send me back to Yangon. I’m not much use as a soldier now.”

“You need to heal from your surgery before you do anything,” Auntie Doctor says, and then she switches to Karenni so he can’t understand. “I hope the council decides to let him stay until that happens.”