Bamboo People (5 page)

“Yes, sir,” Sergeant U-Tha-Din answers. “I’ll make sure they give their full effort for Mother Burma.”

The sergeant assigns Tai, two others, and me the task of hauling blocks from the truck to the construction site, and the rest of the recruits start digging. I groan as I calculate how many trips we’ll need to unload the whole truck. After months at home doing nothing but reading and writing, my arms and legs are reed thin and weak.

The other two boys join me, each of us carrying one bulky block at a time, but Tai is nowhere in sight. Where is he? Has he found a way to sneak off and avoid the work? I trudge back and forth, concentrating on the slowly growing pile. My glasses keep slipping down my nose, and I take them off and tuck them into my pocket. After a few more trips, I stop in surprise. How has the pile of blocks grown so quickly?

I squint and spot Tai trotting back to the site from the far side of the truck. He’s balancing a bamboo pole across his bony shoulders. On either end of the pole, he’s tied slings out of cloth he’s found somewhere. He’s hauling four blocks at a time, two on either end of the pole. And he isn’t sweating like the rest of us.

He grins at me. “Make one for yourself,” he says, jerking his head toward the truck.

A few loose bamboo poles are scattered on the ground, and some rags are piled on the bed of the truck. As I try to make a contraption like Tai’s, he comes over to help. His fingers are nimble, and he ties intricate knots in the rags—knots I’ve never seen before. I test them by pulling as hard as I can, and they hold fast.

The other boys come to see what we’re doing. Soon all four of us are using Tai’s sling method of lugging blocks. The truck is empty before the sun has climbed too high in the sky. U-Tha-Din’s broad face creases into a wide smile as he inspects our work. “Take a rest, boys,” he says. “You’ve worked hard.”

I stretch my tired legs in front of me. Tai is flat on his back, spiky hair even more untidy than before, the last traces of the
tanaka
paste on his face making him look like he has a disease. Mother always told me not to judge people by their appearance. She was certainly right in Tai’s case.

We need that brief break. The rest of the day is even more grueling than hauling rocks. The afternoon defense training means running around the field in endless circles, climbing trees, and kickboxing soldiers eager to show how strong they got during
their
training.

Tai encourages me as I run, keeping pace beside me. He teaches me to find footholds on the trees, and he stays underneath me as though he knows I’m scared to fall. He even kickboxes two soldiers instead of one without anybody guessing I’ve missed my turn. Both times he’s flat on the ground within moments. His groans and shouts of pain make my stomach turn, but he jumps to his feet quickly as the next boys begin to battle.

That night, after bathing in the river and changing into
longyi,
the two of us take our spots on the floor of the gym, leaning wearily against the wall. Every muscle in my body aches. I glance at Tai’s face. His eyes are closed, but I can tell he’s awake. Other boys are talking quietly throughout the gym. The guards don’t seem to mind as long as we keep our voices low.

“Those soldiers seem to enjoy being rough,” I whisper. “Especially that Win Min. Can’t they remember their own training and have some mercy?”

Tai snorts without opening his eyes. “You call that rough? Try living for a week on the streets.”

He’s right. I don’t know anything about surviving the streets of Yangon. I’d probably be dead after a day.

“My father’s in prison.” I want him to know my life hasn’t been easy just because I have parents and a home.

“For what?”

“Accused of being a traitor to the nation.”

“Have you heard from him?”

I take a deep breath. “No. It’s been four months.”

“What’s he like?”

The memory of Father calling my name echoes in my mind. “He was—I mean is,” I correct myself quickly, “a brave man. The best doctor in Yangon.”

I hate that my voice is shaky, but Tai doesn’t comment.

“U-Tha-Din seems okay,” he says after a while. “Dumb, but not mean.”

“Unlike that captain,” I say.

“The one-eyebrowed idiot? Don’t worry, I can handle Captain Evil.”

“He’s trouble,” I say. “Stay away from him, Tai.”

“Don’t worry about me. I’ve known men like that all my life.”

“He’s lying about the war. About the tribal people.”

“I’m not sure about that,” Tai says. “War is war. Terrible things happen.”

I put my hand over my pocket. Will Mother and Lei be safe in Yangon? At least Daw Widow is there to protect them.

“Tomorrow I’m going to escape,” Tai says. “Want to join me?”

“Are you crazy?” I ask. “You heard what they said. I have to stay alive. I promised Father I’d take care of Mother.”

“You’ll never survive here. You’re a teacher, not a soldier. Look at that inky bump on your finger. That’s the biggest muscle in your whole body.”

He’s right, but I can’t help resenting his description. My irritation must have shown because Tai smiles. “I don’t mean to make you feel bad, Chiko,” he says. “I can’t read and write, so I’d never make it in school. But if I were going to stay in this place, I could survive. I’m just not sure you’ll be able to.”

I remember how quickly he got up after being kicked down by two soldiers. “You’re right,” I admit, swallowing my pride. “I’m not in the best physical condition. All study and no work hasn’t been good for me. How do you handle such hard hits without getting injured?”

“I can teach you,” he says. “I’ve taken plenty of kicks and punches.”

“That sounds good. Tell you what—if you teach me how to survive this training, I’ll teach you to read and write.”

He’s quiet for a while. Then he speaks as if thinking out loud. “If I weren’t leaving, I’d accept your offer. I can do math, but reading and writing might get me a job in a store or something better.”

I don’t want to remind him of his sister’s plight but decide to take the risk. “She’ll be okay for a while without you,” I say.

“She can’t stay at the temple tea shop forever…. No, I have to get out of here, Chiko.”

The memory of Mother’s face dances in front of my eyes. Maybe I can help. “I have an idea, Tai.”

He shrugs. “Don’t waste it on my account. I’ll be in Yangon by tomorrow night.”

I get up and walk to one of the soldiers guarding the door. “Do you have paper and a pencil?”

The chubby soldier is big but young, and his thick accent marks him as a villager. “What?” he asks, blinking at me in the dim light.

“Hey, Bindu!” another guard calls across the room. “That four-eyes giving you trouble?”

“Uhh … no,” the soldier answers. He draws closer. “You can write?” he whispers, his eyes wide.

I nod.

“There might be some old supplies in that box over there,” the soldier says, still keeping his voice low.

I nod my thanks and rummage through the odds and ends. I find one piece of yellowed paper and a stub of a pencil and take them back to my place against the wall. Tai’s almost asleep; he yawns when I tell him I’m writing a letter to my mother.

“What’s your sister’s name?” I ask. “And where’s the temple?”

“Sawati,” he says sleepily. “And it’s the big temple in the center of town. Now be quiet and go to sleep. I have to save my strength for tomorrow.”

Dear Mother,
I write.
I have been recruited to join the army. But please don’t worry. They are feeding us well, and my body will become stronger. You will receive my paycheck every month, enough kyats each time to cover the rent and a bit more. Stay safe and I will return to you soon. Give my greetings to Daw Widow.

I pause and then keep writing.

Thank her for the presents she gave me. They will sustain me through the long days and nights. Mother, will you do one thing for me? Go with Daw Widow to the tea shop at the big temple and ask for a girl named Sawati. She’s a good girl and will be a help to you. Her brother is here, and he’s very worried about her. I know you will care for her. Send an answer back with this driver once you have found her. I love you, dear Mother. Your son, Chiko.

I fold the letter and put Mother’s address on it. Glancing around, I take a kyat note from my pocket and tuck it into the letter. The driver might need some convincing to deliver it.

The next morning Tai’s body is a silent lump under his blanket. I put on my uniform and creep out of the gym. The soldiers who kept guard overnight are cooking and getting ready for the day’s work. The field is covered with mist, so they don’t notice me heading for the truck.

The driver grunts when I slip him the letter along with the kyat note. He holds the bill up against the sky where the sun is about to rise. Then he tucks both the letter and the money into his pocket.

I hurry to where the other recruits are gathering to eat. The mist is lifting, and the edge of the sky is the color of a ripe mango. Soon the valley sparkles with the first rays of the sun. I’m hoping the truck will leave soon; the driver is finishing his breakfast. Just as he turns on the engine, though, a jeep drives up, blocking the truck’s exit. My heart sinks as the captain gets out. He’s alone, driving himself this time.

“Recruits fall in!” U-Tha-Din orders.

Quickly we line up. Three straight rows of three boys each. Beside me in the last row, Tai’s spot is empty. Where is he? Suddenly I remember his wild plan of escape.

The captain strides over. “Where’s your friend, Teacher?” he asks me. The word is tinged with sarcasm, and I wonder if the other boys notice it.

“I don’t know, s-s-sir,” I stammer. My hands begin shaking, and I clasp them together to make them stop. Now it looks like I’m praying. Maybe I am. I can still feel the thud of the tall soldier’s kick landing on my jawbone. Will I be hit again?

But the captain turns to the sergeant instead. “Another example of your poor leadership, U-Tha-Din,” he says. “Come with me, Teacher.”

He leads me across the field and behind the barracks, where the others can’t see us. Pulling off my glasses with his free hand, he swings them with two fingers in front of my face. “I never want to see you wearing these again,” he says, and drops them.

I lunge to try and catch them, but it’s too late. I hear a crunch under his feet. Those glasses cost my parents a lot of money. Now I can’t focus on things that are close; I won’t be able to read or write.

The man can see into my mind. “You won’t need to read here,” he says, keeping his voice low. “Time to wake up, Teacher.”

His hand moves so fast I don’t see it coming. Slamming against the same side of my face that Win Min bruised two days before, the captain’s hand lands even harder than the soldier’s foot. My head snaps to the side; my entire skull shudders with pain.

“The street boy,” he says in a low voice near my ear. “Where is he?”

I put my hands up to shield my face. “I don’t know.”

“Crying?” he asks. “Never learned to be a man at school, did you? Where is he?”

“I … I don’t know.”

Smack!
My head snaps the other way. I’m dizzy now and feel like I might faint.

“Stupid boy,” he says. “Stand up straight. Let’s go.”

He leads me to Win Min. I brace myself for another blow, but the tall soldier doesn’t kick me. Not yet, anyway. Instead he cups his hands around his mouth. “Tell us where the street boy is, Teacher, or I’ll kick your head in!” he bellows across the field.

“Don’t hurt him!” It’s Tai. He’s climbing out from under the canvas piled in the back of the truck bed.

Win Min gallops toward Tai, stick uplifted. Soldiers and recruits push forward in their eagerness to watch.

I seize my chance, darting behind the barracks and fumbling in the tall grass for my glasses. Good—here they are! The left lens is cracked, but the lens for the right eye is okay. At least I’ll be able to see through one eye. I put the glasses into my pocket and dash back, hoping nobody noticed.

Nobody did. They’re all focused on Tai and the soldier. My glasses are for reading, so even without them I can see what’s happening at a distance. Tai is on the ground at Win Min’s feet. He’s trying to scramble to his feet, but before he can stand, the soldier kicks him in the ribs. Tai shouts in pain, and his body writhes on the ground.

The captain, like me, is standing behind most of the soldiers and recruits. He swivels his head and looks at me. I sense that he’s waiting for me to do something, and I try to move out of his line of vision.
One day at a time. Mind your own business. Stay out of trouble.

Win Min kicks Tai again.

Tai shrieks, twisting and squirming. He tries to roll away, but it’s no use. His body seems smaller than ever as he curls into a ball.

Win Min raises his voice so we can hear him over Tai’s shouts and wails. “This is what happens if you try to escape.”

His boot pounds against Tai’s body again and again.

I want to run forward to stop him, but I don’t. Instead I stuff my fingers in my ears to block out the screaming.

Finally it stops. I let my hands drop, and push forward through the onlookers. Tai is crumpled and still. For a moment I think he’s dead, but a low groan comes from his body.

“Get up, street scum,” Win Min says.

The captain moves to stand beside me. “Enough for that one, Win Min,” he says quietly. “What happens if you try to help someone escape?”

I turn to run, but it’s too late. The tall soldier blocks me, sneering. “Let’s not forget the teacher, who tried to cover up for the street rat.”

Thwack!
His boot slams into my chest—not as hard as the captain’s private beating, but still hard enough to send me sprawling across the dirt.

The other recruits back away. I’m flat on the ground, just a few meters or so from Tai. I stay there until the captain stalks off to the barracks, followed first by his loyal cadre and then by the other trained soldiers. That’s when I crawl to where Tai is stirring.

“Tai? Are you—? Can you—?” I whisper.

“I’m not bad,” Tai gasps, wincing as he feels his ribs. “Nothing’s broken. What about you?”