The Merit Birds Part 2

I nodded.

"We've got a game coming up with a tough Thai team. Based on what your coach back in Canada told me, we need you playing in it. How about you start coming out to practice next week and we'll see what you can do?"

I resisted the urge to smile.

"Okay," I said. Maybe I'd stay in Laos a bit longer. See what the team could do.

"Good." He patted me on the shoulder and practically skimmed his head on the ceiling fan as he returned to the front of the cla.s.s.

On Sat.u.r.day morning Julia popped her head in my room. I glanced at the red numbers on the alarm clock on my rattan bedside table and was surprised to see that it was past noon. Finally I had slept in. My brain must be adjusting to the roosters.

"The baci party starts at two," Julia said.

"I told you I'm not going," I said and flopped onto my belly, covering my head with a pillow.

"Oh, come on, Cameron. It's for us. Somchai will be there."

Okay, so Somchai seemed kind of cool. We played katoh every night, after the sun went to bed and gave us a break from its relentless heat. But still, I wasn't in the pleasing mood today. I didn't want to give her the satisfaction. Back home, when she was feeling really guilty, she'd try to drag me to some stupid event like an art gallery or a jazz festival. When I was very young I was happy to spend time with her, but then I figured out that she did it just so she could show her posh friends that she was a mom who spent time with her kid.

I didn't answer her. Non-committal - just like she had been all these years.

From underneath the cheap, foam pillow I heard the click of my bedroom door closing. Then, through the flimsy wall, I could hear the picking up and putting down of her hairbrush, lipstick, and eye shadow. These sounds always put the b.u.t.terflies in my stomach. As a little kid, they were a warning signal that Julia was going out, and if Julia went out, a lot of times she didn't come back until I had tucked myself into bed and fallen asleep with the covers over my head - hiding from the creaks and b.u.mps of an empty house.

"Meh Mee said you should wear a collared s.h.i.+rt and long pants," Julia called out through the open s.p.a.ce that existed between the mouldy ceiling and the top of the wall that separated our bedrooms. I think the s.p.a.ce was meant for air circulation, but it didn't seem to be working. Our house was so stagnant. "I know it'll be hot, but that's the custom."

"Whatever," I mumbled, crawling out of bed. I went outside in my boxers to get air in the small, cemented courtyard. It was rimmed with what Julia called rose apple trees. They were virtually the only things that grew in our little, gated yard. Waving palms and banana leaves were all around the outside, but inside our rusty gates there was no life. Even our backyard was just a flat, cement pad baking in the harsh sun. From what I could tell, poor people's houses weren't like this. They were weathered wooden slats nailed together and surrounded by a pulsating jumble of vines, chickens, and emerald leaves as big as elephant ears. But a yard ruled by Mother Nature, wild and untamed, wouldn't do for the wealthy folks. I guess rich people liked to be in charge. We got lifeless cement - and lots of it. I couldn't breathe.

One singular tree had been strong enough to pierce through a crack in the cement behind our house. It flourished despite the dry season. As I felt the heat of the cement radiating through my bare feet, I could spot Somchai through one of the tree's branches that dared to stretch from our yard to his, braving the multi-coloured shards of gla.s.s on top of our fence. He poked his head out of a window with open shutters but no gla.s.s or screen. I waved.

"See you this afternoon for your baci," he called, flas.h.i.+ng an unbelievably wide grin. Why did Lao people always look so happy? Especially the guys like Somchai, who seemed to have nothing. No computer, no stereo, no video games, nothing but a front yard filled with goats and chickens. From what I'd seen, there were plenty of cellphones and SUVs in Vientiane, but not for people like Somchai. Still, he always seemed to be smiling about something.

"Okay," I called back, resigning myself to the inevitable. I'll suck it up and go because I like this guy. Definitely not for Julia.

We arrived at around two o'clock, just as Meh Mee had instructed. She met us at the door in a drenched sarong, her long, greying hair dripping on the wooden step out front. She didn't speak much English, so she just looked down at the wet fabric clinging to her plump body, belly-laughed, and pulled the sarong up higher over her huge b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

"She just finished her bath," Somchai explained from behind her. I'd be so embarra.s.sed if my mother answered the door this way, but he didn't seem to care.

"I got dressed up for this?" I muttered quietly to Julia as Somchai, who was decked out in long khaki pants and a fancy s.h.i.+rt, seated us on the floor and brought us lukewarm gla.s.ses of water. Meh Mee's shabby house consisted of one large room. A mosquito net hung in a corner, hovering over a plastic mat that I guessed was someone's bed. A cabinet filled with plates, dusty, pink plastic flowers, and family photos sat beside a window with rain-beaten shutters and no screen. I could hear chickens clucking and an animal scratching, maybe one of their scruffy dogs digging in the dirt around their house.

Julia had tied her long, brown hair back into a bun at the nape of her pale neck, like the Lao mothers do. She was wearing the sin Meh Mee had made for her - a chocolate-milk colour, like the Mekong River that oozed sluggishly through Vientiane. She thought she looked beautiful, I could tell. I thought she looked like she was trying too hard.

We sat by ourselves on Meh Mee's floor for what seemed like an hour. Our hosts had disappeared.

"Great welcome party, Juls," I leaned over and whispered. "This place sucks."

"At least we get to spend some time together," she said.

Her comment surprised me. I didn't know she felt that way. Wasn't I was just an annoyance in her life? I tried not to let her see how good her words made me feel. Suddenly we heard the clattering of dishes from the outbuilding behind the house.

"Well, I've had enough," Julia said, getting up from her polite Lao lady position with legs tucked off to the side. I got up and followed her to the kitchen. I always seemed to be following her. "Let's make up an excuse to leave."

We were surprised to find the little outbuilding jam-packed with people. All this time we thought only Somchai and his mother were in the house, but not one inch of empty s.p.a.ce could be seen in the simple kitchen. A small, wooden counter was stacked with food - chillies floating in unrecognizable liquid, ma.s.sive baskets of sticky rice, various animal parts carved up and put onto plates. The sink was filled with water and leaves of floating lettuce. Everywhere people - mainly women, but a few guys, too - laughed and chatted wildly, as if someone amongst them was a stand-up comedian. One toothless granny stood over the counter rolling spring rolls. Another crouched on her haunches and hacked at a huge green papaya; the thin, unripe shreds fell into a red plastic basin. The heat made my collared s.h.i.+rt stick to my armpits with sweat and the stomach-churning smell of fermented fish was everywhere. When I complained about it, Julia explained that the smell was from padek, a kind of fish sauce Lao people eat with everything.

"Can we - can we help?" Julia asked Somchai as he entered the kitchen. She was obviously taken aback by the number of people crammed into the small s.p.a.ce.

"No, no, you are our guests. Go back to the main house and rest until the ceremony starts. We're just waiting for the mawphon to arrive," Somchai said.

"What's that?" I asked.

"The wish priest who leads the ritual."

His answer didn't exactly clear things up for me. Ritual? Were we sacrificing a sheep or something? I was starting to feel uncomfortable, and not only because I was wearing long pants in the middle of a steam room that stunk like rotting fish.

"I want to help," Julia insisted.

A middle-aged woman slicing tomatoes on the floor waved my mother over. It looked like the woman was about to play a practical joke because the room erupted into laughter as Julia sat on the floor beside her.

Feeling conspicuous, I made a beeline for Somchai. As I crossed the floor I hoped the sweat running down my legs wouldn't make it look like I'd p.i.s.sed my pants. I was painfully aware of every single eye in the room following me. I stepped over people, trying not to step on anyone's fingers, to where Somchai was tearing lettuce leaves in the corner of the dimly lit room. The floor beneath me creaked as I walked on its wooden boards, soft and swollen with the humidity. Just as I reached my friend I heard an ear-splitting crack. I swivelled my neck and apprehensively looked all around. Maybe this neighbourhood wasn't so safe after all. The floor lurched beneath me. My heartbeat started to quicken. But when I felt my feet land on the earth beneath the makes.h.i.+ft kitchen with a dull thud, I realized the cras.h.i.+ng sound hadn't come from a weapon. I caught my breath and looked down at my feet; my torso poked up through a hole in the decaying floorboards so I could still see the crowded room.

It seemed as if every mouth and utensil in the room dropped. There was nothing but silence. Looking like I had p.i.s.sed my pants was nothing compared to this. What a G.o.dd.a.m.n loser, I thought. Breaking a poor family's floor. I felt my face flush and a familiar anger rising up from the pit of my belly. Breathe, Cam, I told myself. I looked up at Somchai guiltily. I felt like I had betrayed him somehow, but when our eyes met he burst into laughter. Next thing I knew the entire room was laughing, slapping their hands in their laps and wiping tears of hilarity from their eyes. The laugh-fest continued as Somchai came over and helped me out of the hole.

"I feel like an a.s.s," I told him.

"Then I guess we have an a.s.s-hole in our floor," he said and started laughing so hard again he couldn't speak. After awhile he said, "Are you okay? I'm so sorry. Our floor is old."

Shouldn't I be the one apologizing? After everyone had crowded around me to make sure I was okay, I huddled in a corner of the kitchen was.h.i.+ng endless clumps of cilantro and hoped the shame would wear off. But as party guests arrived I could tell each one was told the story by the way I was pointed at. Somchai, my saviour, handed me a shot gla.s.s filled with clear liquid.

"What is it?"

"Lao lao. Rice whiskey. Every person here drinks from this same gla.s.s. For solidarity."

I didn't see what sharing saliva had to do with solidarity, but I was thankful the liquor was strong enough to kill off germs, and some of my shame.

Soon my mother and I were shepherded back into the main house. A crowd of people had gathered in a circle on the floor around a tall centrepiece made from bright orange-and-yellow flowers.

"Look at all the marigolds!" Julia exclaimed.

"Put your left hand here," Somchai said, touching his long, slender fingers to the bottom of the centrepiece, his palm facing up. "And hold your right hand like this." He held it up like he was going to do a karate chop. Countless brown hands clutched long, white strings tied to the centrepiece. The strings stretched all the way to the back of the room. A man who seemed to be leading the whole thing began chanting. I guessed he was the wish priest Somchai mentioned. I had no idea what he was saying. Sweat dripped down my back, fell off my nose, and stung my eyes. The chanting seemed to go on forever. At first I was embarra.s.sed to be sitting in the middle of the circle, closest to the centrepiece, while the rest of the partygoers sat behind me. But now I was glad they couldn't see me as I counted the number of tiles on the ceiling and daydreamed about which university would offer me the biggest ball scholars.h.i.+p. But the mawphon caught me and made eye contact. He bobbed his grey head, smiling gently, as he continued to chant. He wore a b.u.t.ton-up s.h.i.+rt and khaki pants. Whatever a wish priest was, he didn't look any different from the other men at the party. When the chanting finally stopped, I searched for the closest exit. I needed some air. But a throng of people blocked my way. They crowded around me and tied countless white strings around my wrist. They kept repeating the same phrase.

"It means bad spirits out, good spirits in," Somchai explained. He hadn't left my side the whole time.

Too bad it didn't work. Bad spirits would follow me everywhere in this country.

b.u.t.t-Ugly Calluses.

Cam.

On the Monday after the baci I went to school and halfway through homeroom it felt like someone had my guts in a vice. Clutching my stomach, I made it out onto the street without embarra.s.sing myself in front of the ex-pat girls. But there was the little beggar girl again, sitting in front of the school staring into s.p.a.ce. She wore a dirty, pink T-s.h.i.+rt with a picture of a blonde princess on it. It was too small for her and I could see her bloated belly sticking out. It was the same thing she'd been wearing the first time I'd seen her. She looked up when I pa.s.sed by and I thought maybe she recognized me. She held her hands in a nop, or prayer position, and dipped her head to greet me. I walked past, trying not to make eye contact so she wouldn't expect anything from me.

There were so many tuk-tuks crawling over Vientiane's roads that a driver was stopping for me before I had time to practise in my head how to say the directions to our house in Lao. I tried to tell the driver where I wanted to go, but he looked at me like I was a freak. By the time he figured out what I was trying to say I thought I was going to s.h.i.+t my pants. I climbed into the back of the tuk-tuk and slunk down onto the fake red leather. The driver laughed and chattered on about something. I think he was trying to explain why my words were so funny. Somchai told me that the soft, nasally Lao language is tonal, which means the same word can mean different things depending on your tone. Like mou can mean "friend" or "pig," depending on whether the sound comes from your throat or your nose. See can mean "will" or "f.u.c.k." When Somchai told me that I started counting how many times a day I tried to say "I will."

When we pulled up in front of our faded, orange gate I realized that I didn't have any kip on me. There were no debit cards or credit cards here, so it was cash or nothing. I tried to tell the driver I didn't have any money and he could come back later to get some, but he didn't understand. He threw his hands up in the air and waited, although he didn't seem that bothered. I looked up the red dirt road of our neighbourhood, hoping I'd see Julia being driven home from work by the office driver. I felt like I was going to pa.s.s out. Finally, I spotted Somchai rounding the corner. He smiled as he rode up to us on his creaky, rusty bike.

"I'll pay you back," I said after I had explained the situation.

"Of course," he said and went into his home, coming out moments later with the cash.

I unlocked our door and ran to the toilet. At least now I knew how to use it. Afterward, I collapsed into the wicker bed Julia had bought at the market. The rusty ceiling fan creaked irritatingly and sucked at making my room cooler. I couldn't believe it wasn't even hot season yet. The open window let the smell of Meh Mee's frangipani bush in. I heard rats scurrying up in the rafters.

I knew Julia would be gone all day, so I was on my own. Just me and my Lao stomach bug. I pa.s.sed out and woke up to the sound of someone rattling our front gate.

"Drink this," Meh Mee said and handed me a plastic bag filled with clear liquid.

"What is it?"

"Nam wan."

I had no energy to ask for a definition. I drank the sweet fluid and stumbled back to my bed.

Next time I woke up dishes were clinking in our outdoor kitchen. It bugged me that I brightened at the thought of my mother being home early. When I looked out of the dusty window above my uncomfortably hard bed I saw Meh Mee stirring something in a blackened pot on our stove. I opened my mouth to call out the window to her, but nothing came out.

Soon Meh Mee was bringing me a bowl of what looked like porridge made from rice.

"Eat," she said in Lao and waited until I did. We didn't speak as I slowly ate the bland gruel. She just stood there, making sure I ate every last gluey bite. When I finished she took the empty bowl back into the kitchen without a word. The next time I woke up the sun was gone. I heard a chopping sound and looked out my window to see Somchai high up in a coconut tree that stretched from his yard over ours. He hacked madly in the darkness with a s.h.i.+ny machete. Julia still wasn't home, but I didn't feel lonely.

"What freaky Lao sport is that?" I called out to Somchai. I actually had a voice now.

"Meh told me to get you some coconut water. It's good for the belly."

Somchai s.h.i.+mmied down the tree and slashed open his harvest. He held a young, green coconut up to my cracked lips and I drank noisily.

When Julia came home later that night she felt guilty.

"Honey! Are you okay? You should have called. I told you I've got my cellphone all hooked up now."

"Meh Mee and Somchai took care of me."

"I'm so glad."

"They barely even know me."

"I don't think that matters here." She smoothed my bedsheets.

"They barely even know me and they took care of me."

She sighed. "Yeah, and I'm your mother and I didn't take care of you. That's what you're trying to say, right, Cameron?" She looked annoyed and bored at the same time. "Look, let's not start this again. How about I take you for a Lao ma.s.sage tomorrow? I tried one the other day and they're amazing. It will make you feel like a million bucks." She was using her distraction technique again.

"I don't like strangers feeling me up."

"Don't be silly, honey. It's part of Lao culture. "

Of course I followed her to the ma.s.sage house the next day. We climbed out of a tuk-tuk in front of an old two-storey French villa with yellow paint peeling from its sides. FA NGUM Ma.s.sAGE was the only thing written in English on the homemade wooden sign out front. A family stared at us as they drove past on one rickety bicycle. The mom sat behind the dad with a preschooler on her lap and both of her legs politely hanging to one side. A baby was balanced on the crossbar. No one wore helmets.

"Foreigner! Foreigner! Big-nosed foreigner!" the little boy laughed as he pointed to me.

I stood a bit closer to Julia. I really didn't want to go inside, but I felt like a geek at a party who didn't have anyone to talk to. I didn't want to hang out by myself. Begrudgingly, I followed her into the ma.s.sage house. When the girl at the front desk handed us pajamas, I wanted to take off. This was stupid. The girl led us upstairs and pointed for us to put our feet in warm, soapy water. Ma.s.seuses knelt by our feet and began to scrub harshly. I could see the muscles in their brown arms flexing as they worked, and was amazed at the strength of their slender bodies. My ma.s.seuse's s.h.i.+ny, black hair fell all around and tickled my s.h.i.+n as she bent over my feet to dry them with a rough towel. When she looked up and motioned for me to stand I noticed her silky, cinnamon skin and deer-like eyes. c.r.a.p. I was wearing peppermint-striped pajamas that were way too short and I had a hot girl rubbing the b.u.t.t-ugly calluses on my feet.

I followed the girl's glossy hair into a room with mattresses covering the floor. She motioned for me to lie down and drew a curtain around us. I was worried I was going to get a hard-on and the flimsy pajamas would do nothing to hide me. She knelt at my feet and began to ma.s.sage them rhythmically, first the soles, then the tops, then around my ankles. I knew by the way she yanked each toe that she wasn't someone to mess with. There was a strength and power to her willowy beauty. Such a turn-on. As she worked, it was as if she was kneading frustration out of me. She worked away at the bitterness built up in my muscles. The rhythm of her movements and the calm music made me feel so relaxed. So this was Lao people's secret to being chilled out all the time. I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I knew she was rocking me awake. She smiled in a way that made me wonder if I had done something embarra.s.sing while I was asleep. I rubbed my face to check for drool. She led me to some couches where Julia was sipping from a teacup. My brain was so blissed out it couldn't think of any Lao words to thank her or ask her name.

"So? Did you enjoy it?" Julia pulled me out of my daze.

"Yeah, I did," I said absent-mindedly, and looked around to see if the girl was still in the room. She was gone.

Falang.

Nok.

Nok hunched over the mortar and pestle, grinding healing herbs to use on clients. The smell of the crushed plants reminded her of when she'd had to go to the hospital with dengue fever when she was little. As her temperature shot into the cloudy sky of Vientiane's rainy season, her big sister covered her forehead with cold cloths and brought her bowls of rice porridge. The feeling made her cozy, remembering how Vong had cared for her.

Nok had refused to go to the doctor, because she understood even at a young age that they couldn't afford the fee. But her headaches grew sharper, like gla.s.s smas.h.i.+ng on a cement floor, and she crouched in a dark corner away from the brightness of the sun and the noise of the village. Vong insisted she see a doctor and convinced the head of their village to help her pay for the cost of the initial visit. She'd ended up lying listless for a week in the hospital. Vong did everything she could to pay for it; she sold spicy papaya salad at a roadside shop all day and worked the night s.h.i.+ft at the garment factory sewing T-s.h.i.+rts with Western brand names. During her breaks she would come to the hospital to bring Nok some kanom and sweet, warm soy milk.

Now Vong had been gone for three years already. Nok was thirteen when she left, Seng was seventeen. Old enough for a couple of orphans to take care of themselves. Nok was so happy for her sister when she said she was marrying a North American and moving away. All the way across the ocean, she said. Vong's future was set. But Nok hungered for her like she did for their mother. Their family of five had been whittled down to two - just her and Seng.

Her thoughts were broken by the front door of the ma.s.sage house opening. She overheard a foreigner asking for her and her heart skipped. But it wasn't the foreigner with the pale, mean eyes. He had been in her nightmares every night since the a.s.sault. Thankfully, it was the grumpy falang in the basketball s.h.i.+rt. The one who had fallen asleep. He was pointing her out to Nana. He seemed harmless enough, but why did he need her to ma.s.sage him again? She didn't trust white guys now.

Nana looked at her imploringly. They needed the business. Not wanting her friend to lose face, Nok nodded that she would do it. She plunged her capable fingers deeply into the falang's flesh. She worked his long body - pounding the bottoms of his feet, manipulating the muscle of his calves, stretching out the tightness of his legs. With each pinch she released some of the resentment that coursed through her tendons. By the time she reached his face her bitterness had begun to fade. As she ma.s.saged his cheekbones she noticed the smattering of freckles across his fine nose. There was something sweet and exotic about them. Lao guys didn't have freckles. When she finished, the foreigner sat up, blinked his eyes, and in bad Lao asked her name. She answered, and in order to be polite asked him his name.

"Do you like doing that?" Cam asked.

Nok thought for a moment. No one had ever asked her that before. She did think a lot about how life would be different if she could've gone to university instead of going to work right away.

"It reminds me of my sister, because I used to ma.s.sage her in the evenings before we slept. So yes, I guess I like it," she said.

"Hey, your English is good." The falang looked happy about this.

"Thanks. I studied a lot."