Bamboo People

by Mitali Perkins

  25

  I watch anxiously as U-Tha-Din and Tai sit cross-legged in the shade. Tai’s back is to me as he bends over a sheet of paper, but I see U-Tha-Din’s appreciative grin and the way he claps Tai on the shoulder.

  The sergeant gestures for me to join them. “Tai’s quicker with numbers than you are,” he tells me. “But you can certainly teach, Chiko. If you weren’t leaving, I’d ask you to teach the whole camp to read.”

  Tai looks up, startled. “Leaving? Who’s leaving?”

  Idiot! Buffalo! I scowl at U-Tha-Din. After he ordered me not to tell anybody….

  The sergeant stands up hastily, avoiding my glare. “Have to check on the others.”

  “What’s he talking about, Ko?” Tai asks, getting to his feet.

  Here it is, the moment I’ve been dreading. A truck’s coming in a few days to take me back to Yangon, I practice silently. I take a deep breath and open my mouth, but before I can answer, we hear a familiar sound coming down the hill.

  It’s the roar of an engine. A jeep engine.

  Tai pulls my glasses off my face and hands them to me. I shove them into my pocket as we scramble into assembly, forming the familiar 3–3–4.

  The captain brings the jeep to a halt, switches off the engine, and leaps out before the tires roll to a complete stop. “We need an extra soldier for a special mission,” he announces. “A clever boy who can move quickly through the jungle. Do I have a volunteer? Who wants to fight for Burma?”

  Nobody moves. Panic begins to squeeze into my throat, and I swallow hard to keep the salty taste of it out of my mouth.

  “I’ll have to choose somebody, then.” The captain strides through our section, row by row. I hold my breath and concentrate on the ground. His pace slows in front of me, but to my relief, the boots keep marching. Before I can exhale, though, they come to a stop.

  He’s standing in front of Tai.

  He’s placing a heavy hand on Tai’s shoulder.

  Tai’s wiry body always straightens defiantly in the captain’s presence, and I wait for it to happen again. But this time he seems to slump, and my heart sinks.

  “Since there are no volunteers,” the captain says, “I pick you, street boy.”

  Memories play on the screen of my mind like scenes from a film. Tai stepping out from the canvas of the truck so that I wouldn’t be punished. Riding the water buffalo toward me. Teaching me to handle a beating. Frowning in concentration to make the shapes of a letter. Stepping up to take my punishment. Grieving beside me in the darkness. And calling me “Ko” since that night.

  No! I tell myself. Think of Mother. You’re her only son.

  “We leave now.” The captain yanks Tai out of line, shoving him toward the jeep.

  Tai throws me a look over his shoulder, and for the first time I see fear on his face. I touch my pocket. You could be home by tomorrow, Chiko. You’ve only known this boy a few months. You can’t risk your life for him. Mind your own business. Stay out of trouble.

  But the voice in my head made a mistake by bringing up that mantra. With a jolt, I realize that this really isn’t about Tai at all.

  It’s about me.

  If I keep listening to that chant in my head, I’ll stay alive, but what kind of a life will it be? I want to live a life worthy of our family name.

  If only I wasn’t trembling from head to toe like bamboo in the wind. Straightening my shoulders, I breathe a prayer. Give me courage.

  As though someone has pulled a plug, fear drains from my heart like water from a basin. I leave my place and walk over to the sergeant. The captain doesn’t notice; he’s too intent on shoving Tai toward the jeep. “Send Tai to Yangon instead of me,” I whisper in U-Tha-Din’s ear. “He can do that job. I’ll go with the captain, come back, and keep reading your letters.”

  U-Tha-Din’s mouth falls open. He studies my face. Slowly he nods.

  I stride over just as the captain throws Tai into the jeep and grab my enemy by the shoulder. The captain whirls, scowls, and pulls out of my grasp.

  “What do you want, Teacher?” he asks, sneering.

  U-Tha-Din has followed me, but he doesn’t say anything. Everyone else is as still as the boulders in the river, watching, waiting. Tai sits in the back of the jeep, staring in shock.

  “Tai has another assignment,” I announce. “The major wants him in Yangon. I’ll go on your special mission.”

  There. It’s done.

  “I’m taking the street boy,” the captain answers, but he’s measuring the expression on my face. “Get back in formation before I lose my patience.”

  I don’t flinch, and I suddenly realize how much I’ve grown since arriving at the camp. I’m now almost as tall as he is.

  “Take me with you,” I say, moving a step closer. “Tai is going back to Yangon. Major’s orders.”

  Tai’s mouth is opening and closing like a fish’s.

  “What is this job in Yangon, U-Tha-Din?” the captain barks.

  “The major needs a boy who can read and write,” U-Tha-Din answers. “A truck will be coming to pick Tai up sometime in the next few days.”

  I hear murmurs of surprise from the other recruits. Tai’s head swivels, and he gapes at U-Tha-Din.

  The captain spits on the ground at my feet. “Read? That stupid street boy? Never!”

  “He can read,” I say. “And write. I taught him.”

  U-Tha-Din smirks and holds up the letter. “Want to read the order yourself? Or you could ask Tai to do it.” He’s enjoying the chance to shame the captain.

  The captain grabs my collar. “You! Thinking you’re better than other people. You prideful, arrogant—”

  “Take me with you instead of Tai,” I say again, twisting from his grip. The training exercises have paid off; I’m much stronger than I was a few months ago.

  Tai’s mouth finally cooperates with his desire to speak. “You can’t do this, Ko! I won’t let you!”

  Tai’s protest convinces the captain. “Get out of that jeep, street scum,” he barks, opening the door. “You don’t have a choice. All right, Teacher. Maybe you are the right one for this mission.”

  He pulls Tai out, and I grab my friend’s hand. “Visit my mother,” I say. “Tell her I’m coming home soon. Tell her about Father.”

  “But—but—,” Tai is still spluttering.

  The captain shoves me into Tai’s place. Hard. “No time for good-byes. Let’s go!” With one last scowl of distaste at Tai and U-Tha-Din, he climbs into the jeep and turns on the engine.

  “Should I get my things?” Thankfully, my two most important possessions are already in my pocket, along with my glasses and a few kyats.

  “You won’t need them,” he says, slamming his foot on the accelerator.

  I fall backward with a thud but manage to turn as we roar up the hill.

  My last sight of the camp is Tai, shouting and running behind us until we pick up speed and disappear into the jungle.

  26

  The jeep hurtles along the dirt road. The captain smokes one cigarette after another, scattering a line of discarded butts almost as though he’s leaving a trail for somebody.

  I sit quietly, relishing the sensation of not being afraid of him for the first time. We travel for a few miles on the road and stop as the sky begins to darken. The captain jumps out and pushes through the undergrowth and vines. I follow until we reach a clearing beside the river. Four soldiers are gathered around the warm glow of an open fire. They stand, bow, and salute.

  The captain doesn’t acknowledge the gesture. He grunts instead and heads downriver alone, into the darkness. Soon I see the red tip of yet another cigarette glowing in the distance.

  One of the soldiers comes bounding over. It’s Bindu, and he throws his arms around me in a bear hug. “I was hoping it would be you,” he says. “Captain told us he was bringing a recruit.”

  We join the other three boys beside the fire. They’re all on the unwritten but well-known list of the captain’s most
expendable soldiers—the ones he thinks are least loyal. I notice they’re armed with new assault rifles, though.

  “Look!” Bindu says proudly, pointing to the stock of his weapon. He’s scratched the letters of his name there, and in the firelight I can see that he’s done it right.

  “Nice work, Bindu. Do you know how to shoot it?”

  “Not really,” Bindu answers. “We only got them yesterday. But he says we’ll need them for the mission, and they’re not too different from the old ones.”

  “Mission?” I ask. “What mission?”

  “Don’t know.”

  “It’s time to find out,” comes a voice from behind me. The captain must have finished his cigarette. “You’ll be heading out first thing in the morning.”

  “Where are we going, sir?” one of the others asks.

  “What are we supposed to do?” Bindu adds.

  “Shut up and listen. A group of rebels has been stockpiling a stash of weapons in a hut across the border. Your mission is to spy out the cache and return with news so that we can send troops in to claim the weapons for Burma.”

  “How do we get there?” Bindu asks.

  “I told you to listen, didn’t I? You’ll start in the morning and walk along the river for most of the day, but stay on the trail—it should be clear of mines until you cross the bridge into Thai territory. You’ll have to camp somewhere because you won’t reach the bridge by nightfall. Cross the bridge, and once you reach a spring, look for a side trail veering to the left, into the teak trees. That’s supposed to be a shortcut, but if you don’t see it, keep to the main trail and look for the next left-hand split. Take that, and soon you’ll reach the hut.”

  “What then?” Bindu asks.

  Slam! The captain’s hand meets Bindu’s face with such force that my own face aches in sympathy. Bindu is dazed, rubbing his cheek where the blow fell.

  “Any more interruptions?” the captain asks.

  Nobody answers.

  “Once you get there, your job is easy: stay hidden, estimate the number of weapons and rebel soldiers, and bring back the news. Be careful and be smart, boys. Kill any rebels you see along the way. Except for you, Teacher, because I’m out of weapons.”

  I don’t respond. I wouldn’t know what to do with one of those complicated new rifles anyway. Is he disappointed by my lack of protest? Can he sense his loss of power? His expression is hard to read in the firelight.

  “If you’re captured, get as much information as you can and escape,” he says. “If nobody gets back, we’ll assume you failed, and another team will be sent to do the job. But I hope all of you return—the army will reward you well. And for an extra bonus, one of you has agreed to give me a full report of this mission. I won’t tell which one; you’ll have to figure that out for yourselves.”

  The other boys glance around suspiciously. Who has agreed to be the captain’s informer? It can’t be Bindu. He’s neither crafty nor mean enough to agree to something like that. And they know it can’t be me. Or do they?

  The captain smirks at our reaction. “Always watch for traitors, boys. I have one last instruction. The teacher will walk first, ahead of the rest of you. I don’t want to lose any trained soldiers to mines.”

  So that’s why he needed Tai. It’s my job to be a mine clearer. Still, I don’t react. With a shrug, he turns and heads back to the jeep, and we watch him disappear into the darkness.

  27

  We start our mission at dawn. At first the captain’s directions are easy to follow, and I jog ahead of the other boys, following the path along the river. I’ve lived with fear ever since the day they took Father; it feels wonderful to be free of it. At first I almost feel like singing as sunlight streams through the canopy of leaves and sparkles on the water.

  But the morning wanes, monsoon clouds cover the sun, and the air thickens. Trot, march, trudge, slog. The captain didn’t give us food, so we have to forage for bananas and mangoes along the path. I try not to think of the taste of rice, fish, eggs, anything other than fruit. I try not to worry.

  By late afternoon my legs are tired, my shirt is drenched with sweat, and I’m sick of the whine of mosquitoes. Fighting hard to keep my spirits up, I imagine Tai knocking on my mother’s door and finding his sister. I picture him starting an office job. And each time we stop for a rest, I slide Lei’s or Father’s face from my pocket and cup it in my hand so the others can’t see it.

  Once it gets dark we settle ourselves for the night beneath an old teak tree. Dinner is the extra mango or banana we’re each carrying, and somehow Bindu manages to light a small fire so we can roast the bananas. We don’t talk much—everybody’s tired and hungry. Before long it starts to rain, and our fire sputters and dies. We fall asleep huddled together under the broad teak leaves.

  The next morning it doesn’t take us long to reach a rickety footbridge spanning the river and cross into Thailand. I start walking more cautiously now. I can almost hear Father’s deep voice in my head. Being brave doesn’t give you license to be stupid, Chiko. I’m still not too worried about detonating land mines—not yet, anyway. This part of the path is well used; it shouldn’t have anything buried along or beside it. I’m thinking more of wild animals—leopards and cobras and other creatures. Or people who might leap out at any moment to ambush us. I’m starting to miss that rifle now—if only I had some kind of weapon.

  At first the other four, even Bindu, keep a safe distance from me, trying to step in the footsteps I’m leaving in the mud. They walk in a tight pack, aware that the enemy might be lurking around any corner, or that a mine might explode under my feet. After a while, though, when nothing happens, they get careless again and catch up.

  By the time we reach the spring, the main trail has dwindled into a slim, muddy line that keeps disappearing under vines and leaves. In the slippery circle around the spring, we stop to get our bearings. Bindu shares his canteen with me and squats beside the water to refill it. The other three start arguing about which direction we’re supposed to be heading.

  I spot a bamboo pole in the sunshine beside the spring. One end is carved into a sharp point, just like the captain’s. The pole will give me a better chance of survival if we meet wild beasts or rebels. I’m glad the others are too distracted by their argument to notice me picking it up. The bamboo feels warm and alive in my hands.

  “Captain said to find a trail heading left at the spring,” I say, pointing into the dense teak trees. Broken branches block the view. “I don’t see anything.”

  “Go look for it, then,” says one of the boys. “It’s almost noon. I want to get back across the border as soon as we can.”

  Another one chimes in. “We won’t be able to count the cache in the dark.”

  I scan the dense leaves around the broken branches. A mine could be anywhere in there. “Let’s stay on the main trail,” I say. “We’ll keep an eye out for the first clear path to the left.”

  They complain for a bit, but agree. We walk for a while and then round a bend. Almost immediately the main trail disappears into a thicket of brambles and trees and tall weeds. To the left is a wide, sunny field and to the front and right is a wall of prickly foliage. There’s no sign of any trail—the main one or a fork.

  “What now, Teacher?”

  “Maybe we should go back to the spring,” I say.

  Another boy shakes his head. “This field slopes up to a ridge. We might be able to see the trail from up there, or even spot the hut.”

  “The field doesn’t look safe,” I say. “What if I push through the bushes straight ahead? Maybe the main trail keeps going beyond these brambles.”

  “Good idea, Chiko,” Bindu says.

  The other boys aren’t happy with this. “If you don’t get back in ten minutes, we’ll go through the field.”

  Leaving them grumbling and arguing, I venture into the tangle, stepping carefully. It does look like the trail leads through this mess—I notice small crosses carved into the trunks of some
of the trees. I’m watching for the markings and pushing my way through thorns and brambles a few minutes later when I hear it. BAM!

  It’s the loudest crash I’ve ever heard in my life, so loud it almost drowns out the screams and shouts. My companions must have detonated a mine! Why didn’t they stay where they were? I take a few steps in the direction of the noise. BOOM!

  This explosion sounds even louder than the first. The ground and the air and the bushes are on fire around me. I’m falling, howling, crashing into thorns and brambles. The last thing I remember is the bamboo slipping out of my grasp as I land with a thud.

  1

  The sun is high and shadows are small when we stop to rest near a small spring. It’s only the second day of the journey, but after walking for five hours straight, I’m glad to put down my load.

  I wish we could have brought my mule along, but we wouldn’t be able to hide her if we ran into trouble. It was a miracle that we brought her safely from our village to the refugee camp. Mango’s a good little beast. Sa Reh promised to take care of her while I’m gone, but I can’t help missing her as my pack gets heavier by the moment.

  I replenish my water supply, and Peh points into a teak grove. “That’s the way to the healer’s hut,” he tells us.

  He hasn’t put down his load to fill his canteen. Neither have the other men. They’re used to trekking through the jungle with big loads for weeks.

  “What healer?” I ask. It’s my first mission. I’ve been asking questions nonstop.

  “Two sisters live in a hut with their grandfather,” Peh answers, handing me my pack. “People in hiding go there for treatment.”

  “The younger girl used to come into camp for supplies,” another man adds. “She’s a tough one—makes her way there alone, loads her bag, and heads back again the same day. They say her sister was captured and tortured by the enemy.”

  “Shh!” Peh says suddenly. “Listen!”

  I strain to hear past the twitter of birds, the trickle of water, the drone of insects. Are those voices? Is that the tramp of boots?