Bamboo People

by Mitali Perkins

  The sun is low in the western sky. Mosquitoes swarm around us, lured by the taste of blood and the scent of sweat. With a grunt, I heave the boy onto my back and trudge forward, step by tired step.

  It’s twilight when I finally reach the broken tree. Beyond it to the west is a mound of green vines and leaves. A gust of wind shifts the vines, and I catch sight of a small bamboo hut camouflaged under the greenery.

  The soldier is unconscious again, his blood seeping through Peh’s bandages. I leave him by the tree and head for the hut.

  A voice rings out. “Stop!” it commands. “There are mines everywhere. Please wait there.”

  A girl about my age comes into sight. She’s wearing a black tunic and white sash, like other Karenni girls, but hers don’t have any of the usual red or green tassels sewn on them. She moves quickly across the ground, almost hidden in the shadows, weaving to avoid the hidden killers that must surround the house.

  As she gets closer I see a long braid of hair swinging behind her. She might be pretty if she were smiling, but it’s hard to tell with that tough expression on her face.

  “Can I help you?” she asks.

  “I’ve brought a wounded boy. Shattered his leg on a mine.”

  “Where is he?”

  “Back at the tree.”

  “Get him inside, quickly. I’ll show you where to step.”

  She’s bossy, but to the point. I like that. It makes it easier to tell the truth. “He’s a soldier. A Burmese.”

  The girl’s gaze meets mine. “Bring him,” she orders. “I’ll tell my sister to get ready.”

  6

  Inside the hut, lighted wicks float in two cans of kerosene. An older girl is waiting beside a clean sheet spread across a mat made of soft grass. She beckons, and I lower the boy onto the mat.

  “Careful,” the younger girl says. “His leg’s bleeding again.”

  “That’s why he’s here,” I respond curtly. I’m tired.

  An old man sits cross-legged on a mat, about to eat rice. The air smells of turmeric and ginger, and my stomach rumbles loudly.

  “Hungry?” the younger girl asks, smiling for the first time. She is pretty. “Wash up first.”

  Pretty, but bossy.

  I shrug; I haven’t eaten since the morning. The girl leads me to a bucket of water on the back stoop. “The river’s that way,” she tells me, tipping her head toward the jungle behind the house. “In case you want to take a bath tomorrow.”

  I probably smell. I should wash up, but I’m exhausted. “Where’s the privy?”

  “Over there. But hurry. Grandfather’s waiting to eat with you.”

  “Can’t he tend the soldier first?” I ask, annoyed. “I dragged him all the way here—”

  “My sister’s the healer.”

  I’m so surprised I forget to speak quietly. “How can she be a healer? She’s too young.”

  “She learned while she was with them. One of the Burmese soldiers was a doctor, trained in England, and he taught her.” She bends, squinting into the darkness by the door, and plucks a chili pepper off a bush.

  “An enemy taught her to heal?”

  “Crazy, isn’t it? But that’s not what she says.”

  “What does she say?”

  “That God can bring beauty and goodness from anything.”

  I can’t believe it. “Has she talked about what happened to her?”

  She hesitates, and when she speaks, her voice is low and shaky. “No, she hasn’t. Not yet, anyway. I hope—I pray she will someday.” Then she tosses her braid over her shoulder. “Go on, use the toilet.”

  I stalk behind the hut and find the small outhouse near a grove of papaya trees. I’m fighting another choking wave of anger. I know what Burmese soldiers do to Karenni girls. We all know.

  The girl hands me a sliver of soap when I get back. “I’m Ree Meh, by the way,” she says. “What’s your name?”

  “Tu Reh.”

  “Staying in the camp or the jungle?” She pours water over my hands.

  “Camp. They let us in because my father’s a leader in the resistance.” I can’t keep the pride out of my voice.

  “I didn’t see you when I visited last winter.”

  “Got there three months ago.” Anger makes me barrel the next words at her, even though she’s not to blame. “They burned our village. Soldiers. Like the ones that took your sister. Just like that fool I dragged here.”

  “They burned ours years ago,” she says, but her voice stays steady this time. She hands me a clean cloth. “Here, dry your hands. Now let’s see if we can fill that talkative stomach of yours.”

  Ree Meh locks and bolts the door behind us with a loud snap and click. The soldier’s eyes fly open. They search the dimness of the hut until they rest on the older girl’s face. Then, to my amazement, the soldier smiles. He murmurs something I can’t hear. The healer keeps working without a word.

  I can’t help looking closely at her. Her hair is pinned back, and there’s a scar across one cheek. Is the sight of this soldier bringing back memories? But there’s no trace of disgust as her hands steadily remove the bandages.

  The girls’ grandfather smiles, patting the place beside him. He’s so old he can probably remember the days before the British left and Burma took over. There aren’t too many veterans of that war alive; even Peh was born after we were annexed. I’d like to ask him how it was back then, what it felt like to have our own country, but that’s going to have to wait. First we need a plan.

  Ree Meh pours me a cup of coconut milk. “I hope my sister can keep him alive,” she says. “He lost a lot of blood.”

  “She has to work fast,” I reply. “He was heading this way with four other soldiers. They’re dead, but it won’t be long till more come.”

  “Let’s give him a chance first,” the old man says. “Put some of my granddaughter’s good cooking in your stomach while you wait.”

  Ree Meh ladles rice and curry made of bamboo shoots on a tin plate. The grandfather is already chewing with gusto.

  The food looks good. I start eating.

  7

  The old man doesn’t want to make any plans until the healer’s finished. “We have to know how the boy is faring,” he says.

  It seems like hours before she’s done. Ree Meh quietly cleans and orders the hut. Her grandfather sits in silence. I pace the room, stopping every now and then at the window to listen. Only the sounds of the jungle are out there, noises I’ve heard since I was a child. I grip my bamboo pole tighter. I have to protect these girls and their grandfather. That’s my new mission.

  Finally the healer places both hands on the boy’s chest and bows her head. The hut stays silent until the soldier stirs and opens his eyes.

  This time he’s fully conscious. One hand reaches to clasp the pocket of his shirt; the other gropes for his leg. “Is it there?” he asks in Burmese. “I can’t feel it.”

  “I pray you keep it, my brother,” the healer answers. It’s the first I’ve heard her speak. Her voice sounds like music, even making the ugly sounds of Burmese.

  “The pain’s gone,” he says.

  “I’ve given you medicine for that. But I think … I think you may lose it.”

  The boy takes a deep breath before speaking. “The whole leg?”

  “You’ll keep your knee. It’s the part below it and the foot. I’ve splinted it and stitched it up, but it might still get infected.”

  The healer turns to me. “Is Auntie Doctor in your camp now?”

  I shrug. “Yes. She’s with us for a bit longer, I think.”

  Even though Auntie Doctor’s getting older, she still travels from camp to camp half the year. The rest of the time she’s based in a clinic in the largest camp, treating people who trek for miles to get help. Amputating torn limbs and fitting prosthetic replacements are a big part of her job.

  “I’ve been wanting to meet her,” the healer says. “They say her healing is as good as her heart.” She and her sister
start putting away the unused bandages and medicine.

  The old man squats beside the soldier. “What were you doing on the Thai side of the border, young man?” He’s fluent in the boy’s language. The Burmese government and military make sure most of us understand enough to obey orders.

  The boy clears his throat before he answers. “Our captain sent us on a mission. We were supposed to find a Karenni hut full of weapons.”

  “But there is no such place around here,” Ree Meh says, also speaking Burmese.

  “His crew was heading here,” I say. In Karenni. “It’s the only hut around for miles. I’m sure more soldiers will be sent to find it. We have to get to camp.”

  The girls exchange glances. “Will they let us stay there?” Ree Meh asks. “Space is so tight.”

  “I’m sure they will,” I answer. The Thai government puts a limit on the number of us who can live inside the camp, but our council reserves a few precious spaces for emergencies. Well, this is an emergency, isn’t it?

  “Will they let the soldier in, too?”

  What? I can’t believe she’s asking this. “Absolutely not,” I say. “They’ll think he’s a spy. Sent to find where people are hiding. To discover plans. To identify leaders. In fact, how do we know he isn’t a spy?”

  I’m still speaking our language—Sa Reh and I swore we’d never let a word of Burmese come out of our mouths. Not until we have our own country back and every last one of the intruders is outside our borders.

  “He’s not a spy,” says Ree Meh, speaking to me in Karenni again. “He’s just a boy.”

  “He’s a soldier,” I say, and I can’t keep the stick in my hand from pounding the floor. “We leave him here.”

  “The camp council might let him in,” Ree Meh says. “He wasn’t carrying a weapon, right?”

  “This one wasn’t, but the others were. Besides, I don’t trust any of them.” I’m sure the leaders will agree with me, especially the ones who train our defenders, like Sa Reh’s father.

  “He won’t be able to do much spying with his leg torn up like that,” Ree Meh says. “No weapon and an injury—they can’t turn him away.”

  I stand up. “We’re not going to take him along! I’m telling you, they won’t let him in. Besides, if the Burmese find the dead bodies back there, and then this empty hut, they’ll think we’ve taken this one hostage. They’ll come after us. They might even overtake us.”

  “He needs to get to a doctor fast,” Ree Meh says, lifting her chin.

  “His leg is sure to get infected if we leave him, Tu Reh,” the healer adds. “That wound needs to be cleaned and treated, and his bandages changed. The soldiers who come probably won’t know how to do that.”

  “They’ll have to learn how,” I say. “Let the Burmese doctors take care of their own.”

  Ree Meh’s arms are folded across her body. So are mine. The healer looks from her sister to me. “Grandfather must make the decision,” she says finally.

  The three of us turn to the old man. Once again he squats beside the soldier. “Any medics in your training center?” he asks.

  The boy shakes his head. “No, sir.”

  The grandfather stands and eyeballs me, long and hard, before he speaks. “We take the Burmese boy with us,” he says.

  I can’t hide my frustration, and my pole smacks the ground again. No wonder we’re losing this war!

  The soldier calls out something.

  “What, my brother?” the healer answers, hurrying to his side. I wish she’d stop calling him that.

  “Where’s the boy who carried me here?” he’s asking.

  Ree Meh takes hold of my sleeve and pulls me over. “Here he is,” she says. “His name’s Tu Reh. What’s yours?”

  “I’m Chiko.”

  The healer taps herself. “Nya Meh,” she says. “And that’s Ree Meh, my little sister. Although the way she bosses me around, you’d never guess it.”

  The boy manages a smile, his eyes traveling from my face to the girls and back again. “You saved my life,” he says. “How can I repay you?”

  “Be well,” the healer says, tucking the sheet around his chin. She’s as gentle as if he really were a brother.

  He takes her hand. “My mother says there’s a special glow that marks a healer. I used to think that was an old wives’ tale, but I saw it on your face. You remind me of my father. He’s a doctor—a healer, like you.”

  “Me? I have so much to learn,” Nya Meh says.

  Ree Meh brings the soldier a glass of the same kind of coconut milk she poured for me. “Hungry?” she asks him.

  He shakes his head no. “Maybe in the morning,” he says, and drinks the milk.

  I go to the window and open it again, leaning out to listen. Were they marching through the night? Would they get here before we left?

  After they eat and wash, the girls spread their mats in a corner of the hut and hang a shawl across the room. Talking to each other in low voices, they disappear behind the homemade curtain.

  I walk to the Burmese boy and lean close to his ear. “Repay them by staying here,” I tell him, breaking yet another promise to Sa Reh by speaking the enemy language. “You put all our lives in danger if we take you along. Tell the old man in the morning.”

  The boy’s eyes widen, but he nods.

  I spread out on a mat near the grandfather and try to sleep.

  8

  In the dim, dark green light of dawn, I walk to the privy, keeping my eyes on the branches of the tall teak trees, where mud-colored snakes like to slither.

  When I get back, the girls and their grandfather are packing clothes, pots, pans, tools, and medicine into bags. The soldier is still sleeping.

  “Tu Reh, will you cut two bamboo poles for me?” Nya Meh asks.

  “Yes,” I say. There’s something about the way she asks a question that makes it hard to say no. But why does she want bamboo?

  “Please make them about the same length and width,” she says. “There are nice ones by the river.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Ree Meh says, frowning. “Because of the mines.”

  I can, however, say no to this sister. “I’ll go alone, thanks. I know how to find a marked path.”

  Thickets of bamboo line the river, but the light, strong branches are easy to cut. Deer graze nearby. They stare at me with startled eyes.

  I bring the bamboo back, and Ree Meh ties four corners of an old blanket securely to the two poles to make a stretcher. “Our grandmother wove this cloth,” she says. “It’s tough enough to lift a horse.”

  “I wish we had my mule here,” I say, eyeing the large packs waiting to be carried.

  “You have an animal?” Ree Meh asks.

  “The only one in camp,” I say. “She carried my sister all the way from home.”

  The soldier is awake. He needs to go to the bathroom. “Will you take him, Tu Reh?” the healer asks.

  I’m impatient to get on our way, but I agree, hoping she won’t ask for a cloud or something. I’d probably jump as high as I could to try and get it. And it isn’t because she’s a girl and I’m a boy. It’s the same thing that makes it so easy to obey Peh. They make you want to help them.

  We manage to get the boy up on one foot, and he loops an arm around my shoulder. He winces as he hops to the privy.

  On the way back he stops me and says quietly, “You’re right about me putting you in danger. I’ll stay, Tu Reh.”

  Is he trying to trick me? I look closely at his face, but he’s concentrating hard on every step. I can tell he’s in more pain than he was last night. He’s breathing hard when we reach the old man. “Leave me here, sir,” he says. “I can care for my leg. Nya Meh will show me how.”

  “No, my son,” the grandfather replies. “You’ve never seen an infection taking over. You won’t be able to think straight. You could die.”

  “Listen to him, please, Grandfather,” I urge. “They’ll come after us.”

  The old man lifts his chin, r
eminding me of his younger granddaughter. “Take the Bible out of my pack, Ree Meh. Turn to the book of Ecclesiastes. You know the passage.”

  Long ago, when people brought the Holy Book here, most of our ancestors learned it in Burmese. Now we’re translating it into Karenni, but the old ones still know most of it by heart in our enemy’s language. The grandfather mutters along as Ree Meh reads the words aloud:

  There is a right time for everything: A time to be born, a time to die; A time to plant, a time to harvest;

  A time to kill, a time to heal;

  A time to destroy, a time to rebuild;

  A time to cry, a time to laugh;

  A time to grieve, a time to dance;

  A time for scattering stones, a time for gathering stones;

  A time to embrace, a time to refrain from embracing;

  A time to find, a time to lose;

  A time for keeping, a time for throwing away;

  A time to tear, a time to repair;

  A time to be silent, a time to speak;

  A time for loving, a time for hating;

  A time for war, a time for peace.

  Old habits are hard to break. Peh and Mua like us to stand silently for a minute after a reading, letting the words settle into our minds and hearts. It seems that the girls grew up with the same practice, because they’re also silent.

  I know the words the old man intended me to hear: a time to kill, a time to heal. Will there ever be a time for me to kill? What about to defend and protect? We don’t even have a weapon handy in case we need it on the way to camp.

  The soldier kept his eyes on the old man during the reading. “It’s not the right time to take me with you,” he says, breaking the silence. “I’ll put your lives in danger.”

  “We need to get you to camp,” Nya Meh tells him as she ties the top of her pack closed. “The doctor there can amputate; I can’t.”

  Again the soldier spreads a palm across the pocket of his shirt. What’s in there that’s so precious?