A Wish in the Dark

by Christina Soontornvat

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  A monster of a mango tree grew in the courtyard of Namwon Prison. Its fluffy green branches stretched across the cracked cement and hung over the soupy brown water of the Chattana River. The women inmates spent most of their days sheltered under the shade of this tree while the boats glided up and down and up again on the other side of the prison gate.

  The dozen children who lived in Namwon also spent most of their days lying in the shade. But not in mango season. In mango season, the tree dangled golden drops of heaven overhead, swaying just out of reach.

  It drove the kids nuts.

  They shouted at the mangoes. They chucked pieces of broken cement at them, trying to knock them down. And when the mangoes refused to fall, the children cried, stomped their bare feet, and collapsed in frustration on the ground.

  Pong never joined them. Instead, he sat against the tree’s trunk, hands crossed behind his head. He looked like he was sleeping, but actually, he was paying attention.

  Pong had been paying attention to the tree for weeks. He knew which mangoes had started ripening first. He noticed when the fruit lightened from lizard-skin green to pumpkin-rind yellow. He watched the ants crawl across the mangoes, and he knew where they paused to sniff the sugar inside.

  Pong looked at his friend, Somkit, and gave him a short nod. Somkit wasn’t shouting at the mangoes, either. He was sitting under the branch that Pong had told him to sit under, waiting. Somkit had been waiting an hour, and he’d wait for hours more if he had to, because the most important thing to wait for in Namwon were the mangoes.

  He and Pong were both nine years old, both orphans. Somkit was a head shorter than Pong, and skinny — even for a prisoner. He had a wide, round face, and the other kids teased him that he looked like those grilled rice balls on sticks that old ladies sold from their boats.

  Like many of the women at Namwon, their mothers had been sent there because they’d been caught stealing. Both their mothers had died in childbirth, though from the stories the other women still told, Somkit’s birth had been more memorable and involved feet showing up where a head was supposed to be.

  Pong wagged his finger at his friend to get him to scoot to the left.

  A little more.

  A little more.

  There.

  Finally, after all that waiting, Pong heard the soft pop of a mango stem. He gasped and smiled as the first mango of the season dropped straight into Somkit’s waiting arms.

  But before Pong could join his friend and share their triumph, two older girls noticed what Somkit held in his hands.

  “Hey, did you see that?” said one of the girls, propping herself up on her knobby elbows.

  “Sure did,” said the other, cracking scab-covered knuckles. “Hey, Skin-and-Bones,” she called to Somkit. “What do you got for me today?”

  “Uh-oh,” said Somkit, cradling the mango in one hand and bracing himself to stand up with the other.

  He was useless in a fight, which meant that everyone liked fighting him the most. And he couldn’t run more than a few steps without coughing, which meant the fights usually ended badly.

  Pong turned toward the guards who were leaning against the wall behind him, looking almost as bored with life in Namwon as the prisoners were.

  “Excuse me, ma’am,” said Pong, bowing to the first guard.

  She sucked on her teeth and slowly lifted one eyebrow.

  “Ma’am, it’s those girls,” said Pong. “I think they’re going to take —”

  “And what do you want me to do about it?” she snapped. “You kids need to learn to take care of yourselves.”

  The other guard snorted. “Might be good for you to get kicked around a little. Toughen you up.”

  A hot, angry feeling fluttered inside Pong’s chest. Of course the guards wouldn’t help. When did they ever? He looked at the women prisoners. They stared back at him with flat, resigned eyes. They were far past caring about one miserable mango.

  Pong turned away from them and hurried back to his friend. The girls approached Somkit slowly, savoring the coming brawl. “Quick, climb on,” he said, dropping to one knee.

  “What?” said Somkit.

  “Just get on!”

  “Oh, man, I know how this is gonna turn out,” grumbled Somkit as he climbed onto Pong’s back, still clutching the mango.

  Pong knew, too, but it couldn’t be helped. Because while Pong was better than anyone at paying attention, and almost as good as Somkit at waiting, he was terrible at ignoring when things weren’t fair.

  And the most important thing to do in Namwon was to forget about life being fair.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” asked the knobby-elbowed girl as she strode toward them.

  “We caught this mango, fair and square,” said Pong, backing himself and Somkit away.

  “You sure did,” said her scab-knuckled friend. “And if you hand it over right now, we’ll only punch you once each. Fair and square.”

  “Just do it,” whispered Somkit. “It’s not worth —”

  “You don’t deserve it just because you want it,” said Pong firmly. “And you’re not taking it from us.”

  “Is that right?” said the girls.

  “Oh, man.” Somkit sighed. “Here we go!”

  The girls shrieked and Pong took off. They chased him as he galloped around and around the courtyard with Somkit clinging onto his back like a baby monkey.

  “You can never just let things go!” Somkit shouted.

  “We can’t . . . let them have it!” panted Pong. “It’s ours!” He dodged around clumps of smaller children, who watched gleefully, relieved not to be the ones about to get the life pummeled out of them.

  “So what? A mango isn’t worth getting beat up over.” Somkit looked over his shoulder. “Go faster, man — they’re going to catch us!”

  The guards leaning against the wall laughed as they watched the chase. “Go on, girls. Get ’em!” said one.

  “Not yet, though,” said the other guard. “This is the best entertainment we’ve had all week!”

  “I’m . . . getting . . . tired.” Pong huffed. “You better . . . eat that thing before I collapse!”

  Warm mango juice dripped down the back of Pong’s neck as Somkit tore into the fruit with his teeth. “Oh, man. I was wrong. This is worth getting beat up over.” Somkit reached over his friend’s shoulder and stuck a plug of mango into the corner of Pong’s mouth.


  It was ripe and sweet, not stringy yet. Paradise.

  Later, as they lay on their backs next to the river gate, Pong tried to remind Somkit how great that mango had been. The sun had started to set, and their golden-brown cheekbones and shins were turning the same purple color as the sky.

  Somkit touched his bruised cheek and winced. “Why do I have to be friends with such a loudmouth?”

  Pong grinned. “Because no one else will be friends with you.”

  Somkit reached over and flicked him on the ear.

  “Ow!” said Pong, scooting away. “You know, between the two of us, you’ve actually got the bigger mouth.”

  “And you’ll notice that I keep it shut around the guards and mean kids,” said Somkit. “Sometimes you have to go along with things if you don’t want to get mashed into pulp. But you? You just never know when to shut up and let things go.”

  “I know,” said Pong, folding one arm under his head. “But we earned that mango. It’s stupid that we even have to wait for them to fall. The guards should just let us climb the tree. It’s almost like they want us to have to fight over them.” He put two fingers on the bone in the center of his rib cage. “Stuff like that, I don’t know — it just makes me so mad. I get this burning feeling right here.”

  “It’s probably gas,” said Somkit. “Look, next year those stupid girls will turn thirteen, and then they’ll be out of here. We’ll be the oldest ones, and we can eat our mangoes in peace.”

  Children born at Namwon were released when their mother’s sentence was up or when they turned thirteen, whichever came first.

  But Pong didn’t care about the girls’ release date. If anything, it was just one more bit of unfairness that those two would get out first. It would be four more years until Pong and Somkit turned thirteen. Four years. It felt like forever.

  Pong turned his face from Somkit and looked past the bars of the river gate. Namwon sat a little upriver from Chattana City. From here, Pong could just see the lights starting to come on, one by one by one thousand, until there were two cities: one on the shore, one in the water, both made of light.

  Normally at this time of night, the two of them would take turns sharing their dreams about what sort of life they’d lead in the city after they got out: the food they’d eat, the boats they’d buy. Somkit would have at least three boats: one to live on, one to fish from, and one speedboat with a custom motor that would be good for nothing except driving ridiculously fast. Pong liked to picture himself as a grown man with a good job and a full belly, lounging in the back of that slick speedboat, with Somkit at the wheel.

  A single orb of glass swung from the mango tree overhead. Its dim Violet glow couldn’t compete with the bright blaze across the river. Compared to the city, Namwon was like a cave. Was it any wonder that life wasn’t fair for them? How could fairness find its way to them through all that darkness? But once they got out, under those lights, life would be different. They would eat mangoes they didn’t have to fight for. When they asked for help, people would listen.

  Somkit turned onto his side with a groan. “Ugh, every bone in my body hurts! You’ve got to promise me to lie low. At least until after next week.”

  “What’s next week?”

  Somkit rolled his eyes and shook his head. “You’ll sit and listen to mangoes for hours, but you can’t even hear what people are saying when they’re standing right next to you! Didn’t you hear the cooks today? The Governor is coming here next week for an official visit.”

  Pong sat up, ignoring the ache in his ribs. “The Governor!”

  “I know,” said Somkit, licking his lips. “We’re actually going to get some decent food for once. The cooks said they’re going to grill a bunch of chickens.”

  But Pong couldn’t think about food. He was thinking about the guest. Most people in Chattana looked up to the Governor. After what he’d done for their city, how could they not? The man was a hero. But to Pong, he was even more.

  Pong had only ever seen a portrait of him in a textbook, but even from the picture, he could tell that the Governor was someone who would understand him. He would care about the unfairness at Namwon. If he knew how things were, he’d change them. That’s just the kind of person he was: someone who made things right.

  Pong’s wild and secret wish, the one he didn’t tell even Somkit about because it sounded so silly, was that one day he’d work for Chattana’s great leader. He imagined himself standing at the Governor’s side as an assistant or an adviser, or whatever sort of jobs grown people had. Together, they would make everyone’s life brighter.

  The fact that the Governor was coming to Namwon for a visit couldn’t be just a coincidence. It had to be a sign. It had to mean that one day Pong’s wish would come true.

  “Hey,” said Somkit, snapping his fingers in front of Pong’s face. “You’ve got that funny look of yours right now, and I don’t like it. Listen, you’ve got to promise me that you’re going to keep your mouth shut from now on. No more trouble, okay?” He leaned closer and bugged his eyes out. “Okay?”

  Pong squinted at the city, making all the dots of light blur into one. “Okay,” he said. “No more trouble.”

  At the time it seemed like a perfectly reasonable promise.

  Nok crossed her fingers behind her back as she watched her father clean his glasses for the hundredth time that morning. He was nervous — she could tell.

  Warden Sivapan was supposed to be in charge of everything and everyone at Namwon, and Nok wished that just for today he could play the part.

  “Nok . . .” whined her little sister Tip. “I am going to die in this thing!” Tip stuck her finger into the high, frilly collar of her blouse and pulled it away from her windpipe. It snapped back against her throat with a thwack!

  Tip’s twin sister, Ploy, giggled.

  “Stop fidgeting,” said Nok. She straightened Tip’s collar, then Ploy’s sash. “Aren’t you ashamed of yourselves, whining on a day like today?”

  At least the twins got to wear short sleeves. Nok tugged at the cuffs of her itchy dress, fighting the urge to scratch her arms. She longed for the loose comfort of her spire-fighting uniform. In her opinion, any clothes you couldn’t throw a punch in were stupid. But of course she wouldn’t complain, especially not today, the day of the Governor’s visit.

  Nok’s mother glided toward them, an older version of the twins, in pale-blue silk. “All right,” she said. “Everyone ready? Remember what I told you to say. No embarrassments today — got that, everyone?”

  Nok’s older brother smoothed down his hair. “That’s fine for us,” he whispered, “but who’s going to tell Dad?”

  Nok glared at him. Her mother snapped her fingers, and it was time to go. The twins followed Nok, who followed their brother, who had come home from university just for this occasion, who followed their mother, who was really the leader of the family, but who walked behind her husband to keep up appearances.

  The family lined up near the river gate, in the shade of the big mango tree. The prisoners were supposed to be standing in orderly lines, too, but the children had run up to the gate to wait for the Governor’s boat.

  “I feel sorry for them,” whispered Ploy, slipping her fingers into Nok’s hand. “They have to live in a jail. Isn’t that awful?”

  “It’s not a jail,” said Nok. “It’s a reform center.”

  Nok and her siblings hardly ever visited their father’s workplace. That morning, Nok had made a point to show her sisters the official NAMWON WOMEN’S REFORM center sign on the front gate, but the truth was that no one ever called it anything but a prison.

  “Why can’t Daddy just let them go?” asked Ploy.

  Her twin leaned closer. “You know what Mama says: Trees drop their fruit straight down.”

  “Huh? I’m not talking about fruit, dummy. I’m talking about kids!”

  Nok sighed. “She means that you can’t expect children to turn out very different from their parents. And these children ha
ve criminals for parents. It’s best to keep a close eye on them. Besides, where else would they go? Some of them are orphans. They’d have to live on the street. At least here they get good food and they go to school. They’re happy here.”

  The children did look happy, or at least excited. Nok noticed that only two of the boys weren’t pressed up against the gate. One scrawny boy with a moon-round face stood on his tiptoes, unable to see over two girls who seemed to be blocking his view on purpose.

  His friend, a boy with thick hair that stuck up at the top, also hung back, near the trunk of the mango tree. He wasn’t looking at the gate at all, but up into the branches. The boy tilted one ear up at a low-hanging fruit, almost as if he were listening to it.

  How weird, thought Nok. Who listens to mangoes?

  “Here he comes!” the other kids shouted.

  “The Governor’s boat! I can see it!”

  Nok’s mother snapped her fingers and hissed, “Places! To your places! Now!”

  The Governor’s barge glided toward the prison dock, its teak paneling gleaming in the sunlight. Swags of white flowers swished from the prow.

  A soft whir churned the water behind the boat as it swiveled into place at the dock. A glass orb the size of a watermelon hung suspended over the silver prongs of the barge’s motor. Its Jade light glowed so bright that it made spots float over Nok’s eyes when she blinked.

  The river gate swung inward. Uniformed guards disembarked and stood at attention. Nok glimpsed the sheen of the Governor’s robes, and then her mother snapped her fingers again. The prisoners pressed their palms together and dropped to their knees.

  Nok bowed her head, her stomach flipping somersaults. Was this really happening? If the kids from school could see her now, they would burn with jealousy. She was about to meet the man they all idolized, the hero they learned about in history classes, whose proverbs they had memorized since nursery school. In just a few seconds, Nok would meet the man who had saved their city from the brink of destruction.

  It was a story that every child in Chattana knew.

  Long ago, Chattana was the City of Wonders. Giants as tall as palm trees waded in the river while singing fish schooled around their ankles. In the floating markets, vendors sold all manner of magical treats: pears that made you fall in love, cakes frosted with good luck, even a rare fruit shaped like a sleeping baby that would let you live for one thousand and three years if you ate it in a single bite.