A Wish in the Dark

by Christina Soontornvat

  His fingers curled around one of the cakes and slipped it off the pile. But in his hurry, the boy sent the rest of the sweets rolling off the table, onto the ground.

  The shop owner ran out of his store, puffing and cursing. “Blast! My sunrise cakes! They’re covered in dust and dirt!”

  Nok watched as the people standing nearby came to help clean up the mess. The boy was long gone. It seemed that no one but her had seen what happened. And there you have it, she thought. Thieving, out in the open. When people don’t live with rules, this is exactly what happens.

  Nok crossed the square, following where she’d seen the barefoot boy disappear to. If she caught him, it would help her father make his case to Father Cham about the need for orbs and laws. She held her hands at her side, ready to spring out and grab him. But when she rounded the corner, she saw that someone else had beaten her to it.

  One of the monks knelt beside the boy, who still clutched the sticky cake in his hand. The boy stared back wide-eyed, nodding tearfully. The monk was young, just a novice. Nok Nothing-Stepped closer to hear what he was saying to the little thief.

  “You know better than that,” said the young monk sternly. “So we’re agreed. First thing tomorrow. Okay, then, you’d better keep your promise. Run on.”

  “Run on?” blurted Nok, closing the remaining distance between them. “Are you seriously letting him go?”

  Both the boy and the monk twisted to look at her, startled.

  “Excuse me,” Nok started again, bowing to the young monk this time. “But you must not have seen what just happened. This boy stole a cake from that shop, and in the process ruined the entire batch.”

  The monk turned his head away from her and looked down at the ground. “I did see it, miss.”

  “Well, then, I’m sure you’ll agree that we can’t just let him run off with a cake in his hands,” said Nok, trying her best to sound respectful. “He needs to at least go back and pay for it.”

  The little boy’s lip started to shake.

  “He can’t afford it,” whispered the monk.

  “Well, he should have thought of that before he took it.”

  “I’m sorry . . . I’m sorry . . .” whimpered the little boy. He’d crushed the cake into a sticky mush in his hand.

  “He knows what he did is wrong,” said the monk. He tapped the boy on the arm. “Don’t you?” The boy nodded, sniffling.

  The monk kept his face turned away, avoiding looking into Nok’s eyes. She supposed this was because she was a girl. She took a step back to try to make him feel less awkward, but she wasn’t going to back down.

  “That doesn’t really help that baker,” she said. “He’s now got forty ruined cakes on his hands.”

  The monk stood up, keeping his chin tucked down. For a moment, Nok thought he was backing off. He took a step back, then forward again, as though he couldn’t decide what to do.

  In the end, he planted his feet and then spoke quietly, so only Nok could hear. “Look at him,” he said, nodding at the snot-soaked boy. “He hasn’t stolen anything before. And he won’t do it again — that’s for sure. There’s no sense in shaming him further. That man, the baker — he’s got a bad temper. If you go tell him what happened right now, he’ll blow up and maybe have the boy whipped. Or worse, make the family come into town and pay for the cakes, and they can’t. They’re very poor. He promised me that he’ll come every day for a week to volunteer at the shop to make up for it. Right after school. That’s good enough, don’t you think?”

  Nok’s shoulders tensed.

  School.

  The same school that her parents wanted to drag her to this morning. The one they wanted to leave her at. She was running out of time to do something to save herself. Bringing this little boy to justice was hardly the impressive feat she needed to accomplish, but she was feeling desperate.

  “I’m sorry,” she said firmly. “But it’s just not the way we do things in Chattana. The boy needs to come with me. Don’t worry: I’ll make sure he isn’t whipped.” She reached out for the child. “Come on, let’s go —”

  But before she could take the boy’s hand, the monk stepped in between them. “Go on, run!” he whispered to the boy over his shoulder.

  The little boy didn’t need to be told twice. He shot off into the forest, leaving the crumbled cake on the ground.

  “Stop!” called Nok. Too late. He was gone. “What was that boy’s name?” she demanded of the monk-in-training.

  “What boy?”

  Nok realized that he hadn’t used the boy’s name the entire time on purpose. Now the monk did glance up at her, just for an instant. It was long enough for her to see a flicker of defiance in his eyes. It was so striking that Nok took a step back. She’d seen eyes like that somewhere before.

  “Do I . . . do I know you?” she asked.

  “Brother Pong!” called a voice, far away but growing closer.

  Pong. Had she ever known a boy named Pong?

  “Brother Pong!” A lanky monk whirled around the corner and stumbled toward them, panting. “There you are!” he gasped. “You’ve got to come . . . quick!”

  “What’s wrong?” asked the monk-in-training.

  “It’s Father Cham. . . . He’s fallen!”

  Pong knelt beside the other monks outside Father Cham’s living quarters. The doors were shut, and he could hear the low murmur of Brother Yam speaking inside. The rest of the temple complex was silent, but Pong’s thoughts swished like the wind through palm leaves, filling his head with noise.

  Nok had recognized him — he was sure of it.

  The way she looked at him, with those keen blackbird eyes. He was sure that if Brother Daeng hadn’t come running up, Nok would’ve confronted him right there in the village square.

  As the sun rose higher in the sky, he felt drawn thin and tight as a fishing line. Why couldn’t he have done what Somkit used to tell him and kept his mouth shut? He should never have gone into the village at all, but he’d wanted to see it one last time before he left forever. When he saw the little boy take the cake, he should’ve just ignored it. When Nok had wanted to turn the boy in, he should’ve ignored that. But the old familiar heat had flared up inside him and he couldn’t stop himself. And what good had it done?

  Where was she now, that bird of a girl? Telling her father? Gathering up some police? He kept imagining he could smell her close by: the scent of lemon flowers and wood shavings. A voice inside Pong’s head broke through his thoughts. You need to run now. Before she gets to the temple, or it really will be too late!

  He had missed his chance to hitch a ride on the southbound cargo barge. The barge would leave the dock beneath the mountain in little over an hour. It would take Pong more than twice that long to get down the twisting mountain track, but he couldn’t leave before learning how Father Cham was.

  The door to the room opened and Brother Yam came outside. Pong could read the verdict on his face before he spoke.

  “Brothers,” said Yam, clearing away the catch in his throat. “It’s time to say farewell to our teacher. Go in and pay your respects. Don’t linger too long. Father Cham is very weak. Brother Daeng, come on, you first.”

  As Daeng went into the room, Mr. Viboon, who had come to take care of the cleaning, approached Brother Yam. Pong could just make out his hushed words.

  “Commissioner Sivapan and his family are here,” he said to Yam. “To pay their respects.”

  Yam sighed and rubbed the space between his eyebrows. “Can you tell him there isn’t time? Or stall them somehow? I don’t think that all the monks will even get to say good-bye before Father Cham leaves us.”

  The monks continued to file into the room, one after another, and another. Mr. Viboon choked up and nodded. “Yes, I will. But the Commissioner also says he has something important to talk to you about.”

  “After,” said Yam firmly. “Tell him that as soon as we’re done here, I’ll come out and speak with him. Pong?”

  Pong
’s body jerked. “Yes?” he managed to get out.

  “Little Brother, are you all right? You look like you’re going to be sick.” Yam bent down close to him. “You know that Father Cham is merely leaving this life behind and going on to the next. You shouldn’t be so sad.” He added, more gently, “But I understand how you must feel. You two had a special bond. If it’s too much for you to go in right now, you don’t have to do it.”

  Pong looked in the direction of his living quarters at the back of the temple, near the forest edge. He could pretend to go to his room, then run away before Yam or anyone else knew what was going on. This was his one chance to escape.

  It was also his one chance to say goodbye.

  “I want to go in.”

  Yam nodded. “All right. It’s your turn now, then.”

  Pong rose and walked into the room. The door closed behind him, shutting out the daylight. Father Cham lay in the center of the room on a mat. Candles flickered on a small altar, and the woody smell of incense floated in the air.

  Pong knelt at the side of Father Cham’s mat, not sure if he was awake. But the old man opened one eye and smiled his old smile. In the candlelight Pong couldn’t see any wrinkles on his face. He looked fresh and healthy, not at all what Yam had prepared him for. For a moment, Pong thought perhaps the old man was fooling them all and would live for years and years longer.

  Father Cham crooked a finger at him and Pong moved closer. The old monk raised his hand and cupped it over Pong’s left wrist, on top of the bracelets.

  “You have been here a long time, Pong,” said Father Cham, his voice smooth and steady. “I’ve kept you close during that time. Too close maybe.”

  “You’ve taught me so much,” whispered Pong.

  “I taught you some, but you have taught yourself even more. You’re a good boy. A kind boy. Your heart is right.”

  Pong wanted to stuff his fingers in his ears so he couldn’t hear. He wasn’t good. He was a liar and a thief and a runaway. Plus he’d lashed out at the one man who’d cared for him. Pong was so ashamed that he had to fight off tears.

  But he did fight them. He wanted his teacher to feel at peace when he left the world. “I’ll use your teachings and carry on as you would,” he whispered. “We’ll keep your good work going in the temple after you’re gone.”

  Father Cham grimaced. For some reason, Pong’s words were having the opposite effect. “I think I made a mistake,” whispered the old man. “I kept you hidden to protect you, but now I wonder if that was the right thing to do.” He coughed, and it took him a long time to get his breath again. He pointed to a low table along the wall. “The small box there. Bring it to me.”

  Pong looked behind him at the door, ready for it to burst open any moment with the Sivapan girl behind it. His skin prickled with urgency, but he couldn’t leave Father Cham, not now.

  Pong picked up the little wooden box and brought it to the monk’s bedside. Inside there was one length of braided cord — red and gold, just like the one Father Cham had given to the baby girl at the school.

  “You have a gift,” said Father Cham softly. “You notice things that other people miss. I’ve always wondered if that’s because you are looking for something.”

  “Looking for something?” repeated Pong.

  But Father Cham went on without explaining. “I think I finally understand what it is. And now that I know, I realize you can’t stay here any longer. Come closer, Pong. I have one final blessing for you.”

  Pong leaned forward, unsure what the old monk could mean. The candlelight flickered in Father Cham’s eyes. His eyes seemed too bright, too full of fire for the old body they belonged to, and they stared at Pong, full of meaning that he didn’t understand.

  Pong held his wrist out over the monk’s chest. Father Cham’s papery hands trembled as he tied the cord around Pong’s left wrist beside the other bracelets. His lips moved quietly, murmuring the words of a prayer.

  Pong shut his eyes.

  “My wish for you is that you find what you are looking for,” the old man whispered.

  Behind his closed eyelids, Pong saw a wash of golden light, as if the sun had flown past his face. Startled, he opened his eyes, but the room was dark as before.

  The door swung open. Pong looked up to see Brother Yam. “I’m sorry,” he said to Pong. “But Commissioner Sivapan says he must speak to me, and he won’t wait. May I have one moment with Father Cham first?”

  “Of course.”

  Pong rose, still blinking away the bright spots that danced in his eyes.

  He felt weighted down with sadness, as if there were stones tied to the hem of his robes. He bowed low to his teacher for the last time, and then he walked out of the room.

  Nok and her parents stood in the temple courtyard, a sprawling jackfruit tree shielding them from the afternoon sun. Nok rolled a pebble back and forth across the dirt with the toe of her shoe, trying not to count the minutes. As sad as she felt about disturbing the last moments of Father Cham’s life, she was anxious to get all of this underway. Her family had decided to wait, out of respect, but it was taking longer than expected.

  Nok looked at her mother. She seemed nervous, too, but pleased. Of course her mother remembered the boy who’d nearly ruined their lives. “His name was Pong,” she had reminded Nok, her voice edged with bitterness. “It must be him.”

  Yes, Nok agreed that it must. She had looked at the young monk’s left wrist as he’d walked away from her in the village, but it was completely covered with string bracelets. That didn’t matter. She didn’t need to check for a tattoo to know it was him.

  She knew that Pong had recognized her, too. She wondered if right now he was begging the other monks for forgiveness or trying to lie his way out of this. It wouldn’t do him any good. He was caught, and now he’d have to face the consequences.

  Nok’s pulse beat faster as she thought of how news of the arrest would spread across the province. She pictured her mother’s friends, flicking their cards back and forth to one another across a polished dining table.

  Did you hear the latest about the Sivapan girl? She caught a fugitive hiding in plain sight!

  Thank goodness she was there! He might have gotten away with it forever.

  Her parents must be so proud. . . .

  Nok paced beneath the tree, letting her eyes wander the temple grounds. Even at the height of the afternoon, the air was cool and breezy. The temple was so peaceful. It was hard to imagine that a dangerous runaway had been hiding here for the past four years.

  The groundskeeper, Mr. Viboon, shuffled toward them and bowed to Nok’s parents. “Brother Yam is ready to see you, Commissioner.”

  “Finally,” muttered Nok’s mother.

  As they followed after Mr. Viboon, a parrot flew out from the forest, chittering as it glided overhead. Nok tracked it over the temple buildings. It was a lucky bird, a nice thing to see on a day like this. It landed on the archway above the temple gate.

  Nok paused. She’d been the last one inside, and she remembered shutting the gate behind her. Now it hung open. A thin swirl of dust hovered inches above the ground.

  Heat rose up the sides of her neck and pulsed into her cheeks. She grabbed her staff from where she’d left it leaning against a wall and sprinted out the gate.

  “Nok?” called her father. “Nok, where are you going?”

  Nok didn’t slow down. If she waited for her parents to rally the police, it would be too late. If she wanted Pong to be captured, she would have to do it herself.

  The forest formed a tunnel of green around her as she sped down the mountain road.

  I’m faster than him, thought Nok as her feet flew. There’s only one road down the mountain, and it won’t be long before I catch up to him.

  Nok jerked to a stop. She would catch up to him eventually, and unless he was a complete fool, he knew it, too. Nok didn’t think Pong was a fool. A fugitive didn’t evade capture for four years by making stupid mistakes like
that.

  She retraced her steps, walking backward slowly, so silently that not even the dust knew she was there. She calmed her breath so she could listen. For a moment, she heard nothing but distant birds. Then she heard the crack of a branch. It could be an animal.

  Or it could be a boy.

  Nok scanned the forest to either side of her. Now that she was paying attention, she saw that she had run right past a path that led into the trees. Behind her, back at the temple, she could hear the hubbub of voices. She heard her father call her name again.

  She left the road and took the forest trail. She Nothing-Stepped down a well-worn path through the trees. This must be one of the trails the monks used for their walking meditations. It began to wind down so steeply that she had to dig her staff into the ground to keep from skidding. Ahead, she heard a heavy crunch, like two feet stumbling. Nok froze.

  Then she heard a body crashing through leaves, as if someone no longer cared about being quiet.

  Nok ran down the slope, using her staff to brace herself. Her heart pounded excitedly. This wasn’t some spire-fighting drill at the gym. This was the real thing.

  But even though Nok’s many years of training should have prepared her for this moment, she was scared. She was alone with a dangerous criminal. If something went wrong, there would be no teacher to stop the drill, no referee to step in and call a time-out.

  Nok was so distracted that she failed to notice that the forest path led straight into a sinkhole. She wheeled her arms, stopping herself just in time to keep from falling in. She looked up at the thick trees, then back down into the hole. This area was known to be full of caves. Pong must have gone down there. There was nowhere else for him to go.

  As Nok climbed down after him, she tried to steady her nerves.

  You can do this, she told herself. You’ve taken down much bigger boys than him before.

  Nok dropped onto the dusty floor of the cave and quickly took up her defense posture. Her eyes flicked side to side, taking in her surroundings.

  She stood inside a huge limestone room with a high ceiling. An enormous stone statue of the Buddha sat cross-legged and serene near one wall of the cave. If Nok hadn’t been on her guard, she would have bowed in reverence. It was a breathtaking statue, carved in the old style by people who had lived here before the village, maybe even before the temple. Above the Buddha’s head, a wide hole in the cave’s ceiling opened to the sky.