That is precisely what Pong was thinking now as he sank through the dark water of the Chattana River. He felt a scratchy scraping of thick crab legs all over his back. And he was sure that before he drowned at the bottom of that great river, he was going to be crawled over by dozens and dozens of horrible crabs.
What an awful way to go.
The crab legs scrabbled down his neck and under his collar, and the last thing he remembered was those crab legs curling themselves into the back of his shirt and pulling up very, very hard, almost as if they were fingers.
And then everything went black.
Things were still black when Pong realized that he wasn’t in the water anymore.
He was lying on muddy ground. He felt a heavy weight mashing on his chest. It hurt. His mouth was open and someone else’s lips pressed against his, blowing into his mouth with breath that tasted like lemon cake. He heard voices all around him, watery and far away at first, and then sharpening into focus.
He heard Officer Manit. “Keep pumping his chest, Ms. Sivapan!”
He heard Mark. “Breathe into his mouth again, girl! I saw him come around!”
“Oh, man, Nok, you better back up because he looks like he’s going to vomit right in your face!”
That was Somkit.
Pong slowly opened his eyes. Bright beams of Gold light danced in and out of his vision, making it hard to focus.
The first time Pong nearly drowned, he woke up to a chicken. The second time, he was saved by the wide-grinning moon.
And the third time, once his vision cleared, Pong found himself looking up into the black eyes of a bird.
Nok’s hair lay plastered against her face. Her clothes were soaking wet, and water dripped off the tip of her nose. She leaned over him, worried. “Pong, oh, my goodness, say something!”
Pong swallowed. “After this I’m going to learn how to swim,” he croaked.
The light-beaming crowd that had gathered around them let out a deafening cheer.
Nok smiled so big and bright that Pong felt it would outshine every light that had come before or after.
Pong paced under the mango tree and looked across the river. The sun was just beginning to set over the silhouettes of the houses on the West Side, and the sky was a glorious wash of purple and orange.
He’d once promised himself that he’d never set foot in Namwon again, and yet here he was. They’d taken down the metal chain fences and the barred river gate. The sign over the entrance now read THE CHAM CENTER FOR EDUCATION. Namwon had become a school, modeled after the one in Tanaburi.
But even though Namwon was no longer a jail, Pong still had a hard time visiting. It was easier to change the name on the front door than it was to erase all the old feelings of being inside. Even the students, many of whom were former prisoners, wore the same uniforms as they had before, with new patches over the pockets. But Pong made himself come twice a week — for no other reason than to walk out the door on his own two feet, rather than riding out in a durian basket.
Pong frowned as the sun set and the Gold orbs hanging in the mango tree flicked on. The last practice session at the spire-fighting gym should have ended an hour ago. What was taking so long?
“Hey.”
“Ah!” exclaimed Pong, wheeling around. A face with sharp black eyes stared at him, inches away. He jumped back even though he knew immediately who it was. “You’ve got to quit doing that!”
Nok smiled. “Sorry. I’ve been doing the Nothing Step all day at practice. It’s hard to remember that most people like to hear you walking up behind them.”
“What took you so long to get here?” asked Pong.
“I stopped by the market to get this.” She held up a big sack. The spiky skin of a durian poked through the fabric. “Not for you,” she said when Pong held his nose. “It’s for Somkit. Is he here?”
Pong nodded to the building that used to be the prison guards’ quarters. “He’s in class right now.”
Nok set the bag down against the tree. “What class is he taking?”
Pong smiled. “No, he’s teaching a class. About light and energy and a bunch of other things I can’t understand yet.”
Through the building’s windows, they could see Somkit, standing at the front of a room. He was holding up an orb light and drawing a picture of the sun on a chalkboard while his students took notes.
“Maybe he’ll come to your school next and you can take the class from him,” said Pong.
Nok rolled her eyes. “Oh, I’m sure he’d just love to be the one grading my papers.”
Nok was enrolled in the prestigious Chattana Girls’ Academy, across the river from Namwon. Now that classes had started, Pong didn’t see her as often. She was busy with schoolwork and spire-fighting practice and helping her family. And he’d been busy, too. He and Somkit had started taking classes at the boys’ school down the street from Officer Manit’s house. Manit and his wife had given them a place to stay, and they walked them to and from school every day.
It was quite a change from living at the temple or the Mud House. And that morning, Manit had told them that he had started the paperwork to adopt them both. There had been lots of hugs and laughing after that, and Manit’s wife had said, “Now you two will be brothers!”— not realizing that of all the many things that were changing in their lives, this would not be one of them.
Nok walked to the dock, where the river gate used to be. Pong watched her standing near the water for a while. Whenever he saw her, he remembered how she’d looked that night on the bridge, with the light streaming out of her arm.
The light that had flowed from the Governor to the people was gone now. It had beamed out of them into the dark all night, but by morning it had faded. The only evidence left of the spectacular event was that anyone who had once had a prison mark woke to find it gone.
The Governor had also disappeared by the next morning. It seemed that he’d lost all his powers — at least, some people reported seeing him trying to charge up orbs without any success. Others said they saw him fleeing the city, disappearing into the darkness of the forest.
Once the people learned of Somkit’s sun orbs, everyone wanted one, which was how Somkit had found himself in the position of teaching a classroom full of grown-ups. But even so, people felt a little lost without the Governor’s powers. They would have to use fire again — for cooking, at least. But how could they make sure it never got out of control? Which was better: being safe or having freedom? And did you have to choose?
Everyone in every pocket of the city was having to figure out new ways of doing things. Nok’s father and Mark were working together to organize an election the next month. It would be the first election since the Great Fire. But there were still so many questions: How should they keep the peace in the city? Should there be new laws? If so, who should write them? There were still so many poor and struggling people living on the East Side. What was the best way to make sure they shared in the wealth and opportunities of their city? Even though few people missed the Governor, there had been something easy about having him answer all the questions for them.
Pong walked down to the river’s edge to stand beside Nok, who watched the lights of the city coming on: one, by one, by one thousand.
“Wow, you can really see everything from here, can’t you?” she said dreamily. “Though I hope that Somkit can figure out how to make the orbs glow with different colors. I think it’s great that everyone can afford Gold light now, but I sort of miss the rainbow, don’t you?”
Pong nodded. Then, after a moment, he asked, “Do you think we did the right thing?”
Pong already knew the answer to the question, but he wanted to know what Nok would say. He was relieved when she rolled her eyes at him as if he were a silly toddler.
“Of course we did,” she said. “Even my mom thinks things are better this way.”
Pong caught a flash of emotion when Nok mentioned her mother, but it was too fast for him to tell what i
t was. She didn’t talk much about her family, but from what Pong had managed to learn, it was at least as complicated as starting a new government.
Even so, Nok seemed happy. Every time Pong saw her, she seemed less weighed down. But right now, he could tell there was something on her mind. She was fiddling with a loose thread on her uniform, wrapping it around and around her finger.
She looked at him, then looked away. Finally, she blurted out, “I never said sorry. You know, for . . . for . . . everything.”
The fingers of Pong’s right hand wandered absentmindedly to his left wrist, the way they still did whenever he thought of his life on the run.
“I just wanted to say,” continued Nok, “that I was wrong, and . . . and, well . . .” She grew quiet, then added, “My father said they’re going to rename the Giant’s Bridge. I told him they should name it after you.”
Pong half smiled. “The Pong Bridge? I could get used to that.”
Nok gazed back at him, her eyes serious and a little bit sad. “I told him they should name it the Bridge of Good Hearts.”
Pong quickly turned his face away from her. He smiled, savoring her words. Then he looked down at his left wrist, bare now of any prison mark. All his bracelets had snapped off when the Governor had thrown him from the bridge, even the red braided one. At first, Pong was distraught. The bracelets were the only reminder he had of Father Cham. But right now he was struck with the thought that maybe he’d lost them because the blessings had all come true.
A fresh breeze blew across the water and riffled the mango tree leaves. Pong looked up at the ripe fruits, swinging beside the globes of glowing Gold glass. He remembered now why he’d been standing under the tree in the first place.
“Are you okay?” asked Nok. “I hope I didn’t —”
“Shh, stand here . . .” Pong held her arm and moved her one step to the side. “Not here . . . a little more . . .” he said, shifting her one more step to the right. “There.” He took her hands and placed them out in front of her, palms up. “Now, just listen . . .”
They stood like that for a moment, until they heard the soft pop! of a mango stem.
Nok gasped as a mango dropped straight into her open arms. She beamed delightedly at Pong.
He smiled back. “Trust me, that’s going to be a really good one.”
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or, if real, are used fictitiously.
Copyright © 2020 by Christina Soontornvat
Cover illustration copyright © 2020 by Ji-Hyuk Kim
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in an information retrieval system in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, taping, and recording, without prior written permission from the publisher.
First electronic edition 2020
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number pending
Candlewick Press
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A Wish in the Dark Page 23
