Part 5 (1/2)
Insect Night.
Nok.
Every day at four in the afternoon, Nok would sneak into the tiny bathroom stall at Fa Ngum Ma.s.sage and brush her long, dark hair until it gleamed. She didn't want Nana to see her, although she knew her friend already suspected things. Cam came for a ma.s.sage every day when he was done school. Nok couldn't wait for him to get there. At first she told herself there was no way she was ever going to fall for a falang. She didn't think they could be trusted. She was afraid after what had happened to her at the ma.s.sage house. She still had a creepy feeling that she hadn't seen the last of the foreigner who had tried to attack her.
But Cam was so genuinely interested in her life. Unlike a lot of Lao guys, he didn't have any expectations about what a teenage girl should be doing or thinking. No questions about when she was going to get married or how many babies she wanted. He let her be who she was, and his Western navete made her believe that she could do anything. She'd never had a boyfriend before.
”You'll go to university someday,” he said, not understanding that there was truly no money. Or time. She had to be working if she and Seng wanted to eat.
”There's got to be a student loan you can get or something.”
”No, Cam, not here.”
”But you can't give up on your dream. You're too smart.”
She loved how he believed in her. He never doubted that her future would be bright. She loved how his freckles dusted his nose like cinnamon on a French cake. The way his strong fingers would reach out to lightly brush her arm when they shared a joke, or how his sandy blonde hair fell into his exotic green eyes.
Last night, after work, they'd walked along the river together, stopping to buy warm cobs of corn from farmers' wives crouched along the banks. She'd linked arms with him and steered him down the bank and closer to the river. It was quiet and dark down there; farther from the road and riverside terraces where people chatted and laughed over beer or mango shakes. No one would spot them. She stopped to wipe a kernel of corn from his chin. She wanted to meet his eyes, but at that moment she couldn't bring herself to. For the first time in her life she felt reticent. He raised a hand to smooth her hair away from her face. She swallowed. Her skin tingled and an unusual kind of warmth rushed over her body. She wanted more, but was afraid of what that meant.
”Cam,” she said, and for a split second was unsure if she should ask what was on her mind.
”Yeah?”
”Have you ever had s.e.x?”
His eyes widened.
”Sorry,” she said. ”I know I can be too direct.”
”No, no, it's okay.” He paused and looked out over the river. Then he said, ”Yes.”
She wasn't surprised. ”With who?” she asked.
”Drunk, at a party. It was kind of stupid, actually. At the time it felt good, but now I see how fake it was. Just a big act. Kind of explains why I felt depressed the next day.” He turned and met her eyes. ”Have you?”
”No. Things are slower here - at least for girls.”
He looked into her eyes before looking towards the river, dark and slippery in the moonlight.
”So beautiful,” he said.
”Wait until you see it all fat and swollen during the rainy season. These banks we're standing on will be covered with water.”
”No, I mean you.”
She looked at her feet. A fisherman rode by on a creaky, rusty bike. Nok could hear him click his tongue as he eyed the two of them. She gently pulled on Cam's arm so he'd start walking again.
”Do you want to go to Keng Heng?” she asked. The sticky rice was overpriced, but the restaurant usually had a good mix of Lao and foreigners. They wouldn't stand out as much.
The restaurant wasn't far from the river, in a pretty, two-storey colonial villa next to Nam Phou Fountain. The building was a leftover from the days when Laos was a French colony. Now it teemed with Lao NGO workers and their foreign colleagues, scruffy-looking backpackers, United Nations staff, English teachers, and wealthy Lao teenagers craving a glimpse of the world outside of their landlocked country. Western dance music pumped from the stereo. Nok had never been inside before. It was way too expensive for her and Seng. No one she knew would be there.
”Tonight is insect night!” their cheery Lao waiter told them in English as he seated them. ”Larvae, gra.s.shoppers, crickets. Do you dare try?”
Nok knew it was an attention-grabber to attract tourists. Falangs were always fascinated by what Lao people ate: omelettes with ant eggs, whole frogs barbequed on wooden skewers, duck's-blood soup. They couldn't get over how some Vietnamese living in Laos loved their barbequed dog.
”Uh, okay,” Cam said, falling for it.
The waiter brought a round plate to their table of a.s.sorted fried insects resting on a pillow of sliced cuc.u.mber. Nok laughed as Cam bit gingerly into a crunchy, whole gra.s.shopper.
”I was thinking, maybe -” she started.
Cam spat a barely chewed cricket into his napkin, interrupting her. They laughed out loud.
”Yeah?” he said, wiping his mouth.
”Lao New Year is coming up. There's this party my brother's friend is having. Do you want to come?”
”Of course. You sure it will be okay? I mean, with your brother and all?”
”Well, Seng does like anything Western.”
She looked around the room. She noticed a few other mixed couples - Lao and Western.
”Where do you live, anyway?” Cam asked.
”Near That Luang.”
”I haven't been there yet.”
”You have to go! It's Laos's national symbol. Such a beautiful golden stupa.”
”What's that?”
”It's a giant, sacred mound, all golden with three tiers. It's supposed to have the Buddha's breastbone inside. During the November full moon there's the That Luang festival. I'll take you there.”
For a second she worried that she had said too much, insinuating that they would still be together in November. It was just April, after all. But then she saw Cam's ma.s.sive grin.
”People come from all over the country for the festival,” she continued. ”In the morning thousands of people pray together. You can barely even see the stupa because of all the people. Women wear their best sins and bring alms for the monks and nuns - bananas, kip, sticky rice. People push their way through the crowd, selling little birds, like finches or plovers, in homemade cages. You can buy them and let them go. It builds your merit.”
He reached across the table and touched her hand. Her immediate reaction was to pull it away, but they would be okay here. Judging by the other couples in the restaurant, it wouldn't be that out of the ordinary. Besides, she was beginning to care less about what other people thought. They sat like that for a while, happy and quiet, until the rest of their meal arrived. Nok looked around the restaurant as their waiter laid out baskets of sticky rice, spicy bowls of laap, an overflowing plate of mint, dill, and other leaves picked from the forest or tiny streams, and enormous, steaming bowls of noodle soup. For a second she wondered if she should eat her sticky rice with her hand, rolling it in a ball in her right hand the way Lao people always do. Do they use cutlery in a place like this? She couldn't imagine how you would eat sticky rice any other way. It would just stick all over a spoon. She was surprised by her insecure thoughts. She decided she wasn't going to change how she had always eaten just because a lot of foreigners happened to be around. She smiled when she saw Cam reach into the basket of rice with his hand. But before she could do the same, her smile vanished.
She looked up to see the falang who had mistaken her for a prost.i.tute peering down from the restaurant's second-storey balcony. She could never forget those empty, ice-blue eyes. She pretended she didn't see him, but could tell from her peripheral vision that he wasn't taking his eyes off her. She couldn't concentrate on what Cam was saying.
”We have to go,” she stood up too abruptly, knocking over her cup of lemon-gra.s.s tea.