Part 8 (1/2)
”It's finished,” Somchai said. Then he negotiated with the doctor to buy some crutches. I saw some money pa.s.s between them. Then I remembered. This wasn't Canada; there was no public health care here. All of this was costing Somchai. He must have had to pay all that he could to get the doctor to come to the cave. I would pay him back, but for right now the bills in my pocket were soaked with my own p.i.s.s.
I wrapped one arm around Somchai and leaned on the crutch on my left side. Together we hobbled to our guesthouse, moving as slowly as a farmer after a long day in a sweltering rice paddy. That night I slept fitfully. Every time I woke Somchai was there, sitting at the foot of my bed reading Thai comics.
”Need some water?” he asked. I propped myself up as he held a straw to my mouth.
”Go to sleep,” I murmured.
”The doctor said I have to watch you because you've had a concussion.”
”Come on, Somchai. You've done enough. Sleep - otherwise you'll look like an old man and you'll never be able to find a girlfriend.”
”Don't be so sure of that,” he said, and gave my arm a playful shove.
My body felt a lot better by the next night, but lying in bed doing nothing was making me replay the scene with Nok and the drunk guy over again. Would she still want me to go to the Lao New Year party with her? I remembered the night she'd clutched my hand underneath the table of the riverside cafe. If only we could hit rewind and start again from there.
I needed some air. Somchai held on to me as I tried to get used to the crutches.
”Let's go for a walk,” I said.
Somchai laughed. ”Not yet, brother. Take it easy.”
The next day I tried the crutches again.
”Come on, let's go,” I said. ”I'm going mental just lying here.”
Somchai laughed. ”Sitting still gives you falangs a nervous tic, doesn't it?”
”I can't stop thinking about her.” I was beginning to hate the word falang.
”Okay, come on then,” Somchai said, giving in.
We hobbled out to the main road. I could barely open my eyes in the bright sun. My body was stiff and ached everywhere, but it felt good to be outside. We walked some more and I paused to catch my breath. Three sweaty, s.h.i.+rtless guys walked past with Canadian flags sewn onto their backpacks. The flags caught my eye. I made eye contact with one of them.
”Where are you from?” I asked, leaning forward on the crutches and pointing my chin towards the flag.
”Edmonton. You?”
”Ottawa.”
”Been in Vang Vieng long?”
”A couple days. This is my friend, Somchai. We live in Vientiane.”
”You live there? That's cool, man. I'm Jake. We're going to get something to eat. Want to come?”
Somchai looked at me with a grin. I knew he'd think it would be a great chance to practise his English.
”Do you want to eat here or there?” Jake pointed at two nearby restaurants. Nudee Restaurant sat right beside Give Pizza a Chance. I noticed a sign out front with the painted words: NEED TO GET DRUNK? GET DRUNK LAO STYLE! Something about it made me feel depressed, although the beer went down really nicely. The inside of the restaurant was dim and shadowy compared to the garish sun outside. Before I knew it a parade of empty bottles stood in front of me and I was bragging about my fight with the Thai basketball guard. Somchai sat silent beside me, obviously not understanding the slang and the quick pace of the conversation. I didn't bother slowing things down or explaining to him. I don't know if it was the beer, or because I was so hungry for easy, English conversation with someone who understood my culture. Whatever it was, I needed this. Besides, now he knew how I felt in Vientiane.
”You smoke? I've got some good stuff I bought from an old lady on the way here,” Jake said.
Normally I wasn't into weed. It turned the next day's basketball game into c.r.a.p. But I was still suspended and couldn't play ball for weeks. And I really wanted to get away from everything - just for tonight. Besides, the throbbing in my ankle and ribs was making me crazy.
”Yeah. Pa.s.s it over,” I slurred.
Somchai looked at me blankly. Then he leaned over and whispered, ”Do you think that's a good idea, brother? I mean after the concussion and all.”
I shrugged and took a swig of beer.
”Is that your mother?” one of the guys asked, gesturing toward Somchai.
I didn't say anything. The other guys laughed. Somchai sat there for a while, his ma.s.sive smile fading like the setting sun, and watched us pa.s.s the joint around the thick, wooden table.
”I take it you don't want any?” Jake said when it came time to pa.s.s it to Somchai.
Somchai turned to me. ”Cam, I'm tired. I'm going back to the guesthouse.”
”Suit yourself.”
”What'd he say?” the drunkest guy asked. ”I can barely understand him.”
I don't know if it was the alcohol, drugs, or hunger for a taste of back home that made me laugh with the others. Even as the sound left my lips a self-hatred flared inside that the pot couldn't douse.
I sat, numbly unaware of the conversation eddying around me in the dark, beer-smelling room. Finally I couldn't bear myself anymore. I got up to leave, but I stumbled forward as I grabbed for my crutches. I knocked some bottles off the table.
”Whoa, a little bit drunk, eh, Vientiane guy?” Jake said, laughing.
”It's my ankle. I sprained it,” I said, trying to stand upright.
No one pa.s.sed me my crutches. No one asked if they could help. They just all sat there, watching me with drunk, stupid looks on their faces. I staggered back to the guesthouse on my own, but Somchai wasn't there.
The next morning the sunlight temporarily blinded me as it gushed through the worn drapes of our cheap guesthouse room. Somchai didn't look me in the eye when he came into the dingy room carrying clear plastic bags filled with nam wan.
”Good for hangover,” he said.
”Somchai, I -”
”It's okay, Cam,” he said, p.r.o.nouncing my name like the Lao word for gold. ”I know it's the falang way.”
I closed my eyes. I didn't know what hurt more, my head or my heart.
Dizzy and dry-mouthed, I eventually followed him outside to find a place to eat breakfast, even though it was well past lunch. We pa.s.sed a group of tourists trying to negotiate a cheaper rental price for an inner tube. They kind of looked ridiculous. To them, the cost would have been the equivalent of one beer. Meanwhile the storeowner probably could have bought a day's worth of food for his family for the same amount. The guys had no s.h.i.+rts and one of the girl's bra straps fell out of her tight tank top. Another had underwear peeking out from her short-shorts. Normally I liked getting a glimpse of bra straps and panties. But the tourists looked oversized and tacky next to the cla.s.sy Lao women in their tailored sins and Lao families working their b.u.t.ts off in the oppressive sun.
”Forget breakfast. Let's walk,” I said to Somchai. My ankle was killing me, but I was afraid that if I stopped I would somehow melt into this place. I'd a.s.similate so there would be no difference between them and me.
”You don't even ask me if I want to walk. You just a.s.sume I'll follow you,” he said.