Part 9 (1/2)
”Let's pick up Canada Boy on our way,” he said. ”You can say sorry and make things okay.”
He saw her brighten.
”See, I'm not an idiot. Do you know where he lives?”
She nodded. ”But let me drive.”
”You don't always have to rescue me, Nok.” It felt good, saying what he really thought.
”Okay, fine. You're not an idiot, Seng. That's not what I meant. But if something happens to you I will be alone.”
”I'm going to look after you always, little sister.”
Nok rolled her eyes and said, ”Oi! You mean I'm going to look after you always.” She playfully slapped him on his sweaty back. She climbed onto the back of the Honda Dream.
Seng liked the feel of his sister's strong body balanced on the seat behind him. Her confidence somehow gave him confidence. With her he was somebody. The sound of the motorbike starting drowned out the music of the dancers.
The night air felt good whipping across his face. It cooled him down. It was so hot underneath that tent. He decided to go a little faster. Nok tightened her grip behind him. He could feel the b.u.mps of the road vibrating his body. His love handles jiggled and it made him laugh out loud. If only he could have a motorbike like this. He'd have to sell a lot of plastic combs and buckets to be able to afford it. Someday. In America he'd have a big, loud Harley-Davidson.
He decided to turn onto a quiet side road just in case the traffic police were out tonight. They didn't care much about drunk drivers - everyone in Laos did it now and then - but Seng had noticed the new government banners strung across Lan Xang Boulevard. In bright red characters they bellowed out a new campaign to stop drunk driving. Must be some new policy the government had come up with to appear more modern. He had seen American ads on TV telling people not to drive after partying.
As he completed the turn onto the quiet, gravel road, he noticed a truck up ahead. It looked like it was coming right at them. It looked too big to be on a little road like this one. And why was it on the wrong side? He felt Nok tapping on his back. He turned to the side to try to hear what she was saying, but the wind took away her words.
When he looked back the truck was even closer. Seng could smell its diesel, but its lights were so bright he had to squint. Nok started hitting his back forcefully.
”What?” he yelled, turning slightly to try to see her in his peripheral vision, but as he did he saw her fall off the back of the motorbike. She slid off easily, like someone slipping into a pond for a swim. He couldn't see her face, just her long hair flailing around violently in the wind. Then she was gone.
There was a flash of light and he turned to see the truck upon him. He could see the terror in the driver's eyes. Seng swerved the bike sharply to the side and fell into a ditch. The truck screeched to a halt.
He could hear blood pumping in his brain. Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion. He jumped off his bike and raced toward his sister, expecting to see her dusting off her sin. He was an idiot. Such a big, stupid idiot. He saw a brilliant halo of blood circled around her head. Her eyes were open, looking off to the side, frozen in terror. He knelt down and placed his fingers in her warm blood spilling over the dirt road.
”Nok?” he shook her shoulders gently. Her body was limp.
”Nok!” he screamed. He placed his ear to her chest, wanting to hear the rhythm of her heart, or the waves of her breath. There was nothing. Her body was absolutely still. Suddenly the truck's horn began to blare continuously. Seng was hopeful that someone had arrived to help. He looked up and saw the driver slumped up against the wheel.
”No!” He held his hand up to his mouth. ”No!” His entire body began to quake. He tasted salt in his mouth and turned into the bushes to heave. He looked around desperately for someone to help him. There was nothing on the silent street except for the pa.s.sed-out truck driver and some rice paddies. He went back to his little sister and gently closed her eyelids with his shaking finger. He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead, inhaling deeply, trying to commit her smell to memory.
Then he turned and ran as fast as he could into the bush, leaving her broken and alone on the ground, her quiet confidence split open on the street. He ran with all of his might. He would run until he found someone who could bring his sister back.
Wait.
Cam.
Each time the bus back to Vientiane careened over a pothole, pain radiated from my ribs throughout my entire body. I tried to brace myself each time it looked as if we were going to hit a b.u.mp, but the stiffening of my body only made the hurting worse. The wound on my chin was puffy and thin; red lines were snaking up from it toward my jaw. I wondered if it was infected.
Somchai sat on the hard, metal seat across from me looking out the window. He had only said a few sentences to me since two nights ago when I'd gotten high. When he smiled at the bus conductor or the three children crammed into the seat behind him it seemed forced. I leaned across the bus aisle toward him.
”Hey,” I said. ”What are you thinking about?”
”My sister.”
”Will she be there when we get back?”
”No, she'll be back in Thailand by now. She has to work tomorrow.”
”She doesn't get a holiday for Lao New Year? There's still one day of Pi Mai left, right?”
”This weekend was her holiday. It was my only chance to see her. She cleans rooms at a Thai hotel. Hotels don't boot all of their guests out for New Year.”
”Somchai, I really am sorry,” I said, swallowing the lump pressing on my throat.
”I know you are.”
”d.a.m.n, I have a lot of making up to do. First Nok, now you. What is wrong with me?”
Somchai didn't say anything. He looked out the window. After a while he leaned across the aisle and said, ”It's all about you, Cam.”
”What do you mean?”
”You put yourself first all the time. It's all about how you feel and what you want.”
His words stung. I didn't know what to say. I sat quietly, shocked and hurt.
”Is that supposed to make me feel better?” I finally asked, snappy and irritated.
”No. I'm not trying to make you feel better. You asked me what was wrong with you.”
”In English that's usually meant as a rhetorical question.”
”Rhetorical?”
”You're not meant to answer it.”
”Why bother asking it in the first place, then? I'm just saying, you can never be happy that way.”
I s.h.i.+fted in my seat. I didn't like what he was telling me.
”So why are you always so happy then, Mr. f.u.c.king Suns.h.i.+ne?”
”I'm not perfect,” he said. ”All I know is that I feel good when I think of something bigger than myself.”