Part 13 (1/2)
I looked at Julia. Why was he asking me this stuff?
”Cameron, don't answer him, please,” Julia said. ”Mr. Phon, we need a lawyer.”
”Since you asked, Mrs. Julia, the second charge is manslaughter.”
The world screeched to a halt. My head flopped forward.
”What are you talking about?” Julia said in a wavering voice. My eyes were closed. I wanted to reach across the desk and squeeze Mr. Phon's neck until his eyes popped out.
Julia buried her head in her hands. I could hear her sniffing back tears.
”Mr. Cam, can you tell me how much you drank at the Lao New Year party?”
”I wasn't at the Lao New Year party.”
”So drunk you can't even remember, hey.” He snorted a chuckle.
”No, Mr. Phon -”
”We have reports that you were there.
”I was supposed to be there but -”
”Cam, please,” Julia said, black rivers of mascara running down her cheeks. ”Do not say anything. Not until we get some legal help.”
”Mrs. Julia, may I remind you that you are not in Canada anymore,” Mr. Phon said. ”We do things differently here. Our legal processes don't take nearly as much time as yours.”
”From what I hear you have no legal processes,” Julia said.
”You people always think your way of doing things is better,” Mr Phon replied, annoyed. ”Cameron, Mr. Khamdeng, who hosted the party, said that Nok invited you. It was his bike, but he wasn't driving. He has an alibi. The faster we do this, the better. The government is breathing down my back to solve this one. They want to see the foreigner responsible for killing a Lao daughter put in jail.”
”Jail?” Julia said forcefully, the J popping out of her mouth vehemently. ”Jail?”
This could not be happening. It just couldn't. I was petrified.
”a.s.sault. Manslaughter. We can't have this danger to Lao people walking free in Vientiane,” said Mr. Phon. ”Local people were harmed or killed in both cases. It's my job to protect my fellow citizens and I take my job very seriously.” He stared at me. ”Very seriously.”
”But I wasn't at the party. I was in Vang Vieng.”
”Can you prove it?”
”Yes, my friend was with me. Somchai. He lives next door.”
Mr. Phon looked disappointed. He scratched his head and made some notes.
”Okay, then how about this basketball fight? Did you do it?”
”Mr. Phon, we're leaving. This is ridiculous. My son's not admitting to anything. We need some kind of lawyer here.”
”Suit yourself, madam.”
Julia stood up and grabbed my hand, squeezing it hard. It felt good to have her clutching on to me like that. I followed her outside and was relieved that it was pouring down rain by the bucketful so no one could see my watery eyes.
Julia was on the phone with the Canadian Department of Foreign Affairs in Ottawa when they came for me. There were three of them in green-beige uniforms, each with a pistol at his side.
”You are being charged with a.s.sault causing bodily harm and manslaughter. You will be held until there is a trial,” one of the police officers said in broken English.
I just stood there, stunned, while another handcuffed me.
Julia began to scream. ”You can't do this! You can't just jail someone without some kind of legal decision.” She was pale with terror.
”There was a legal decision,” the lead officer said. ”To put him in jail.”
”But he wasn't there to defend himself. He hasn't done anything wrong.” She grabbed at the officer leading me into the back of a rusty black truck.
”Two local people are his victims. A Thai and a Lao.” He gently tried to push her off of him, but she kept lunging back. Finally the two other officers held on to her arms as they loaded me into the truck. An icy chill climbed up my back.
”Cam!” She started to scream. ”They're taking my son! Help me, someone!” I heard her cry and saw her body heave as the truck's engine started.
”Julia!” I yelled. I struggled to free my arms from the handcuffs. ”Let me go!” I screamed at the guards. ”I didn't do anything! You can't do this!” Their faces were stony and silent, although I thought I detected a look of pity in one man's eyes.
I watched from the back of the truck as my mother doubled over, clutching her middle, and got smaller and smaller in the distance.
Fishbone.
Seng.
Vong and Seng stood near a food vendor's ramshackle stall in the busy Thai Morning Market in Nong Khai. Women with babies tied to their backs pressed past them. Men in tank tops and ripped shorts followed, pus.h.i.+ng large carts filled with the women's purchases of cooking oil, dish soap, and rice, forcing Seng to squeeze closer to his sister to make room. Across from them, a woman sold meat. Fatty flanks of beef lay in the morning sun as flies danced around and pools of blood gathered. The woman counted out change to a customer on a dead pig's body.
Vong ate spicy papaya salad and sticky rice with her fingers. She ate voraciously, but Seng couldn't. He knew he was hungry, but his nerves wouldn't let him eat. The weight of what they had just done sat heavily on his shoulders. He had fled the scene of an accident, evaded the Lao authorities, and entered Thailand illegally. To think that last week he had been a poor, nameless peddler of cheap Chinese goods. But then again, last week he'd had a little sister.
”Papaya salad doesn't taste the same here,” Vong said, interrupting his painful thoughts. ”No padek.”
Seng didn't know how she was able to think about fermented fish sauce at a time like this. He could barely think. Everything that had just happened was jumbled up in his head.
”I have to eat before I can think,” Vong said, apparently reading his thoughts. When she was finally finished she licked her fingers and whispered, ”I think we should travel deeper into Thailand. Get away from the border.” She looked around to make sure no one could hear her. The northeastern Thais could understand Lao well. ”Let's take the train into Bangkok, like we planned. But we'll have to watch our money, I don't have much.”
Seng nodded, but he didn't understand how she could live in Canada and not have much money. Maybe Canadians didn't have as much money as Amercians.
They climbed onto the overnight train to Bangkok for the long journey. When they first boarded they sat in silence on the hard, wooden third-cla.s.s seats. Seng was worried about drawing attention to themselves. The clickety-clack sound of the train floated in through the open windows and filled the silence between them. At first peddlers, too young to be by themselves on a train bound for Bangkok, strode up and down the aisles, selling bread, commercial cakes wrapped in clear plastic, toothbrushes and toothpaste. Seng didn't look up at them. He didn't want to make eye contact with anyone. As they chugged farther away from Nong Khai the little vendors got off at a stop and disappeared into the twilight. The journey grew longer and the seats seemed harder; he was thankful when Vong took out a thin, plastic photo alb.u.m she had brought with her. Something to distract him.
”In case I miss home,” she explained. Wasn't Lao her home? He tried not to let his disappointment show when she pointed to a picture of her husband, Chit, with their house in the background. He had always imagined she lived in a house like he saw on TV: giant and brick in a neighbourhood surrounded by similar giant, brick houses. An oversized box store down the road. A ”subdivision,” they called it. But from the pictures Seng could see that his sister's tiny house was made of aluminum siding and had faded, flaking paint on the shutters. She explained that it was not a full house, but half a house, with another family living in the other half. A ”duplex,” she called it. She showed him pictures of her and Chit inside, standing along a flimsy stair rail, or sitting on brown, thin carpet. Where were the houses he had seen in the movies? The huge, airy houses with double-car garages and swimming pools in the backyards?
”Canada has those,” Vong explained when he asked. ”I just can't afford to live in one.”