Part 19 (1/2)
”I don't want to fail you again. Neglect you. I'm just trying to figure things out.”
”You don't need to, Vong. I don't need you to. I will find my way.”
The Way.
Seng.
The silence in the guestroom was still overbearing. Seng had barely spoken to Vong since she'd put the awful choice in front of him two days ago. He and the Canadian could be free if they'd only turn in Meh. He didn't want to think about it. He tried to figure out how to use the remote control for the guesthouse TV and he learned how to dial the phone to order in food. He didn't even bother to defer to Vong anymore, as he usually would have. Euaigh, what should we eat for dinner?
”Stop,” she said the next morning, as he picked up the phone. He put the old, rotary dial phone back on its hook and looked at her. ”We don't have any more money,” she said flatly.
He sat silently on the yellow guesthouse bedspread for a long time. He flicked through the channels on the TV. The police sirens from a television drama pierced the room. He clicked it off.
”I could sell some stuff,” he finally said. ”Like I do in Vientiane.”
”We don't have anything to sell.”
He looked around the room. ”You have that backpack. Some things from Canada.”
”Who's going to buy my old, worn stuff?”
”You'd be surprised.”
But he wasn't even convincing himself. He felt light-headed.
”Can't Chit send us some cash?”
”Maybe, but then I'd have to give the bank my name. You have to show identification to pick up wired money.”
Seng flipped the remote over and over in his hand. Finally Vong said she was going out.
”Where?” he asked.
”I need some fresh air,” she said.
She never went out for fresh air anymore. She thought it was too risky. Morning slowly gave way to afternoon as Seng waited. He started to imagine that someone had spotted her on the street and turned her in, or she had become mixed up in the countless dangerous ways people make money in this swarming city so they can survive. The hunger gnawed on the sides of his stomach, but he stopped noticing. To lift up even one heavy arm seemed like a ch.o.r.e.
Through the thin guesthouse wall he could hear a TV in the room beside him. He heard a car revving its engine outside the window. Smelled fried rice being prepared in someone's kitchen. Heard the shrill call of a police siren. A cool November breeze seeped in through the window and he s.h.i.+vered.
By the time she came back, the room was black with night and Seng could see white starbursts whenever he closed his eyes. He had never been so hungry. He was actually glad for the faint, fuzzy feeling in his head. It was helping him keep his mind off Meh and the Canadian.
”Let's go see Meh tomorrow,” Vong said.
Seng was so lethargic from hunger that he just nodded.
The next morning they locked the wooden guesthouse door with a clunky key. Their footsteps echoed as they walked down the empty hall. All of the guests would be out, touring the ornate grounds of the Royal Palace or laying on mattresses to get ma.s.sages at Wat Po. They were going out to see the mother they had lost so many years ago, to watch her slip through their hands once more.
They found themselves at a crowded bus stop, where the thick smell of diesel met Seng's nose.
”Shouldn't we walk?” Seng asked. ”We don't have any money.”
”I found a few baht in a pocket in my backpack,” Vong said.
He watched families from the grimy window. A young mother held her toddler's hand. A family of four jammed onto one singular motorbike. A man gently held an elderly gentlemen's elbow as they navigated their way through the teeming streets.
They got off in front of their mother's apartment building. The beggar and her young daughter recognized them.
”Apartment 8 up there,” the poor woman said.
”Thanks.”
Seng stopped and met the beggar's eyes, soft brown and watery. Vong reached in her purse, she said she was looking for a kanom she had bought to snack on a couple days before and pa.s.sed it to the poor woman. Vong had snacks in her purse?
The woman inspected the cake wrapped in clear plastic, held it up to her nose, and sniffed, and pa.s.sed it to her daughter. The little girl hastily tore the package open and chewed hungrily.
”You must be hungry, too,” Seng said to the woman.
”Children first.”
”Of course,” Seng said. Motherhood before hunger.
They climbed the grey, dusty staircase to the eighth floor. Maybe Meh would be having one of her clear moments. He would find a way to make it better for her, for all of them. He knocked on the blue door, but there was no answer. He knocked a bit louder. He turned to look at Vong, but she looked down the hall uncomfortably. He placed his ear against it, but couldn't hear any noise inside. From behind him he heard a door creaking on its hinges. It was the toothless woman from across the hallway.
”She's not here,” the woman said. ”She said she was going home. A man came and helped her pack up her things. He said he would make sure she got back to her country safely.”
”Back to Laos? What man?” Seng's heart was racing. He looked back and forth between Vong and the woman. ”What's going on?”
”He looked Lao or Thai, but he could only speak English,” the woman explained. ”I didn't understand much of what he said.”
”Vong, what's going on?” Seng demanded.
”Chit,” she said in a small voice. ”It was Chit.” Then she fell onto her knees in the hallway and wept.
Seng turned and ran as fast he could.
Merit.