You keep one.
We’ll take the other.
I wanted to vomit. I took deep breaths to keep from throwing up. I felt short of breath and had a stabbing pain in my breast.
Eventually I tried to get up and nearly fell on my brother in the process. My legs had gone to sleep and would not support me.
“I need to go into the yard,” I whispered.
He coughed and nodded slightly. “Wait for me there.”
I crawled on all fours to the porch, stretched, and sat for a few minutes until the tingling in my legs dissipated. I climbed down the steps and squatted on the ground in the shadow of the hut. What had they done to Nu Nu? How had she decided? I felt the tears running down my cheeks.
Above me I heard U Ba and Khin Khin whispering, her story punctuated from time to time by his burning cough. By her tone I could tell that her sorrow had been far from over.
AT SOME POINT my brother, too, climbed down the steps. He kept a firm grip on the railing. I had the impression that his entire body was quivering. With a nod he signaled me to follow him.
We walked in silence along a path so narrow that we had to go single file. In the distance I saw columns of smoke rising into the air. It was late afternoon, and we met many farmers who greeted us amiably on their way home from their fields.
Behind them a boy riding atop a water buffalo smiled at me with white teeth. I nodded to him.
We turned right on the road at the banyan tree, soon after which we were overtaken by a military Jeep. Their brakes squealed as they stopped and then backed up until they were level with us.
I went weak at the knees. What did they want with my brother and me? Had they been following us without our noticing? Had we put ourselves into danger? Would the voice prove right in the end?
They’ll come to get you. No one can protect you from them.
In the Jeep sat four soldiers. Curious looks. Red teeth. Green uniforms. Shiny black boots.
She had warned me. When they come, don’t look them in the eye. Don’t look them in the boots. They have magical powers. In them is reflected all of the cruelty, all of the evil we are capable of.
Bloodred saliva dripping onto a face.
The soldiers pointed at me and asked my brother a question. He laughed mechanically. They laughed back. I turned away, unable to bear the sight of them.
The exchange was brief, punctuated by laughter and surprised faces, and then they drove on.
“What did they want?” I asked, breathless, as the Jeep drove out of sight.
“To know who you were and where we were going,” he answered in strained tones.
“Why?”
“Just because.” U Ba hesitated briefly. “One doesn’t often see a Western visitor walking about with a native around here. They were curious.”
“What did you tell them?”
“The truth. That you are my sister and that we are on our way back home. They offered to give us a lift. They speculated that you were not accustomed to hiking in a hilly landscape. I respectfully declined.”
“That was all?” I wondered.
“Yes,” he replied a touch too curtly. Too loudly. It was not his style.
When we got to the teahouse my brother suddenly stopped in his tracks and coughed so violently that it interfered with his breathing.
“We’ve got to get you to a doctor,” I said, horrified.
He raised both hands dismissively without managing to get out a sound.
“U Ba! There must be a doctor here who could take a look at you. You need a lung X-ray.”
“There’s no one. Besides, it’s not so bad, and it will soon pass. Trust me. Or did you think we should go to a military hospital?”
I said nothing.
“Are you hungry?” he asked.
I shook my head. “Not really.”
“Do you mind if I stop here for a quick noodle soup?”
“Of course not.”
There were only a few guests left at the teahouse. We picked an out-of-the-way table.
The waitress shuffled over to us. U Ba ordered two glasses of Burmese tea and a soup.
I was waiting for him to report on what Khin Khin had told him, but my brother said nothing, and I dared not ask.
The waitress brought the tea and soup. He bent low over his bowl and started to eat in silence.
I stirred my tea.
“U Ba?”
He looked at me.
“What did Nu Nu do?”
He spooned up more soup. “After the lieutenant had gone back to his troops?”
I nodded.
“She wanted to kill herself. But then the military would have taken both her sons. She had the opportunity to save one of their lives. Ought she to have passed it by simply because she lacked the strength or the courage to make a decision?”
He looked at me inquiringly, paused for a moment without expecting an answer, and then continued: “No. That same night she went to the prisoners’ camp and got one of her sons out of there.”
“Who?”
“Ko Gyi.”
I closed my eyes and felt dizzy. I held on to the table with both hands.
“She told herself that even though he was older, he was also smaller and weaker. He would never have stood a chance among the soldiers. They would have found little use in him and quickly sent him to his death. Thar Thar was bigger and stronger. If anyone could survive, it was he. She had no choice. She had to keep Ko Gyi. So she told her sister. Sometimes three times a day. ‘I had no choice. I had to keep Ko Gyi.’ ”
“And Thar Thar?” I asked in a whisper.
“The soldiers took him the next morning.”
I searched for the words, but there was no language to express how I felt.
I sipped at my tea. U Ba downed his in one vigorous gulp. His hands were shaking.
“No mother can … survive that,” I managed to say.
“No,” he repeated softly, “no mother can survive that.”
“Why did she …? I mean, couldn’t she …?” I never finished these sentences. How did I know what she could or could not have done. I tried to imagine the scene that night. The two brothers taking leave of each other. How Ko Gyi took his things and left Thar Thar behind. What must he have thought or felt? A child with a piece of bark around his neck. What had become of him?
“Do you think he came out of it alive?”
“His mother spent years afterward consulting with all the astrologers and fortune tellers. One claimed that Thar Thar had gone over to the rebels. Another declared that he was roaming the country as a wandering monk. A third disclosed that the stars had shown him plainly that Thar Thar had fled to Thailand, where he had married into money. All agreed that he would send word soon. At some point, Nu Nu lost hope.”
“Perhaps he became a soldier and is still alive?”
“In that case he would certainly have gotten word to his mother or brother, don’t you think? It has been nearly twenty years now since they hauled him away, and that was the last she heard of him. Besides, the army has enough soldiers. They prefer to deploy these young men as mine detectors.”
“Mine detectors?” I did not understand what my brother meant and looked at him, puzzled.
“Well, we’re in the midst of a decades-long civil war. Not everywhere, as you can see, but in several provinces. Ethnic minorities are fighting in the jungle for their independence. Most regions are mountainous. There are no streets, not even paths where the army can drive their trucks and Jeeps. They need men to carry provisions, ammunition, and weapons. Khin Khin hinted at it, but did not tell the whole story. The rebels frequently mine the area. The soldiers then send the porters ahead and follow them at some distance.”
“Why don’t they just run the detection equipment themselves?”
U Ba shook his head and said, so quietly that I could barely hear: “They don’t have any detection equipment.”
“How are the porters supposed to find the mines?”
/> He leaned far over the table to me: “By stepping on them.”
It took a few seconds for me to process what he had said.
“You mean the army uses them as …” I left the sentence unfinished. “How … how do you know that?”
“Now and then someone comes back alive.”
I leaned back, eyes scanning the teahouse, as if I might here find some confirmation of the atrocities I was hearing about. At the far end three men were deep in a lively conversation. From time to time one of them spat red betel nut juice into the grass. I shuddered every time. Beside them sat a young couple, whispering, shy, in love. The waitress, deep in thought, swept the floor between the empty tables. Below the altar with the gilded Buddha and the flowers, the cook sat sleeping with her head on the table. Did they know what I knew? Probably.
Perhaps they even had a brother, a brother-in-law, a nephew, an uncle who had been forced to look for mines in the jungle. And found one.
Or did their brothers, brothers-in-law, nephews, or uncles wear shiny black boots?
I suddenly realized how little I knew about my father’s native country. How strange it was to me. How little I could read in the laughing faces of its people.
“What are you thinking?” U Ba wanted to know.
“How little I understand about this country.”
“You are mistaken,” he contradicted. “You know everything anyone needs to know.”
“What do you mean?” I replied in surprise.
“Later.”
He made a curious noise with his lips, like blowing a drawn-out kiss. The waitress immediately looked our way. My brother tucked a worn thousand-kyat note under one of the tea glasses and stood up.
Darkness had fallen. We walked down the street in silence. In front of one teahouse stood a large television. Two dozen young men sat in front of it cheering along to a soccer game. I couldn’t help but think of Nu Nu and her sons.
“U Ba?” I thought I might tell by the tone of his voice whether or not he was ready to tell me more.
“What would you like to know?”
“How did Nu Nu and Ko Gyi get along without Thar Thar?”
“They tried to survive together. They did not succeed.”
“Is Ko Gyi dead, too?”
“No, but the two of them, inseparable for fifteen years, began suddenly to quarrel. Odd, isn’t it? The dutiful Ko Gyi neglected his obligations. He refused to go with his mother to the field. He preferred instead to go to pagoda festivals in other villages, from which he always came home drunk.
“Khin Khin believes that he never got over the shock of learning what his mother was capable of. She seemed to him now strange and sinister. In his inebriation he often claimed that Thar Thar was stalking him. Said he was sitting by the fire with them. Going with them to the market, watching them cook and eat. He spoke less and less, and in the end he wished that she had held on to his brother instead of him. After three years most of the field was overgrown. The hut deteriorated, and Ko Gyi decided to move to the nearest city to look for work.”
We had arrived at U Ba’s house. He fetched water from the yard, lit candles, and asked if I would like another tea.
I thanked him but declined and lowered myself onto the sofa beneath the kitschy oil painting of the Tower of London. He sank into the armchair and continued the story.
“Ko Gyi soon relocated to the capital and found employment as a sailor on a freighter. He made good money and sent some of it to his mother at irregular intervals. Not much, but enough to survive. Nu Nu eventually moved in with her younger sister who had no children and whose husband had died young. They came to Kalaw together a few years ago because no one knew them here and because the place held no memories for them. She was a broken woman.
“On the day Nu Nu died, she and Khin Khin were on their way to the market. They ran across a young man whom Nu Nu took for Thar Thar. The shock was so great that her heart ceased to beat. I think I mentioned that incident in my letter.”
I nodded.
“Khin Khin reported that Nu Nu’s health had been failing for years. She had begun to imagine things, her memory failed her, she would go for a stroll and lose her way back to the hut. The moment she spotted soldiers or even just a military Jeep, she would be frozen with terror. She could not bear the sight of black boots. She frequently woke in the night screaming loudly, disconsolate. Her body was completely covered with red splotches. She ate very little, as if trying to starve herself to death. Her heart was weak. A troubled spirit. Her death was no surprise. Only the circumstances were out of the ordinary.”
“And Ko Gyi? Why didn’t he return to look after her?”
“The last they heard from him was five years ago, when he contacted them from Australia and sent them some money. Apparently he has settled there. No word since then. Though it’s possible that his letters have gotten lost or been opened.”
My brother’s eyes drooped shut, and I, too, felt overwhelmed by a profound weariness.
“Would you like to listen to some music before going to bed?”
“I’d rather not.”
For a while we said nothing. For the first time I found the silence between us pleasant.
“Do you think that the voice inside me has been silenced?”
“I don’t know.”
“Of course not. But what do you think?”
“We shall see,” he replied evasively. “Did she have anything to add during Khin Khin’s story?”
“No.”
“That’s a good sign, don’t you think?”
I shrugged, clueless. “I guess so.”
With effort he stifled a yawn. “Forgive me. I’m dreadfully tired. The day has taken a toll on me.”
“On me, too.”
“Do you need anything else for the night?”
“No.”
He rose and approached me, took my head gently in his hands and kissed me on the forehead. “Sleep well.”
“You, too.”
“Wake me if you have any bad dreams.”
Chapter 20
I WAS AWAKENED in the night by a loud whimpering. Was that my brother crying? I got up and felt around for the flashlight next to the sofa. In its dim light I tiptoed to his room, where I could hear behind the curtain the peaceful, even breathing of his sleep. Had I imagined it? Or had the voice returned? Had she woken me? I listened intently. Insects. A dog barking in the distance. Another barking in reply. Silence.
I lay back on the couch, listened for another minute, and then fell back asleep.
When I woke for the second time that night, it was the voice that roused me.
Where’s Thar Thar?
I sat bolt upright and stared into the shadows. It sounded as if someone were speaking to me out of the darkness.
What’s happened to my son? What have they done with him?
A chill ran down my spine, and I groped for the flashlight but could not find it.
Why didn’t you listen to me? Why didn’t you go back to New York? This is not going to end well.
Suddenly the light came on, and there was U Ba standing in front of me.
“What happened?” he asked in a worried tone.
I was too surprised to answer.
“You cried out in your sleep.”
“The voice.” I peered around the room. “I heard the voice.”
He sat down beside me. “Are you certain?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know. It sounded like her.”
“What did she say?”
I was too wound up; I couldn’t concentrate.
“Did she want to know where Thar Thar is?” my brother asked.
“Yes.”
“What else?”
“She said I had better go back to New York. That our search would end badly.”
U Ba nodded. “How did she sound?”
I tried to recall the tone of her voice, but began to doubt myself.
“I’m not sure anymore. Maybe,” I hesitated a momen
t, “maybe it was just a dream.”
“I don’t think so.”
It was cold. I pulled the covers up to my chin and slid deeper and deeper into the cushions, lowering myself gently to the side until I lay with my head on his knees. I was simultaneously wide-awake and dead tired. Had everything been for naught? Had the monk been mistaken, or had I been too gullible (“two souls in one breast”) in following a silly superstition?
“The monk said that the voice would stop when I found out who it belonged to and why she died,” I said. “We’ve done that. Do you think he was wrong? Or that we got the wrong person?”
“Neither nor.” My brother was silent for a long time, then continued: “But I think that she will not go away until we know the whole truth. How else can this restless soul find peace?”
“The whole truth? Did Khin Khin lie to us?”
“No. But we have to find out what happened to Thar Thar. A mother wants to know how her child died. She wants to know where he is buried. She won’t let go of it until then.”
U Ba brushed my hair out of my face and looked at me pensively.
“Is there some clue you haven’t told me about yet?” I asked cautiously.
“Not a clue. More of a rumor. Khin Khin alluded to something that I did not pay much attention to yesterday.”
“What was that?”
“It is said that one of the boys later escaped. Such attempts seldom succeed. No one in the village, she said, would ever discuss the details or let on that they knew anything. Death awaits all deserters, their families, and anyone who assists them. But still the rumor persists.”
My brother was suddenly agitated. He stroked my head a couple of times more, but his thoughts were elsewhere. I heard his breath quickening, his stomach growling. Suddenly he stood up and disappeared into his room without a word, only to return moments later fully dressed.
“The sun is about to rise. I need to talk to Khin Khin again. I did not inquire about it yesterday. Perhaps she knows the fate of this boy.”
I did not wish to be alone. “Can I come along?”
U Ba shook his head. “I think I had better go alone this time. I won’t be long. Wait here for me. Should anyone come and ask for me, no matter who it is, tell them you don’t know where I am or when I’ll be back.”