Bright Page 6

  Pretty soon, the students scattered toward home. As they walked away, they peeled the yellow cellophane off the coins, pocketing the money and dumping the wrappers in their wake. On their walk back to the housing development, Kampol and Jua made a competition of collecting the discarded cellophane.

  The two of them smoothed out the wrappers and popped them over their eyes, giggling the whole time. They had transformed the world into yellow gold.

  The Pine Trees

  To exit onto the main road from Mrs. Tongjan’s housing development, you had to pass the Cheunjit Bungalows. The side of the vacation property bordering the street was protected by a brick wall taller than head-high. On the other side, the back fence was bricks only on the lower half; the top part was barbed wire. Along the inside of the fence stood ten enormous pine trees, all in a row, forming a fortress. Their tapered tops poked high into the sky. Even from far down the main road, they could be easily spotted. Chong admired those towering pines very much. He said they were ancient, well formed, and elegant—the tallest he’d ever seen.

  One night, Kampol fell asleep at Mon’s house, and finding his mother standing over him when he woke up felt like a dream.

  “Boy, get up quick. Come and sleep with Mama.”

  Kampol was astonished, but he didn’t rush into her arms. He simply stared at her, confused. He had stopped expecting her to return.

  His mom, with tears running down her face, took Kampol in her arms and carried him out of the house.

  Kampol had his arms wrapped around her neck and his head resting on her shoulder. As they made their way in the dark, he could hear her sniffing. He wanted to know where they were going: Was she taking him to come live with her in her new home?

  Before long, they reached their destination. Namfon turned into the entrance to the Cheunjit Bungalows. Kampol was awed. He had lived in the neighborhood his whole life, but this was the first time he’d ever entered the part of the property with the bungalows.

  “We’ll spend the night here, sweetie.”

  The bungalows were like little houses, and there were many of them, each with its own front porch and a parking space along the side. Kampol took in the sight, but his eyes soon started swimming and he couldn’t keep straight which bungalow was which: they all looked identical to him. His mother used a key to unlock one of the units. Inside was a bed and a small table, and that was it.

  “Do you live here?” Kampol asked.

  His mother laughed but didn’t answer him. Instead, she asked Kampol to tell her about his father and brother. Mother and son fell asleep chatting.

  Kampol wasn’t awake for any of it, but at one in the morning someone knocked on the door. His mother carried him, draped over her shoulder, back to Mon’s. In the morning, he woke up with Oan lying next to him. Startled, he began to doubt himself: Had his mother really come to see him or had it just been a dream?

  In a daze, Kampol walked over to the bungalows. Oan came along, too. The security guard out front knew the two of them well but wasn’t going to allow them to enter.

  “My mother’s in there. Last night I spent the night in there with her.”

  The guard shook his head and shooed the kids out of the way. He bowed to a car exiting the property.

  Kampol refused to give up. He went around to the back fence and shoved his way through the mess of reeds that ran along it. Oan held the barbed wire open for him, and Kampol slipped in. He turned to do the same for his friend, but Oan had frozen up: an old man with a rake leaned against one of the pine trees. Smoking a cigarette, he eyed the intruders as if gazing at morning clouds.

  “What’s up, guys? What business brings you here?”

  “That’s Sae’s grandpa, Sae from the old housing development…” Oan whispered to Kampol.

  “I’m looking for my mama. She’s in here,” Kampol told the man, his voice trembling.

  “Namfon, right? She’s left already,” Sae’s grandfather told them. He took another puff and pointed. “Over there, in that unit. Your mama often stays there.”

  Every single day from then on, Kampol walked along the back fence, and he eventually trampled the tall jungle grass along it flat. A bunch of the other kids came along. For them, it was somewhere new, and it was pleasantly shady under the pines. When Sae’s grandpa raked up the fallen needles, he chucked them over the fence, so the children laid down on a carpet of pine foliage and rolled around contentedly.

  Kampol kept an eye out for his mother. His friends helped, too, all of them eagerly monitoring each car that passed. They came back in the evenings, even after they’d showered and eaten dinner, to resume looking out. The corpulent manager of the bungalows once came to issue a threat: if their noise disturbed his guests, he would hand them over to the police.

  One night, there was drama: A woman burst out of a car, screaming. She fled to the back of the property. Kampol and his crew watched her in utter shock. She tried to squeeze through the fence, but the barbed wire snagged her shirt. Noi rushed to free her.

  “Help me, kids! Help me!” she cried.

  The children zealously came to her aid. When they got her free, they ran with her into the night, making sure to avoid any lights until they reached the grocery store. Chong was visibly amazed. Once he’d pieced the story together, he took the woman and the children upstairs to hide. Soon thereafter a car drove through the neighborhood, slowing down as it approached the store. Chong sat there watching TV, his heart about to jump out of his chest. The car circled in front of the rows of houses and then drove off. Chong then let the children go home one at a time, except for Kampol. As for the young woman, she waited until four in the morning to leave.

  The story made the rounds of the whole neighborhood, and the fat bungalow manager was angry. The events prompted him to call workmen to come and take down the barbed wire from the back fence and build a high wall like the one on the street side instead. And he took an even more drastic measure: he eliminated the expense of employing a landscaper by having the workmen cut down the pine trees at the same time.

  In the older housing development, Sae’s grandpa fell ill. After twenty years of working every day as a landscaper, he was idle for the first time.

  Chong was mournful as he watched the tree-cutting operation. The workers sawed off one section at a time, starting from the crown and working their way down. The pines disappeared, one top at a time, one tree at a time.

  Kampol stood next to Chong, staring upward until the sky was empty. The notion of his mother, too, grew empty in his mind.

  The Flea Markets

  Along the main road, near the exit from Mrs. Tongjan’s housing development, were two large businesses right across from one another. On the right was TrueWare, which sold all kinds of hardware. On the left was Modium, which sold home décor products. The two weren’t competitors, but they’d fallen into the same predicament: they were struggling and on their last legs. TrueWare was the first to make a move.

  A giant sign went up, announcing TrueWare would host a flea market in their parking lot each Friday, Saturday, and Sunday evening. Interested sellers could contact them to reserve a spot. It worked. People went crazy over it and flocked to the place. The lot was crammed with goods and shoppers. The children from Mrs. Tongjan’s neighborhood were excited by the new development. They walked all over the market until they got tired; they had no money to buy anything, so they decided they wanted to become vendors, instead.

  Kampol convinced Chong to give him ten cassettes and ten used books. Jua’s mother lugged home some old books from the paper-baling plant—there were comics, books about the dharma, and cookbooks in the mix. Because it happened to be a school vacation, everyone’s parents were supportive and helped dig up old things that still might be usable for their children to sell. Some of them foraged for water spinach and made bundles for their kids. Oan and Noi’s parents didn’t have any old stuff lying around, so they partnered up and went to pick Manila tamarinds from the trees that grew in some
giant reeds. On their way back, they got stung by hornets, once each—Noi on his upper left eyelid and Oan on his lower right. Soon they looked like twins with their misshapen eyes on opposite sides.

  The kids set up a straw mat where there was a vacant space just inside the market’s gate. They got evicted within ten minutes. A woman informed them that she had reserved the spot, and had already paid for it. The children stood up, rolled up the mat, and each of them scrambled to collect his merchandise. They moved to another spot that was still unoccupied. But before they even sat down, the rightful renter showed up again. No matter where they tried to set up shop, there wasn’t a single space that hadn’t been reserved. The children began to lose heart.

  “Hey, you rascals have to go over there. Past that post there,” a doll seller said, pointing helpfully.

  The kids unrolled their straw mat and arranged their wares once more, looking out for anyone who might be coming to boot them out. While they watched in front of them, a bald man wearing a ridiculously short necktie was coming straight for them from behind, and he looked mad. He told them they would have to pay rent, but they didn’t have the money. So, the mat was rolled up once again.

  Since they weren’t allowed to set up inside, the children decided to lay out their mat just beyond the property, out by the road. And even though their spot was unlit, it seemed as if they’d snagged themselves the best location of all.

  A week later, Modium followed suit and offered up their parking lot for reservations as well. Their flea market would take place every Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday evening. With their rent being cheaper than TrueWare’s, the vendors all moved over to Modium. The customers followed, and now it was Modium’s parking lot that they all crammed into. The children’s operation moved with the crowd. As before, they claimed an area by the road just outside the gate.

  The bald manager of TrueWare came up with a new strategy in a hurry, announcing that the rent would be cut in half. But only about half of the vendors came back. The manager weighed his options, scratching his hairless head. The next day he went to check out the market outside of Modium, and he noticed a throng of people clustered around one spot. The point of interest was none other than the children’s stall.

  “What are you cuties selling today?” a woman cooed, obviously finding the children endearing.

  “Can I see that dharma book?”

  “These school uniform shoes are only twenty baht?”

  “I’ll take a bag of those Manila tamarinds. Did the hornets get you again?”

  Of course! The shoppers had fallen for the adorable little kids. The bald manager’s eyes shined. The next day, he went on a mission to track down the children. He asked all over the place, eventually ending up at Mrs. Tongjan’s housing project.

  “From now on, you can come right in to sell your things,” the bald manager told them. “I’ll arrange a prime location for you, and you don’t have to pay a single baht in rent.”

  The children listened, their faces expressionless. They weren’t interested. They were doing even brisker business outside the market than in. The manager flicked abacus beads in his head.

  “All right, you can set up outside, but if you do it in front of TrueWare instead of Modium, I’ll give you twenty baht each.”

  The children’s faces lit up. They accepted his offer, sealing the deal with nodding heads.

  Week after week, TrueWare and Modium invented new schemes to edge out the other, neither of them willing to back down. But daily and nightly the world of business keeps spinning. One shrewd investor had been watching the two companies duel it out. He owned an empty plot of land a mere five hundred meters down the road. Within two months, he unveiled his own grand project.

  Chatuchak Market, named after the mother of all flea markets in Bangkok, started leasing spaces both short or long term, all kinds of goods welcome. It offered conveniences like bathrooms and a sprawling parking lot. TrueWare and Modium, having fought each other till their last breaths, finally threw in the towel, surrendering to the world of business.

  But the children were left scratching their heads. There was no more TrueWare Market or Modium Market, both of which had become almost a part of the neighborhood. Now there was only Chatuchak Market, with all its unfamiliar faces. Finally, they figured they might as well share the comic books amongst themselves, divvying up the Manila tamarinds.

  Lucky Kid

  One Saturday evening, as the sun was softening, playtime was drawing to a close, but the shrieks and shouts of the kids weren’t letting up at all.

  Mrs. Tongjan had a little dog, Momo, who was growing out of being a little puppy. At five months old, he was growing rambunctious and wanted to chew everything he could get his mouth on. Mrs. Tongjan’s doormat got chewed to shreds. Her laundry brush got maimed by his sharp fangs. The clothes she had hanging on the line got yanked down and dragged through the dirt. Momo would bite down on them and then shake his head wildly. Mrs. Tongjan’s son’s pants had been turned into rags. That evening, Momo was running circles around the house like a hunting dog chasing some poor rabbit. But then he paused, and his ears perked up as he listened to something.

  Eyes glaring, ears pricked, and hair bristled on his back, Momo trotted toward his victim.

  The unfortunate child was Ploy, Penporn’s older sister. One or two of the kids witnessed the moment Momo bit Ploy. The game they had been playing came to an immediate halt when yelps of pain exploded. But quickly, movement resumed. The kids, in total chaos, scurried off to tell their parents about the incident. Kampol went to tell Chong.

  “Mo bit Ploy on the butt.”

  Puang, Ploy’s mother, ran over, panicked, with lots of other people following behind her. Jua remarked to everyone, “Looks like Momo’s gone mad.”

  The poor girl, Ploy, just now being held on someone’s lap, was handed over to her mother. Puang pulled her daughter’s pants down to inspect the wound. There were deep fang marks, four of them. All around the girl and her mother, people watched with looks of horror on their faces, but Puang was more scared than anyone. She held her daughter close, trying to calm her down, but she was sniveling herself. When Puang figured out that the culprit dog was Mrs. Tongjan’s, she screamed and cursed, relinquishing all common decency.

  Momo was locked up inside the house. Mrs. Tongjan’s son backed his car out of the garage.

  “All right, save the blame for later. Get the kid in the car and let’s go to the doctor first.” Mrs. Tongjan came out to oversee the situation as well.

  The car drove off as everyone watched. Mrs. Tongjan was in the passenger seat, next to her son, who was driving. Puang was in the back, with Ploy lying prone over her lap. Ampan, Ploy’s older sister, went with them, too.

  The following day, Momo was still confined to the house. The children, gun-shy, were afraid to come out and play. They sat, stunned, remembering how things had once been, when Momo had first arrived, and he’d been a tiny puppy. He used to run after the neighborhood children and roll around in the mud and sand with every single one of them. How could he have disregarded those past friendships and turn around and bite an old pal?

  Kampol and Jua were mopily sitting by the patient’s bedside. So many friends of Ploy’s had been popping in and out that Old Noi’s house was dotted with dirty footprints. The grown-ups each paid a visit as well, taking turns to stop by. Chong brought a six pack of small cartons of milk and several other snacks. The children’s eyes lit up when they saw the gifts.

  And then Mrs. Tongjan made an appearance. Everyone made way for her and the glorious, gigantic care basket in her hands. Fresh fruit, canned fruit, bread, condensed milk, and fine treats—expensive ones that the children had never even seen in Chong’s store—were arranged in the basket, which was covered with plastic wrap and decorated with red ribbons tied into a big bow. It was magnificent.

  Ploy’s friends had to gulp down their saliva. Some of their mouths were gaped open, and all eyes were glued to the array o
f gifts. The patient herself was lying on her stomach with her face turned toward the basket, cheeks flushed. With her half smile, she looked incredibly happy.

  In the evening, Kampol and Jua wandered toward Mrs. Tongjan’s house. The two were sketching out dreams in their heads, but neither of them said a word to the other. Eventually, they plunked themselves down by a sandpit. It was here that Momo the puppy had liked to dig when he played with them.

  Kampol was imagining: How would it be if he, too, got bitten by the dog? But suddenly he jumped—because Jua had shouted.

  “Stupid Mo! You should have bitten me!” And then, with all his might, Jua hurled the sand he’d been holding tight in his fist.

  Kampol followed suit, flinging a fistful of sand toward Mrs. Tongjan’s house.

  “Come and get me, Mo!”

  The Rice Giveaway

  Mon locked up. Her three-person household—mother, father, and son—were going, with one more person in tow: Kampol. Tongbai was going with her husband, Gaew. Noi was going with his mother and sister. Old Jai’s entire family was going: his daughter, son, son-in-law, daughter-in-law, plus four grandchildren. Old Noi was staying behind to watch the house. Puang was going with her husband and all three of her daughters. Od, Rah, and Chai were going together as a group.

  They were all going to the rice giveaway at the Zeng Tek Xiang Tung Shrine. Not a single person who didn’t have to work was missing the opportunity. Children, big and small, pulled equal weight: one life equaled one bag of rice. Even infants who couldn’t crawl yet were accorded the same status. Pregnant women received two bags, one for the baby in their belly.

  The crowd was massive, but only half of the people were locals. The rest had traveled from elsewhere, some from as far away as another district or even another province. Large trucks, many, many of them, had brought people for the free rice. The people they brought knew better than the locals where and when the rice giveaways would take place. It was how they made their living.