that is all there is.
Now
I am ready
to learn
how to be a man
even though I am hungry
even though I am thirsty;
I want to know
how to touch a woman
without all the anger in my belly,
how to make her smile
how to give her all the trust
that I have lost
out at sea.
Wake up, son.
My sleep is a dead sleep.
Wake up, son.
It is time.
We will find her
I open my eyes
to the day
to Ha Jia’s smiling
face
to his belief
in the impossible,
to his belief
in me
that he has called me son
that there are reapers in his hand
to cut through the forestry,
and for one
brief
moment in time
I believe
that the world
is filled with goodness.
But then I remember
Zahura is not just running from me
and my rage,
she is running
from the tsunami
of all the men
who have hurt her,
and she is good
at being a chameleon
she did it for a year
ate
and drank
from the little the woods
had to offer.
But I am ready
ready for discovery,
I will race with it
until I find it,
and though there are men
who want to destroy me and my people
and keep the women tame,
I will not let them
and Ha Jia will protect me.
I never heard sounds before
not like this,
it is a he
a mean man
who breathes heavily
and Ha Jia is small
so am I
these woods are laughing at us
ready
to bring us down.
Ha Jia tells me this story:
I ran away from home
I was young and stupid
and I did not want to be a farmer.
I dreamed I would find my way
to Bangkok,
and work for someone
so I could pay my way
to college.
I met your mother in these woods.
she had the same plans,
but I never touched her
because I was scared
she was so beautiful.
Why would that stop you?
Oh, she was more educated.
She talked of poetry
the light of the moon,
and how it would guide us
to a good place.
What made you come back?
What made May-may
return?
We were not going
anywhere
just woods
and more woods.
We stayed away
a long time.
Finally
we missed our families.
I miss my family
I am afraid
I will never see them again.
Ha Jia holds me
and we sleep
under the cover
of night
and the mean man
breathing heavily.
I am scared
of never seeing my family again
of never seeing Zahura
of the noises in the night
of the hunger in the day
(though Ha Jia has brought
nuts
and raisins
and berries);
I am scared
of being in this forest forever
oh, not the real forest,
the one with the brambles and branches
where there is no way out.
Ha Jia is amazing
he knows all these odd places to look
covered bush
dead leaves
dead trees,
and he has taught me
to crawl through this
so no one can hear
our footsteps;
tomorrow
we will travel at night,
better chance, maybe,
some time.
She has to sleep
some time in my heart.
She has to sleep
some time in my soul.
She has to sleep
so I can hear her breath.
She has to sleep
so I can smell her hair.
She has to sleep
so I can sleep, too,
since mostly
I am not sleeping.
Hard work
harder than the water pails,
crawling through bush,
sleeping
on dead limbs
of trees,
bathing in dirty streams,
just so she won’t smell the sweat of men
which Ha Jia says
is easy to smell,
and walking
walking
walking
with no direction.
We crawl through the night
on our hands and knees.
We crawl through the night
and I am told
to not breathe so heavily,
to keep my coughs silent.
We crawl through the night
where I never knew
so many small animals
crawling up my arms and legs,
and then
and then
and then
there she is
sleeping
hidden in a tree.
I want to scream.
I want to shout.
I want to jump up and down.
Shh
Ha Jia tells me.
Do not awaken her
she will be scared
she will try to run
and will get hurt.
We will block
her exit from this tree
and sleep in front of it,
and when she awakens
we will be there.
Oh,
she looks
no older
than a young child.
Sleep, son.
Sleep.
No.
No.
No.
Fear.
Terror.
It is fine.
You are safe.
We will take care of you.
It is fine.
You are safe.
We will take care of you.
Ha Jia says this
over and over.
And suddenly
words, which I usually love
have all but disappeared.
Tell her,
son;
tell her
how you feel.
I am so
so
so
so
so
so
so
so sorry.
I will never
ever
never
ever
never hurt you again.
And I will never leave you,
I add,
but she looks at me
with those large, dark eyes
and I can tell
she does not know
whether to run-
or not,
but when Ha Jia says
come back with us, Zahura,
she falls into my arms
and cries
cries
cries
like all the tears in the world
are inside of her.
Cha-ma-chin-go-chit-the *
I tell her.
Cha-nor-kin-mya-go chit-teh,
she tells me back.
* I love you!
We walk back together
I hold her hand
and Ha Jia
assures her
that her secret
is safe with us,
and I promise
never again to touch her
unless she wants to
and her eyes tell me
she does.
We hold hands
as we walk,
and Ha Jia
sings a song
with the woods,
about the trees
how they will protect us,
and keep us from harm.
I missed you
I could not l sleep without you,
I missed you, too
I dreamed about you
every night.
I am sorry.
I am so, so sorry.
I say it again
because of her silence.
I know
she says
I wanted you to find me.
So why did you run away?
You scared me
I have known
too many violent men;
vicious boys
become violent men.
Everyone always told me
I was sweet
I never knew
I had that in me.
Sorry.
Sorry.
Sorry.
I fantasize
you say that to me
instead of the bullshit letters
where you tell me
how little you had for lunch.
Bullshit.
Whoever taught me
to say sorry?
Surely not
YOU.
We walk.
I hold her hand
like a leaf
I will protect
from storms.
Walk
till the bottom of my feet
are the forest
filled with mud and muck,
and the splinters
bite me,
they bite Zahura, too,
who I want to carry,
but I can’t,
and finally
we arrive
back home.
Is this our home?
the forest of nowhere.
Now what?
I look to Ha Jia
for answers.
Now you will get back to work
and the two of you
will get back to learning
you will read
and write
both of you.
And at night
when the sky goes to sleep
you, my son,
will protect her.
You will sleep close
and tight,
and speak to no one
about this
not even my wife
or children.
I understand
how hard this must be
for Ha Jia
who went with me
for days,
whose feet
have bigger blisters to bear,
and now must make up
some excuse
to his family
of where he went,
and then he shows me
the fish he has caught
in the stream.
I have gone fishing
for food,
the sun shines through
the missing teeth
in his smile.
How do I know
he won’t rat me out?
How do I know
I can trust him?
Do you understand
if they find me
they will kill me,
do you understand that?
How do I know
I can trust you?
I put my arms around her
and steer her close to me.
This is what I know:
Ha Jia can be trusted
I trust him
more than myself.
That night
our bodies are wrapped around
the other
like we own
the same skin;
you can’t tell
where her small arm begins
and my large one
ends,
and for the first time
in a long time
I sleep,
way after the sun has come up,
and Ha Jia
is smiling like a lunatic
when I come
to fetch my pails
at noon.
Min-ga-la-ba *
she says.
Can I help you?
I feel so useless,
Here
read this.
I give her
The Good Earth
the book I told you about
the one by Pearl S. Buck,
and she reads like she is ravenous,
and by the afternoon, after I have fetched many
pails of water
she asks for more
more.
More!
*Good morning
I think she means books
(which she does),
but she also means
me,
the kiss
I just gave her.
She doesn’t want to let go
like we are on raft
and know we won’t drown
since we have each other.
What are you doing?
She turns to me
in the middle of the night.
What does it look
like I am doing?
Smoking a cigarette
Why?
Are you an idiot?
Nga lo chit mae thu *
When you were gone
I was lonely,
and I wanted
to be a man,
so I saved them
found them
in town,
and I smoked them;
they were
my friends.
Idiot, she says.
*You are driving me crazy
I am crying
I can’t stop it
I never did this
in front of her,
and the
mosquitoes
can’t shut up.
She takes
the cigarette
out of my mouth,
(makes certain the light is out)
moves my arms to my side
rubs them up and down
like I am an infant,
drags me down
to the ground
takes me
a man
double her size
into her lap
where she rocks me
sings to me
says
she will protect me.
In the middle
of that dank and dreary night
my face still moist
my breath still saturated
with smoke,
I find her
on top of me;
her tongue
slips effortlessly
into my mouth,
and we are rocking
our ripped clothes
tossed wildly to the side.
I trust you
she says,
and that night
sleep is a dream
of happiness,
and when morning comes to greet us
we are the ones
who have set the sun
on fire.
The mosquitoes
feel less itchy
the smell
of dead dogs
does not bother me
&
nbsp; since I smell
her hair,
the trees
applaud her
with the little air
the earth has given them.
And this
becomes our routine
each night,
and I am never tired
no matter how many pails of water
I must carry.
Sometimes
Zahura helps me.
Other times
she rests beneath the umbrella
of the tree
reading,
telling me
she is plotting our escape.
Suddenly
the brazen bugs
seem beautiful.
Part III: The Great Escape
I believe
we can escape
like we do at night
inside each other,
legs wrapped around
each other,
arms entwined
like branches
my breath
to her breath,
so mosquitoes
monkeys
dead dogs
water rats
leave us
to our dreams.
You have to read this