Sneak peek at The Merit Birds!

Chapter Two of The Merit Birds

"Want to buy?" Seng asked the tourists who had taken his picture. He gestured towards all of the plastic on the back of his bike.

"No thanks," the tallest one answered.

"So sorry to hear that," Seng said. Then he brightened. "Barbie's plastic, I sell plastic, it's fantastic!" Use their song, he thought. Brilliant marketing plan.

The tourists laughed. "You really like that song, eh."

"Most popular song in America," Seng answered proudly. They would not be able to deny that he knew a lot about their culture.

"I've never even heard of that song," one of the girls said.

"It's some cheesy song from, like, a decade ago," another answered. Seng's heart sank. He had to do something to lighten the mood; otherwise, these tourists would never buy anything.

"Cheese!" he suddenly exclaimed. He posed as if someone was going to take his picture again. They all laughed. "So you will buy? Nice comb to brush your chest hair?"

Seng didn't know much about chest hair. Lao guys didn't have it. Surely it would need some grooming?

The group of backpackers exploded into laughter.

"No thanks, bud," one of the guys laughed and put a hand on Seng's shoulder.

"So sorry to hear that," Seng said, and pushed down on his pedal so he could move away from them. He suddenly felt embarrassed.

He dodged tuk-tuks as he pedaled by the Morning Market. Always a showman, he rang his bike's bell for children on their lunch break, their white and blue school uniforms overtaking the city's sandy streets like ants on food. They reminded him of his school days. As he and his sisters left for school each morning their mother would slip money into their pockets, her round face filled with pride. Of the three, he was the only one who hadn't lived up to that pride. Nok was always at the top of her class and Daovong - well. Daovong was in America! What more could be said of her success? But here he was, still trying to make a life for himself.

Girls thought he was too goofy. In school he could make them all laugh, but no one wanted a pudgy clown for a boyfriend. They wanted the smart guys with big muscles. Seng hated schoolwork, especially English. While everybody practiced "Have a nice day" and idioms (or was it idiots? he never remembered), he sat silent. He felt like an idiom. The only reason he went to English class was to please his mother.

He could remember clearly the day she was taken for political re-education. Even at a young age he had known it was coming. Other employees of King Savang Vatthana had been taken years before, in the months after the communists took the King himself. To this day Seng wondered what his parents had done to keep the communists away from their door for so long. He remembered the heavy, rainy season sky on the day his mother and father were stolen in Luang Prabang, the town where he was born. Lush mountains shrouded in mist. A banging on the door. The greenish beige of the communist officer's uniform. The smell of the cigarette smoke he blew in Pa's face. The peaceful sound of the gong vibrating down from the mountaintop temple, in stark contrast with the chaos that was happening in the town beneath. Luang Prabang, home of the royal family and countless golden temple roofs stretching up to the cool, northern sky, faced the communists' irritation more than other Lao towns. Communists aren't big fans of royalty or religion, and Luang Prabang had plenty of both.

"Take care of each other," Meh had said, her smile doing nothing to hide her fear. "Your father and I will be back."

Seng had been five years old. He never saw them again. Every once in a while he would think he spotted his mother in the crowds at the boat festival, or crouched along the side of the road at dawn, offering alms to monks wrapped in orange robes. He remembered how she liked to put a bit of sticky rice in the monks' bowls. Sometimes a banana or some kip. Of course it was never his mother whom he spotted, but it didn't stop him from imagining how it might be to meet her once more. She would take him into her arms and sniff his cheek the way Lao parents did to show affection. After the shock of meeting again wore off, her questions would come. "What have you made of your life, son?" And he would have nothing to answer.

Nothing.

Seng rode his bike home slowly. He hadn't sold a single thing. From the road he could hear Nok in the front yard, sifting rice. She looked so serious.

"Good day at work?" he asked. She nodded without looking at him; she was preoccupied and he was glad. She wouldn't ask him about his sales for the day.

"Don't worry, little sister. Someday I'll take you to America. You won't have to work so hard, and you can go to any university you want."

He knew what her wistful little smile meant. She thought he was a goof like everyone else.

"No, seriously. Daovong will bring us there someday."

"Did you write her the e-mail you said you were going to?" Nok asked. He thought he could see something different in her eyes. A heaviness. Her job was definitely getting to her - but why?

"Seng, you're not listening." Nok drew him out of his thoughts. Nothing about the girl was phony, not even her words, although sometimes Seng wished they were. She had a way of making her sentences as direct as an arrow. He, on the other hand, had no problem with phoniness. He hadn't written a letter since high school, but would never admit that he didn't know how to write one. Especially one that was going to be sent to America. On a computer.

"I could write it in English if you want." Nok had aced high school, and could have gone to Dong Dok, Laos' only university. But when she'd graduated there had been no money; she had taken a course on traditional Lao massage instead.

"If I want to write a letter, I'll write one," Seng said and shrugged. He was supposed to be the older sibling after all. He didn't need his little sister taking care of him all the time. "I'll make it there someday," he promised, "and once I do I'll send for you and we'll be living the easy life together. Maybe you'll even find a rich, American boyfriend."

She rolled her eyes playfully and he laughed. She didn't think much about boyfriends and Seng thought that was bizarre given how many times Lao people ask if you're married. It was a common greeting, like "Where are you going?" or "Boh penyang." It was one of those things people just said without thinking. Seng guessed Americans didn't say words just to say them. They were too smart for that.