Bamboo People Read Online Free PDF Page A

scramble for the blankets and
longyi.
There aren’t any left by the time I get there.

8
    The
tanaka
boy has managed to grab an extra blanket and
longyi.
He tosses them to me, and I take them reluctantly. Is this tough-talking kid going to stick to me like the paste on his cheeks? It’ll be easier to stay safe if I keep to myself.
One day at a time, Chiko. That’s how you’re going to survive this. Mind your own business. And stay out of trouble.
    Somebody locks us in from the outside, and three soldiers, all “sons” of the captain, stand guard by the doors. I find an empty spot along one wall, and the street boy arranges his blanket right next to mine. I turn and study the wall. A small
    plaque is attached to it. The words are inscribed in an unfamiliar script. They look like some kind of tribal language, but there are English words below them that I can read: Karenni Bible College Gymnasium, Dedicated to God, January 1984.
    So this once belonged to the tribal people. What happened to them? How did the Burmese army get the gym?
    “I’m getting out of here,” my neighbor whispers. “Want to come with me?”
    “We’re locked in,” I mutter, keeping my back to him. Not to mention that soldiers are leaning against the door, rifles propped beside them.
    He grunts. “I mean tomorrow morning. They won’t lock us in during the day. Doesn’t seem like there’s a fence around the camp.”
    I can’t keep the irritation out of my voice. “They don’t need one. This place is surrounded by jungle. We’re miles from anywhere. Besides, he’ll have other ways to keep us in—” I can’t finish. Fear coils in my stomach at the thought of the captain’s sinister glare.
    “I’ll find a way out. I
have
to get to my sister.”
    The urgency in his voice is so intense I turn to face him. The outline of his body seems small in the dim light of the gym.
“You’re
in more trouble than your sister,” I tell him. “She’s probably safe at home by now.”
    A shudder goes through the boy’s body. “I have to get out of here,” he says again. “I have to get to her.”
    “She’ll tell your parents what happened.”
    The boy is quiet. Then he says, “We have no parents. It’s just the two of us. On the streets.”
    I can’t think of anything to say. Yangon is full of orphans who work or scavenge for food by day and sleep on the streets at night. They roam in pairs as protection against robbers and kidnappers. What will his sister do now that she’s alone?
    “What’s your name?” the boy asks, breaking the silence.
    “Chiko.”
    “How old are you?”
    “Fifteen.”
    “So am I!” he says.
    I can’t believe we’re the same age—he looks so much younger.
    “I’m Tai,” he says.
    We’re quiet again. Mother used to give food to street kids who came to our door. She might even have fed these two.
    “Your sister—she didn’t seem scared,” I say. “She called those soldiers some interesting names.”
    Tai snorts. “She’s crazy. Not much I can do to stop her when she gets angry.”
    “She’s smart, too.” I add.
    “You’re right. She’s always been smarter than me, anyway. Well, worrying all night won’t help anything. I’ll need a good night’s sleep if I’m going to escape. See you in the morning, Chiko.”
    Before I can answer, he pulls the blanket over his head. In a minute or two I hear steady, even breaths beside me. A street boy can fall asleep anywhere, I suppose. The floor is hard, the air damp, and the blanket doesn’t cover my whole body. I shift around, trying not to think of my own bed at home.
    After Father was arrested I used to have nightmares. As soon as she heard me shout, Mother would come rushing to my room. How I wish I could feel her cool palm on my forehead and hear her soft voice singing me back to sleep! What am I doing in this godforsaken place? How will I survive the “training” that starts tomorrow?
    Shifting again, I feel something dig into my chest. It’s