Bamboo People by Mitali Perkins

part of the day that gives me pleasure is the stolen time with the two dear photos in my pocket.
    One night Tai falls asleep early, and I move closer to the kerosene lamp. Bindu’s on guard, and he always lets me blow the light out myself. Lei’s photo looks especially alluring in the flickering light. Somehow, in the glow of the cozy circle the lamp throws, it’s easier to imagine that she and I are alone.
    “She’s pretty,” says Tai’s voice.
    Hastily I tuck the picture into my pocket, fasten the button, and blow out the lamp.
    “Do you like her, Chiko?” he asks.
    Settling back down on my blanket, I don’t answer.
    I can hear Tai stretching out on his blanket beside me.
    “Aha! Well, I hope I’m there for the wedding day. I’ll get a good meal for once and stuff this empty tummy….” He starts humming a love song that every Burmese teenager knows.
    I snort. “What do you know about it, anyway?”
    “You learn fast on the streets,” Tai says, his voice getting serious.
    “Oh.” I try to change the subject. “What’s it like, anyway, living on the streets?”
    “Not so bad. People take care of us here and there, and Sawati …” His voice trails off. “I have to watch Sawati like a hawk because she’s so pretty. Just like the girl in your photo, Chiko. Some older boys were eyeing Sawati for a while….
Hoy!
I have to get to her!” His voice breaks suddenly.
    I can hardly believe it. Tai is crying. A boy our age doesn’t do that unless someone dies, and this tough kid isn’t just any boy our age.
    I don’t know what to say. Suddenly the only thing I can think of is Mother’s face. “I’m sure Sawati is in my house right now. Safe and alive.”
    I try to make my voice full of conviction. It might be true, after all. We can hope for the best, can’t we?
    I can tell he’s trying to pull himself together. “Are you s-sure, Chiko?” he asks, but his voice is still shaky.
    “I know my mother,” I say. “By now she’ll have taught Sawati how to make my favorite hot-and-sour soup.”
    Tai wipes his face with his shirt. “Ha! I can’t picture my sister in a kitchen. She’d much rather learn how to kickbox than cook.”
    “So she’s strong, Tai? See, you’ve taught her how to take care of herself. She won’t forget that. She’ll be all right.”
    He takes a deep breath. “I never had a brother,” he says. “Who knew I’d find one here, of all places?”
    A brother. Lei’s the only one who guessed how much I wanted one when I was little. “Who knew?” I echo.
    “My brother may not be much of a fighter, but he’s a decent teacher. Or maybe it’s that I’m such a great student.”
    I flick him lightly on the skull. “You still have to learn to write. It’s not enough just to read.”
    “I will, Ko,” Tai promises. I catch my breath—he’s called me “older brother” for the first time.
    After a while I hear even, sleeping breaths in the darkness. I stay awake, planning out another writing lesson like it’s the most important job in the world.

23
    On his next visit the captain focuses on a soldier who lied to the army about his mother’s side of the family. The boy claimed that his grandparents were Burmese when they were really members of the Shan tribe.
    Before administering the punishment, the captain dismisses all his loyal “sons” except three. Those that he sent away head into the gym for the extra refreshment he’s brought with him—bottles of Indian cola from the black market.
    The rest of us are ordered to stay and watch.
    The captain hands his bamboo stick to the three elite soldiers, and they get to work.
    I stand back, trying not to focus on the victim’s face. Tai tells me later that the beating ended when the captain spat on the body of the “half breed” and climbed back into his jeep.
    The boys who carried out the punishment swagger off, leaving the battered figure sprawled unconscious on the dirt. He’s alive, but barely. A couple of his