Bamboo People by Mitali Perkins Page A

friends carry him away to take care of his wounds.
    The captain’s jeep disappears into the jungle.
    “I hate that man,” Tai says.
    “Me, too,” I say, but my voice is distracted—the captain brought letters to camp. I’m hoping desperately for an answer from U-Tha-Din’s friend.
    Later, when the sergeant hands me the stack of letters, I rifle through them quickly. The reply from his childhood friend is there! After reading the others, I open it, trying not to show U-Tha-Din my eagerness. I read the whole letter aloud, except for the last lines. I read those to myself, hardly believing what they say.
That prisoner is alive and well. We have found him to be an excellent medic and are using his skills when officers are injured in battle.
    I feel like leaping and shouting with joy. Father is alive! And he’s using his wits and talents to stay that way. If only I could let Mother know!
    “Why are you smiling like that?” U-Tha-Din asks. “My friend can’t loan me the money. That’s not good news.”
    “Oh, you’ll find a loan, Sergeant. Should we start writing your answers?”
    In the gym that night, I tell Tai the good news.
    “Your father’s smart, Ko,” Tai says. “Just like his son.”
    “Now I have to find out where he is. And maybe we can use a letter to get some news about Sawati.”
    “How? Who keeps track of street kids?” He looks around. “Is there enough light to do some more writing practice?”
    The only time Tai stops fretting about his sister is during our lessons. He keeps pressing for more writing time, more instruction, more practice.
    “You studied for two hours today already, Tai,” I say. “Your mind needs a rest. I need a rest.”
    He grabs my arm. “Can’t you see? I’m doing this for her.”
    I twist out of his grip. “Okay, okay! There’s enough light. Here—use the back of this envelope.”
    Tai studies so hard over the next few weeks that I decide it’s time for a quiz. I lead him to an isolated corner of the field. Bindu follows, as usual. Monsoon rains have started, cooling the fields and making steam rise in the jungle, so we cluster under the sheltering leaves of a mango tree.
    “Exam time,” I announce, handing Tai one of the letters that U-Tha-Din asked me to throw away. “Part one: read this aloud.”
    Bindu draws closer, an eager expression on his face. Tai gulps and frowns at the typewritten words. “Dear Sar … Sir …,” he begins hesitantly.
    I shake my head. “Sarj …”
    “Dear Sergeant,” he reads. “The cost of ma … materials for new uniforms is more than we can afford.” He’s reading faster, growing more confident with every word. “You must keep to your bud …”
    “Budget,” I say.
    “Budget to operate the camp.” There. He’s done, and he looks up with a huge grin.
    “Good work,” I tell him. “You pass the reading section. But the exam’s not over yet.” I turn the paper over and hand him the pencil stub. “Part two: write a short letter of resignation from the army. We’ll have to burn it later in the cooking fire, but it’s good practice to write something you believe.”
    Tai clutches the stub, his tongue sticking out of a corner of his mouth. Bindu and I peer over his shoulders, watching him form large, careful letters. “Dear Captain Evil,” I read out loud. “I quit. This army is bad. You are worse. Ko and I are taking your jeep. Tai.”
    My heart leaps—he’s learned even faster than Lei.
    “Excellent!” I tell him. There were a few spelling errors, but I could read and understand everything he wrote. “You pass with flying colors.”
    “Thanks to you, Teacher,” Tai says simply. The title is the same one the captain uses, but it sounds different. Coming from Tai, it’s a badge of honor.

24
    U-Tha-Din bursts into the gym. “Get up! Get up!” he bellows, trampling across the floor of blanketed boys. “The soldiers are gone!”
    We wake, stumbling over each other in the semi-darkness. Rain is