The Blue-Eyed Shan by Stephen; Becker

and Yunnanese, but not Shan because the language of Pawlu had been gibberish when first he arrived there. Long before that, he remembered gnawing ravenously on acorns. He recalled a snarling, emaciated man admonishing him over and over, “Remember, you are fifteen! You are fifteen!” That was curious. He had celebrated his ninth birthday at the New Year, by burning a strip of red paper. The man was possibly his father and was urging him upon another man and insisting, “Not paper! Not copper cash! The silver piece!” Not paper, not copper cash, the silver piece.
    This first man took the silver piece and plodded off. The second man set him in a wagon and handed him a lump of steamed dough and a bowl of hot water. To the boy it was meat and wine. He could not believe his luck. There were other boys in the wagon. There had been different boys and some girls too in a hut; once he had known their names; perhaps that had been home.
    The wagon creaked and advanced. The spindly boys sat like caged larks, and after a time peered about. There were houses, birds, fields, farmers; the wagon was passing these, but it seemed that the world was passing the wagon. The sky was light and in the distance hazy mountains rose. The season was perhaps spring. The wagon was being pulled by a red mule.
    They were very close to a pink mountain. The boy knew panic; how if they should take him up so high? In his life he had never stood higher than the bed of a wagon. This mountain was carved. There were roads and flat spaces, and queer squat houses. Now they passed red men and red donkeys. Now they were closer still to the mountain and he saw many red men and red monkeys.
    To the other side of the wagon he saw green boys. Pleasure flooded his heart. Red donkeys and green boys! Perhaps this was growing up. Perhaps this was the true world, the world of living people who had houses for shelter and food each day.
    The wagon halted beside one of the low buildings. “All out! All out!” The boys scrambled down, milled and stared about. “Inside! Inside!” Hastily the boys filed through a narrow doorway. The door was of wood but the house was of stone. Inside were many more boys and a few men. The taller men could not stand erect, but stooped and hunched beneath the low ceiling. The boy felt a strong urge to relieve nature, the small convenience, but suppressed it.
    For some minutes the boys huddled together in the gloom. A man’s voice called, “Sit down, fools!” They sat down immediately. The boy saw then that there were also donkeys in the house. The house, like all the houses he had known, was of one room, more spacious than his family hut. As he grew accustomed to the dim light he imagined that the men and boys who had preceded him were also red and green. Odors here were pungent.
    His neighbor pressed against him; the boy drew away, pressing against another. Bit by bit all made room. It was possible to lie down, but with no more than a hand’s span of free space. The boy’s bladder pressed and he wondered if he dared speak. Others were murmuring. He heard a splash and splatter, and sat up in the gloom: a donkey was staling. Almost immobilized by fear, the boy sought anyone’s eye.
    A shadowy man finally looked at him. The boy crawled two lengths and squatted before the man. This man was surely red. There was a narrow slit of a window, and through the slit came a dusty ray of sunlight and it brightened the red of this man’s skin. “Small convenience,” the boy finally whispered, trembling.
    â€œHey, hey, hey!” The man was mocking. The boy cringed. “This one wants to piss!” Others laughed. The boy hung his head. “Well, new boy, I am going to be kind to you. Welcome to Kochiu. For the conveniences one goes outside, or one is beaten. If it is the small convenience, there is a wall. If it is the great convenience, there is a small patch of broken ground and your nose