Sneak peek at The Merit Birds!

Chapter Two of The Merit Birds

Cheese

(Seng)

The heat hung heavily on Seng's chubby shoulders, like pails of water weighing down the thin body of a villager. Even children moved slowly and the mangy dogs that crept along the red, dusty road wouldn't eat. Seng wiped his brow with the back of his hand and continued to push his bicycle along, plastic knick-knacks dangling perilously but never seeming to fall from the tall, metal pole he had attached to the back of his bike. Normally, the heat didn't bother him so much - he was Lao after all. But today he was bugged. He kept humming that song all the Americans liked, the one about a Barbie girl. It helped him to forget. He wondered what was so special about girls named Barbara. Or why they were made from plastic. He'd find out once he got to America.

Nothing was supposed to bother him. He was the class clown, the fat guy who has always laughing, the one who didn't take life very seriously. He said boh penyang - no worries - more often than most Lao people did, and that was a lot, considering it was virtually the national mantra. Welcome to Laos! Boh Penyang! the signs outside of the tourist cafes read. But the truth was he did have worries. Especially when it came to his little sister, Nok. Something was happening at her work and he had his suspicions. He might be stupid, but he wasn't born yesterday.

The fact that Nok had to work because he, Seng, didn't make enough money made it so much worse. With her brains she should be at school.

I am not a failure, he tried to tell himself. I can do more than make people laugh.

An array of goods hung heavy like the heat from his Thai style bike - spoons, forks, little buckets for bathing, matches, a few combs, children's toys. The plastic wares were balanced just right. Not too unstable in case they fell, but not too sturdy either. He wanted to attract attention. His head looked tiny compared to the massive balloon of brightly coloured plastic that exploded on the pole behind him. As he cycled along he was part salesman, part circus show. No wonder nobody took him seriously.

Usually the Vietnamese sold this kind of stuff, but Seng and Nok were desperate for money. He had bought the cheap objects a month ago from a Chinese salesman, hoping to make some kip. He had to sell something today - just one thing. Something to make it all worthwhile.

A group of backpackers, tall, white and hairy, pointed at him.

"Check out all the stuff balancing on that guy's bike!"

Seng understood their English, or at least those particular words. He liked to think about the big baci he would throw if he had 500 kip for every time a foreigner said them.

"You like Barbie?" he called out. He knew it made no sense since he didn't actually sell Barbies, but he was okay with that. He wanted to make them laugh. Something about this made him sad, but he wasn't sure why. He should really stop thinking so much. It wasn't good for him. He smiled his wide grin and the falangs focused their cameras on his face, deep brown from the sun.

"Cheese!" they said. Seng always thought this was funny because the backpackers usually smelled like cheese, or at least milk or yogurt or some kind of dairy. It was the unmistakable smell of whiteness. Truth was, Seng wanted to smell like cheese. He had tried it once and liked how it filled his belly in a heavy, complete way. It looked so good on those advertisements he saw on Thai television, all melted and creamy. He liked most things he saw on television: microwaves, instant soup mixes and blonde girls with big boobs. He wanted to go to America someday. He thought about it a lot - walking down the street, free from his plastic merchandise, and on his way to an easy job sitting at a desk in air conditioning all day long. Biting into a big, fat hamburger with a big, fat white girl beside him. A mind free of thoughts about where to get his next kip and most of all, the biggest baci at his house that any Lao-American person had ever seen. His oldest sister, Daovong, had moved there when she got married. Her Lao-American husband, Ouee, had left whatever glitzy American city he lived in to visit Vientiane. He had come to please his aging parents; they wanted him to know his roots, he wanted to know Lao girls. Seng was certain the parents must have been happy when Ouee returned with a Lao bride, but Seng and Nok hadn't seen their sister in awhile. Still, he was sure Daovong would help him get to the land of cheese, white girls, and big baci parties.