two thirteen year old boys and vietnam trepidation
02.26.08
KAMPOT, CAMBODIA
I met him in the sand that appears nonsequiter, dropped from a giant truckbed just in from the coast perhaps, stretching out almost touching the purple mountains on the horizon. down past the paved road that turns to packed red dust in front of Hang guesthouse (where they treated us like family and every morning I ate omeletes and coffee and upon leaving i felt homesickness) a village emerges one hut then two, and across a little bridge of broken slats and gaping cracks, the sun burns a different color, the people a shade darker perhaps. sitting from their hammocks, everyone has hammocks. watching you peddle down that narrow puddle-pockmarked street. and laughing, i don't know why, but i smiled back and nodded. and they seemed pleased. a man in a red checkered turban and no front teeth beamed a gaping grin. looked like he had something to say, but thought better of it. then at the end, when the huts flicker out and the only a short mortar wall stands between you and the river, the sand appears.
first i saw small black sillouettes skipping and dancing hand in hand across the golden sand. their mood was light i could tell, though i watched from a great distance. and immediately i was fond of them, just as i was of this place.
They led me across the sand, Vway and his friend No (who spoke perhaps three words to me, but smiled amiably all the time), waded across the riverlette, followed the treads of mechanical beasts to a hut on the distant side. What likable boys they were. He leapt with excitement everytime I spoke khmer. And giggled, and his voice reached high and rare pitches of joy as he taught me how to say salt farm and dessert and how are you.
We bought three cans of Coke and crossed the river in a little boat. They rowed with unused planks and i tried not to show my fear of sinking. We came upon the salt farms. endless stretches of black pools reflecting the sunset in all its brilliance. We followed the foot path all the way to the end before at last turning back, though they would have taken me as far as I liked, and returned in the moonless pitch black but for the pinpoint stars. I surely would have been lost without them.
"we're muslim," he said, "do you have muslim friends?"
"yes, i have two," i said, "Vway and No."
When we parted at last, just across that wood plank bridge, I gave them gifts that I had worn on my hands. A ring and a bracelette.
He bowed and called me his brother.
