of hepatitis.
The wild gray hairs of his eyebrows make up for the lack of hair on his skull. But the king of hair on Sein Yun’s face is one long, imposing, curly strand of black that grows out of the mole on his chin. The palm-reader often twists the wiry black curlicue thoughtfully between his fingers, just as he is doing now—stroke, stroke, and a sudden pull as he turns his head to shoot a torpedo of betel juice out the open cell door. He crouches down and drops the food tray on the floor with a clatter.
Teza begins, “Where have you been with my—”
Sein Yun’s syncopated “Heh-heh-heh” interrupts him. “I have a very good excuse, trust me.” He waves his hand in a downward motion, wanting Teza to crouch beside him. The singer glares.
“Ko Teza, don’t be stubborn, it doesn’t suit you. Come, come here. I have some news.”
Teza scratches his head. Lice.
With an avid grin, the palm-reader whispers, “It’s about Daw Suu Kyi.”
Teza immediately drops down.
“Heh-heh. You monkey. I knew that would get your attention.”
“What is it?”
“It’s the reason you missed your meals yesterday.” The stained lips stretch gloatingly over his teeth. “Daw Suu Kyi is free. Released from house arrest. A thousand journalists are on University Avenue right now, they’ve come from all over the world. It’s a better tourist attraction than the Shwedagon Pagoda!” Sein Yun places his hands around an invisible box in front of his face and pumps his index finger up and down. “Click-click-click! The Nikons are out, the flashes are on. The beautiful lady is free, she’s free!”
“How do you know?”
“The whole cage knows—a warder must have brought it in. Leaky warders! I accused Jailer Chit Naing, but as usual he admits nothing. The cage has gone crazy. It happened one or two days ago, I don’t know exactly when. An auspicious day for Burma, a lucky day for us. Our savior is more famous now than when she won the Nobel Prize. They can finally take her picture! And she is so lovely.” Gold eyeteeth flash. “But too skinny, they say. She has to start eating more bananas.” The palm-reader leers, lifting his eyebrows.
Teza’s mouth twists with doubt. Sein Yun might be making up the whole story.
Sensing disbelief, the palm-reader snaps, “Oh, you’ll know the truth soon enough, Songbird. Your esteemed friend Chit Naing will drop by one evening when things calm down, I’m sure.”
This comment sends a jolt of fear through the singer. How does the palm-reader know about Chit Naing’s nocturnal visits? If he knows, he knows. It’s better to say nothing. Instead he asks, “Where’s Handsome? Why hasn’t he come with you?”
“Ah, how sweet! You miss him, do you? Should I call him over? He’s down at the far end of the hall having a smoke. You know he hates this solitary block—it puts him in a bad mood. Bad luck in here, that’s what he says. All those rats down the hall. The guy is terrified of them.” Sein Yun laughs and slaps Teza on the shoulder. “Isn’t that funny?”
“Hilarious. What about my shower? Are you going to escort me to the shower room?”
“Please, Songbird, I don’t know what you’re suggesting, but whatever it is, I’m not interested.”
“You are sick. Would you just tell Handsome that I want my shower?”
“Aie! Ko Teza, I’m beginning to understand why they put you in the coffin. You’re a royal pain in the ass, and you don’t know a good thing when it’s poking you in the eye. The guy doesn’t even want to come down the hallway, and if he did, he would just abuse you, because as we all know that’s his karma, to be a nasty shithead. But can you leave well enough alone and just let him sit there, smoking? No, you cannot. You want to provoke him. Mr. Political, give it a rest!”
This earnest outburst is so out of character for the palm-reader that Teza has to cover his mouth with his hand to keep from laughing.
“See? See? You think it’s
The wild gray hairs of his eyebrows make up for the lack of hair on his skull. But the king of hair on Sein Yun’s face is one long, imposing, curly strand of black that grows out of the mole on his chin. The palm-reader often twists the wiry black curlicue thoughtfully between his fingers, just as he is doing now—stroke, stroke, and a sudden pull as he turns his head to shoot a torpedo of betel juice out the open cell door. He crouches down and drops the food tray on the floor with a clatter.
Teza begins, “Where have you been with my—”
Sein Yun’s syncopated “Heh-heh-heh” interrupts him. “I have a very good excuse, trust me.” He waves his hand in a downward motion, wanting Teza to crouch beside him. The singer glares.
“Ko Teza, don’t be stubborn, it doesn’t suit you. Come, come here. I have some news.”
Teza scratches his head. Lice.
With an avid grin, the palm-reader whispers, “It’s about Daw Suu Kyi.”
Teza immediately drops down.
“Heh-heh. You monkey. I knew that would get your attention.”
“What is it?”
“It’s the reason you missed your meals yesterday.” The stained lips stretch gloatingly over his teeth. “Daw Suu Kyi is free. Released from house arrest. A thousand journalists are on University Avenue right now, they’ve come from all over the world. It’s a better tourist attraction than the Shwedagon Pagoda!” Sein Yun places his hands around an invisible box in front of his face and pumps his index finger up and down. “Click-click-click! The Nikons are out, the flashes are on. The beautiful lady is free, she’s free!”
“How do you know?”
“The whole cage knows—a warder must have brought it in. Leaky warders! I accused Jailer Chit Naing, but as usual he admits nothing. The cage has gone crazy. It happened one or two days ago, I don’t know exactly when. An auspicious day for Burma, a lucky day for us. Our savior is more famous now than when she won the Nobel Prize. They can finally take her picture! And she is so lovely.” Gold eyeteeth flash. “But too skinny, they say. She has to start eating more bananas.” The palm-reader leers, lifting his eyebrows.
Teza’s mouth twists with doubt. Sein Yun might be making up the whole story.
Sensing disbelief, the palm-reader snaps, “Oh, you’ll know the truth soon enough, Songbird. Your esteemed friend Chit Naing will drop by one evening when things calm down, I’m sure.”
This comment sends a jolt of fear through the singer. How does the palm-reader know about Chit Naing’s nocturnal visits? If he knows, he knows. It’s better to say nothing. Instead he asks, “Where’s Handsome? Why hasn’t he come with you?”
“Ah, how sweet! You miss him, do you? Should I call him over? He’s down at the far end of the hall having a smoke. You know he hates this solitary block—it puts him in a bad mood. Bad luck in here, that’s what he says. All those rats down the hall. The guy is terrified of them.” Sein Yun laughs and slaps Teza on the shoulder. “Isn’t that funny?”
“Hilarious. What about my shower? Are you going to escort me to the shower room?”
“Please, Songbird, I don’t know what you’re suggesting, but whatever it is, I’m not interested.”
“You are sick. Would you just tell Handsome that I want my shower?”
“Aie! Ko Teza, I’m beginning to understand why they put you in the coffin. You’re a royal pain in the ass, and you don’t know a good thing when it’s poking you in the eye. The guy doesn’t even want to come down the hallway, and if he did, he would just abuse you, because as we all know that’s his karma, to be a nasty shithead. But can you leave well enough alone and just let him sit there, smoking? No, you cannot. You want to provoke him. Mr. Political, give it a rest!”
This earnest outburst is so out of character for the palm-reader that Teza has to cover his mouth with his hand to keep from laughing.
“See? See? You think it’s
Similar Books
