funny! Well, you won’t think it’s funny when he beats the shit out of you, I promise you that. Idiot!”
“Ko Sein Yun, you’re allowed to shower every day. Twice a day? I bet you have a nice wash twice a day, right? Your arms aren’t covered with scabies, are they? Look at this.” The singer thrusts his arms out. “You know why they bleed like that? Because I scratch them in my sleep. You know what scabies are, don’t you? Tiny little bugs burrowing tunnels under my skin. Tunnels, Ko Sein Yun, tunnels! If I manage to keep away from the sores during the day, I scratch all through the night. And you get to eat, don’t you? A lot, too. You have a racket in the gardens, you’ve told me that, fresh vegetables. I am pleased for you. But it’s not like that for me. The cage is really a cage. So don’t lecture me about being a good boy. If I don’t complain and make demands and get in trouble, they will treat me worse than they already do.”
Sein Yun fixes him with a yellow eye. “Are you done?” He spits some more betel juice. “Good. Listen again, I’ll say it more slowly this time: Handsome does not want to go into the shower room because of the rats. I can’t say I blame him. You’re just going to have to wait, Songbird. I’ll fill your water pot right to the top. You can give yourself a wash. And maybe a warder will come back later and take you.”
Teza grimaces and opens his mouth to speak, but Sein Yun cuts him off. “Songbird, I’m not going to make things complicated for myself. He’s a friend, okay?” Sein Yun leans over, eyes wide, and whispers, “You see, I’ve read his palm, and now he’s mine. These guys! The toughest among them are as superstitious as old women! Even Senior Jailer Chit Naing had me read his palm! If only everyone outside were like them, all the palm-readers set up around the base of Sule Pagoda would be richer than generals. And don’t be such a whiner—I’ve brought you something to smoke.” The palm-reader stands and fishes two cheroots out of the pocket hidden inside his longyi. He proffers the cigars in his outstretched hand.
Staring at the little man’s long, curved fingernails, which are caked with dirt from the kitchen gardens, Teza checks an unexpected urge to turn away. He doesn’t reach for the cheroots.
“What’s with you? Don’t tell me you’ve decided to start smoking cigarettes—they’re too expensive. Besides, what would you read? Do you want these cheroots or not?” This time he offers them to Teza in the formal way,with his left hand cradling the elbow of his right arm, the thick, leaf-wrapped cigars lying flat on his open palm. The singer rises and gingerly picks them up without touching the palm-reader’s hand.
Sein Yun smiles directly into Teza’s eyes. The force of the look is physical, as though the man has grasped his shoulder. “There’s a good boy.”
“Where’s my food parcel?”
Sein Yun replies, slightly offended. “Little Brother, they told me nothing about it. No one tells me anything. I’m just the one who carries the crap around.” To emphasize his point, he puts out his hand.
Teza turns to fetch the latrine pail. “Is there anything else about Daw Suu Kyi? Any other news? Has she been able to speak to the public?”
“Now, now, that’s enough for one day. I have to get on with my work. I suspect your friend Chit Naing will be here soon enough with all the juicy details. I’ve heard this sort of thing interests him …”
Again Teza does not acknowledge the trailing bait. “Everyone, even you, is interested in what happens to her.”
“True. We are all interested, but for different reasons. The men are going crazy about the whole thing. They’ll gamble on anything. The bet of the day is how many weeks it will take the SLORC to assassinate her.”
Teza gasps.
“Yeah, those guys in Hall Four, a savage bunch, I agree, but that’s the wager. Like father, like daughter, they say, and why else would
“Ko Sein Yun, you’re allowed to shower every day. Twice a day? I bet you have a nice wash twice a day, right? Your arms aren’t covered with scabies, are they? Look at this.” The singer thrusts his arms out. “You know why they bleed like that? Because I scratch them in my sleep. You know what scabies are, don’t you? Tiny little bugs burrowing tunnels under my skin. Tunnels, Ko Sein Yun, tunnels! If I manage to keep away from the sores during the day, I scratch all through the night. And you get to eat, don’t you? A lot, too. You have a racket in the gardens, you’ve told me that, fresh vegetables. I am pleased for you. But it’s not like that for me. The cage is really a cage. So don’t lecture me about being a good boy. If I don’t complain and make demands and get in trouble, they will treat me worse than they already do.”
Sein Yun fixes him with a yellow eye. “Are you done?” He spits some more betel juice. “Good. Listen again, I’ll say it more slowly this time: Handsome does not want to go into the shower room because of the rats. I can’t say I blame him. You’re just going to have to wait, Songbird. I’ll fill your water pot right to the top. You can give yourself a wash. And maybe a warder will come back later and take you.”
Teza grimaces and opens his mouth to speak, but Sein Yun cuts him off. “Songbird, I’m not going to make things complicated for myself. He’s a friend, okay?” Sein Yun leans over, eyes wide, and whispers, “You see, I’ve read his palm, and now he’s mine. These guys! The toughest among them are as superstitious as old women! Even Senior Jailer Chit Naing had me read his palm! If only everyone outside were like them, all the palm-readers set up around the base of Sule Pagoda would be richer than generals. And don’t be such a whiner—I’ve brought you something to smoke.” The palm-reader stands and fishes two cheroots out of the pocket hidden inside his longyi. He proffers the cigars in his outstretched hand.
Staring at the little man’s long, curved fingernails, which are caked with dirt from the kitchen gardens, Teza checks an unexpected urge to turn away. He doesn’t reach for the cheroots.
“What’s with you? Don’t tell me you’ve decided to start smoking cigarettes—they’re too expensive. Besides, what would you read? Do you want these cheroots or not?” This time he offers them to Teza in the formal way,with his left hand cradling the elbow of his right arm, the thick, leaf-wrapped cigars lying flat on his open palm. The singer rises and gingerly picks them up without touching the palm-reader’s hand.
Sein Yun smiles directly into Teza’s eyes. The force of the look is physical, as though the man has grasped his shoulder. “There’s a good boy.”
“Where’s my food parcel?”
Sein Yun replies, slightly offended. “Little Brother, they told me nothing about it. No one tells me anything. I’m just the one who carries the crap around.” To emphasize his point, he puts out his hand.
Teza turns to fetch the latrine pail. “Is there anything else about Daw Suu Kyi? Any other news? Has she been able to speak to the public?”
“Now, now, that’s enough for one day. I have to get on with my work. I suspect your friend Chit Naing will be here soon enough with all the juicy details. I’ve heard this sort of thing interests him …”
Again Teza does not acknowledge the trailing bait. “Everyone, even you, is interested in what happens to her.”
“True. We are all interested, but for different reasons. The men are going crazy about the whole thing. They’ll gamble on anything. The bet of the day is how many weeks it will take the SLORC to assassinate her.”
Teza gasps.
“Yeah, those guys in Hall Four, a savage bunch, I agree, but that’s the wager. Like father, like daughter, they say, and why else would
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