Bamboo People Read Online Free Page B

weren’t so anxious, I’d laugh. Escape? With soldiers everywhere, assigned to watch us day and night? Is this boy really that stupid? I turn away and close my eyes.

7
    After what seems like endless hours through the dark mountains, the bus stops with a jolt. The driver turns off the engine. The captain and his soldiers climb down first.
    “Recruits out!” someone shouts.
    One by one we emerge into the cool night air. The captain watches us disembark, and a shiver runs through me as I feel his keen gaze. I pull my jacket tightly around me and follow the others. The street boy stays close to me.
    It’s hard to see anything in the dark. All I can make out is one wide, low building, another smaller one, and a muddy, open field between them. We enter the larger building, with the soldiers filing in after us and the captain bringing up the rear. About two dozen other soldiers are milling about inside, but they stiffen into attention as soon as the captain enters.
    This place was once a gym, and two netless rims stand like sentries at either end of the hall. A few kerosene lamps spill pools of yellow light onto the hard floor, and blankets are piled here and there. A large poster is taped over the entrance. Military Training Centre, it declares.
    A short, squat man walks over. Like the captain, this man is older, and the younger soldiers lower their heads before they salute him. In turn, he bows and salutes to the captain. “I am Sergeant U-Tha-Din,” he tells us. “I am in charge of this platoon’s training. We specialize in jungle warfare and search-and-destroy operations against insurgents and narcotics-based armies. Two sections have already almost completed their training, and you’re next. Any questions?”
    “I’m hungry,” somebody behind me calls. “When do we eat?”
    “Tomorrow,” answers the sergeant, receiving a loud groan in response.
    One of the soldiers who captured us speaks up. “You spoiled city brats don’t know the meaning of the word
hungry.
But you’ll find out. Right, Father?”
    Their “father” is standing in a corner. The word still sounds strange, but so many boys my age have lost their real fathers. Maybe they’re looking for a replacement.
    The captain nods, his eyes searching the room. They find the wiry boy beside me and then move over to measure me. I feel pinned under his cold stare; a wave of nausea rises through my stomach. Why is he focusing on us?
    The street boy yawns. I can hardly believe it. Here I am, trying to keep from throwing up, and this kid is about to take a nap. Doesn’t he realize the man has singled him out?
    “We’ll fit you for your uniforms in the morning, but for now you each get one blanket and a
longyi
to wear at night,” the sergeant says, pointing to two piles on the floor. “You’ll store your belongings beneath your blankets during the day—there is no stealing in this camp. Why? Because
everyone
joins in when we beat a thief.” He holds up a battered tin cup. “There’s one of these for each of you, too. Get water from the river across the field. It’s well past midnight already, so make it quick, and don’t use the river for a toilet. Go into the trees behind the field for that, at least for now. Part of your training will include building latrines for the camp. The bell will ring at five thirty.”
    Three soldiers with flashlights and rifles lead us to the river. The rest of them disappear into the smaller building. I lose sight of the captain, which worries me. My instincts warn me to keep him in sight.
    As I dip my cup into the shallows, I think of the times
    I complained about pumping water from the well in our garden. If only I could be there right now, with Mother waiting inside the house. If only this were all a bad dream.
    The bus that brought us here starts up, and I listen until the sound of it disappears. Around us the jungle looms, dark and dangerous. I stumble back across the field into the gym after the other boys, who