Dogs at the Perimeter by Madeleine Thien

Author:Madeleine Thien [Thien, Madeleine]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 978-0-7710-8410-2
Publisher: McClelland & Stewart
Published: 2011-05-02T16:00:00+00:00

Turn by turn, we passed through the long waist of the mountains, not knowing if we were deep inside the caves or almost through, not knowing if the border to Vietnam was near or distant. The groundwater rose to our hips and then subsided, draining away.

Sometimes the ceiling dropped low and we had to crawl forward, holding our mouths above the water, the AK lifted up. The farther we went, the slower our movements seemed, the slower my blood pulsed. At the end of a long passage, the cave flowered open into a grandiose space, hourglass columns, glimmering pools, still reflections. Light rained in through pinches and seams. My brother said that this was the place, Chanya’s map would not lead us any farther. We sat against a wall, listening to the bats and the falling water. It felt like days passed, but perhaps it was only hours. I no longer know. We slept and woke, slept again.

I heard the crank of an AK. My eyes flicked open.

A man stood in front of us, a tall, thin shadow, appearing as if he had melted from the walls. There were noises behind him, a woman’s nervous warning, and then footsteps, quickly retreating. Beside me, my brother woke. He lifted his hands, the palms facing out.

“Mit,” Sopham said. The word echoed off the walls.

The man cut him off. “What district?”

“Peam Ro district, Prey Veng province.”

The rifle edged nearer.

My brother’s voice was trembling. “The river has flooded this year,” he said.

Surprise showed in the man’s eyes, and then it was gone. “Has it, child?”

“Yes, mit. The river has flooded this year.”

“At oy té,” he said softly, ambiguously. “Let it flood.”

He crouched down in front of us, the gun supported on his hip, and studied our faces. His skin was faded, tinged grey. “Let’s have the truth. Who are you, really?”

When neither of us answered, the man pushed the tip of the rifle against my brother’s heart. “Hurry up,” the man said. “Time is running down.”

“Our friend showed us the way,” Sopham said finally. “He had a map.”

“I see. Where is this friend?”

“He was ill, mit. He died on the road. I’m sorry, he didn’t –” my brother tried to say more but the words stuck in his throat.

The man lifted the barrel of his gun, rapping it twice against Sopham’s AK. It was still strapped to my brother’s body but now, carefully, he slid it free. The man took it. “Stand up,” he said. He searched my brother and then me, his hands moving roughly down my arms, my jutting ribs. “Please,” I said. “We have nothing.”

He paused and stepped back. “If you have nothing, what should I do with you? What good are you to me?”

“All we want is to leave.”

“Do you think it’s so simple?”

I looked into his eyes, unable to answer.

A long time passed and Sopham and I lay together on the ground. The man watched us intently. Later on, people came. I saw a teenager wearing a belt of ammunition and, behind him, a woman carrying a baby.

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