Vathana reached the table, squatted behind the wet-nurse, dumped the dirty clothes into a large basket then held on to Sophan’s chair with all her remaining strength. “Angel! Angel, are you...? You look worse than the bedridden. Angel?”
Vathana looked up. Her face was blank. Her large eyes were sunk in their sockets. Sophan caressed her cheek. “Come,” the stocky woman said. She turned to the refugee and indicated he’d have to wait to register. “Come. Let me take you from here.” She wrapped Vathana in one arm like a young child, carried Samnang in the other, whispering to both a stream of prayers interspersed with curses. “No medicine. No clean water. Fourteen thousand people living on top of one another. s**t in the paddies. Bathe in the paddies. Drink from the paddies. Of course they’re
