Nang slunk glumly to a corner. He withered before Thi’s eyes, no longer the ten-year-old Khat Doh, but now a six-year-old. Thi watched him for a few moments as she went about her chores. She felt concern, as one might for a sulking pet, but she thought better than to interfere with the savage’s withdrawal. Thi turned from the boy, walked to a crate of wound dressings and began to unpack and organize them into shelves built into the earthen walls. When she turned again, her spare uniform shirt, a rucksack, a medical kit and the boy were gone.
Night was falling on the Mekong. To the east the sky was leaden, to the west pink, almost violet. Vathana stood by the pier. The barge had been pushed into the channel by a small tug and was now maneuvering into the wake of a freighter heading to Phno
