Asian Shorts

1 THE BIKE

1 THE BIKE

by Mike Lord

“Me oi, me oi.” for some reason this is always shouted twice. The family was having dinner, and the only way Ngoc could make himself heard was to shout. When you’re the youngest in the family that can be difficult and Ngoc often found himself in trouble if he interrupted a conversation.

“When is Huong going to university?” Ngoc followed up.

“Why do you want to know?” asked his mother.

“Because, then I can have her bike,” Ngoc’s logic, at the age of 10, was simple.

Ngoc had been pestering his mother for a bike for weeks since the new school year had started. He was in the last year of primary school, and apparently other boys had come to school this term with gleaming new bikes. Ngoc’s mother made a mental note to speak to her younger sister, and see if she could borrow a bike for Ngoc. An old one. Life was difficult since her husband had suddenly died four years ago, and the cost of a new bike would be an impossibility.

Two days later Ngoc was presented with an upright bicycle that had once been black. It had a basket on the front in fairly good condition, and a metal small luggage rack on the back. It had been carefully cleaned with an oily rag the day before to hide the rusty parts. Ngoc could not reach the pedals if he sat on the seat, so he learned to ride the bike by pedalling in a standing position. If he was careful the seat did not bang into his back too often. He learned quickly that a friend, sitting on the luggage rack, could help with the pedalling from behind.

One afternoon in late October, Ngoc and a cousin, Quang, decided to go and look for some catfish in the river. The river was behind the market near to the house, on the road to the military airfield. Carefully the two boys set off on the bike, with Quang pedalling from behind. The road was not used too much, except by military vehicles, but in the late afternoon there was no traffic at all.

They wanted to find some catfish, especially a big one. The river was about two kilometres from the market, which for two small boys is a long way. They parked the bike and had some problems with the old metal stand, as the bike kept on falling over, but eventually they managed to prop it up. From the bridge they could see the river, and noticed at once that the river bed had been widened, although the flow of water was still very slow. The catfish were basking in the autumn sunshine, and they could see one very large one struggling in the shallow water, so the two boys, shouting, rushed down to try to catch it.

The boys had not noticed that the river had been widened to allow for the construction of a small dam on the other side of the road, and a temporary embankment had been made to hold back the water until the spillway was completed. Catching the fish was no problem, but picking it up was, and as the two boys struggled, laughing, ankle deep in the water they became aware of some commotion on the river bridge immediately above them.

When they looked up there was a foreigner standing there. Later they learned that he was a engineer who was supervising the construction of the new dam, and the waterway system. Ngoc could speak quite a lot of English, and as the two boys approached the foreigner, Ngoc said:

“Hello,” and the foreigner looked up from where he was kneeling at the edge of the bridge. He had a large spanner in his hand and was trying to turn a large nut, but it wouldn’t budge. Below the nut was a long threaded screw, which went down below the level of the road.

“Hi,” said the engineer, who was sweating and cursing under his breath at the problem, “the river level’s too high and will burst the embankment if we’re not careful. Can you help me to open this flood gate?”

The two boys tried to help but the spanner was not big enough. The engineer realised by now that Ngoc could understand him. This was unusual as most children of Ngoc’s age only spoke a very few words of English, if at all.

“The man in charge of this gate was sick today, so this evening I came to check the water level. We really need the gate wheel to open this flood gate.” explained the engineer.

“Where is it?” asked Ngoc.

“It’s in the white pickup in the works yard,” said the engineer.

Ngoc knew where that was and offered to go and fetch it for the engineer. Off he set on the bike, and left Quang standing watching the engineer continue to struggle with the obstinate flood gate. He reached the pickup after about half a kilometre and clambered over the tailgate. The steel wheel was lying on the floor, and was much bigger than Ngoc had expected. He managed to get it over the edge of the tailgate, and let it fall to the ground. He then managed to lift it onto the basket in the front of the bike, leaning it against the handlebars. As he tried to ride the bike it was a bit top heavy, but he finally managed after wobbling a bit, to ride back to the bridge.

He stopped the bike, and the engineer came over to help him carry the wheel to the flood gate. The bike refused to stand up again, so this time Ngoc let it fall on the ground. The engineer fixed the wheel, and all three of them helped to turn it. There were also two other flood gates which they managed to open.

Immediately, they could hear the water rushing under the road below their feet as the steel flood gates were lifted up, and spilling into the river where they had been fishing. The water level at the edge of the road began to fall very slowly, and after a bit the engineer thanked the boys for their help.

Ngoc and Quang walked back to where they had left the bike.

“Where’s the bike ?” asked Ngoc. Quang looked a bit worried.

“It fell into the water,” relied Quang, “whilst you were carrying the wheel with the foreigner.” Both boys peered into the water at the edge of the road which had deepened considerably as the water came through the flood gate, and Ngoc had a sinking feeling that he had seen the last of his new bike. They found a bit of bamboo and started poking about in the water but they couldn’t even reach the bottom. As they started the long walk home, the engineer waved goodbye and set off in the other direction with the wheel.

When they got home they both managed to get into the house without being seen, Ngoc’s mother was busy cooking, and called to the boys to come and eat, when they had washed. Nothing was said about the bike that evening, and Ngoc decided that perhaps it was better to say nothing.

When he got home after school the next day, Ngoc was surprised to see the engineer’s white pickup parked outside their house, and the engineer and another man were inside talking to his mother. There was also a group of neighbours who had all come to see what was happening. As soon as she saw Ngoc, his mother called out:

“Ngoc, where’s your bike?”

Ngoc didn’t know what to say, and looked at the engineer for inspiration.

“He had a bit of an accident last night, when he was helping me,” volunteered the engineer, in English. “The villagers on the other side of the river were very lucky that he did help me, because had the embankment given way it would have flooded or washed away their houses,” the engineer continued.

The engineer took Ngoc’s hand and walked outside with him. Ngoc walked with him not knowing what else to do. His mother followed, and then out trooped the neighbours. The engineer reached into the back of the pickup and lifted out a bicycle, which he put on the ground and then handed the bike to Ngoc.

This bike wasn’t the old bicycle, but a brand new gleaming mountain bike. It had a brightly coloured frame, thick stubby wheels, and gears controlled by a lever on the handles. The handlebars and the mudguards were shining chromium plate. It didn’t have a basket on the front, but had a luggage rack with a hinged frame at the back. And it was small enough for Ngoc to pedal when he was sitting in the saddle!

Ngoc looked at his mother and then at the engineer. He couldn’t think of anything to say, so he just gazed at the new bike again.

“Thanks very much, Ngoc,” said the foreign engineer, who then got into the pickup and drove away. The neighbours were all talking at once, and Ngoc’s mother was beaming all over her face. Ngoc realised, with relief, that this time he was not in trouble.

Sinagiri, by Mike Lord – Rajah Kasyapu & the Frescoes at Singiriya, in Sri Lanka.

Smashwords: h***:://tinyurl.com/mrpafs7

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