In the morning, Luong Pho Mai sat on his bench as if he’d never slept, staring straight ahead. The Teacher sat next to his master on the cave floor. The kids, both girls and boys, gathered in a wide circle as Maier rubbed the sleep from his eyes.
“Jungle visa, jungle visa,” they chorused quietly as the old monk got his needles ready.
Maier was skeptical.
“Tattoos last forever, I am told. Do I really need to have one?”
The old monk gave no indication he understood Maier’s protest, and waved for his guests to come closer. The Teacher laughed softly. He turned towards Maier and explained, in a near-whisper, “I wouldn’t be happy to watch one of my boys shoot you in front of our modest abode. It’s not up to me or Luong Pho Mai. The kids won’t let you go without one. Our authority is limited
