In the days that followed, Mali became a regular at Uncle Somchai’s junkyard.
Some days, she would spend hours poking through the mountains of broken fans, rusty bicycles, and old radios, searching for the exact wires and knobs she needed for her first “crystal radio.” Other days, she’d be bent over a fat old book she had borrowed from him, learning how radios actually worked.
Every few days, Mali would stop by Uncle Somchai’s wooden house behind the scrap yard to swap one technical book for another, each one heavier and more complicated than the last. She devoured them the way some kids devoured mango sticky rice.
Uncle Somchai found it curious but he never questioned why this eight year old girl wanted to read books with titles like Principles of Communication or Basic Transistor Circuits. If anything, he encouraged it. He even gave her a spare key to the house, telling her she could come read whenever she wanted, even if he wasn’t around.
Once in a while, he’d ask, “How’s that crystal radio coming along?”57Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡiRL7NIQrLR
And every time, Mali would grin sheepishly and say, “Still tuning it…”
He’d offered to help many times but Mali always shook her head. She liked figuring things out on her own. Besides, the answers were in the books, she just had to find them.
She also learned to be careful at school. No more showing off, no more making the teachers suspicious. She started turning in her homework on time and stopped failing tests so dramatically. Her grades crept up from dead last to somewhere in the bottom middle, where nobody paid much attention to her.
By the time she was in third grade, Mali was completely hooked on electronics. She read every spare minute.
That morning, she had just finished the five hundred pages of Principles of Communication and had come early to return it to Uncle Somchai. She also wanted to hunt through the junk pile for one last piece of cable she needed to finish her crystal radio.
But before she could say anything, Uncle Somchai spoke first.
“Mali, perfect timing. I’ve got to run into town for the day. Can you keep an eye on the house for me?”
“Sure, Uncle. When will you be back?”
“Earliest, tomorrow afternoon,” he said, rubbing his chin. “If you don’t mind, you can even sleep here tonight. I’ll let your dad know so he can check in on you.”
The truth was, times weren’t as safe as they used to be. Even though the police had cracked down on gangs a few years back, there were still troublemakers hanging around. Somchai’s scrap yard wasn’t full of treasures but the old radios, copper wire, and especially his locked bookshelf were worth something to the wrong kind of person.
Her father, Boon, never minded her spending time at the junkyard. In fact, he liked it. He’d visited Somchai more than once with grilled fish and a bottle of rice whiskey, chatting late into the evening while Mali read quietly in the corner.
Once Uncle Somchai left, Mali’s heart beat faster.57Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡJ0QzdqB3jh
The first thought in her head?57Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡCo4zAHvUjJ
The radio transmitter.
She had used it once before, by accident but had never forgotten the thrill of it. Since then, she’d watched her uncle sit at the desk, listening to voices crackling through the static but he never talked back. Now, with him gone, the temptation was too much.
She unlocked the door, stepped inside and stood before the radio.
Even though she’d studied the diagrams and memorized the controls, facing the real thing made her palms sweat. She reached for the power switch—
“Somchai! You home?”
The voice outside boomed like a temple drum.57Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡcb4vmr1IFp
When no answer came, it roared again:57Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡkeFYMt2tZK
“Somchai! Where’d you run off to?”
Mali knew that voice. She sighed and stepped outside.57Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡO6oIk6gYqp
“Uncle Prasert,” she called.
There he was, same as always: wearing a loose white fisherman’s shirt, rolled up trousers and old sandals with soles patched three times. Short and wiry, with eyes sharp as a hunting bird. Even standing still, he looked ready to pounce.
“Mali? Where’s your uncle?” he asked, peering into the house.57Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡcatgH8rcW7
“He went into town.”57Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡyMC6j6AnUm
“Town? Hmph! That rascal promised to play chess with me today.”57Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡorYIo4d5PT
“He said he won’t be back until tomorrow afternoon.”
Mali silently wished he’d just leave so she could get back to the radio.57Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡnsvIg0kkNb
But Uncle Prasert wasn’t the kind to walk away disappointed. He scratched at his stubbly chin, then suddenly fixed those sharp eyes on her. She looked away. Being near him always made her feel like a fish on a chopping board.
“No matter,” he said. “You play chess with me.”57Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡZ8eMic5OPi
“I… I don’t know how,” she said quickly. She wasn’t lying, she really didn’t and she didn’t want to learn.
But Uncle Prasert didn’t care. His hand shot out like a clamp around her wrist.57Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡUjLt8opqLZ
“Then I’ll teach you,” he said.57Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡUMVwIjf2Yl
“It’s fine, really—”57Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡP39yiYEGvE
“No whining.” His voice cracked like a stick against a drum. “A strong person doesn’t cry. You were born with that limp, so what? That means you have to work harder than the rest. If you don’t respect yourself, why should anyone else? The heavens test us before giving us real strength. They wear us down, make us hungry, push us to the edge. That’s how they see what we’re made of.”
The words struck Mali. She didn’t understand them all yet but they pressed into her memory like footprints in wet cement.
After a pause, Uncle Prasert’s face softened into a grin.57Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡOoQbglwRWl
“How about this? I’ll give you a head start—one rook, one knight, one cannon. Beat me, and I’ll teach you a way to make your legs stronger.”
Mali blinked. “Really? You can make my legs better?”57Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡhx9TPOIcTf
“Of course. Would I lie to you? I’m a kung fu master!” He puffed out his chest and threw a few dramatic punches in the air, complete with whoosh sounds.
Mali laughed despite herself. “Alright.” She stuck out her hand.57Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡZqHLJbKlaC
“A promise is a promise.”57Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡM9tfTlt6eC
He clapped her palm with his. “Done.”
and then Add to home screen.