“Geung Watajak,” read the vice-minister, who couldn’t wait for Geung’s arrival on stage, “in the face of overwhelming odds, you did fearlessly attack five armed men in the dining room of the Friendship Hotel in Phonsavan. This was made all the more remarkable by the fact that you were carrying only a stick.” (He did have a stick to beat the tambourine, so, technically, not a lie.) “In the confusion resulting from your heroic charge, you and your colleagues were able to overwhelm the terrorists and disarm them, thus saving the lives of several high-ranking dignitaries and foreign experts. For your bravery I am pleased to award you our nation’s top civilian honour, the Civilian Medal for an Outstanding Contribution to the Security and Development of the People’s Democratic Republic of Laos: Second Tier.”
Geung had just reached the top step when the ribbon was removed from its box. His hair was disturbed during its placement over his head and he became a little fixated with trying to get it back in order. But when he turned and looked out at the cheering audience, he was in control. His hair looked impeccable. He gave a general nod to everyone but one specific nod to Tukda. Yet, not once did he allow the smile, so desperate for freedom, to pass beyond his lips.