The young captain had been on the radio.
“They won’t give us clearance to fly,” he said. “They say the smoke’s really heavy over the mountains today. It’s on both sides of us, north and south. They aren’t prepared to risk it. They say we should stay here till the air clears. Hope for a bit of wind. See what it’s like later.”
Peach nodded and walked casually to the hatch of the helicopter. She passed on the message with a Lao smile. The onlookers could see the senator’s reaction over her shoulder. It was loud and heated and certainly impolite. Peach stood her ground with her arms folded. But even before the tirade had run its course she turned her back and walked away from the helicopter. The senator yelled. She ignored him.
“Five dollars says she quits,” said Civilai.
“You haven’t got five dollars,” Siri reminded him.
The old pair were at the back of the crowd of onlookers with pre-breakfast coffees in their hands and post- whisky-night hangovers in their heads. They’d deliberately missed the photo session and planned to miss the take- off, but the helicopter remained. The senator seemed suddenly aware that he was being watched and climbed down the steps of the chopper. He performed what some later speculated might have been a polite Lao
“They’re doing it,” said Mr. Geung with a look of horror on his face. This unintentionally raised a laugh from the viewers.
“In a way,” Dtui told him. “It’s called a hug.”
“It’s love.”
“I very much doubt that,” Dtui smiled. “But don’t let that stop you hugging your friend Tukda.”
Geung turned the colour of a retired United States army major.
“I … I don’t. I….”
“It’s OK, hon. You don’t have to discuss it if you don’t want to. I won’t pry.” She lowered her voice. “But you know if you need to talk about anything-I mean anything at all-you can trust me.”
“Nnnnnothing to say.”
“Right. No problem.”
The crash site was due south of the Friendship Hotel but they would have to carve a large arc east or west to avoid the military assault. Either course would have flown them directly into the smog. PL air force regulations prohibited flying even short distances in smoky conditions so both helicopters were grounded. The pilots were billeted in the headman’s house in Phonsavan until further notice. But all was not lost. Toua, the friendly hotel manager, rode his pony into town and returned ahead of two trucks, each with its own driver and porter. There was a dirt road which would transport the teams to within a kilometer of Ban Hoong. From there they could trek across the hills. Toua trusted the Americans would be able to make a small donation for petrol and something for the hard-working porters and drivers who had very little work to feed their families. Potter assured them it wouldn’t be a problem.
The senator, already exhausted from the physical and emotional efforts of the morning, and wallowing in the trauma of being trapped in a disadvantaged area, opted not to travel to the search site with the MIA teams. He and Ethel Chin would, he said, wait at the Friendship until the smoke cleared. As there was no wind at all, the likelihood of such an event was remote. Out of what he called courtesy, General Suvan said he’d remain at the hotel also. Although Judge Haeng volunteered to stay behind to keep them company, the general insisted he’d be needed at the crash site.
The further the trucks drove into the hills, the more the teams began to taste the smoke in the air. Now and then black flakes fluttered past them like charred snow and Siri could feel a growl deep in his throat that he knew would soon turn into a cough. The twenty-minute helicopter ride translated to over an hour on the old trucks. As they climbed into the mountains, deep ruts left over from the heavy rains were gouged along the clay road but the wet season landslides had been cleared. Sawn logs from fallen giants lay to either side of them, awaiting collection. As none of the team members knew the terrain, they had to put their faith in the local knowledge of the truck drivers. When they pulled off the road in the middle of nowhere and announced that this was the starting point of the walk to Ban Hoong, the passengers weren’t in a position to argue.
“Are you sure you’re up for this?” Siri asked Daeng.
“I swear if you ask me that one more time, Siri, I’ll file for divorce,” she said. “Every day I walk a hundred kilometers from the noodle pot to the tables and back and you say nothing. What’s so different here?”
“Oh, nothing much,” Siri nodded, “unless you count the fast flowing rivers, cliffs, jagged rocks, poisonous spiders, tigers, enemy snipers and unexploded bombs, none of which I noticed last time I was in the noodle shop. And, Daeng, I tell you, I’ve seen it too many times in movies. The injured member of the group lags behind. ‘You go ahead,’ he cries. ‘I’ll catch up with you later.’ But he knows he’s doomed so he uses three of his last four bullets to slow down the pursuing Indians and saves the last one for himself. But they overpower him and cut him to ribbons with hatchets before he has a chance to end his own misery.”
“And you see this happening to me?” Daeng asked, unloading the packs from the truck.
“If it can happen to John Wayne….”
“And he had rheumatism in this film of yours?”
“Rheumatism, arrow wound, it all amounts to the same thing.”
“Have you and Civilai ever calculated how many years of your lives you’ve wasted watching films?”
Siri reached for his broken heart.
“Civilai!” he called to his friend on the next truck. “Daeng thinks we’ve wasted our lives watching films. What should I do?”
“You’re in good shape for an old man,” Civilai shouted. “You’ll always be able to find a new wife.”
“Watch your back, comrade,” Daeng shouted. “We’ll be passing along narrow mountain ledges with sheer drops. I wouldn’t want you to have an accident.”
“Oh, did I hear a threat?” Civilai laughed. “You’ll have to get up very early in the morning to get the better of me, comrade noodle-seller.”
“We’ll see, old man.”
Despite Siri’s warnings and his unspoken concerns about his own health, the hike was comparatively easy. The path was well used and it wound over gentle hills, avoiding some of the higher peaks. Even so, Civilai maintained a safe distance from Madame Daeng. The teams walked in a long single conga line along the narrow trail. Ugly walked at heel beside Siri like a pedigree show dog. The porters carried the heavier bags and the pace was that of a nature hike for elderly ladies rather than a route march. The only sound, apart from the footfalls of heavy boots, came from Judge Haeng who had remembered his fictitious leg injury and now grunted and grumbled and leaned heavily on a tree branch. Siri pointed out to Daeng that a month earlier it had been the other leg causing so much grief. The whole expedition was tired of hearing the judge’s jungle survival story, even as translated by a very sarcastic Auntie Bpoo, today glamorous in a yellow pant suit.
“Can’t we shut him up somehow?” Siri asked.
They were walking through a narrow valley full of odd-looking trees with thick foliage.
“Judge Haeng,” Daeng called from the back of the procession. “Excuse me. Sorry to interrupt.”
The judge looked back over his shoulder.
“What is it, Madame Daeng?” he said. The voices echoed against the karst cliff walls on either side of them.
“You have a reputation of being a man with extensive knowledge of the jungles up here in the north.”
“There are those who would say that I am something of an expert,” he smiled. “A good communist is like a tree. He stands firm but knows how to bend in a strong wind. He is fertile but gladly gives up his nuts to less fortunate creatures. Why do you ask?”
“We were just wondering about these trees we’re passing under right now,” she said. “I haven’t spent much time in the north but I do believe we have something similar in the south. There we call them
Siri noticed that as she spoke his wife was surreptitiously unbuckling her leather belt and sliding it from the lugs of her canvas army trousers. “Would you happen to know if these are the same?” she continued.
