by David Dagley
“The countryside is beautiful. Such simple living—as long as the Tatmandaw and the soldiers aren’t around,” said Cale.
“Yes, that is true. When the Tatmandaw are around, it can get rather messy,” said the jeweler with a smile. Then he asked, “You didn’t make it all the way to Lashio, did you?”
“Actually, no, I really don’t think I have enough time to do it properly right now. I was hoping to, but I still have lots to do here and in Thailand. There’s not much time left for sitting on a beach, which I must do before I go back to the States.”
“And why not? You’re on holiday after all,” said the jeweler. “Besides, Lashio is now mostly a Chinese town. Lots of the restaurants and much of the art and souvenirs are Chinese, not many crafts from the hill tribes or even Burmese. You didn’t come all the way to Burma to go to China did you?” All the brothers laughed together. “Please, sit.”
Cale sat down at the table with them.
“Would you have some Shan tea with us?”
“Yes, thank you.”
One of the brothers poured Cale a cup of tea while the jeweler continued, “It’s sad to say, but Burma has become very dependant on China. If China went democratic, we would surely have to change as well. China is the Burmese government’s big brother. Did you know that?”
Cale didn’t say anything; he just shook his head.
“Did you know Ne Win was half Chinese? Ne Win was, for a short time, trained by the Japanese to fight against the British. Ne Win was number two in Burmese military. We Burmese fought against the British to get them out, thinking we would have more independence with the Japanese. But after they took control, we realized we were being treated worse under Japanese rule. Ne Win used those same tactics taught by the Japanese to fight against the Japanese, of course, with the help of General Aung San and an underground effort that the British had influenced and supported. Today, the military still practices terrorism; except now, it’s against the ethnic groups within Burma’s borders. Did you see any terrorism in your short travels, Mr. Dixon?
“Yes.”
“Good. Take those memories home and tell people, because your government won’t help the poor people for humanitarian reasons, unless, of course, we had oil, or uranium, or something worthy of their greed. They are looking at our natural gas now and putting in big roads and gas lines to Thailand. Do you think this will benefit the people of Burma? I think not. The only people to benefit will be some spineless U.S. companies, Thailand, and the Burmese military! No one else!” The jeweler was getting worked up. He smoked his cheroot for a minute and then continued, “I think it is time to discuss your stones and send you back to Rangoon with what you came all this way to find on your vacation, no less. I, myself, have never had a vacation.”
Cale could feel the tension in the jeweler’s voice, but he didn’t see it in the eyes of the other men. They sat calmly watching Cale.
“Yongyot recently called from Bangkok and confirmed that your stones are true Moguk stones. Yongyot says they are most likely from the east bank of the river or above the river. If all the stones look like this one, they have been sorted, possibly in a shop. Yongyot thinks they may have come through this shop not long ago. You see, he bought some of the same batch.” The jeweler held up Cale’s stone, admiring the craftsmanship, and smiled, saying, “We do good work. Don’t you think?”
Cale nodded, “Very good work.”
“Mr. Dixon, you must understand something before I go on.” The jeweler took a long drag on his cheroot, and smoke slid out of his nose and mouth as he spoke, “When I seek another jeweler or someone in the trade, I find a childhood friend who has shared good times and tragedy alike. Our honor and respect for one another runs deep, deeper than any inquiries by an outsider, such as you, could possibly fathom. I had to ask permission from everyone I spoke with in order to give you any information at all. They have no problem with telling me the information, but me telling you or someone else is not our way. It’s not in our best interests to divulge such knowledge. I have spoken of your situation with my friends, and they are willing to help you because you are going to help me in a time of need, but not at a cost to themselves or our shared business. If your actions cut the throat of an honored customer, then you cut all our throats as well. When I say honored customers, I am talking about generations. This is one of the reasons why you only get some of the information you requested. However, due to our collective love for the Lord Buddha, the information you get will be accurate.” The jeweler handed Cale his stone and continued, “Seven such bags of stones have been sold and smuggled out of Burma within the last eight months that we know of since you asked. I am sorry, but you only get the Western names, of which, there are only two. Of the others, there are two Chinese family names, a South Korean family, a Russian cartel, and a Laotian co-op. The newcomers to this group are the Russian cartel and Laotian co-op. The other names are no concern of yours; they have been buying stones for generations, and I will not give them up.” The jeweler handed Cale a piece of paper.
Cale took the paper and saw two names, Bower and Stell.
“Mr. Bower has a European accent, maybe Austrian or German. I don’t know for sure. Perhaps he lives in the United States, maybe many places. He is well known in Burma black market circles. He is older, fifty or sixty, and a great collector of many things. And the other name is Stell. He is either in Canada or the U.S. He is interested in artifacts mainly, an antique dealer by trade, not nearly as wealthy or respected as Bower, but still young and growing. He has been buying stones for some time now, once a year for ten years, maybe fifteen. These cut stones are worth a lot of money, maybe $3,000 to $5,000 U.S. dollars for each cut stone, maybe more. In this business, size matters.”
One of the brothers leaned forward and spoke softly to Cale, “Murder is a small price for these stones.”
“Who said anything about murder?” asked Cale.
The jeweler looked at Cale sympathetically, “Please. We know what these stones do to people. Do not think us naive. You would not come all this way and ask questions for anything less than murder.”
All the brothers continued staring at Cale.
Cale stood up and reached for his wallet. He pulled out eight one- hundred-dollar bills and put them on the table, asking, “Would this be a proper donation for your efforts?”
The jeweler looked at the money, smiled at Cale as if he was an innocent child, and explained, “Did you know, Mr. Dixon, that we can go to prison for accepting U.S. dollars? Having them in our possession without permission is a crime.” The jeweler pushed two bills in front of each of his brothers sitting at the table.
“Would you prefer some other form of donation? I can’t give you the stone because it’s evidence.”
“We cannot take the stone either. My quiet brother here thinks the stone is mixed with someone else’s blood, not from our country. The money is appropriate. This money is dangerous for us, but unlike Visa or American Express, the greenback is accepted on all black markets around the world; “don’t leave home without them.” The jeweler smiled slightly and bowed before saying, “I think you should go now.”
“Have I upset you somehow?” asked Cale.
“No. I’m sorry. It’s my fault. I spoke too freely of our past, and it has led us all into danger. I should have never told you and the Dutch couple about our lives. The military searched our house and destroyed most of our tools. We still have our magnifying lenses and lights, but everything else is gone or broken. The military took one of our boys the day after you came here. It appears the Dutch couple retold our story to some other tourists at a restaurant, which was overheard by an informant. The other conclusion we came up with was that you somehow upset your trishaw driver, and he decided to make things difficult for us. We don’t know for sure. The Dutch couple is being questioned by the Tatmandaw at the prison right now—as we speak. The Dutch people may not be able to leave our country for awhile, but you should disappear immediately.
We don’t know what has been said or what lies are being forged. We sent our other children away, and since our business with you is now complete, we are going to follow them tonight. Your donation comes most timely. You are helping Yongyot, and you are helping us. For this, we are grateful, and my friends and associates are protected. Have a safe journey. My quiet brother will escort you down the alley to the front. We think you are now being either hunted by the Tatmandaw or watched by the secret police. If I were you, I would be very careful. My brother will tell you how to get to Rangoon. You cannot take a direct bus or train, and a plane is out of the question.”
“But I haven’t done anything wrong!” exclaimed Cale.
“That depends on what the Dutch couple tell the Tatmandaw. One word of your existence from them, and you will have crossed the line with the government,” said another brother.
The quiet brother got up, “Come with me, please.”
Cale grabbed his bike and followed the quiet brother to the alley leading back to the front of the shop. The brother asked, “Have you been to Enle Lake?”
“Yes. I have been there before, a few years ago,” responded Cale.
“That’s good. It’s beautiful place. Very quiet. Tomorrow morning, there will be a private tour bus at 7:30 a.m. passing through here from the north. They will take a breakfast break in front of your hotel. We already bought you a ticket, no names or questions asked. Talk to no one, not even Western people. Tell the driver you want to go to Enle Hotel. Good people there. Now listen carefully. The night you arrive, after you relax and shower, go out to eat someplace. On your way back to the hotel, stop in the blanket and basket shop. You will see it when you go out to eat, and they will see you. Try to buy a black blanket. The owner will take you away by boat early the following morning, and then you will walk for a few days with a friend of ours. Trust him, and do what he says. You will be traveling through insurgent territory, so pay attention.”
“Do you really think all this is necessary?”
“It really depends on you and how much time you have. The Tatmandaw can keep you for a week, a month, a year or more, and then maybe let you go or kill you. How many people know where you are or that you’re here at all? The Dutch might say enough to change the focus of the Tatmandaw onto you, like that you have a Moguk stone in your pocket and they got theirs from you, or they may not tell of their stones at all. In any case, the couple will not be getting the jewelry we made for them. And if the Tatmandaw find a stone in your pocket with no paperwork, you will surely stay until they get what they want, and that, I’m afraid, would be painful, even for a Westerner. What little freedom we have is now in your head and in the Dutch people’s head. While you are in this country, don’t ever let it reach your lips, for it will kill you.”
“Is that what you’re waiting for? To find out if the Dutch people retold your story?” asked Cale, looking at the brother.
“If they had repeated the story to the Tatmandaw, we would have already been arrested. We were waiting for you.”
Cale didn’t believe him and surmised, “You’re going to kill them.”
“Killing is not what we do, and what we are going to do does not concern you. Our business is finished, forever. Good-bye.” The brother turned, walked back down the alley, and disappeared around the corner.
Cale pulled into the bike rental shop and paid for a day’s ride. As he turned the corner to get to the front stairs of the hotel and the reception desk, he stopped short seeing the elderly trishaw driver with a notepad in hand, watching from his perch on the seat of his trishaw. Cale entered the front entrance of the hotel, recognizing that his main exit was visually blocked for the evening. He decided to pay for another night in his same room, knowing he wasn’t going to stay there. He went to his room and showered quickly with the lights off. After cleaning up, he turned on the lights and made a brief appearance on the balcony for the trishaw driver’s benefit. Cale turned on the bathroom light and a bed lamp before leaving the room permanently. He ran up the side stairs to Paula’s room with all his effects. Images crossed Cale’s mind; the Dutch couple being beaten bloody and tortured for information, the prisoner on the train having his head smashed into the bench in front of him, and the Asian man on the floor of the museum with a mouth full of Moguk stones pouring out. Cale all of a sudden felt like a spy or a messenger with vital information that had to reach the allies on the other side of the border. His paranoia became desperate and acute.
Cale took Paula by the hand down and out the back entrance of the hotel, and they went to a little avocado specialty restaurant in the middle of town, which Paula had seen during her day and wanted to try. As they walked through the streets, Cale searched for an international phone to no avail. He also knew that the international phones were all tapped, and there would be a police officer listening in. After they finished eating, Paula wanted to return to the hotel. She had an uneasy feeling when four Burmese men came in and sat in the middle of the restaurant. They didn’t talk to anyone, and they didn’t eat; they just sat down and smoked. Paula realized they could hear every table conversation from where they sat, and many locals had gotten up immediately, paid, and left the restaurant. Cale and Paula walked the backstreets to the hotel and went in quietly the way they came out.
When Paula and Cale returned to her room, Cale began slowly packing his bag while she told him about the innocence of prostitution, “When I was in Thailand last time, I went to a whorehouse with a friend of mine, who lives in Thailand. Do you know how many Burmese girls escape with their lives across the border to Thailand, looking for a better life as possibly a secretary or a seamstress or better, and subsequently get picked up by brothel owners promising jobs and education, etcetera? The girls get put to work in a country where they don’t speak the language, don’t know the value of the money they earn, live in a box, and grow into sex slaves.”
“I don’t know much about it. I don’t go to whorehouses,” responded Cale with a shrug.
“Well, there are lots. Eventually there’s a bust at the brothel, where the owners get their hands slapped and the girls get sent back to the border to be deported. Some of the girls turn around, and, ashamed to go home with nowhere else to go, they go back to what they do know—the brothels. Others do get deported back to Burma and do go home, only to find that their villages have been burned to the ground and there’s no one around. The next thing they learn is that they have a disease they’ve never heard of before, AIDS. They come to believe that no one wants them and that their families are dead.”
Cale stopped what he was doing and stared at Paula, patiently waiting for her point or the punch line.
Paula drained her whiskey and Red Bull and whispered, “I know how some of them feel.” he nodded with a long-distance stare through the floor, “My entire family died when our house burned down—my two brothers and my parents. I wasn’t there. I was spending the night with some girlfriends after a movie in town. I don’t know why I’m telling you this. I’m not looking for sympathy or anything. I guess I just don’t communicate to people very well, but I’ve found something in you, Cale, that puts me at ease. I sometimes feel compelled to tell the people I care about some brutal truths that are not always connected to anything.” She took a deep breath and swirled her ice cubes around in the bottom of her glass. She looked at Cale.
Cale heard the loneliness in Paula’s voice and could see the hurt in her eyes. He walked over to where she sat and reached out for one of her hands. He drew Paula out of her chair and held her in a long, affectionate embrace, then moved her to the foot of her bed, sat down very close to her, and began to explain himself, “Paula, I guess this is a good time to tell you what brought me to Burma this time around. I’m a detective involved in a murder case in San Francisco. I had a two-week-plus vacation scheduled before I got the case and was still allowed to go on it. I was on my way to Thailand to relax, but the victim in the murder case had what I know now as a small fortune of Moguk stones stuffed i
n his mouth. I came here to get information about the stones and possibly buyers of such stones. I got lucky and connected with some very influential jewelers here in Mandalay. They gave me what I wanted at great risk to themselves and their families. Recently their jewelry shop was destroyed, and one of their children was taken by the Tatmandaw. The jewelers were waiting for me to return to tell me what I wanted to know, and now they are leaving town for fear that some other people, a Dutch couple, may have talked or turned the jewelers in for their own freedom. The jewelers think the secret police and the Tatmandaw may be after me because of my recent dealings with them. I’m to leave early tomorrow morning and not by any of the usual paths. But it’s important for me to tell you. I wanted you to know that our conversations and your company have been the happiest part of my time here. And I know that holiday settings are almost always good for romance and spontaneous relationships, but I want to know. Could we meet again?”
Paula smiled. She enjoyed the question and savored the empowering affect it carried. She said frankly, “It is what it is, Cale. But that doesn’t mean that it’s over.” Paula got up to make another drink and added, “You live in California, and I live in New York. Why don’t we exchange information, and when I return to the States, I’ll call you, and we can take it from there? There’s no use committing to anything when we’re going to be so far apart for so long a time, is there?”
“No, you’re right.”
“Why don’t we just live in the day and enjoy each other while we’re right here because tomorrow is going to lead you down another path, which I’m not going to be on, and there’s no telling when our paths will cross again. But know this Detective; if I wanted to stop traveling and be with someone, you are at the top of the list, and it’s a short list.” She turned around towards Cale with two drinks in her hands. She handed one to Cale and straddled his knees and thighs, walking closer to him. She gently nudged him backwards on to the bed with her pelvis. As Cale slowly lay on his back, he placed his drink on the windowsill and put his hands on her hips as she walked on her knees across the bed over Cale, tucking her knees under his arms and straddling his chest, smiling. She took a sip and an ice cube from her drink and leaned over, passing the whiskey and Red Bull into Cale’s mouth. She put her drink down on the bed and began crawling backwards, running the ice cube down Cale’s chest as she unbuttoned his shirt and moving smoothly towards his waist.