"We rest soon," Bonchoo said. "We have walked now two hours."
Mornajay's slacks, she noticed, now held smudges of earth at each knee and she decided that this was kinder to think about than what might be happening to Cyrus.
Twenty minutes later they stopped to rest in a grove of bamboo, well off the trail and in a space where a tall tree had fallen, ripping a hole in die dense forest ceiling to bring light down to this small patch of earth. Without a thought to snakes or crawling things Mrs. Pollifax flung herself to the ground to feel the exquisite relief of being no longer on her feet. Bonchoo had been consulting with Anu, who seemed to speak some Thai, but now he came to sit cross-legged on the ground beside her while Mornajay sat on the trunk of the fallen tree. Surrounded by bamboo, Mrs. Pollifax's eyes moved from one tree to another, following the lines of jointed stalks up to the patch of blue sky above. Seeing the direction of her gaze, Mornajay said, "Marvelous specimen of Dendrocalamus giganteous. Native to Burma but I daresay we're quite close to Burma now. Fascinating!"
This man has no conversation, she thought crossly. Acknowledging that she was tired and about to be as difficult as he was, she said tartly, "Considering that nine tenths of the earth's population call your Dendrocalamus giganteous by the name of bamboo, I don't understand why you have to be so pompous about it."
He said stiffly, "I beg your pardon!"
"You should," she told him loftily, and was silent, but indignantly silent.
Anu squatted down at the edge of their circle. Except for the occasional fluttering of leaves high above them, the forest was silent, the sunlight falling on clumps of moss, decayed leaves and dried branches. A butterfly twinkled among the vines that had sprung up at the edge of this minute clearing.
"I don't remember so many vines yesterday," she announced. "I feel a little as if I'm in a Tarzan movie."
"Tarzan?" asked Bonchoo, puzzled.
She happily explained Tarzan to him.
Bonchoo, brightening, said, "Like our Pi Tong Luang, the Ghosts of the Yellow Leaves!"
"Like what?
"Yes, yes," he said, nodding. "They lived here, here in these very forests, like shadows. Invisible peoples! Sometimes woodsmen caught a glimpse, or loggers stealing the teak, there were always stories." With a glance at Mornajay he said dryly, "Like your lost monastery, mail Then some years ago, not long before I am born, at the time of the big war when the Japanese occupy our country, they were found." He shrugged. "I do not know, maybe hunger drove them forward, or many soldiers came to the jungle."
"Ghosts of the Yellow Leaves?" mused Mrs. Pollifax. "What were they like, are they still"—she glanced into the forest—"still here?
Bonchoo shrugged. "Who knows? They say there were only maybe five hundred of them left when found. Very shy, very frightened. Very small, too, I hear, but with handsome faces. If they lived in this forest for a long long time—like your Tarzan—they may still be here, why not? It is why they were called ghosts."
Mrs. Pollifax said uneasily, "Watching us even now?"
Mornajay said suspiciously, "How do you know so much about the jungle?"
"Oh, I know very little, I'm a river man," Bonchoo told him. "Along the rivers the jungle is like a wall, very dark, very dense, very scary, but always interesting to me. Once I talked to a man who studies such things, such matters as the Ghosts of the Yellow Leaves and our cultures, and he showed me that behind the wall—and it takes a machete to get through—there is..." He spread out his arms. "... all this. And sometimes now in my—er—business—I have to follow jungle trails, and he was right. Only once have I gotten lost, but—well, never mind, that is another tale."
Mrs. Pollifax wondered if she dared to remove her shoes and decided that once removed she might not be able to put them on again. "You said you had been a student in Bangkok at the university, Bonchoo."
"A scholarship student," he said with a smile. "Would you believe from 1973, for three years, we tried real democracy in my country? It was because of what is now called the October Revolution changing matters, so that I—a poor boy from a farm near Chiang Saen—could go all the way to Bangkok to the Thammasat University, where rich people go."
Mornajay gave him a sharp look of surprise.
"How little I know of your country," said Mrs. Pollifax. "What was the October Revolution?"
"It was first time there was rebellion," Bonchoo explained. "It was first time students marched for democracy against the military government—and those students were children of government peoples, too! They had just begun to see how poor the rest of the country was, so they marched and made noises and the government listened, it was scared."
"And that's how you became a student, then!"
He nodded. "That is how I went to Bangkok in 1975—it was a miracle, a wonderland, I tell you! But it didn't last," he said sadly. "The military did not want democracy, it meant they lost control and lost their jobs and their power, so they organized, they planned and in 1976 there came the—the—" He stopped and swallowed hard. "What they did, for three years they organized the—what do you call it, the right wing? They formed Village Scouts and they formed together a group of naklengs—hoodlums— and called them the Red Gaur—unemployed peoples who hated students. Bad stories were made up for the newspapers; they called the students Communists. Everyone who criticized was called Communist."
"A familiar ploy," said Mrs. Pollifax dryly.
"And then," he said soberly, "we had a sit-down demonstration at Thammasat. Never do I forget the date—October 16, 1976—each year I remember this. A peaceable sit-in, you know? No!"
To her surprise she saw tears rise to his eyes.
"What happened?" she asked quietly.
"The police, they attacked our peaceable sit-down," he said, and his hand went to the long scar on his face. "Many of my friends were hurt, and some die." He shook his head, remembering. "The police trapped us, they threw grenades, they shot guns—my friend Charoon died in my arms, all covered with blood."
Not elephants and temple bells and dancing girls, thought Mrs. Pollifax, hearing the anguish in his voice.
"After that," he said simply, "I came home. I love my country but I think the military will always rule us." He sighed. "I think about this very much."
"And what do you think?" she asked gently.
"That we have much blame," he said sadly. "We Thai are a gentle people, we have what you call master-slave history from our past, when we had many many kings. We depend on authority, we want protection. Our village headman gives us protection and we are ready to serve him because in the village he has the money and power. I speak from knowledge because I am a phu yai ban in my village—"
"A what?" interrupted Mrs. Pollifax.
He smiled. "What you would call 'big man.' I try to be honest but many such are not. Someone in Bangkok says the farmers should start a cooperative and it is started. The headman is put in charge and many times he keeps all the profits. Who complains? We are not used to complaining as peoples. The headman has grown rich from this cooperative? Mai pen dai, then he is the man to serve now, he has the money, he has the power." He sighed heavily. "Maybe one day when my children are grown there will—"
He was interrupted by a sudden hissing sound from Ami, who squatted at the edge of their circle. Anu held up a hand, his face very still and listening, his eyes combing the forest around them, and then, "YAI!" he shouted, springing to his feet. His shout was fierce and shocking.
It was an alarming moment. Bonchoo, startled, sat down on the ground; Mornajay, who had been sitting, sprang to his feet, and Mrs. Pollifax, sitting, instinctively rolled over and joined Bonchoo as something flew out of the tangle of vines, parting the air with an explosive swish.
It was an arrow. It found the only person standing— Mornajay—and embedded itself in the empty camera case slung from his neck; the arrow hung there, quivering and vibrating while Mornajay stared down at it in horror.
CHAPTER
12
"Down!" shouted Bonchoo. "Get down!" "Get this thing out of me!" cried Mornajay. "Damn it, get it out!" Muttering angrily, Bonchoo seized Anu's rifle and plunged into the jungle, leaving Mornajay still upright and staring in horror at the arrow. Mrs. Pollifax jumped up and went to him, appalled by his pallor. For a moment she assumed that he'd turned white from shock until she saw the blood seeping out around the camera case: the arrow's velocity had been so fierce that it had pierced both the back and the front of the leather case and had entered Mornajay's midriff as well. For a moment she felt sick; it could have killed him.
"Sit down," she told him. "Lie down. Now." He obeyed, his eyes still fixed on the protruding arrow, and it really was dreadful-looking. Its visible length was something like seventeen inches, which implied an arrow much longer, yet even as she stared at it she could note its strange beauty, the fletch fashioned out of thin strips of bamboo folded with exquisite craftsmanship to lengthen and hasten its flight.
"Anu?" she called, but he retreated from her with frightened eyes.
Bonchoo stumbled out of a network of vines. "They've gone."
"But who—
He held out a fragment of red cotton. "The naklengs left this behind."
"So they found us. Mornajay's bleeding," she told him. "The arrow pierced the leather."
"It did that? And meant for me, of course." He leaned over Mornajay and made a face. "Mai dai—nasty! Only a crossbow could do this."
"How deeply did it penetrate, can you see, can you guess?"
Mornajay answered through clenched teeth. "Deep enough. Who were they, damn it?"
"Later," Bonchoo told him, bringing out the Shan knife. "First we cut away some of this arrow so we can see the damage." To Mrs. Pollifax he said, "Hold the arrow tight, very tight."
They knelt on either side of Mornajay while Bonchoo carefully cut the arrow, shortening it by some fifteen inches. With Mrs. Pollifax holding the arrow at its point of entry he sliced around the camera case and removed this, too, gave Mrs. Pollifax a long glance, gently pried away her fingers and with one swift and ruthless motion he pulled the arrow out of Mornajay's midriff.
Mornajay screamed.
"Had to come out," Bonchoo told him, and wiped his forehead with his sleeve. "I do not enjoy this situation, Mrs. Emily."
"Why should you?" she commented dryly, and to Mornajay, "How do you feel? The sooner we get away from here—"
"1 can still walk!" he snapped.
She looked at him doubtfully. "Could Ami take him back to the Akha village?"
Bonchoo sighed. "It is Anu who is here to guide us to the Shan camp which is well hidden—of course it is well hidden—and without Anu—" He shivered. "I do not care to spend a night in the jungle."
"You mean we have to choose?" she faltered. 'Take him with us or go back?" She sat back on her heels and looked at Mornajay, wanting to be kind and yet, "Bonchoo, we can't go back, we've come so far, it's taken so long!" There ought to be antiseptic for his wound, she thought, there ought to be a bandage; she hoped he wasn't in shock and she hoped the wound wasn't going to become infected because it looked ugly, the skin around it alarmingly flushed and red. "We can't go back," she said desperately.
Bonchoo spoke to Anu, who nodded and began cutting a stick of bamboo for Mornajay to use as a cane. They helped Mornajay to his feet; he swayed a little but his lips tightened with resolution and Mrs. Pollifax thought that he had the courage of a man who refuses to acknowledge any weakness in himself.
"I'm okay," he said. "I'll be fine. We've got to go on!"
She gave him an encouraging smile but the thought of Cyrus curtailed her deeper sympathies. They could not spare Anu—Bonchoo was right about that—and they simply couldn't turn back now; it was a hellish situation that she could only rationalize by reminding herself that Mornajay had not been invited to join them but had pressed his company on them. They were going to have to exploit his pride in order to keep him moving, which was not a happy thought, but she had no happy thoughts about Cyrus, either, who she had to believe was still alive somewhere ahead of them.
An unhappy case of triage, she thought drearily, and felt suddenly and unutterably tired.
She saw that Bonchoo was watching her. He said simply, "You must not give out now."
So he guessed. What a good and decent man he is, she thought, and gave him a grateful smile. "I know," she told him, and glanced at her watch: it was a few minutes past noon, and they had set out at eight that morning. "Is it far now?" she asked.
Bonchoo spoke to Anu. "He says—I think he says— only two hours from here but he doesn't understand distance. By the sun it will be—" He pointed. "Middle afternoon."
"Good," she said, nodding. "I'm glad to know that, it helps."
"Lean on Anu," Bonchoo told Mornajay, and they began walking again, but slowly, with Anu and Mornajay setting the pace.
They had covered nearly half a mile of trail when Mornajay began to stumble, and after the third time this happened Anu turned and gave Bonchoo a helpless glance. "What is it?" asked Bonchoo and brushed past Mrs. Pollifax to join him.
Mornajay was swaying on his feet, his face flushed, eyes bright. He said in an aggrieved voice, "I refuse to take that as criticism, first of all because it's not so, and second of all—" He stopped. "Second of all," he began again, and seeing Mrs. Pollifax he looked puzzled. "You're not Chin-Ling," he said. "Where's Chin-Ling?"
Mrs. Pollifax reached out, touched his forehead and winced. "He's burning up with fever."
Bonchoo turned to Anu and asked a question, to which Anu responded at some length, with gestures. When he turned back to Mrs. Pollifax he looked deeply troubled. "He says—" Bonchoo hesitated and then blurted out, "He says the arrow may have been poisoned, dipped in ya pit-"
"Poison! Oh dear God," she gasped. "Mr. Mornajay—" But Mornajay had dropped to his knees, where he remained for a moment and then slowly sank back to lie sprawled on the forest floor. Kneeling beside him, she cried, "Bonchoo, he's desperately ill, we've got to find help!" Even as she spoke the words she realized how ridiculous they were, because where on earth could they find help in a jungle so far removed from civilization? Unless —"What about those rangers who passed us?"
Bonchoo shook his head. "Many miles back and an hour ago, Mrs. Emily."
Ami spoke in a level, matter-of-fact voice and Mrs. Pollifax did not need his words translated for her: from the look on his face and the sound of his voice she knew that he had calmly announced that Mornajay would die.
"But we can't—we can't just let him die," she protested. She looked down at Mornajay who was twitching and mumbling now, his face contorted, and she knew there was nothing she could do to prevent this. She had not liked him very much but she could not allow him such a sorry ending.
Bonchoo said slowly, "It is possible—"
She glanced up and saw his face thoughtful. "What is it?" she asked, rising to her feet.
"I don't know," he said with a frown, "but it is possible—" He turned to Anu and spoke, the boy listening gravely; they spoke together for several minutes, Anu inserting words, eyes narrowing, until he suddenly smiled, nodding briskly.
"But where is he going?" she asked in alarm as Anu headed into the grove of bamboo and pushed his way through the ground scrub.
"He is going to climb one of the tallest bamboo and see where we are," Bonchoo said. "We must be very near to the Burma border. Too near, maybe."
"The Shan camp? Does he think we're near the Shan camp?"
He shook his head. "Still an hour away, and to the south, he says."
She stood beside Mornajay and waited, trying not to think of the hopelessness of their situation. Through the screen of trees she could watch Ami skillfully shinnying up the trunk of a robust bamboo; he climbed quickly, his head disappeared and then his body and at last his feet and he vanished. The forest had turned silent, but not Mornajay, who was struggling to sit up.
"No, Mr. Mornajay," she protested, and Bonchoo kn
elt to help her. 'Try to be quiet," she urged as he stared at her blankly, the pupils of his eyes hugely dilated. "Bonchoo, what is Ami looking for? What did you say might be possible?" As Mornajay sank back with a groan she said despairingly, "He ought to be given an emetic. If it truly is poison—"
"If it's what Ami calls the 'madness poison' it may act slowly," Bonchoo said. "One must hope—" He stopped as a voice called from the distance.
Mrs. Pollifax leaped to her feet. "What was that?"
"It's Ami," said Bonchoo, and shouted back to him.
Ami's bare feet came into view, then his body, then his head as he descended the bamboo, and despite her agitation Mrs. Pollifax marveled at his grace. He jumped the last few feet to the ground and came to them smiling.
"What has he seen?" she asked anxiously.
Bonchoo didn't reply, he was busy hurling questions at Anu. She wished that she spoke Thai, she wished she spoke the Akha language, she wished— "What is it, Bonchoo?" she repeated, because Ami's smile had faded, he was shaking his head.
Bonchoo turned to her at last. "There is something I hoped for, maybe half a mile from here, not far. But Anu refuses to go and see, so I must. I will not be long."
She said fiercely, "Go? Bonchoo, you're not telling me what Anu saw! Go where?"
He said, "No, because first—please, I must first learn if it is the place I hope it is, a place I stumbled across once, a long time ago, when I was lost. There may be people— trust me," he said, and lifting the machete out of his belt, he brushed aside the vines and walked in among the columns of bamboo, except that unlike Anu he continued walking until she could no longer see him.
She stood for a long time staring at the place where he'd vanished, feeling bereft and very alone. She could trust him, couldn't she, he would return, wouldn't he? She glanced at Anu, who was watching her, gave him a weak smile and went back to Mornajay.
When she looked again for Anu he was gone.
"Anu?" she called, and then, "Anu?"
There was only silence; Anu, too, had vanished, but like a wraith, without a sound. She walked around the fallen tree and peered into the forest; she left Mornajay and walked back to the trail, her footsteps terrifyingly loud to her as she clumsily tripped over branches. She found the trail but it was empty, and returned to the fallen tree and to Mornajay, who was no longer mumbling but obsessively turning his head from left to right as if to free it from an intolerable burden.
Mrs. Pollifax and the Golden Triangle Page 12