by Lee Weeks
‘What’s Gee along for?’ Louis asked.
‘Gee is tagging along till we get to his village,’ answered Mann. ‘He is going to provide us with porters from his village and organise supplies for us along the way. He is making a substantial contribution.’ Everyone’s eyes went down to the canvas bags by Gee’s feet.
‘There’s no money to be made out of this, Gee,’ Louis said. ‘Are you sure you want to come?’
Gee spoke up. ‘I am coming along to get safe passage to my village. They need me. Anyway, no money to be made, but money will be lost if you do not find these five young people. The world will start with its sanctions and we will have a hard job shifting goods.’
‘Huh! I can smell bullshit a mile off, Gee,’ said Louis. ‘All you’d do then is make even more money on the black market. What’s your real reason for coming on this mission?’
The van fell silent. Run Run curled her legs beneath her and rested her head against the window. In the darkness Gee hid his face beneath his cap.
Mann watched his profile as he eventually spoke.
‘It is time for me. Now, I feel in my heart, I owe my village. I owe my people. I am old now. It is time I paid back. It is time I thought about my death and made payments for my afterlife.’
‘Huh,’ Louis scoffed. ‘That bit sounds right. So, ultimately the goal is selfish—you’ve become scared of dying and you’re trying to secure yourself a comfy ride into the next life?’
‘Yes. Yes. I admit it.’ He lifted his head and glared at Louis. ‘But also I feel it is time for me to go home.’ He spoke softly and with conviction. ‘And I want to go home to a country where I am allowed to live in peace. Politics is our only way for that. We must make the world care about us. We will not do that by killing the people who come to help us. Even if it only appears to be our fault, it will be enough to damage. I am sick of having no home.’
‘What’s the news from your village? Have they seen the five?’ asked Riley.
Gee nodded his head, solemnly. ‘I have been told that five weeks ago, a band of wild-looking Shwit came through the village. They shot elephants, destroyed crops. They took some of the women for porters. They killed a hundred people in the village—many women and children. The way they describe these Shwit, they are animals—wild dogs, savages. There were twenty of them. They had the five young foreigners with them.’ There was silence in the van as Gee continued, his head bowed; he looked suddenly much older than his sixty years.
‘I grew up with fear in a farming village, growing rice in the paddy fields. Each year, before the harvest could be picked, the Burmese army came. They came for porters, for food. They promised payment that never came. One year they took my father and when he became sick they left him to die, without water or food. Thay-ne, they call the porters—it means ghosts; they become the walking dead. Their bodies litter our forests, still carrying the sacks that killed them, they melt into one. I was taken as a boy to fight in the Shan State Army, as it was then, under the Opium King. We learnt how to fight. I grew up to believe that we had a chance. We had the arms then, we had the backing of the Opium King. We had the money to buy weapons, but when the King deserted us and we lost our last battle at Shooting Dog Hill, we no longer had a homeland to defend so I left the army and travelled through Thailand and into Europe. After some years I became the businessman you see today. But I know these men—the Shwit. I have seen what they do to the villagers. They rape and torture for nothing—and why? The villagers have nothing to give them. They are devils who eat the flesh of others.’
Mann looked across at Riley and at Sue. Sue blinked back.
‘It’s a rumour,’ Riley said dismissively. ‘Some animist tribes do it in Vietnam. But not here. People say it to scare the children. It’s “the Bogeyman will get you” stuff. Somehow the rumour has grown in the jungle.’
There was an uncomfortable silence from the back seat. Run Run was asleep or she was resting. Either way she had curled into a ball, unwilling to substantiate or deny the rumour; it was clear she didn’t want to partici pate in the discussion.
‘It’s no rumour,’ Louis said, and Sue muttered her agreement. ‘When we are out in the villages we hear a lot about it, firsthand accounts. It has to be believed.’
‘Believe it!’ Gee lifted his eyes beneath the rim of his cap as he looked at each in turn. ‘I, myself, have tasted human flesh.’
All eyes turned towards him in the gloom of the van. Even Riley kept quiet. They all looked at him expectantly. ‘Sometimes it is not enough to kill the bad man. They kill your family—you want more. You want to make them suffer like your family did. There are some men, some army captains, who capture enemy and eat them, cut their flesh while they live. One time our captain caught a man—another captain—a Burmese. He was responsible for the death of many villagers. Many of the men in our unit had family who were killed by him. He was a fat man. Our captain tied the man against a tree and he cut off his…’ Gee leant forward slightly and cupped his chest. ‘…Here. He cut off this…this, breast. He chopped it and mixed it with rice wine, with soy sauce, ginger. He placed it in bowl and gave it to us. We all must eat and share. I did not eat much. I was frightened to get a taste for it. The men were happy to see the Burmese captain suffer. It was good to eat from the man—to watch him in so much fear, so much pain. It was good. You understand?’ No one answered.
Strangely, a part of Mann did understand. Not that he ever wanted to eat another human being but did want to enact the most terrible revenge he could for his father’s death. He still burned inside with the pain of unrequited revenge. He wanted his day in front of the devil that he had put many faces to. He not only wanted revenge on the person that carried out his father’s death, but also on the man who ordered it. That man had condemned Mann to a life of endless searching, a life that would always be freezeframed in that terrible second in which he was made to watch his father’s execution. In those final few seconds as he waited for the axe to come down on his father’s head, Mann had known that he would never be the same again. Outside he grew strong and fit and he studied weapons and martial arts but inside he remained a broken youth, always searching for resolution, for justice.
Mann looked back at Run Run. She was no longer sleeping—he guessed that she had never been—but was sitting up, her hands clenched in her lap. Mann could see that in the dark her eyes were wet. He knew that Run Run had seen more dreadful things than any man in that car.
64
Thomas stared at the ground. Jake had watched him drag his feet all day. He had said nothing. Jake knew that there was nothing to be said. He cried constantly. They had all watched Silke being raped so many times that she had stopped screaming hours before her long night was over. All night Thomas hadn’t taken his eyes from her. Jake knew what it was. He had to suffer with her. He could not let her die alone. Saw’s men had been animals. They had painted Thomas with his sister’s blood. Now Thomas was no longer part of the living. He was nearer to Silke than he was to them. Jake saw him stumble time and time again and Saw’s men came behind him and dragged him to his feet and hit him and punched him but he didn’t flinch or make a sound this time. He was walking in a nightmare.
Lucas was slumped over, tied to the donkey, his body rocking and swaying with the movement. He took the water Jake gave him and tried to speak but nothing coherent came out. Anna kept walking. She said nothing. She didn’t cry like Thomas but she was in shock, screaming inside, so terrified. Suddenly, now, for the first time, Jake thought Thomas was right. They were all going to die. The old porter had died today. He had been left to decompose. Jake looked over at Saw who turned and grinned, but his eyes were not smiling. His heart beat with pure hate.
65
By the time they reached the river, the darkness was slipping away and the morning mists rose like steam from the surrounding jungle. The muddy river flowed fast ahead. A boat was waiting for them and a young man sat beside it. He was idling away his time fiddling with a
radio as he watched them approach with a degree of cautious indifference. He did not move as he watched them park the VW van on the flat approach to the mooring.
‘Ah, there is the son of my good friend.’ Gee got out of the van and went to talk to him, returning a few minutes later. ‘All is good. He will take us across and others are waiting for us on the other side.’
Once the gear was loaded, the young boatman took them out into the deep channel in the middle of the river and then headed towards the far bank, steering the boat upstream. There was an air of trepidation and foreboding as they watched the navy sky above turn pale blue and the moon sink away. Only the noise of their boat disturbed the still air. Deep below them, a giant catfish stalked the muddy riverbed. Shoals of long eels skimmed the surface, their backs a muddy grey, their bellies silver.
No one spoke. On one side of them was Thailand, on the other Burma. If they were caught in this no man’s land, neither country would want them and they would disappear without a trace. Mann looked out over the stillness of the water and up to the dense forest that rose steeply ahead of them on the far side of the river. He wondered what it was hiding. There was no turning back now. Whatever fate lay ahead, he shared it now with a brother he had never met. If the monk was right, then his own death would be linked to the five’s. The monk’s words wouldn’t leave him.
They chugged their way upriver for a half an hour, passing only the fishermen on the Burmese banks who were out checking their nets, before coming to a stop at a jetty. Two porters from Gee’s village, Dok and Keetau, were waiting for them. Keetau was the elder of the two. He spoke little and smiled even less. He’d obviously had enough of Dok and snarled at him whenever he spoke. Quickly and silently they all unloaded the gear from the boat. Keetau and Dok transformed Gee’s heavy canvas bags into backpacks by the use of bamboo straps and carried them high up on their backs.
They left the boatman by the side of the river and Louis led the way up a path through the jungle. The land rose steeply from the river, the hot sand turning to blackened earth beneath their feet as they climbed. The frogs called an alarm up and down the riverbank.
‘Keep to the path,’ Louis whispered back along the line. ‘Follow in someone else’s footprints all the time. This whole area is mined.’
Mann didn’t need to be told twice. He stayed close behind Sue’s slim frame as she strode ahead of him. No pretty skirts to hold her up today, no tie-dyed blouses. She looked pert in her military-style dark trousers and long-sleeved shirt, her thick blonde plait resting between her shoulder blades. Sue and Louis carried all the medical supplies. The rest of the gear was split between Mann and the others. Sue was carrying the same size pack as Mann on her back, and he knew it was heavy and hard to balance as the weight pulled backwards, but she was as sure-footed and nimble as a mountain goat climbing the steep bank. She was clearly used to it; backpack medics were renowned for their strength and stamina.
Beneath their feet, the dried leaves crackled and the bank climbed sharply up into the jungle. The going rapidly became difficult and Mann had to pull himself up using the branches and vines, careful not to step out of the others’ tracks. When the way became impassable, they took it in turns to machete their way through the thick foliage. The sweat poured from them as the heat from their bodies was trapped in the denseness of the lush vegetation. Somewhere above the canopy of the jungle there was a midday sun overhead; but it hardly broke through the tops of the teak trees.
By late afternoon they had reached the beginnings of a village. Directly in front of them was a wooden arch, roughly constructed. On one side there was a carved wooden figure representing a man with a massive erect penis, on the other a carved woman’s vagina.
‘Animists,’ said Riley, by way of explanation. ‘Don’t ask…’
‘Don’t really think I need to,’ smiled Mann.
Hidden amongst the forest, the dwellings came gradually into view—about thirty or more houses built at odd angles to the hillside and to each other. A stream ran down the centre of the village.
A white dog barked at their approach and raced up to Run Run, his tail wagging furiously. She called out a greeting and there came the sound of an excited rush of giggling voices from the forest around. A group of young children of differing heights and ages appeared in their path to greet them. One of them shuffled after the others on her bottom. Her head was misshapen and her legs malformed. The children crowded round Run Run as she scooped up the little shuffling girl and carried her on her hip into the settlement. The others wrapped their arms around Run Run’s waist as they pulled her forward and the group followed. As they passed the first dwelling, a stout-looking older woman emerged. She had a rifle in one hand and a bloody bandage in the other. She frowned when she looked at Mann and the others but, when she looked at Run Run, a small smile twitched at the side of her mouth.
‘And how is my daughter?’ she asked.
‘I am good,’ Run Run answered. ‘Mr Mann, this is my mother, Mo.’
Mo greeted them with a sharp nod before turning briskly back inside the hut. Run Run beckoned Mann to follow her. They left their shoes outside and entered into the inner room where there was a smell of antiseptic and rum. There they found a young girl and a soldier, who was sitting in the corner looking the worse for wear as he leant against the side of the hut. He held one of his arms close to his chest. Mo went over to him and continued her work of stitching up a large gash on his temple.
Mo looked at them. Her eyes were small and hard; her face must have been pretty once, but now it was scarred by years of fighting.
‘And this is Phara, who is like a sister to me.’
Phara was a slim, beautiful, fair-skinned girl, who wore the traditional brass rings around her long neck. She beamed at Run Run. She looked as if she would have loved to stop what she was doing to rush over and hug Run Run. Instead she held a cloth up to contain the stream of blood that dribbled from the cut in the soldier’s head into his eye as Mo stitched, and smiled a big grin.
‘And this little girl…’ Run Run kissed the head of the little girl, who was still sitting on her hip ‘…is Kanya.’
Mo took a minute to study Mann whilst the soldier repositioned the bloodied cloth over his eyes and Phara held the wound together.
‘You are welcome here, Mr Mann. Now, Run Run, make your friends some tea and I will send our brave soldier back to die with his comrades, hey?’ Mo’s English was even better than her daughter’s. ‘Send in the medic, I need her.’
She eyed Mann closely. ‘And show him and the others where they will sleep. I have cleared the hut next to mine—it is dry, at least.’ Mo gave Mann a wry smile as she hovered over the soldier. ‘Dry is all we can ask for, isn’t it, Mr Mann?’ She turned back to her patient before Mann could answer, even if he had intended to. Then she called after him: ‘Of course, there’s plenty of room in my hut if you get lonely.’
Her shoulders and chest rose together as she laughed silently and the soldier winced as her hand jerked at the other end of the needle.
‘Hold still!’ She swabbed viciously at the wound. ‘Otherwise I’ll call the healer from the village and he’ll put some cow shit on it and you’ll lose half your pretty face.’
Mann turned to leave. He stopped in the doorway and nodded at Mo.
‘I’ll bear it in mind, if I have trouble sleeping…’
Mo laughed again and looked pleased with herself as she bit off the end of the thread with her teeth.
Mann followed Run Run outside. Sue was already washing her hands and had her medical kit open.
‘You’ve been summoned,’ said Mann.
Sue chuckled. ‘Delighted to oblige. Mo is one of the people I trained and she’s my star pupil. She’s the local casualty department in this area and not someone you can ever say no to.’
‘That’s worrying.’ Mann turned to wink at Mo who was watching him through the open door of the house. Her eyes had been glued to his arse as she watched him walk aw
ay. ‘Great bedside manner,’ said Mann. Sue laughed.
‘You wait till she’s had a few drinks,’ she muttered quietly. She picked up her kit and went inside.
The rest of the villagers came out to look at the newcomers. They were nearly all older women, most of them strong looking. They stared at Mann and the others, not with hostility, but with some suspicion. They looked like they had fought in many battles. Some had lost limbs, others had massive scars.
A few feet away, Louis was stood in the shade chatting to a soldier who was smoking a cheroot while he waited for his companion to finish being seen to. Riley was nearby, kneeling on the floor with some of the village children as he unpacked gifts of paper and crayons for them from his rucksack.
Mann followed Run Run further into the village. They walked fifteen metres to what looked to be the largest of the dwellings. Like most of the houses in the village, it was built on stilts. However, unlike most of the other houses, there were no pigs or goats beneath this one. They climbed the ladder and set their packs down in the hut that was to be their home for the next night at least. Mann looked at Run Run.
‘Your mother was a great warrior, Run Run, is that right? It looks like the other women in this village were also fighting women.’
Run Run inclined her head in a small bow of agreement.
‘Yes. My mother was and is a fighter, Mr Mann. She is that before all else. She will fight till she dies, like all of us. Her unit retired here. They killed many Burmese army between them.’ She started to sort out the contents of her bag. ‘It is her life.’
‘And what about you, Run Run? What are your hopes and your ambitions for your life?’
She turned towards him and seemed to study him, and he could see she was deciding what his intention was by asking a question that would be considered too personal and therefore rude in her culture.
