Cambodia

by Nick Carter

  All that was left to do was to sit beside him and watch him die. I wished there had been more of the youths to kill. I wished there had been more of them running around. What gets to you is the senseless waste of it. The young girl, the child, Nam Kien, that whole village, even the youths themselves. And why? For what? A piece of real estate? A way of life? Greed?

  "American," Nam Kien said, "I do not wish to die in a village of death. There is a place I would have you take me."

  When his eyes closed again I looked around. Only skeletons remained where the huts had stood. But the smoke was rising and slowly drifting away. The bodies scattered about looked tinged with black.

  "Where do you want me to take you?" I asked.

  His eyes fluttered and opened again. "There is… a village one hour to the south. I… have friends there."

  "Like here, and that last village?"

  He managed a weak smile. "Those… villages were mere contacts. I… have friends in this village I speak of." His eyes looked up at me with pleading. It was the first time I had seen any such expression in them.

  I decided to leave his pack. When I had my own on I pushed my arms behind his back and knees and lifted him from the ground. He gave out a loud hiss of pain. From the weight of him, I knew I would have to rest often. He pointed in the direction he wanted to go, and I started out.

  The going was not easy. Once we were back in the jungle, the heat and insects attacked with fresh vigor. I knew Nam Kien was growing weaker. He seemed to doze in my arms, his eyes closing slowly, then jerking open as though he were fighting it. My respect extended beyond his ability as a guide. But besides respect, I now really liked the salty old guide. He had been a moody and silent traveling companion, but then maybe I had changed his opinion of Americans a little.

  The one hour to the south took me more than two hours. In the last 20 minutes Nam Kien had not opened his eyes. I saw the thinning jungle first, crisscrossed with well-worn paths, the signs of a village. There was a dull, aching pain across the back of my shoulders. My legs felt like they were made of gelatin.

  I stumbled along the path, tripping often and almost falling down twice. I had been gritting my teeth for so long that my jaw muscles ached.

  Nam Kien was very still and very heavy in my arms. At first he had tried to help by holding onto my neck, but now his arms dangled, his hands striking my knees with each stumbling step. I was huffing through my open mouth and almost to my knees when I could see the first hut of the village. For hours I had kept telling myself there was no time to rest. Whenever I felt I just had to, I told myself it was just a little farther, take six more steps, then 12, then 20. I was now eight or nine steps from the first hut in the village, and I doubted if I could make it.

  The village was alive with activity. Women and children were close to the edge of a creek that almost ran through the village. Laundry was rinsed, slapped against rocks, rinsed, slapped against rocks. They kept up the sing-song Asian chatter, light-hearted and gossipy. Beyond the village lay six large rice paddies, where the men from the village were working. In front of the first hut an old woman stirred a pot over an open fire. Beyond her, children romped and ran.

  I had six steps to go and was on my way down. "Hey!" I called, and I felt some kind of desperation in my voice. My knees hit the trail, and I started forward to my face.

  I don't know where the people came from, but suddenly I was surrounded by a small crowd. Nam Kien was taken from my lead-filled arms and into the first hut. I was helped to my feet and supported until my watery knees would stiffen. Then I was helped to the hut and inside. I sat heavily and somebody shoved a wooden bowl of rice in my hand. With the first bite I felt strength return. I wiped the sweat from my eyes and eased out of the pack. The old woman was bending over Nam Kien, and he was stirring.

  "Sariki," he said in a weak voice. "Old woman, get me Sariki." The old woman nodded and quickly left the hut. A crowd had gathered outside the hut door, but nobody else came in.

  I scooted over to offer Nam Kien some of the rice, but he had passed out again. I had finished the rice and was smoking a cigarette when I saw him move again. I knew he was dying, and I knew it wouldn't be long.

  The hut had one mat where Nam Kien lay. In the center there was a low table with no chairs. A single kerosene lantern hung from the curved ceiling. It was unlit, probably because of the heat and the fact that the blistering sun offered good enough light. Nam Kien was lying on his back. He raised an arm feebly and motioned me over to him.

  "Sariki… is a good guide. Sariki will lead you… to Angkor Thorn," he whispered in a croaking voice.

  "Don't try to talk now, Nam Kien."

  His lips moved but no words came. His tongue licked out over them. "S-Society of the… Silver Snake… bad. Killed my son. When Society needs men they… enter village. Ask for volunteers. Say it is patriotic duty. Win back Mekong Delta for Cambodia. If… if… no young men volunteer, kill one or two. Then no… trouble getting volunteers."

  I wanted to hear this, but I knew that by talking Nam Kien was hastening his own death. I thought of the time we had spent together and how often I had tried to get this information out of him. Now he was willing to tell me, when he might not ever tell anybody else anything again. I felt guilty.

  He had sighed. His eyes had closed and even now as he spoke they remained closed. "My… son in small village… Northwest Cambodia. Visiting girl. Society come to him… tell him to join. He refused. He was not of the village. He was visiting girl. He did not care who Mekong Delta belong to. He tell them… over and over he is not of village. Next morning… he received one of the Society's daggers. Very mysterious… before nightfall… my… son… is… dead…"

  "How?"

  He licked his lips and kept his eyes closed and waited. I knew this was painful for him. He was dying himself, yet he talked about the death of his son. "The dagger," he said. His voice was growing weaker. "Society got many volunteers from village. They… are ruthless… more than… Vietcong… North Vietnamese…"

  I thought he had slipped away. All the muscles relaxed in his face. He looked passive and completely without life. And then his lips began to move again.

  "Sariki… has a dagger. You must… tell Sariki to show it… to you. Sariki will guide you… to… Angkor Thorn…"

  His lips stopped moving. His mouth was open slightly. He lay perfectly still with every muscle in his face relaxed. I knew before I checked his pulse that Nam Kien was dead.

  Someone came through the door of the hut. I turned quickly to see who it was. She looked to be 18 or 19. Her chocolate eyes bored right through me, yet there was no expression on her lovely face. She was Vietnamese, and her skin had a rich smooth texture. A large man who must have been the chief came in behind her.

  The girl looked at me calmly and said, "My name is Sariki. I was told Nam Kien was hurt."

  Seven

  "He does not hurt any longer," I said. "He is dead."

  Suddenly her whole facial expression changed. Her teeth were bared and her eyes flooded in an expression of grief. She let out a loud choking sob and fell to her knees beside Nam Kien's body. Her slender body shook with deep sobs.

  The chief's old wrinkled face had a look of sadness as he looked at the girl. Then his tired eyes turned to me. "You will leave, please."

  "Leave?"

  "You will wait in another hut," he said. "Go!"

  I got to my feet and picked up the pack. Things were going on here I knew nothing about and probably weren't any of my business. I silently stepped outside. An old woman motioned me to follow her. As we walked toward another hut in the circle I got a lot of stares from women and children. I felt like the odd man on a date. I had come here looking for a Society, and now I was involved with a guide, his village and a girl who was supposed to be taking over. I wondered what connection she had with Nam Kien. He only had the one son. Was she a cousin? Then I wondered why I was wondering.

  The old woman stood aside and I went
into the hut. This one had no table. The earth floor had no mats. My head hit the bulky softness of my pack, and I thought I'd try Yoga to relax without sleeping. It was the last thing I remember.

  * * *

  She shook my shoulder once, then stood back. I had been very deep in a pool of the past. I was with a lovely woman named Kathy, her son and we were in an old Austin streaking for the border into Hong Kong. And afterward while I kissed her and felt the softness of her, she had doubts about the world she came from. But the doubts left when I returned her to her husband. She had thanked me, and she had said she wished… but then she said no more. Her husband took her and his son and drove away, leaving me with Hawk, a steak, a drunken night in Hong Kong and a meeting with an airline stewardess a week later in Spain. When I felt my shoulder being shook, my feet touched the sandy bottom of the past, my knees bent then stiffened and I started swimming up through the dark subconscious. The pressure relaxed, I kicked as though I were pulling in a rope, and when I broke surface my eyes opened to look at Sariki's lovely face.

  "American," she said. I shook my head and focused on her, sniffled, mumbled something about all right, then sat up straight.

  The sun was already on the downward slide across the sky. In my sleep I had sweated so that my clothes were soppy enough to wring. My back was stiff, but I felt rested. Sariki was kneeling across from me. She wore a plain, loose-fitting shift, and her dark shiny hair was piled in a bun on the back of her head. Her wide, slightly slanted eyes looked at me curiously. Her face was triangular with a sharp almost jutting chin. Her mouth was wide, her lips full. Her slender body did not push or stretch against the dress anywhere. She looked fragile, as though she would be very easy to break. But a couple of things contradicted that: the clearness of her gaze, unblinking, steady, and the strong jawline angled sharply to the chin that looked strong and stubborn.

  Her brown eyes looked at me with a mild curiosity and a hint of recent hurt. They were red-rimmed from crying. "You knew Nam Kien?" she asked. Her voice was surprisingly low for someone so young.

  I shook my head slightly. "Not well. He guided me here. I mean, he was supposed to guide me to Angkor Thorn. We were ambushed about two or three miles from here by some young North Vietnamese…"

  "Do not say more, please!"

  I frowned at her. "I'm sorry. I thought you wanted to know how he died."

  She looked at the earth floor. "Did he speak to you before he died?"

  "He told me how his son died. He was guiding me to the Society of the Silver Snake. I have to find out about the Society. It is the reason I am here. He told me the Society killed his son with a dagger, and that you have one of these daggers. I am supposed to ask you to see it. And he said you would guide me to Angkor Thorn. If you won't, then I'll have to go back. I think I could find my own way. My superiors will find another way for me to locate the Society."

  "I did not say I would not take you."

  "Well, I'm not very popular. Two villages have already been wiped out and a lot of innocent people killed because of me. Nam Kien was one of them. If you don't want to guide me, I'll understand."

  "American," she said wearily. "You are an agent sent here by your government to find the Society of the Silver Snake. What will you do to the Society when you find it?"

  "I can't answer that right now," I said honestly. "I won't be able to answer it until after I locate them."

  "You will wait." She stood and smoothly flowed out of the hut. I slapped a mosquito on the back of my neck. My face felt crusty with sweat that had dried and then poured again. My clothes felt and smelled like I'd been wearing them for a year without a change. I had just about finished a cigarette when Sariki returned to the hut. She had something with her, something wrapped in a torn rag. She dropped it at my feet and backed up to the opposite wall. She crouched again, watching me.

  I put out the cigarette and leaned forward to pick up the bundle. I unwrapped it carefully.

  The dagger was silver, or at least it looked like silver. The point of it was the head of a snake honed to a razor-sharp edge. The rest of the blade was a wavy, semi-curled trunk of a snake's body. The outside edges were very sharp. The handle was made of woven leather, making it look like the snake was leaping out of a small basket. It was a wicked-looking weapon, and I could understand why it was guaranteed to strike terror into the hearts of any who resisted it. I started wrapping it again and looked up at Sariki.

  "How did you come by it?" I asked.

  She shook her head as though to throw the question aside. Then she said, "I am the chief's daughter. I have relatives in a small village in Northwest Cambodia where I once lived. If it was Nam Kien's last wish that I should lead you toward the ruins of Angkor Thorn, I will do so. But I will not lead you all the way to the ruins. I will take you to the small village where my cousin and two brothers live. It is close to the ruins." She moved gracefully to her feet and picked up the wrapped dagger and glided to the door. Her body was willowy and seemed to give her movements an almost swaying motion. She would have no trouble moving quietly in the night. At the door she turned back. "We will cross into Cambodia tonight," she said. "When we are in Cambodia there will be less concern about the North Vietnamese and the Vietcong. We will travel during the day and night. Rest quickly if you can." Then she left.

  I didn't know how I was going to rest quickly. I stretched back on the pack and closed my eyes. Maybe I could return to Kathy or the airline stewardess in Spain and take up where I left off before Sariki shook my shoulder. But sleep wouldn't come.

  * * *

  It was actually twilight when we left. The sun had been down for almost 20 minutes, the heat was still with us, the insects came in mobs, and as the sun had dipped it pulled a huge wrinkled scarlet tablecloth across the sky after it. All of the cloth wasn't quite down yet. It had tears and holes showing some blue and gray and extended almost directly above the village.

  Sariki had changed into the peasant pants that most of the villagers wore and a blue button-down-the-front blouse with long sleeves rolled to the elbows. Although she had changed clothes she brought along her same disposition. Her lovely face remained passive in her special brand of indifference. She had her own pack made of a coarse material.

  We started out on foot through the jungle. There was one very real difference as far as I was concerned. I had bathed, shaved and changed clothes. With another bowl of rice I felt ready to rejoin the human race. No one waved goodbye, no one stood watching. If there were to be a funeral for Nam Kien, neither Sariki nor I would see it. Life in the village seemed to go on just as usual.

  Darkness came quickly. Sariki took long girlish strides, and it seemed both delightful and odd after following Nam Kien. I had no problem keeping up with her. She picked the trails as though she knew what she was doing. In the darkness, she became just a shadow in front of me, a willowy form I was to follow.

  We moved swiftly and rested seldom. Sariki proved herself to be at least as silent as Nam Kien had been. I was used to jungle traveling, and it seemed to me we were making good progress. When we rested, Sariki never spoke, just sat opposite me and looked at the ground. And she never said when it was time to start off again; she simply got up and started walking.

  Shortly after midnight, she said the first words to me she had said since we left the village. "We have crossed into Cambodia," she said. She had kept walking without slowing.

  I looked around. "No border guards, no checkpoints?"

  "There are many places like this."

  And that was the sum total of the conversation.

  * * *

  We traveled on through the next day and night across Cambodia toward the Mekong River. In the villages we passed through, Sariki was treated with the humble respect apparently due a chiefs daughter. She spoke only to the chief of each village, and in private. We ate in villages and slept in them. Several times I had tried to start a conversation, but I was met with stone-faced silent stares. The pattern became simple.
We walked with her in the lead. If we came to a village, we were immediately separated, and I didn't see her again until it was time to leave. If there were no village after four hours of walking, we stopped and ate a handful of rice.

  The heat didn't seem to affect her. If there were no village when darkness came, she picked out a place for me and a little farther on a place for her. We spread out mats and went to sleep. She always woke me before dawn, though I occasionally surprised her by being awake when she came. I figured in another day or two I would be waking her.

  At first I was anxious about her. She felt grief because Nam Kien was dead, and maybe in some left-field way I was responsible. So what did that make me? Hatred is a visible emotion. Contempt is another. You can see these things by a sly look or an insolent gesture. But she showed nothing of this toward me. What she showed me was indifference. And I didn't even know what Nam Kien meant to her.

  If I tossed Nam Kien out, I came up with another reason for her indifference. A princess. I figured that was a large deal here in this part of Asia. Maybe they brought her up to think she was a cut above the human race. In that case, I was beneath her station. But because of some unexplainable bond to Nam Kien and the fact that he had given me his word, she felt bound to mingle with me, a low commoner. That is if you wanted to call what we were doing mingling.

  Walking all those hours behind her gave me a lot of time to think. And although I worried at first, I soon changed it to a mild curiosity. If circumstances had been different, and if I hadn't felt guilt for Nam Kien's death, I would have told Sariki to peddle her guidebook somewhere else. I had struck out with her, and my ego did not take kindly to strikeouts.