Cait gave a happy smile for a change, her face lighting up with a spark of excitement: Yes! Something to look forward to.
“Then the next night we catch a sleeper bus to Pakse, and then on to Angkor Wat.”
Dec waved at a passing tuk-tuk and three of them miraculously appeared out of nowhere: “You want ride, mister? Where to? Very cheap. Show you Vientiane. Good price.”
Dec woke to the sound of Cait thrashing about in her bed, grunting, distressed, seemingly in some sort of panic as if she was fighting off an unseen predator.
“Hey Cait, wake up, sis. You’re having a nightmare.”
Dec instinctively checked his phone on the table by the bed—3:41 a.m., damn it!—and threw off his sheet, quickly jumping up and moving to sit on the edge of his sister‘s bed, putting his hand on her shoulder and gently rocking her awake: “Cait, Cait, it’s okay.”
Cait abruptly woke and looked around, focusing. Where am I? She opened her eyes fully and . . . Dec was there, looking down on her.
“Hey sis, you okay? You’re having a nightmare, that’s all. It’s all good. You’re here with me, Dec.” Gently taking hold of her with both hands he lifted her shoulders up off her bed and pulled her toward him in a reassuring bear hug.
“Cait, just chill. It’s all good, I’m here. No one’s going to get you.”
Cait relaxed, her head dropping forward as she melted into his comforting embrace.
“Oh, Dec . . . our bus trip to Angkor Wat. It’s not good.”
“Eh? What do you mean?”
“Dec, I just had a vision. It was awful.” Cait had just seen a red tourist bus with a large multicolored lightning bolt emblazoned down both sides, and it had been in a major accident.
“It’s just a nightmare, Cait . . .”
“No Dec, it’s weird, I’m starting to see things. I’m getting visions that I can’t explain, even to myself. Mum keeps telling me they’re part of something she calls The Gift. Like it’s supernatural shit, Dec, and it’s frightening the living bejesus out of me.”
“Mum and Dad mentioned on the phone that there’s some weird stuff going down, but this is over the top.”
“Trust me, Dec, it’s real. It’s happening. And I don’t know how to handle it.”
“So what did you see, Cait? What was in this vision?”
Cait sat up and went silent, as quiet as a sinner in church, and moved out of Dec’s embrace.
“Dec, just . . . I’m just overreacting. Sorry, little bro.”
She closed her eyes momentarily and shook her head from side to side as if to purge herself of her thoughts, then looked up at Dec.
“Let me work through it in my head, okay? I’ll talk about it tomorrow maybe. It was nothing really. You’re probably right, just a nightmare. PTSD stuff after the kidnapping. Go back to bed, mate. I’ll be good by tomorrow.”
Silence.
“Hey bro, looking forward to that bike ride you organized.”
Cait pulled the sheet up around her neck like a security blanket, rolled over onto her side and cocooned into the fetal position. “Night night, don’t let the bedbugs bite.”
Dec doesn’t need to know what I saw. Not tonight. It was only a bad dream, in any case.
She drifted off to sleep hoping that the visions would leave her alone for a change.
“That was a brilliant day. I’m just so glad we went on that bike ride,” said Cait as she was sitting on the balcony of their hostel, necking a frosty Beerlao straight from the bottle and checking out the frenetic activity that was happening in Chao Anou Road three floors below them.
“You know, Dad was right. Getting away from everything that’s been happening in Melbourne for the last few months was a great idea. I’m starting to mellow out, and I’ve only been here two days!” Cait picked up her beer, closely examined the silvery condensation running down the sides of the white, yellow, and green label, and took a long swig.
“Ah, just what the doctor ordered.” Cait let out a frothy burp and giggled.
“You all right, sis?” chided Dec, as he downed half his bottle in one gulp and then followed suit, letting an even louder, long burp rip.
They both looked at each other and laughed.
“And you know what’s so cool about being here? I haven’t got that damn mind map of mine nagging at me twenty-four hours a day, calling me back to it over and over again.”
“Sis, quick, grab your camera. Do you reckon that guy on the push-bike down there could fit any more containers on his bike if he tried? You can hardly see him he’s buried so deeply in his load.”
Cait let out a giant belly laugh, almost dropping her camera onto the road below as she leaned over the edge of the balcony to get a better shot.
“Only in Asia,” said Cait, smiling. “You know what, Dec? It’s just so nice to feel like myself again. Can you understand where I’m coming from?”
“Sure can, sis. Now, let’s finish our beers and cruise on down to the Ban Anou Night Market. It’s about five hundred meters down the road. We can check out the stalls, get hassled by the locals, maybe have another beer or three and grab a bite to eat.”
“Some satays, a noodle soup, and maybe a bit of laab moo from the street vendors are looking good for dinner. What do you feel like? The food here’s great and it’s sooo cheap. Spend five bucks and you’re full.”
“Sounds like a plan, little bro. I’m starving.”
“Watch out!” exclaimed Dec as Cait was just about to disappear from view by falling into a deep pothole in the middle of the sidewalk. She had been distracted by a young street kid tugging at her T-shirt from behind.
“Please, miss. Postcard, miss. You buy from me? Very nice picture.”
Another annoying street urchin was trying to sell her a pack of postcards of Vientiane that she didn’t want and had no intention of buying.
Cait instinctively snapped, “Bomi, pai kai,” in makeshift Lao that their tour guide on this morning’s bike ride had taught her: “No, go away.”
Half turning, she looked down and below her was a young eleven- or twelve-year-old child with a dirty face and a cheeky smile, vying for her attention. Cait immediately melted inside, her cold attitude and sharp response changing in a heartbeat, as she noticed that he had no legs and was wandering around on a makeshift trolley that had been obviously cobbled together out of bits and pieces—two small bicycle wheels at the back, a jockey wheel at the front that looked like it’d had a past life as part of a pram or similar, a wooden platform with a dirty cushion, and a steering arm made from another bike.
Cait looked at “Street Kid” and remembered a fact that the tour guide had told Dec and her: there were over 20,000 innocent people in Laos who had been getting on with their day-to-day lives, usually in the country, normal and physically whole one minute when bang, they were missing limbs the next, permanently maimed for life if they were lucky enough to survive the unexploded ordinance they had just stumbled across.
There had been 270 million cluster bombs—the equivalent of two million tons of death and destruction—dropped on Laos by the Americans during the Vietnam War between 1964–1973, and this poor kid had obviously drawn the short straw and been on the receiving end of an unexpected explosion some thirty years later. Laos had the invidious distinction of being the most heavily bombed country per capita in recorded world history, with the equivalent of a full planeload of bombs hitting the ground every eight minutes, twenty-four hours per day, every day, for nine years straight.
And there were an estimated eighty million cluster bombs that failed to detonate, still sitting in the ground today like ticking time bombs, lying in wait until their turn arrived to explode at some future date. This meant that every lucky Laotian alive today, all seven million of them, had been gifted with the equivalent of eleven unexploded bombs each, waiting for some other unlucky soul to claim their booby prize, just like Street Kid.
Cait smiled, Street Kid smiled, and the deal was done. She was now the pro
ud owner of a pack of postcards.
Rummaging deeply inside her shoulder bag, Cait located the Monopoly money that she had previously zipped into the side pocket and handed twenty thousand Lao kip—less than two dollars and fifty cents in US currency—over to the tiny, grubby hand that was reaching out to her in anticipation before graciously accepting the cards.
“Keep the change.”
Street Kid’s face lit up like a light bulb, and Cait felt the warm and fuzzies run through her system like a bolt of electricity. Unknown to her why, she lightly grabbed his hand again and immediately felt a strange tingle—a glow almost—and held on to his small fingers for longer than necessary.
Flashes of a bomb explosion appeared in her mind’s eye—I can feel your pain, little one. Then as quickly as the vision came it went, leaving a black hole where it had been a few seconds ago that was now replaced by a feeling of resigned happiness.
Cait slid her hand out from Street Kid’s light grasp, looked at him for a last time, her face dominated by a radiant smile that would make even the devil melt into submission, and turned around to rejoin Dec on his trek to the night market.
“Hey missy, you nice lady. Thank you.” And with that, Street Kid spun around on his makeshift trolley, cackled out loud like a chook in a feeding frenzy, and immediately approached the next tourist walking down the street.
Yes! Good deed number one for the day now complete, thought Cait, feeling pleased with herself.
“Just check out all that mess of power lines on that power pole up there, Dec.” Cait pointed up to a spaghetti-like jumble of cables at the top of a metal power pole on the other side of the road. “They look like a tangled bundle of black rope all tied up together. Imagine getting that passed in Australia as legal.”
Cait and Dec were sitting outside a busy to overflowing small sidewalk restaurant on the outside of the Khua Din night market. Dec had previously done a walk-by and the place looked clean and frantic, with a bunch of locals inside eating and gesticulating, so in his opinion it had to be okay. Dad appeared to be inside cooking, Mum was behind a small table at the back directing the mayhem and collecting the money, and the rest of the family were constantly running back and forth, serving and tidying up. Cait and her brother were perched on the edge of low pink plastic children’s stools, at an equally low plastic table, each necking another cold Beerlao while they waited for their food to be served.
Cait just knew that their food would no doubt come served in either small white Bakelite bowls with a blue pattern running around the side or on multicolored plastic plates. This was Third World Asia after all, and nothing had changed since she was last here a few years ago. Dec was currently fidgeting, moving his long legs this way and that, trying to get comfortable on the low seat.
“Actually, they’re not all power cables,” replied Dec. “Most of that black cable confusion up there on the pole are coaxial data cables for TV and computers and stuff, believe it or not.”
“Dec, you’re sounding like Dad! Mr. Know-It-All.”
“Would I lie to you, sis? It’s true.” Dec chuckled.
They both turned to face the cacophony of sounds and activity in front of them, taking it all in and treating every minute as an adventure: the sheer number of 125cc motorcycles put-putting past, some motorcycles struggling under the load of an entire family seated on, in, and around them; the constant stream of beaten-up taxis; the tuk-tuks looking for their next customer; a woman across the street sweeping the sidewalk in front of her shop with a scraggly ended long brush in a slashing crisscross motion; the sweet smell of a million different foods hanging in the humid air.
This was the Far East at its raw best, and Cait and Dec were loving every minute of it.
From where they were sitting they had a view in the distance of Khouvieng Road, the busy main thoroughfare that they would have to walk down tomorrow night to get to the bus depot to catch their sleeper bus to Pakse, the halfway point on their 900 km trip to Siem Reap.
“Lucky we rode past the Khua Din bus station today,” said Dec. “Now we know where it is, we may as well walk there tomorrow night. It’s only a few klicks. This market’s on the way, so we can drop back here again for a meal and pick up a few supplies before the bus leaves at eight thirty. That all right with you?”
“Yeah, suppose so. Otherwise we can catch a tuk-tuk for about fifty cents.” Cait was thinking about lugging her backpack for a couple of kilometers, which in this heat didn’t exactly excite her. Besides, her broken shoulder, albeit healed, was still a bit tender.
“Hey Cait, I think that’s our bus. See, down there on the main road,” said Dec excitedly, pointing in the direction of Khouvieng Road about three hundred meters away. “See, the big yellow double-decker with the red and blue stripes down the side.”
Cait looked up at the bus and tensed, alert, senses heightened as sudden flashes of last night’s disturbing vision invaded her, taking over her thoughts: a red bus with a multicolored lightning bolt running down the side, crashed and on the side of the road, luggage everywhere. The butterflies in her stomach took off big-time, but then left as quickly as they arrived.
It’s okay, Cait, she told herself. That’s not the same bus. The one in the vision looked different. That one’s yellow.
Cait watched as the bus drove off in the traffic and she relaxed into herself, sensing no threat, no danger. It was all cool.
It was just a bad dream—a vision—and that bus just reminded me of it, that’s all.
Dec turned to face Cait and caught the tail end of his sister’s revelation.
“Hey sis, you okay?”
“Yeah, sure, little bro. All good. That bus just brought back memories of my dream last night. But no probs. It’s not the same bus I saw. Totally different.”
“That’s a relief. Glad you’re over that. You freaked me out a bit last night.” Dec had been waiting all day to talk to Cait about her nightmare, but didn’t want to be the first to bring it up.
“Trust me, it’s fine, Dec. I’m a little jumpy sometimes, but I’ll get over it. My dream was simply a knock-on effect from the hassles back in Melbourne.” Cait was speaking more to placate Dec than anything else. She just wanted to shut the conversation down. Period.
“The night bus tomorrow should be a hoot. I’m looking forward to it,” said Cait, almost as an afterthought.
“Well, I’m glad about that one.” Dec was already thinking about hitting the road again and the next adventure.
At that point their food arrived, and the topic changed instantly to travel and what to do and see tomorrow.
“Hey little bro,” said Cait between mouthfuls, “let’s ring Mum and Dad. You got Wi-Fi?”
“Yep. All systems go. I’ll jump onto WhatsApp.”
“Hey Dad. It’s Dec and me. We’re in Vientiane. About to leave for Pakse tomorrow night, then on to Siem Reap.”
“Great to hear from you two. Hang on, I’ll put you on speaker. Jools is sitting next to me.”
“Hi Cait, Dec. You sound chipper. You having a good time?” said Jools. “Ah, and you too Dec, of course. It’s lovely to hear from you both.”
“So what’s up, Caitie? All good so far, I hope. Trip over go okay?” G butted in over the top of his wife with rapid-fire questions. “You obviously met up with Dec. Read your Facebook posts—sounds like you’re having a ball.”
“Hi Mum, Dad,” Dec chipped in from the background.
And on that note, Cait and Dec filled G and Jools in on all things Laos: Cait’s trip over from Australia, the crazy-busy city of Vientiane, the kamikaze tuk-tuk drivers, the bike tour, the bells and smells that were Asia on a stick, the upcoming bus trip to Pakse, and then on to Siem Reap.
“Ah Dad, that was a really cool surprise on the plane,” Cait cut in. “Thanks heaps for the upgrade. Kicking back in business class was something special.” G had used some of his frequent flyer points to upgrade his daughter from economy but hadn’t told her, so she only found out at th
e red-carpet business class counter when checking in at Tullamarine Airport. Cait was the love of G’s life and he would walk over broken glass in order to make her happy. And besides, G figured that after the last few months of stress and worry, she deserved some special treatment.
“But you’ve spoiled me now, you realize? There’s no going back to the blunt end of the plane anymore. The pointy end is the only way to travel from now on, isn’t it? I could easily get used to a glass of 2012 Dom Pérignon at thirty-three thousand feet.”
They all laughed.
“Darling daughter, you and Dec are flying home to Melbourne via cattle class with the great unwashed in the back of the plane, so don’t get too cocky.”
“Thought it was too good to last. I’ll just have to reassess my newfound values, won’t I?”
“Hey Mum, a really weird thing happened as we were walking down to the market tonight. I got hassled by a young street kid who’d had both his legs blown off by an unexploded bomb. Well, cutting a long story short I felt an urge to reach out and touch him, don’t know why, and when I held his hand it was like I got an electric shock, but not really. Then I had a vision flash through my head of him being blown up when he lost his legs. It was really vivid.”
“Cait, I think I know the sort of experience you just had,” said Jools cautiously. She didn’t want to discuss this over the phone with the others listening in as it was secret women’s business that was best left to another time. “I get the same insight with my patients from time to time.”
“Yeah, but what made it even more strange was that it was as if I looked inside his soul. It sort of spoke to me and told me that he may have been injured, but he’s happy.”
“That’s a really positive sign, Cait. Let’s chat later about it.”
Jools thought to herself, The Gift—it’s happening, Cait, whether you like it or not. You can’t deny it much longer. Yes, you are the prodigy.
“Thanks Mum. Just thought that I’d bring it up. You know, when I left I felt really happy, for me and for him.”
The Cait Lennox Box Set Page 38
