The Zenith (84 page)

The senior captain turned to the cart owner with a big smile: “Why do you, old man, ask someone’s wife to come over and not fear doing wrong?”

“I am not asking anyone over. That’s a song of the old guys in the old days.”

“The old guys in the old days were quite disgraceful!”

“Those guys also had tongues to twist and two eyes to ogle girls just like we do now. But even if we wanted to criticize or straighten them out, they
are sleeping soundly now under three meters of dirt. Nobody can take them by the nape anymore to ask them questions.” Saying so, he looked toward An, as if to tell him to calm down.

Seeing that, An said, “Uncle, have the horses finished eating yet?”

“How could they be finished? They take their time. And you, Comrades, have you presented your papers yet?”

“I presented both our passes but the captain’s subordinate put them in his shirt pocket.”

“Hey, a lady in a red shirt; hey, one with a pink cloth tiara…”

The driver continued to sing another verse, then turned to the senior captain: “These two comrades have to carry out their orders immediately; they can’t wait for a military bus. That is why the Thanh Vinh police recommended me. Not to make any money did I come up here with my horses. These two don’t have time to drink tea with us. But they have very good cane sugar. They gave me some pieces to suck in the cart. It tasted good, like flower pollen.”

Turning to An, he asked, “Comrade, will you offer some to these guys in the post? We will sit and drink tea to soothe our throats.”

An put the package of cane sugar on the table, then said, “Here. A gift for you, Comrades.”

He smiled and looked at the captain. “I am a first lieutenant, lower than you by one rank. It would be fun to chat if we had time. But unfortunately we must take care of urgent responsibilities.”

“Really?”

The captain stuck his head past the door frame and asked the group of soldiers gathered outside on the patio, “Who of you kept the military orders of these two comrades?”

“Me.”

“Have you checked them?”

“Yes. They are First Lieutenant Chi Van Thanh and People’s Police Master Sergeant Nong Tai. Both of them belong to the Tay ethnic minority.”

“Give them back. Bad luck that they are on an urgent mission.”

The soldier returned the passes.

The captain said, “Well, we will see you when you return. My cousin married a Tay girl. She is cute, really cute. Her skin is fair like cotton, more beautiful than that of the wives of the Russian and Czech advisers. Next life, if I am lucky, I would like to be a Tay son-in-law. OK?”

“Thank you.”

An and Nong Tai said good-bye to the soldiers then turned back to the road. The singing of the cart owner followed them:

An said, “If we get out of here, we have to thank the cart owner a thousand times.”

The two looked toward Laos, bowed their heads, and walked away with a running gait.

They walked like that for one full hour, sweat running abundantly down their faces and wetting their backs. The sun was now hanging lightly like a bright globe to the west just above the mountain in front of them. The sunlight threw a wide blanket but the air had cooled. Slowing down their pace a bit, An felt the cold on his shoulders. Behind them, rows of hills ran to the horizon. Before them, only a patch of road before they reached the forest. Its dark border appeared along the full stretch of the valley.

Nong Tai cried out: “Here’s the forest. We made it alive.”

“Divine beings: please protect us. But we must go faster. Behind is empty space with an empty road. But if the horses of the outpost chase us, there is not much chance of escape.”

The two continued to head toward the forest, running fast. They looked at the sun as if it were some clock timing a race of life or death. Feeling tired, An slowed his pace, but Nong Tai said, “We can’t slow down now. The forest here is open, horses can run freely. We have to get to the heart of the forest where the path is large enough only for feet to hope to be out of danger.”

After speaking, he moved to walk ahead of An and set the pace, as if to encourage his companion. Walking in the shadow of trees, they grew less anxious. The two passed through a part of the wood that sloped downhill. Ten minutes beyond that, they arrived at a flatter part of the forest where it was full of vines. The path was now wide enough for only one person.

As he wiped the sweat off his face, Nong Tai said, “Not quite the heart of the forest, but horses will have a hard time because the vines here make a trap.”

“Yep, really lucky for us,” An replied as he glanced at the vines dangling overhead, the protruding arms of the trees looking like those of an octopus.
Along the path a thick waterfall of small and large vines hung down, some long, some short, but each like a noose that would snare any horse entering the forest. It would be more difficult for a herd of horses. At the very least, someone would have to open the path with a machete, cutting down the vines in order for the horses to make any headway.

Nong Tai turned to tell An, “The jungle where we live does not have these vines.”

“Yes, but we have bigger trees.”

“The vines here have interesting colors. Look, the ones on our left are orange. And the one around the trunk of that tree is of an eggplant purple color.”

“Yes, different soil, different jungle, so the trees are different, too…” An replied as he continued to look up at the vines dangling among the scattered rays of light coming from the setting sun. Nong Tai did not say more, but walked quietly along. Suddenly, An heard a sound—
thump
—a low but heavy sound, followed by a terribly bad smell. That nasty smell brought back memories from past nights in the jungle around Xiu Village. Tiger!

Leaping forward three steps, An grabbed the trunk of the nearest big tree and climbed up with all the strength he had left in him. Scrambling up to a big branch near the top, he sat with his legs wrapped tightly around the branch, his arms around the trunk of the tree. Only then did he dare look down: the tiger, which had pinned Nong Tai under its forelegs, lifted its neck and looked up at him. Their eyes met. He felt cold sweat on his back. The eyes of this king of the forest widened, sending rays the color of hardened steel mixed with yellow straight into An’s eyes.

He thought, “That tiger knows there is a second prey. It will continue to watch until I fall down. Now I must be very calm to escape this danger.”

An tied his body to the tree with three loops of parachute cord, which he had in one of his pockets. He placed the revolver behind his back for easy access. Then he looked down to contest the animal in a hypnotic stare. Poor Nong Tai: he must have died from the fierce animal’s initial attack without being able to utter a cry. The tiger was clearly one that was used to eating people, one that had realized humans were top-quality prey. Meeting such a tiger automatically opens the door to hell.

The tiger looked to be about six feet long in An’s estimation. It couldn’t have been too old, as its fur was still yellow and its black stripes were precisely edged. An couldn’t stop looking at the animal, perhaps out of fear, or perhaps only out of curiosity. From the age of thirteen he had followed his uncle and the other hunters of Xiu Village into the forest. His uncle had
killed many bears, horses, wild boars, buck deer, and more than a dozen tigers. An himself had never been so close to a tiger, nor able to observe how it eats its prey. Never.

The tiger put a foot on Nong Tai’s head and flipped it back and forth in the manner of a child playing with a ball. Then, suddenly, it opened its mouth wide and snapped once at the victim’s neck. An heard the sound of bones being crushed. The tiger took a second bite, severing Nong Tai’s head from his body, and pushed it away with its foot as one would flick away a little marble. An watched the bright red head of his companion roll several times before landing in a nearby bush. He couldn’t breathe; terror paralyzed his limbs. At the same time, a warm stream of water from somewhere ran down his rigid body. An realized that, without knowing it, he had wet his pants. The urine ran along his thighs and continued down to his feet.

Down below, the tiger was tearing up Nong Tai’s clothes and beginning its feast. An couldn’t look.

“Oh, Nong Tai: we ran away from one death but another was waiting here. Just when you thought you had walked through the door of life, it turned into a door of death. Please forgive me because I did not have enough strength to protect you. Please forgive me because I did not do my duty as your guide. I should have gone first, not you. But your fate or just bad luck has taken you to death. From now on, your death will burden my shoulders as well as your loved ones.”

It had been a short friendship, one that had lasted no longer than two days and one night. Still, it had been a real friendship because it had led them to cross the porous boundary separating the fields of life from the shores of death; such a bond will last forever.

Through the forest’s leaves, the sun’s rays were no longer yellow, but the lighter color of a ripe lime. Night would come in no time. He had to escape this forest before then. An began to rub his hands vigorously to make the blood flow. When he put them to his cheeks, he felt them as warm as usual. Then he pulled the revolver from behind his back and cocked it. The target was close at hand but difficult to pinpoint because the tiger was busy eating, so its neck and head moved around constantly. Only its back and hips pointed toward An, but those were not the parts where a bullet could put the animal in mortal danger.

Suddenly an idea flashed in his mind: “Why do I have to kill it? If the border defense guards find the tiger’s carcass, they will chase me all the way to Laos. The best thing is to let the animal escape, and to pretend that I,
myself, have also been chewed up by the tiger’s jaws. That would be the most certain escape under the circumstances.”

An aimed at the hip closest to the gun barrel and squeezed. With a terrifying roar, the animal turned in his direction. Its eyes shone straight at his with rays of mad anger. It let go of its prey, turned around, and jumped up. As An had calculated, the animal couldn’t reach where he sat. Not able to grab its prey and wounded, the tiger walked unsteadily around the tree for a few steps, then backed up, roared a second time, then jumped again. The gun in An’s hand fell to the ground, bounced, and fired another bullet. The animal turned sharply, and leaped toward its small, strangely shaped enemy, biting with all its strength and flowing fury. Then it roared weakly from the pain of biting on the steel. Looking up at the tiny prey in the tree with a surprised gaze, it darted into the bush and disappeared. Waiting for a long while to make sure that the tiger did not return, An untied the parachute cord and climbed down. Something was sticking to his butt. Then he realized that he not only had wet his pants but had pooped in them, too.

“Yes, people say that you shit from fear, and that’s true all right.”

An took off his shirt and tore it into many pieces to dab the smeared blood under Nong Tai’s head, then he placed the head in a thick and thorny bush so that no hunting dog, wild fox, or boar could go in after it. Then he threw his blood-soaked, tattered shirt over Nong Tai’s headless body and threw his gun close to that of his companion. Looking at this terrifying sight one last time, he turned around and ran straight ahead, toward the sound of a running stream. Kneeling down by it, he wanted to clean up but a strong urge to vomit overcame him, and a green liquid residue mixed with yellow came up, followed by black bile as from a fish. It felt like his gut had been cut with an invisible knife; pain curved his body as if it were a shrimp cooking in boiling water. He put his face on the grass, then lay down on his side. At that moment, a stream of feces came out unexpectedly. He had no control at all over his body. He waited for the terrifying illness to pass. When there was nothing left in his bowels, he began to shake from cold.

Reaching to open his pack, he pulled out a blanket that Nang Dong had meticulously sewn stitch by stitch for him from a parachute taken as a trophy during the battle for Dien Bien. He covered himself with it. Closing his eyes, he took long breaths and waited for his body to warm up.

“I must escape. I must live at all costs,” he told himself. That resolve kept repeating without pause, like a breeze blowing gusts into a charcoal stove. Repeating this mantra over and over, his frigid body finally began to warm
up; after almost twenty minutes, he could feel his heartbeat return to normal. Pulling the blanket aside, he sat up and went to the stream to clean up. He washed his soiled clothes and wrapped them in a raincoat, which he tucked carefully back inside the duffel bag. Then, after crossing over to the other side of the stream in his clean clothes, he resumed running. It was getting late; in another ten minutes he had to take out his flashlight. From then on, his life had only the forest trees for protection. He had to be frugal with each flash of light. He also had to be frugal with each piece of dry cake still left until he could find shelter. Dizziness forced him to stop. Reaching inside his pack, he pulled out a piece of cane sugar and put it in his mouth. The sweetness penetrated his tongue and made him less shaky on his feet. Later the sugar melted down and even revived his empty and damaged stomach, and he was able to move with more confidence. He continued along the dark path, but an hour later, he suddenly heard the rushing galloping of horses mixed with screams. “Why do the galloping horses sound so close? Have I ended up getting lost or turned around? Is this worn path taking me back to where Nong Tai was eaten by the tiger?”