Jade (2 page)

CHAPTER TWO

I WAS NOT HAPPY WITH my first plane ride to Bangkok, and I’m miserable with the second to Luang Prabang. It’s a much smaller plane; there are about a dozen seats, and the door to the cockpit is missing. We’re thousands of miles away from the security rules of the Western world. Strangely, I find it reassuring. Somewhere in the world, some people manage to live without taking the extreme protective measures that we do.  

It’s not a jet; it’s one of those planes that have two engines with propellers on each wing. I know from the countless war movies my dad has watched that they are very safe. Even if the four engines were to die simultaneously - which is very unlikely since no German fighters are trying to shoot us down - the pilot could glide and bring us down safely on the ground… Well, except that it’s a jungle down there and there are no clearings. 

Anyway, I’m fine with the plane. I don’t really care that it shakes, rattles, and rolls. What annoys me is that the seats are beyond uncomfortable, and the noise level is unbearable. When we takeoff, it’s like an avalanche of pebbles on a washboard. It makes me cringe. I fish my headphones out of my bag, and try to tune the noise out with music. I play the main theme from Game of Thrones loud, very loudly and start to relax as I look around.

Most of the seats are filled with packages and suitcases. There are only two other passengers in the plane: an older Asian man up front, and a young European guy one row before me. He’s probably not that much older than me, but he looks very mature and … worldly. 

I study him, trying to figure out why that word popped in my mind. It’s probably the way he stands, perfectly at ease. Like flying a tiny plane to go to some Godforsaken place does not faze him one bit. 

He has lovely blond curls, like a Botticelli cherub. His skin is nicely tanned, his nose is straight, his jaw square and the blue of his eyes is lovely. Blond with blue eyes, he must look very exotic in this country. Agatha would eat him up. As he stands and pushes his backpack into the overhead compartment, I can see perfectly good abs under his white T-shirt. He also has nicely shaped arm muscles. 

He notices me, staring at him, and frowns. Oh crap, I’ve done it again. Agatha keeps repeating to me that I can’t stare at people the way I do; that they’re not specimens under my microscope.

After the frown, he winks, laughs, and says something before he disappears to his seat again. I’m unable to hear the sound but I read his lips, and my brain deciphers the sentence: “Winter is coming!” 

I laugh; fancy hearing that sentence while flying over a green lush jungle. I lower the sound level of my music. It’s way too loud if he was able to identify the melody. 

I guess he was not upset that I was staring but was frowning while trying to identify the music despite the ambient noise. 

Cupid’s face appears between the two seats in front of me and he looks at me as if he wants to say something. I remove my headphones and wait for him to speak.

“Are you Jade Cooper?”

After my nod, he slides his right hand between the seats and introduces himself. “I’m James Davis; we’re going to the same place. I recognized you, because Agatha has a picture of you in her room.”

I shake his hand, and think to myself that now I understand the real reason that Agatha decided to extend her stay in Asia. He is indeed just her type: so perfect that it’s unreal. 

“Nice to meet you, James,” I scream to make myself heard over the chaotic noise.

“Agatha’s picking us up at the airport. We’ll be at the camp in time to enjoy a swim before night falls. That always helps after being shaken around in this flying death trap.”

“Swimming sounds fabulous,” I answer. See, when I put my mind to it, I can make small talk. 

“Speak to you later, when we don’t have to scream,” he replies putting his own headphones on, and turning around.

I lean back in my seat, and realize that I’ve just had a normal conversation with a normal person. I guess Agatha hasn’t told him much about me. 

It’s interesting to get a fresh start; to talk to someone who does not take me as a freak. Most of the time I’m self-sufficient, but some days I do grow tired of being so isolated, especially since Agatha left at the end of the Fall term. 

She’s doing research in the field of tropical diseases and parasites. She has travelled to Thailand, Cambodia, Myanmar, and now she’s in Laos. 

Agatha has extended the domain of her research, and talked her sponsor into paying for my plane ticket. She’s probably doctored my resume to fit the task that needs doing to get me as her assistant for the coming months. 

I’m grateful, as she’s giving me a reprieve to think about what I want to do with my life, now that I’m done with my PhD in Biology.

I can stay in the cocoon of the university. I’ve been accepted into Medical School and Veterinary School, but I’m not sure that I want to do that. 

I can also start working full time. The laboratory I worked for while I was studying has offered me a job, and it would require a lot of traveling, because it would involve collecting DNA of many animal species over the world. I’m not sure I want to travel that much. 

Last there is the Med Bits Institute, a new international research facility that just opened in South Florida sent me a job proposal that’s right my alley. They thought of me because the research would be a follow up on my PhD work. That’s the most tempting offer I’ve gotten so far even if it’s only a short contract.  

The fact is that I’m spoiled with too many opportunities; I can’t come to a decision. 

❦

CHAPTER THREE

THE PLANE ROLLS BY A few hangars, and stops close to a long building, the terminal. James helps me with my suitcase and my carry-on, and he’s very talkative. Oriental languages are his thing; he’s been working as an interpreter for Agatha and many other Europeans in the area. He tells me about his various clients. I shake my head, and hope I’m making the appropriate sounds of approval. 

Hey, maybe I can pull this normal shit off. 

Then again, maybe not, because all the locals stare at me. I was told that it was going to happen, but knowing it and experiencing it are two different things. 

I’m not only a “farang”, which means stranger or foreigner, but I’m also a “Pome Sii Dang”: a red hair. In the Laotian pantheon of supernatural creatures only the demons have red hair. So they stare at me the same way we would stare if we saw a guy with red skin and a tail walking in our streets. 

Once a freak, always a freak.

We pass through the check-point, where Agatha waits for us. She moves her arms and jumps up and down like a cheerleader on crack. I can’t help myself; she makes me laugh out loud. 

As we get closer, she squeals to the both of us, “I’ve missed you so much! I’m so happy you’re here!” But she does not touch us.

I’m sure she’d like to hug me, and I guess she’s dying to put her hands on James, but she can’t. In Laos public displays of affections are unacceptable. 

We walk out of the terminal, and, within seconds, I’m a sticky mess. It’s hot, and more humid than a Turkish bath. 

I watch with fascination the endless line of cycles rolling down the street. I’ve seen pictures of this, but seeing it in person is amazing. In Laos, motorcycles are a collective mode of transportation. I watch a group of four kids drive by on a Chinese scooter. There’s a boy, a girl, another boy and another girl; they are like sardines in a can. You could hardly have a more complete physical contact between them, but, for some strange reason, that’s just fine, while it’s indecent to hug for three seconds or just to hold hands. Go figure!

The inconsistencies of the artificial rules that collective life forces upon us are amazing; I’m about to open my mouth to point this out when Agatha stops me.

“Stop it, Jade. Whatever you’ve noticed, I don’t want to hear it.”

James’ head shoots back and forth between the two of us in surprise. I shrug, and get in the car without saying a thing. Sometimes Agatha is spooky; it’s like she can read my mind. 

We pile up in the antique machine. It’s a tribute to the strength of rust. The chauffeur and the luggage are in the front, and the three of us are in the back with no safety belt. Who cares, though, the car goes at a whopping 20 miles per hour. Agatha is in the middle, between James and me. He’s got one arm wrapped around her shoulder, and she has a hand on his knee. Yep, they’re an item.

“I told Jade that we would go swimming at the waterfalls if we get home before night,” says James.

“Sure, why not? It will do all us good and Jade loves cascades.”

I do. I love water. If I could live in a pool of fresh water or in the ocean, I would.

❦

The drive is not very long, and we soon reach what they call the camp. There are a few wooden constructions around a large solid-looking building. It was probably erected by the French, in the 19th century, when this part of world was known as Indochina. 

It’s one of those collective structures that you can identify at once in any part of the world; the shape of the building is dictated by its purpose. Initially it may have been a school dorm, a prison, or a military base-something practical for the collective life. It’s not sophisticated or pretty but it’s a sturdy structure designed for sheltering a group. 

I feel relief just looking at it: there will be indoor plumbing! See how easy I am? Give me access to real toilets, and I’m a happy camper.

“This was a seminary,” says Agatha. “Downstairs we have the lab, the kitchen, and the common area. The living quarters are on the second floor. It’s rudimentary. There are small monk cells, four toilets, and two very tiny showers. I guess they were not big on hygiene at the time of construction. The locals who run the place have created outdoor showers, which are lovely to use if you’re not too prudish.”

“What do you do when you want privacy?” I ask. 

“Well you walk on the Nam Khan banks. Between the camp and the waterfall where we’ll be going, there are a couple of cozy coves where you can go wash,” answers James.

He takes my suitcase to the second floor, and they show me my room. 

“Room” may be too fancy a word for this space. Agatha’s right, it’s actually more like a cell. It’s the ideal torture chamber for anyone who suffers from claustrophobia. 

The door bangs open on the foot of a narrow bunk bed, which is a metal cot with the thinnest bedding I’ve ever seen. The cot covers most of the surface of the cell. I walk sideways past it to drop my bag on a minuscule table with a stool underneath. Right next to the table is the back wall with an opening covered by a mosquito net. On the wall opposite the bed - the one I wiped clean with my butt when I walked in - there are three pegs with hangers abandoned by the prior visitors. 

Agatha and James retreat to their own cells to put their bathing suits on, and close the door behind them. I put my suitcase on the cot, and go looking for my bathing suit, the sarong that Agatha sent me for Christmas, and a towel. 

The search is quick as half of my suitcase is filled with medical supplies. Before I left, I raided the sample room of the lab that I was working for. The reps gave me their blessings to do so, of course. They said that whatever I took was fine with them, so I went a bit crazy. I have disinfectants, antibiotics, steroids, painkillers, gloves, compresses, surgical tape, and sewing kits. I figured it would always be welcomed by a dispensary or some clinic.

I lock the suitcase, and slide it under the bed for now, so I can sit on something while I change. I hum to myself and smile when I realize what tune is playing in my head; it’s Baloo’s Bare Necessities. 

Funny how one’s mind works.

When I exit my luxury suite, James is already in the hallway. Two seconds later Agatha comes out, and she’s wearing the same sarong as me. While it slightly overlaps  around me, it wraps her up completely with an extra fold. How can someone who eats that much stay so petite? If she wasn’t my best friend, I would hate her all the time just for that.

We walk to waterfall down the river, and it takes my breath away. Water cascades from a small hill into a pond that constitutes the bed of the river. James sits on a tree trunk. He’s walked barefoot here, and has something stuck in his heel. Agatha and I hang our towels and sarongs onto a tree branch and dive in. The water is so fresh that it’s an absolute delight. 

“Oh, this is perfect,” I say, swimming to the other side of the pond. “Just what I needed after being locked in planes for a full day.”

“Does it feel good?” Agatha asks.

I know she’s baiting me, but I’m so happy to be in her little corner of paradise that I play along, and answer.

“Yeah, sure, it’s great.” I wait for a second, and think she’s going to spare me one of her favorite line, but no, she can’t resist.

“It’s not better than sex,” she says, and dives under the water in fear of retaliation. It’s cute that, after all those years, she still acts as if I could do something as silly as swim after her to push her head underwater, or something.

But even if I was inclined to do so, which I’m not, I’m too tired to swim after her, so I just float on my back and watch the sky. It’s getting a little darker, and I wonder what it would be like to swim here at night under a full moon and the stars.

From the opposite side of the pond, a male voice, much deeper than James’ voice says, “Nothing’s better than sex.” 

James concurs, “You can say that again.” He dives in and swims in Agatha’s direction.

Looking for the source of the voice, I see the silhouette of a man dive into the pool. I scan around at the water’s surface but see nothing. 

On the other bank, James has caught up with Agatha and she’s giving him the welcome kiss that she’s kept on hold since the airport. 

I look away, and keep scanning the pond. There’s not a bubble, nothing. Either the man has drowned, or I’m so tired I’ve imagined his presence.