My Stilled Life: Chapter 16
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I was pretty beat up by the time the old guys dropped me off at my house. I was both physically and mentally bruised. I was mentally perplexed into inaction. Another example of how my father had damned my future, given me yet another reason to hate his guts.
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A week later, I was still feeling exhausted and hiding out in my backyard. The prospect of making this life and death decision that I really didn't want to make filled me with cold dread.
I bundled myself up, positioned my chair under the shade of my overgrown bird of paradise plants and sat down to savor the afternoon heat. The warmth is one of the perks of living in Southern California and I'm one of those people who luxuriates in it.
“Hello? Hello?” a female voice called out.
The call of greeting froze me in place in my termite ravaged Adirondack chair. I just kept my eyes closed and leaned further into the shadow, hoping whoever it was would go away. But when I heard the rattle of the gate being unlaced, I reluctantly stood up.
“Didn’t you hear me calling?” she asked.
I just stared, slacked jawed.
“I heard about what happened to you after you were taken off the boat in Luxor. I tried to see you in Aswan, but by the time I got there you’d been moved to Germany.”
I continued to stare.
“Ford, you do recognize me, right?” she said as she walked up and embraced me.
“Helen?”
She gave me a long kiss and then stood back and stared at my face.
"Well, Ford, you're looking a little worse for wear, but not all that bad. I heard you lost an eye. Which one was it?”
I pointed to the scarred side of my face.
"They did a really good job on the prosthetic. Looks almost real," she said, pausing to smile.
“I hope you’re not too put off by me just showing up, but I felt a great compulsion to see you again. I couldn’t get you off my mind.”
I finally shook off my lethargy saying, “I’m more than a little surprised but glad to see your lovely face. Is there any specific reason you’re here other than my abundant good looks and ebullient personality?”
Helen smiled. "Something just clicked for me when we were together in Luxor, something I hadn't known for a long time, and I didn't want to lose it. I've been trying to reach you by phone for the last couple of weeks. When I couldn't reach of you, my frustration took over and I decided to fly to Los Angeles and track you down. I hope you're not mad at me invading your sanctuary."
"Helen, look at me. I'm pretty much damaged goods these days. And my prognosis doesn't look to have an optimistic outcome. Why would you want to be with someone like me?"
“Fuck that, Ford. We can chart a new course, see about making a life for ourselves where we determine what is important. I’ve got money and we can find a place of sanctuary.”
“I’m too tired to think about anything important right now. Have a seat and enjoy the sun. Would you like something to drink?”
“I’ll just share yours.”
“No, I’ll go get you one of your own. Just relax,” I said.
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Later, we had a long afternoon of getting reacquainted sex. And I began to think about my tomorrow’s.
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After breakfast the next morning, I sat Helen down and laid out what I’d learned about Mai Le’s family and the chances that a great deal of malice was still somewhere in my future.
“There’s always trouble somewhere. It just makes things more interesting. I’m willing to take my chances if you are,” Helen responded.
“I’m not sure what to do. Can you stay for a bit while I come to terms with what I’ve learned?”
“Sure, Ford. Do you have room for me here? Or do I need to find a hotel room?”
“Of course I do. Mi casa es su casa. Oh, by the way, I inherited a little money from my sister, so if we decide to move on, we won’t have to rely solely on your capital.”
"That's nice to hear. Do you have any idea where you'd like to start?
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Helen and I spent the next two months ruminating about things when Mr. Joshua showed up on my doorstep with a plan. I’d have to make a circuitous pilgrimage to Ho Chi Minh City, find any remnants of the Luru clan that might still exist, and see if my presence stirred up any kind of reaction among the locals. If nothing happened there, I’d fly on to Singapore and go through the process again. If I ended up dead, the old men would have a target.
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Helen wasn't real keen on the plan but agreed to go along with it, with the revisal that she wouldn't be left behind.
We scoured the internet for a university continuing education travel program going to Angkor Wat. The University of Redlands had one leaving in two weeks and we signed up as Mr. & Mrs. Jack and Helen Changeling, the new identities that Mr. James provided for us.
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We met the rest of our tour group at LAX on the day of departure. Our group leader, Dr. Lucy Jane Carter, handed out Business Class boarding passes as she checked our names off her enrollment sheet. Our group was made up of a mishmash of different age groups. A couple of young ladies were on this trip as a graduation gift from there doting parents. Several members were the same ages as Helen and I, but the majority were retirees who were committed to filling their golden years with continuing education.
Redlands University must have had some in with Emirates Airline because the first leg of our trip was non-stop flight from LAX to Dubai International Airport. From Dubai, we'd make a connecting flight that would get us to Siem Reap, Cambodia, eventually.
Once we were airborne, Dr. Carter walked down the aisle handing out sheets of do's and don'ts. The most important of which was that we drink and brush our teeth only with bottled water. Next was about the benefits of using insect repellent and the proper way to use the mosquito netting in our hotel rooms. These rules were important because if we became ill and hadn't purchased travel insurance, an unscheduled medical evacuation to the United States would be a very expensive undertaking.
Helen and I were polite to our fellow travelers if a little standoffish in our overly affectionate canoodling ways. As Mr. Joshua had instructed, be cordial but not overly so. So we used our passion as a buffer with the other members of the group.
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We had a four-hour layover in Dubai. The International Airport there is all decked out in chrome, offering only meager diversions for in-transit passengers. Since there wasn't time to get a day visa and travel into the city, most of our fellow travelers were absorbed in the duty-free shops. Mrs. Changeling and I sauntered into the Rolex store. I've always secretly wanted a Submariner 114060, the one without the date, but it was seventy-five hundred dollars, and my frugal self was thoroughly against it.
As I moped out of the shop, Helen dragged me back in and bought it for me. It took the shop’s technician 20 minutes to resize it to fit my wrist and get the documents that I'd need to get it registered. Because, as the salesperson told me, if it's not officially registered, it's not a real Rolex.
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Once I was sporting the Rolex on my wrist, I felt expansive so I walked Helen over to the Spa and I bought her a back and shoulder massage. Seemed like a fair trade to my inner miser and Helen was good enough not to complain.
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From Dubai, we flew east over most of Asia, landing in Ho Chi Minh City seven hours later. Because our group was in-transit on a cultural exchange program, representatives of Cambodian Air helped rush us through border control and customs so we could make our connecting flight to Siem Reap, the gateway city to the world heritage site of Angkor Wat.
We touched down at Siem Reap-Angkor International Airport and, because it’s the major entry port for tourist groups coming into Cambodia, customs and passport control were a breeze. Once outside we were greeted by a warm breeze and fifteen enthusiastic ”Tuk-tuk" drivers. Dr. Carter, a bit flustered, told us there was room enough for all of us, just choose one and climb aboard.
The tuk-tuk is a three-wheel conveyance that pretty much serves as the main form of transportation in much of the third world.
Our tour planners had opted for an out-of-the-way group of luxury bungalows as opposed to a major hotel. The place looked like it had been hacked out of the jungle and was just waiting for Mowgli to arrive.
Helen and I were assigned the bungalow furthest from the center complex. We were sure it was because they wanted to isolate us from the rest of the group in case our vigorous amorous canoodling became too strident.
We all assembled for dinner and were bused to a restaurant with an authentic floorshow where we were assured that it would be safe for us to eat. I’m not sure what I ate, but it was delicious. A clear vegetable soup with very thin slices of what I hoped was beef along with vegetables and a generous helping of steamed rice.
The next morning Helen and I awoke early and ambled out to the porch, where we marveled at the profusion of birds that flitted through the surreal flora that surrounded our little love nest.
“This is like living in that Henri Rousseau painting. I keep hoping that the flute player will just appear and play something exotic for us.” After a pause Helen continued, “Jesus, Ford, why can’t we just stay here? For some reason, I feel so alive right now, especially with you by my side. There’s nothing but conflict if we continue. We could just run the other way, become vagabonds, or anything else you want to be.”
A young servant girl interrupted our reverie asking what we'd like for breakfast. We had our choice of a vegetable porridge and tea or pancakes with honey. We laughed and ordered the pancakes.
“You know, for a moment there I almost thought your wish had come true. Our young waitress was beautiful enough to have modeled for Henri,” I added.
“Whoa old man, you can barely keep up with me,” Helen sneered.
"Please, there was no lust in my comment, just an aesthetic appraisal. And who are you calling old?” I retorted.
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After an exhausting day of traipsing through the jungle and admiring the beauty of the tree incrusted Khmer monuments, we were bussed to a local hotel for an early dinner and floorshow that was highlighted by traditional Khmer dance.
The waitress escorted our group to our reserved table and invited us to take advantage of the wonderful buffet that awaited our perusal. I kissed Helen on the cheek and said that I was going to visit the gentleman’s convenience and that I’d meet her at the buffet.
Amazingly, the bathroom was empty. I walked over to a stall with a door and stepped inside. It was one of my father's traveling rules. You're way too venerable while standing at a urinal, always use a stall with a door and lock it. I pulled out my equipment and was straining to release the muscles that I’d held clamped for most of the day. I just got the stream to flow when someone outside my cubical spoke. "A message for you sir."
“For who?”
“For you, Mr. Price.”
And quick as that, I heard the bathroom door swing closed. I finished up and glanced down to find a sealed envelope. I folded it, put into my pocket, walked out and headed to the buffet line.
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When we got back to our room, I told Helen about my encounter.
“Where’s the envelope now?” she asked.
“Right here. Come set on the bed with me and we’ll read it together.”
"I tore open the end of the ragged envelope and shook out a single folded sheet of paper. Helen picked it up and began to read, "Change of plans. Pack tonight. Leave a note at the front desk for the tour leaders saying that you had an emergency and are returning to the US. Later tonight you'll receive a package with all the necessary instructions and tickets. Be ready at the entrance of your hotel at 4 am. A cab will be waiting. RCPM."
“What the fuck, Ford. What’s going on? Who or what is RCPM?
“RCPM it’s the authentication code they gave me.”
By they, I’m assuming you’re referring to your father’s old war buddies?”
“Let’s pack and try to get some rest. I don’t think tomorrow’s going to be easy.”
"Can you tell me why we just didn't get off the plane when we landed in Ho Chi Minh City?" Helen asked poutingly.
“They just said it was safer not to fly into Saigon.”
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We got an hour’s nap and were up at three to shower, write the note to explain our departure and make sure we weren’t leaving anything behind in the room.
When we walked out to the front of the complex at 4 am, a tuk-tuk was waiting for us.
"Good morning, mister and lady, you're early," our young driver said.
He handed me a bunch of papers secured by a thick rubber band. “Sorry I didn't get these to you last night, but it took longer than I expected to get everything arranged. We go now to Tonia Pone Lake, where you will take the express boat to Phnom Penh. From there you must take a bus to Saigon. There is much more information in the packet."
It was still dark as our tuk-tuk tore down country lanes at breakneck speeds. When we arrived at the Silver Dragon boat company there were already several passengers waiting in the dark to board the vessel. Most were young backpackers and a few Cambodian businessmen. Several were smoking and Helen glared at them with undisguised disgust.
The boat was sort of shaped like a long fiberglass commuter jet minus the wings. It didn't look that safe or inviting, but Helen spoke with the man that took our ticket and was reassured that it did indeed have life jackets and a working bathroom.
We stowed our bags in our seats, then made our way onto the rooftop deck where Helen was dismayed to find there were no handrails. So moving around was hazardous, to say the least. Once the boat was moving, she decided to head back downstairs.
I got into a conversation with a couple of Canadians who had made the Phnom Penh to Saigon bus trip several times.
"Yeah, the only hard part it the fuck'n border. The Vietnamese soldiers can be real pricks," said the larger of the Canadians.
“They’re really particular about your visa. If it’s not just right they won’t let you into the country. Then your only option is to hire a cab to take you back to Phnom Penh for an exorbitant price, which I’m sure the Vietnamese soldiers get a piece of,” he added.
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Helen and I were a bit seasick from the boat ride and were overjoyed to be back on solid land once the boat had docked. There was a minibus to shuttle us into downtown Phnom Penh. The Canadians were fairly familiar with the travel options and recommended that we get our bus tickets today if we intended to travel tomorrow.
We found a tuk-tuk driver to take us to the night market in the Wat Phnom district. We'd flipped a coin, deciding to try Giant Lotus Limousines' sleeper bus. The Canadians had advised us to purchase physical tickets at the company office, If you purchase them online it was a fifty-fifty chance your ticket would be non-existent when you tried to board.
It was just after 2 pm and our bus didn't leave until 1 am. So after taking possession of our tickets, Helen decided to get a hotel room.
"OK, I'm going to choose where we stay, so put your frugal self away. I want something with a good shower and clean sheets, where I can wallow in my nakedness and feel safe for a little bit. I need to wash that boat ride off. It’s left me feeling mucky," Helen said as she dragged me down the street. "Oh, and if you haven’t noticed, you could do with a little de-funking and re-ragging, yourself."
