Colin Cotterill - Curse of the Pogo Stick

“So, what was all that about?” Siri asked.

They sat on a log in front of the shaman’s house.

“It’s not my place to talk about it,” she told him.

“Really? Well, Long is unconscious so that only leaves you to explain all this,” Siri said. He could feel her reluctance to speak. “And don’t forget I’m an honored guest.”

She looked at him at first with a rebellious expression that was soon melted by his magical eyes. She sniffed and gazed out at the eastern stars in the black map of the universe.

“We were just another village,” she began. “Families, happy enough, working hard but surviving. We weren’t interested in anything outside this mountain or the mountain before it or the one before that. Whatever place we chose was our world. But your world kept bumping into ours. You made us grow opium, then taxed us for it. You counted us and put our names in a book and forced your ways on us. It wasn’t fair. We didn’t interfere with anyone. But then the Americans came and asked us to give them our strongest men. Why? We needed them to work the fields but the Americans offered them money and that money bought silver. It was a fortune to us. And they gave the men guns and pretty uniforms, so they went. And some trained to be warriors, and when they came back they brought us beautiful things-coffee and sacks of rice and medicines we didn’t have any idea how to use. And they brought candies for the kids and colored posters of big movie stars. It was like heaven had sprung a leak and all the good things rained down on us.”

Siri held Bao’s hand as she shook.

“Then it started,” she said. “Chia’s elder brother came home with that toy. He said he got it from his American buddy. The kids loved it. They fought over it. Brothers and sisters who’d never argued in their lives fell out over it. Even I queued up to have my turn on it. It was like a drug. My father refused to let me and I went into a sulk he never forgave me for. The stick became the center of gravity in our world. By then, the curse was already on us. News came that two of our men had died fighting for the great American cause. Chia’s brother was one of them. A recruiter came and had no trouble at all signing up six other men to join General Vang Pao, the head of the Imperial North American Force.

“They were used up in no time and the recruiter came back. He lowered the enlistment age to fifteen so our brothers went with him to get their gum and their girlie magazines and their Zippo lighters. That was when my father realized what was happening. The stick had brought a curse to our world. Since it arrived we’d lost our men and our boys and our souls. He confiscated it and the younger children hated him for it. Never before had children dared speak like that to a shaman. He knew then that evil had been reincarnated in the frame of the jumping stick. At first he buried it and used his strongest spell to remove its power over us. But still the recruiters came and this time they took our younger brothers, only twelve and thirteen. And they were all used up too.

“The stick was stronger than my father. It couldn’t be destroyed. It had to be adored. For the survival of the village we had to pay homage to it. It had stolen all our menfolk and our boys. If we didn’t worship it, my father was sure it would take us all. He had us line up and beg the stick to spare our lives. And it seemed to work. There were no more reports of deaths and no more recruiters came. But it needed just one more sacrifice to satisfy it. So it took my father.”

She sighed as if she’d been allowed to put down a heavy pack after a long trek.

“Is that why you brought me to your village?”

“For the stick? We all believe it’s connected somehow, but, no, Yeh Ming. Not for the stick.”

“Then why?”

“Surely you know. Elder Long has forbidden us to talk about it.”

“I have no idea.”

“He said you’d know it-sense it.”

“Bao, I’m a doctor of scientific medicine. I’m not a shaman. Yeh Ming isn’t my name. I’m Dr. Siri Paiboun. I’m just a sort of living, breathing container for Yeh Ming’s spirit. I can’t even talk to him.”

A look of horror came over her face.

“But everyone has so much faith in you.”

“I’m sorry.”

For a long while the only sound was the chirruping of night insects and water dripping into the house jar. Siri broke the deadlock.

“Look. I do have some… connection to the spirits. I see them. I can’t control them at all but I see them. Sometimes they give me clues.”

“Clues?”

“You know? Hints. I have to work out what they mean. Perhaps if you told me why I’m here I could see whether…”

“Yes, Yeh Ming.” She didn’t seem at all heartened by this suggestion. “Let’s try that. Do you think…?”

“Think what?”

“Do you think we can keep this from Long and the others? There have been so many catastrophes. This is the first time I’ve seen them happy for such a long time.”

“How do you suggest I do that?”

“Just pretend. Pretend you have all the powers of Yeh Ming.”

“They’ll find out soon enough.”

“Perhaps. But let them have hope for now. There isn’t much of that around here. Give their hearts a lift until we’ve buried Auntie Zhong. Then I’ll tell you why we’re here and see if your science and medicine can help us at all. Can we do that?”

“If you think it will help.”

“I do. Now I think we should get back. Your sleeping partner will think I’ve stolen you from her.”

Siri froze halfway between a sit and a stand.

“My what?”

“Ber. She’ll keep you warm tonight.”

Siri sat back down.

“Actually, I don’t suffer from the cold. Don’t feel it at all, in fact.”

“We all sleep together, guests included. You’ll offend Long if you refuse.”

“Then just this once let him be offended. I tell you what. I’ll sleep here in the shaman’s hut. You can make up some story… I don’t know, say I have to absorb the spells here or something.”

“It’s musty here.”

“I’ve slept in worse.”

“Very well. I’ll get you a lamp and some bedding.” A laugh she’d been trying to suppress escaped through her nose.

“What is it?” Siri asked.

“I’ve never known a man with so many wrinkles to be so afraid of a little female company. It’s sweet.”

He watched her scurry off across the compound. So young. So frisky and bright. And all at once the face of Madame Daeng embossed itself on the inside of his dirty old mind.

Phosy’s police-issue lilac Vespa seemed grateful for the fact that it only had one small hill to negotiate on its journey out to the National Pedagogical Institute at Dong Dok. With Dtui riding sidesaddle on the back it had a lot to prove. Each pop of its motor was like a small blood vessel bursting. Both riders had scarves across their mouths and noses to keep out the dust that seemed to hover above the roads for hours after the passing of each army truck.

Dong Dok was the next logical stage in the Lizard hunt. The previous evening they’d listened to their visitor, Bounlan, tell of her studies at the English Department of the nearest thing Laos had to a university. In 1964, she and thirty other teachers from around the country had been invited to the new Pedagogical Institute for a six-month course to upgrade the standard of their teaching. The woman whose photograph was on the poster had come from somewhere in the south. If Bounlan remembered correctly, her name was Phonhong, although most of the students called her by her nickname, Dtook. It was obvious she came from an affluent family as she always dressed in the most brilliant white shirts and spectacular phasin skirts that were probably made from antique cloth. The woman’s father, Bounlan recalled, had held a senior position in government at some stage, although the family’s surname escaped her. She had no idea why the woman had chosen a career in teaching. They weren’t the closest of friends. In fact Dtook had kept herself very much to herself.