Alex Archer - Restless Soul

“You’re crazy,” the Australian man grumbled.

Zakkarat scratched his head. “Not easy going like this place. We would need a little equipment for steep places. Not much, some ropes and pitons, a safety line. Helmets. Maybe a pulley—”

“Do you—”

“Yes, I have some caving equipment. My father and I used to—”

“How much?” Annja knew the price didn’t matter.

“Five hundred baht.”

“Done.”

“Each.”

“Fine.”

“Plus extras, maybe. And I will pack a lunch and water bottles for all of us. No charge for the lunch or water.”

She realized he was testing her to see just how much she’d spend. “When can you take us there?”

“Tomorrow morning,” Zakkarat said. “Very early, we should start. The day I have free. And tomorrow night I take tourists to the bird show. So we have to be back before sunset. We could get in two caves, I think.”

“You’re not taking us to the bird show,” the ecowife said. “Even though I’ve bought the film, I’m tired and God knows I can’t stand this stink.”

Her new husband nodded in agreement.

“The limestone caves that you want to go to…” Zakkarat said, moving close to Annja. “They are off any regular paths, as I said.”

“I understand,” Annja said. “Lu and I are in good shape. Climbing will not be a problem.”

“I can see that you are in good shape.” Zakkarat smiled. “Tomorrow morning very early we will leave. When the sun rises. Very, very early so we have time to see a lot. As the saying goes, I will give you your money’s worth.”

Annja continued to feel uneasy as she looked around the chamber and studied the coffins. “You don’t mind, Lu? Going to more caves?”

“I would have suggested it if you hadn’t. This is fascinating. And I love caving.” He reached out a hand, but stopped himself just short of touching one of the teak logs. “Too many people have touched these,” he said. “Too many people don’t respect the past.”

“It’s not that,” Annja said. “It’s not a matter of respect, Lu. It’s a matter of ignorance. Too many people just don’t know any better.”

She searched the shadows, thinking she saw movement—a spirit, perhaps—something half glimpsed or maybe just imagined, something that was tugging her or begging her to solve some mystery.

She decided in the end it was just the play of Zakkarat’s light. Still, the troubling cold sensation wouldn’t leave her. What was bothering her? What could possibly—

“Did you hear that, Jennie?” the Australian man said.

“Hear what?” Jennie glanced at the coffins, and then at their guide. “Oh, I heard it. Thunder. The man at the hotel desk mentioned that it might rain today.”

“Rains come unexpected this time of year,” Zakkarat said, frowning. “It is almost our rainy season. Time to leave.” He scratched his head. “Let us hope it doesn’t rain too much. The paths will be muddy and slippery.”

Annja was the last in line this time, taking one final look at the coffins and the shadows and feeling a stronger shiver go down her spine.

Outside, it was pouring.

It had rained steadily through the night and was still raining the next morning, though it had turned to a drizzle by the time Annja and Luartaro met their guide outside the lodge.

She’d put her palm-size digital camera and extra batteries in a plastic bag and shoved them in her back pocket for insurance against the weather.

Zakkarat, in the same outfit as the previous day, though with sturdy hiking boots, looked smaller, with his wet clothes hanging on him and hair plastered against the sides of his face. He looked sadder, too, eyes cast down at the puddle between his booted feet, the ball of his right foot twisting in the mud.

“If you do not want to go because of the rain, I understand,” he said. “It rained hard last night, and long. Still going. Maybe going all day. The trail will be sloppy and the river swollen.”

Annja realized his disappointment was in missing out on the thousand baht he would have earned—and wouldn’t have to share with the lodge or tour company.

“I do not have another free day until early next week,” he said. “I can take you then.”

“We’ll be gone in a few days,” Annja said. “Me back to New York.” She paused. “But I don’t mind the rain, Zakkarat. Maybe Lu does, though, and—”

“I like rain fine,” Luartaro said. “When I was a young boy I used to be afraid of storms. But my mother told me that rain is just God washing away some of man’s dirt. Rain makes the world clean again.”

He tipped his face up and grinned to illustrate the point. “And God knows I want these few days to last forever.”

Annja had intended to go to the spirit caves no matter how hard it rained, alone or with a guide. She needed to discover the source of her unease. She’d intellectually accepted that there was a message someone or something was trying to tell her, and she believed that—like it or not—it was her duty to figure out just what that message or warning was and where in the mountains it was coming from.

“Five hundred baht, right?” Luartaro said. “Each? How about six? No. Let’s say seven each because of the rain, and that covers all the extras along the way. Half now.” He placed some bills into Zakkarat’s hand. “The other half when you drop us back here.”

Seven hundred baht was almost what they were paying per night for the cabin, which came to a little more than two hundred U.S. dollars. Giving the tour guide twice that amount for several hours of his time was rather exorbitant, especially for this part of the country. But they had only three days remaining of their vacation, and neither she—nor Luartaro obviously—were hard-pressed for coming up with the amount. And judging from his clothes and worn boots, it looked as if Zakkarat could use the money.

“Seven hundred each.” Zakkarat was quick to nod, his expression visibly brighter. He pointed to an old, rusting Jeep, which had packs and helmets in the back and two coils of rope. He’d come prepared in the event the rain had let up or not deterred them.

“Besides,” Luartaro said as he gallantly waved an arm to let Annja into the front seat. “It’ll be cozy and dry inside the caves.” He climbed in the back.

“You think this is a lot of rain?” Zakkarat made a shrill, forced laugh. “This is nothing compared to our monsoon season. Good for you that the monsoon season is a few weeks away. Because Thailand sits between two oceans, we have either downpours or cool and dry weather. Wet now, but the jungle and the mountains are prettiest.”

Zakkarat drove part of the way, the tires of the Jeep easily churning through mud that was several inches deep in places. The rain both muted and intensified the colors, and the scenery reminded Annja of chalk sidewalk paintings in Brooklyn that ran like impressionist watercolors during spring showers. It was a wonderful blur of green that she found beautiful, and she drew the scents of the flowers and leaves deep into her lungs and held them as long as possible.

“Which cave first?” she asked.

“Ping Yah,” he said. “It is older than Tham Lod, and perhaps has the most to see. It is in the same mountain range, and they are not terribly far apart, but it is harder to get to. Then Bor Krai or Pi Man, as I think I remember how to get there. We’ll have time for at least two. Maybe a third, as it is certain the lodge has canceled my bird-show group tonight. The tourists do not want to walk through all the mud.”

“Pity,” Luartaro said. “That’s too bad about your birding group.” His tone was evidence he did not mean the sympathy.