Authors: Autumn Cornwell

Carpe Diem (25 page)

BOOK: Carpe Diem

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And I Wait

S
omething wet dripped on my face. I opened my eyes to see â¦ blood spurting from the dangling severed head of a rooster!

“Disrespect! Disrespect!”

Ly cackled riotously as he shook it harder. I tried to sit up, but his dirt-caked children climbed on me, each sitting on a separate limb. Blood covered my face, filled my eye sockets, as soon as I spit out a mouthful of blood, more poured in. I was drowning in it. I couldn't breatheâ

I woke up to find Stick Girl kneeling beside me, rhythmically spitting on my face.

Bounmy and Grandma Gerd erred most grievously in approximating their schedule. They were most certainly not back in two days. Nor three days.
Nor four.

My nerves were fraying. What if something had happened to them on their way down the mountain? What if Grandma Gerd had had a heart attack? What if disgruntled relatives of Mr. Ly had followed them and macheted them to death!?

What if Mr. Ly forces me to participate in the cow sacrifice, the chicken decapitation, and throwing blood in the air!? Complete with metal rattle?

I forced myself to block such thoughts. I couldn't afford to indulge in speculation. My mental well-being was fragile enough as it was.

Having no running water was also taking its toll. Besides the fact I couldn't bathe, the bottles of drinking water were running out. Natural water was difficult to get, and the tribal people drank it sparingly. And even if they did offer me any, I'd be risking my life by drinking it. I might contract giardiasis from the contamination. I was already at risk for malaria, dengue feverâand possibly leprosy. Not to mention cavities. My staggering body odor along with my ever-growing underarm and leg hair did nothing to boost my spirits.

Neither did the fact that Stick Girl had finally managed to get into my daypack by slicing it with her dad's machete. I found her wearing my retainer on a string around her neck and my surgical face mask on her head with the elastic under her chin like a party hat, absorbed in rubbing my Baby Powder Fresh Deodorant Stick all over her legs and feet and face.

I laughed for the first time since I'd been taken hostage. What a character! The deodorant would probably do more for her than it was doing for me.

To pass the time, I wrote up my chapters â¦ keeping my notebook with me at all times in case Stick Girl got any ideas.

July 27: I'm freezing. My head itches. I can't remember the last time I had a shower or anything to eat besides sticky rice. This is not how I planned to spend my summerâor end my life. If only we hadn't answered the door that rainy night in May â¦

And I had another distraction: lice. The entire hut had it, so it was just a matter of time before I did. The itch was unbearable. I watched Stick Girl pinch and pull the lice out of her hair and tried to mimic her. Harder than it looked. After half an hour of watching me attempt to de-louse, Stick Girl took pity on me. She inched over toward me and after giving me a wary I-don't-know-if-I-should-do-this-but-you're-so-pathetic-I-can't-just-sit-here look, began to pick the creatures out one by one with her deft fingers. I felt like a monkey. Once her mission was accomplished, she inched back to her corner and began counting her sticks. I handed her a cinnamon Certs I found in my daypack pocket. She just stared at the round white object in her hand. I motioned for her to pop it in her mouth. After considering me a moment, she tentatively licked it. Then licked it again. She savored that mint, rationing herself to one lick every hour so it lasted for two whole days.

By the sixth day, the Ly family were outright hostile. They had just about given up all hope of their $350. And I was sure that they were contemplating what to do with this overly tall, disrespectful “Western” (make that
Eurasian
!) girl who'd brought curses down upon them. Occasionally,
to prevent them from having a corpse on their hands, they allowed me a minuscule bowl of purple sticky rice. My stomach growled painfully, but they showed no mercy. By then, I'd eaten all my cookies, nuts, and Crunkys.

And I had just one bottle of water left.

And
I'd run out of Kleenexâand forced to resort to my Latin quotes. Not quite the use my friends had had in mind.

I had to face the fact that something
had
happened to Grandma Gerd and Bounmyâand maybe even Hanks!

My skin shimmied.

No one knows I'm here.

What was I going to do?

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

You Can Plan Your Way out of Anything

O
n the seventh night after Ly barricaded the door to my sleeping room, my roommate was already sound asleep, her runny nose whistling softlyâand still wearing her retainer necklace and face mask party hat. I opened the last of my Latin quotes to use for my pre-bed squat. The paper was wrinkled and smeared, but I could still make out the words:

Carpe Diem.

Seize the day.

Seize. The. Day.

Seize the day!

And why not?

Why stay here? Why not escape? The path is well trod, and I have my Maglite. Why sit around waiting for impending doom? (Or, at the very least, messy retribution.) You have no choice, Vassar. The water supply is almost depleted, and your life's hanging by the proverbial thread. Get going!

I didn't pause to ponder the plausibility of such a plan. The very idea of the Big P gave me an adrenaline injection
that sent my heart into palpitations. Empowerment! Action!

Aut viam inveniam aut faciam!
Like Hannibal and his elephants, I'd either find a way or make one.

Could I really
plan
myself out of this situation?

My eyes fell on the urine-soaked dirt at the wall's edgeâStick Girl's and my nighttime bedpan. Several bamboo strips attached to the corner of the wall there were severed. I crept over and pushed my hand through. The pliable strips bent backward like a flap, creating a small opening. Did the kids normally enter and exit without the knowledge of their parents?

Stealthily, I laced up my jungle boots (centipede check!) and slipped my Maglight into my pocket. Then I put in my gas-permeable contact lens, wetting it with just a drop of precious water. Only three fourths of a bottle left. Time to think like a camel. Luckily, going down a mountain took far less energy than coming up. I removed my
Savvy Sojourner's Laotian Guidebook
and my
Genteel Traveler's Guide to Laos
from my daypackâthen replaced them.
No, Vassar, think light.
I set them next to Stick Girl's head. She could enjoy the photos, at least. I cinched my money belt tightly around my waist with a safety pin.

Then I crept back over to the edge of the wall. Using a squashed, empty water bottle, I furtively dug up the wet earth, simultaneously making a slight snoring sound to cover the scraping. While I did so, I mentally rehearsed my escape: Leave a blanket bunched up so that in the dark, Stick Girl would assume I was still sleeping; bring one blanket
in case I had to sleep in the jungle; push my daypack out first, then follow; replace the frayed wall flap carefully after me; and head for the trail. The Angkor Wat
-ch
showed 1:16 a.m. That meant I had at least four hours of darkness to run down the mountain to Vang's village.

I stopped digging.
There. I should be able to squeeze my body through that openingâespecially after my starvation diet.

I turned around. Stick Girl was sitting up, staring straight at me. The hairs on the back of my neck prickled.

I frozeâwaiting for the bloodcurdling scream that would bring the entire opium-hazed household into this room.

But, no.

She just watched me, clutching her sticks to her chest. She knew what I was doingâ
and she was letting me go.

Now or never. Mr. Ly had already performed his nightly ritual: After checking on the hostage, he smoked opium for fifteen minutes and passed outâa ritual mirrored by the rest of the adults. A mild breeze rustled the fronds on the roof and the papaya trees outside. Stray dogs barked sporadically in the distance. And the snores, snorts, and wheezes all contributed to make white noise
.
Perfect for muffling any sounds I'd make.

Sure, steady, and slow,Vassar. No abrupt movements to arouse suspicion
. A low, continuous rustle of bamboo would be chalked up to the wind, but a crash through said bamboo would be most certainly figured outâeven by someone in an opium stupor.

Before I could slide throughâStick Girl got up and held out her hand:

My retainer.

I took it from her. She looked so small and solemn. And sad. I thought a moment. Then I removed my necklace and hung it around her neck.
Nulla dies sine linea.
Was it futile to hope that someday she'd learn to write? The silver Latin medallion hung down to her belly button. She looked down at the glinting metal and touched it tentatively with her finger. Then looked up at me. And smiled. Actually
smiled.

Then she picked up her bundle of precious sticks. After careful examination, she selected one and handed it to me as if bestowing a wand of gold. The only thing of “value” she owned in the world. I thanked herâthe only word I knew in her languageâand slipped it into the front pocket of my daypack.

We stared at each other a moment, then exchanged more smiles. I'd miss my little shadow. What would happen to her? Would she be stuck here for life? I had to believe she'd somehow make it outâwith her tenacity and determination.

I fought the urge to bring her with me. Unless I could smuggle her out of the country, she would end up right back here. How helpless I felt at the injustice of life.

Good-bye, Stick Girl.

She lay back down on her mat, clutching the medallion in her hand, her bundle of sticks forgotten.

Deep breath. I lay flat on my back and pushed back the bamboo fronds, then slowly slid my head through the opening. I inched my body through. Wiggled my shouldersâtight fit. Too tight.

I was stuck.

Don't panic, don't panic. Think. Use your deductive reasoning and problem-solving skills to solve this mild dilemma. You always pride yourself on your mindânow use it!
I tried not to think about my shirt and pants sucking up my very own urine like a sponge. Like it matteredâmy stench could already stop a Mack truck.

After pausing to assess the situation, I realized I needed to sever a few more fronds in order to widen the gap enough for the rest of my body to follow. I tried ripping them with my hands, but they were tougher than they looked. It was evident I needed some sort of sharp object to cut the fronds, otherwise I'd be stuck permanentlyâunable to either return inside or escape outside.

What did I have in my pockets or my buttpack? My flashlight â¦ earplugs â¦ nothing sharp there â¦ Wait! Stick Girl's sharpened stick! It was in the outside pocket of my daypackâwhich barely grazed the top of my head. If I could only force one arm through the opening, I could remove it. I gritted my teeth and then shoved my right arm through the ragged edge of the bamboo. Not pleasantâlike a wedge of cheese shredded by a grater. Ignoring the gashes and the oozing blood, I reached for my daypack. I slowly unzipped the front pocket and then felt around for the stick.
Got it!

With a surge of strength I punctured the first flattened cane with the stick, then ripped right through five other canes. I froze, listening for any movement from inside. Nothing. I quickly slithered the rest of my body out. I was free!

Then something moist touched my face.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

It Can't Get Any Worse

I
t was only through sheer willpower that I didn't scream. I lay ramrod straight, eyes wide open, pulse drumbeating so loudly, I just knew everyone in the village heard itâmy very own Telltale “Disrespectful” Heart!

Slowly, I pivoted my head to see â¦ the pot-bellied piglet! His tiny, moist nose inches from my cheek! My limbs went limp with relief as the little fella grunted and prodded meâtrying to locate his mother's teat!

I scrambled to my feet, snatched up my pack, climbed over the primitive fence, and walked slowly in the direction of the jungle path. I couldn't risk runningâthat would arouse suspicion. No one ran around at night in Hmong villages. The moon was full, so I didn't have to turn on my Maglite just yet. I knew I had to make my way around the village until I hit the trail down the mountain. And, once out of sight, I could use it. I noticed, leaning against the fence, a bamboo basket, the kind the Hmong wore on their backs to carry rice, bamboo, vegetables, and babies. I dropped my daypack into the basket and pulled it over my shoulders. I draped my extra shirt over my head like a shawl
and wrapped the thin blanket around my waist like a sarong. Up close I couldn't fool anyone, but from a distance at night maybe I could pass for a Hmong womanâalbeit a strange, overly tall one.

Grunt, grunt. The sow was following me. Along with her piglets.

A chicken chirped. A stray mutt ran over to investigate the odd sight. The sow and her litter scattered. The mutt's ears folded back as he sniffed my leg. Uh-oh. But after a thorough investigation of my pee-stained pants, he trotted off.

The village slept. I didn't see one soul in my trudge around the perimeter.

That's because they're all animists and fear jungle spirits and don't venture out after dark. Great: perfect thought to have in your head at this moment.

The trail loomed in front of meâI did it! I planned my very own escape!

Don't get all cocky, Vassar. This is just the beginning.

Cocky? I was in the jungle, on a mountain, in a remote tribe, in Communist Laos, and feeling cocky?
Euphoric,
to be exact! I escaped! I'd never felt so self-sufficient in my life! Or so IN THE MOMENT.
Grandma Gerd, I'm LIMMING!
I wanted to shout.

Wait. What
would
I call her in the future? Something to add to my To Do List.

Then as I began to stumble down the mud-and-rock path, the euphoria dissipated:
I'm alone. In a jungle. Unprotected. Not knowing who or what lurks in the dark foliage that
surrounds me. Not knowing when my escape will be noticed and a bevy of surefooted Hmong tribesmen will be running down the mountain after me.

I quickened my pace, still able to see fairly well, thanks to the slivers of moonlight that shone through the banana leaves and palm fronds. I stepped in a patch of mudâskidding! The basket on my back hindered my equilibrium. I teetered on the edge of the cliff and barely grabbed the trunk of a giant fern in the nick of time. Okay. Break out the flashlight. The bobbing spot of light wouldn't be visible from the village above, but could be noticed by some sleepless person in the various huts that dotted the landscape below. But would they necessarily think it odd or worth investigation? I had to take the chance. It seemed a better risk than catapulting over the edge of the mountain.

I pointed the flashlight inward toward the mountain and not out toward the valley. And I kept it low, hoping the bushes, rocks, and brush would hide most of the light.

I realized I wasn't blinking, so worried I'd miss something. I forced my eyelids closed. Then opened themâ
flick!

My sole remaining gas-permeable contact whizzed through the air into the darkness.

Uh-oh.

My momentary euphoria seemed like an eternity ago.

Everything was smudged â¦ blurred â¦ I squinted, trying to make out shapes, but it just caused more blurring.

I am on a treacherous jungle trail, slippery with mud, soon to be
chased by an angry tribal mobâAND I CAN'T SEE A FOOT IN FRONT OF MY FACE!!!!

Stop hyperventilating â¦ calm down, deep breaths, in out, in out. Calm down. LIM â¦ that's what I need to be doing: LIMMING. Live in the moment, Vassar, live in the moment.

Okay.

I inched my way down the trail, using one bamboo stick to make sure I didn't get too close to the edge and another to feel ahead for puddles and rocks and uneven steps. To say it was excruciating would be an understatement. At this rate, it would be dinnertime the next day before I even made it halfway down.

One foot in front of the other. One-two-one-two. On the bright side, I couldn't pretend to see any menacing figures in the jungle. My myopia created a buffer. It seemed so unreal, my fear evaporated. I became just a filthy, tense, squinting mass of sweat hobbling down the mountain.

Luckily, the path was well worn and easy to follow. There would be no getting lost or meandering off on a side trail.

How still it was. I'd anticipated more creepy jungle noises. Instead: eerie calm, broken by an occasional breeze rustling the clusters of bamboo and rippling the banana tree leaves.

What was that stench?

How embarrassing. Just me. Just my ever potent Girl Unwashed in a Humid Climate Body Odor.

I didn't allow myself to think of failure. Of not making
it down. Of getting caught. I couldn't afford to mull over worst-case scenarios. Before I could stop myself, I burst into giddy laughter. For no reason. Was I going insane? Well, it wasn't like I didn't have a reason. Make that
many
reasons.

Squinting gave me a headache. I stopped for a sip of water. Half a bottle left. And who knew how much farther to go? I couldn't see far enough to gauge.

I will never leave the USA ever again. I will plan all my trips within the safety of the continent. I will not venture even into Canada. Never never never again will I get myself into this kind of a predicament. Never never never again will I accompany Grandma Gerd anywhereânot even to Gus's Gas. I don't care if she is my â¦
mother
.

I tripped over a rock â¦ then another. And found myself on my butt. Tears ran down my face, stinging my useless eyes. Salt. It made me even thirstier than I was.

I'll send out thought waves to Grandma Gerd,
I thought as I picked myself off the ground:
Come get me, come get me, come get me.

I realized that this was the first time in my life where there was no certainty of outcome. I could do nothing BUT Live in the Moment. I had no other choice.

As I hobbled down the trail, I realized: Wendy Stupacker will make valedictorian now for sure. How absurd my planning, To Do Lists, and Vassar Spore Life Goals seemed right now. All tasks that focused on the future, never on the current moment. Always “What next?” Achieve, achieve, achieve.

I remembered Wendy Stupacker and me facing off in that regional spelling bee. I knew I was going to win. Tranquility enveloped me like a cloud. I'd studied so hard that every word I spelled was an old friend, not a source of anxiety. I experienced that out-of-body feeling, like I was looking down on myself, delighted at my progress. We were neck and neck until I was spelling “ektexine” and my mind wandered to how my parents and I would celebrate that nightâand I accidentally reversed the “k” and the “t.” The triumphant look on Wendy's face brought me back to earth with a jolt. How could I have missed such an easy word!?

My problem then was the same as now: worrying about what comes next instead of fully savoring the here and now.

Glad you figured that one out now that you're about to die,
Vassar
.

Energy. I needed fuel.

I'd tucked a little wad of purple sticky rice into my pocket that I'd managed to save from my last meager meal. Just as I was about to eat it, I had an idea. I rummaged around in the front pocket of my backpack and removed the Polaroid of Hanks and me. Then I spit on the sticky rice to moisten it, shuffled carefully over to the nearest tree, and used it to secure the Polaroid to the trunkâmaking sure it was only visible to those coming up the mountain and not down.

There. At least my rescuers would know I'd escaped and was somewhere in the vicinity.

My fingers were cramped from gripping the sticks, and
my muscles ached from tensing to prevent slipping. Though it was still cold, sweat glistened on my arms. How far had I gone? The Angkor Wat
-ch
read 3:35 a.m. I'd been walking for almost two hoursâand I only had an hour and a half before sunrise.

I paused to give my muscles a rest. Then I heard voicesâand
not
in my head. Excited, babbling voices in the distance but definitely moving closer.

From behind me.

BOOK: Carpe Diem

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