House of Singing Wind

House of Singing Wind

By

Sir Marc Wyld

Chapter Two

Li

       The morning is hot and muggy and there is little doubt there will be rain in the jungle before noon.  From the tree line, we watch as people from the surrounding villes began to congregate in a clearing, a cul-de-sac, one road both in and out.  There is little to do but wait and see what is going on.    The Laotian-Thailand border is notorious as a portal for arms and supplies from China via Laos, across Thailand into Cambodia and on into Vietnam.  What is most curious about this gathering is the predominance of men and children, mostly young women.   To my eye, I am certain these are families.  Tran Ngo, the team’s translator, sidles up to me to apprise me of the situation, for my ears only.

“These farmers, very poor.  Come to sell children.    Not come to meet to meet Cong. No guns, no rice.”

I was stunned.  “Why?” I asked. 
”No money, no food.  Girl childs no be married, no money, no buffalo to give to husband’s family, boys too young to work to rice paddies.  Farmers has many children, many mouth to feed.  If no can work, no can feed.  Better sell than kill or starve.”  He said this with a matter of fact dignity.  This was the oriental way:  He would make no judgments.   His flat look told me that I was in no position to judge, either.

When his report is finished, Tran evaporates as silent as a ghost just as a mid fifties vintage Cadillac pulls into the clearing.  My fist shoots up in a tight fist next to my ear.  My index finger goes strait up, waggles back and forth once and then I make the peace sign.   None of the men in the team need any explanation for the signal:  Freeze, take cues from me, safeties on.   Also, the men know exactly who is driving the Caddy.  It is Dirty Mary, the mamasan of a bar by the same name in downtown Bangkok. 

“Looks like Mamasan’s on a mission to buy some new hookers.”  Miller says.  “Fresh meat and I’m three months from mid tour R&R.”  He said this almost disgustedly.  Virgins go for a premium bar fine and are very sought after on their first night working the second floor at Dirty Mary’s.. 

       I flash “on me” and say out loud, “The smoking lamp is lit.”  I pull a Lucky from my pocket and made a big production of lighting it, not caring if the clicking noise of my Zippo carries into the clearing and I begin walking toward the gathering crowd.     The sight of five men carrying weapons sends a ripple of tension through the group, but they quickly realize that we are not Thai Federal Police and they relax.  Dirty Mary recognizes Miller right away.  I suppose spending the paychecks saved for five months in a week at a whorehouse can really popularize a person and she breaks out into a ever widening grin. 

“You number one, GI, Millersan!” she cries out.  That just about did it for me.   I had the urge to butt stroke her upside her toothless head.   I hate the way the gooks are always slipping into Japanese sounding Pigeon English; always calling us “Number One”.  I am pretty sure that number is signified by the middle finger, but I ignore her.

I motion for Tran to get his ass over to me and point to a farmer standing next to a young girl.  “Ask him how old she is,” I order.  Tran did and the farmer went into a diatribe that lasted a lot longer than just stating a number. 

“‘He say, she fifteen and very strong.  Can pick grass out of rice patty long time, pick rice too.  She good cook and make many baby, all boy.”   The look on my face upset the farmer and filled him with fear.  This seems to be Dirty Mary’s cur to begin to examine the girl.  It reminded me of grizzled old ranchers examining breed stock before an auction at stockyards back, back in the world in Oklahoma.   She fells the girl’s breasts through her rough blouse and pulls back her woven hat to pick at her hair and part her lips to look at her teeth, teeth that were perfect in spite of never having been seen by a dentist in their lifetime.  Then, she began to dicker with the farmer.  I looked a Tran and he said “She say she give 500 baht.”   Twenty-five American dollars.

“Tell him I give one thousand,” and so the price war began.  Back and forth the bidding goes until the figure reaches ten thousand baht.   Finally, Dirty Mary gives me a disgusted look and spits at my feet.  “You no come to my bar, no more, Lieutenantsan!” 

“Not a problem,” I said, and spit right back at her feet.  I paid the farmer who without another look at his daughter, turns and walks away, towards the woods and Laos.  Mary makes an awful sound in my direction and Tran starts to translate.  I hold up my hand him.   “I know what she said, Tran.” 

I walk away, also back toward the woods, to the Landing Zone where we’ll be picked up.  Tran just looks at me and then says “You boo koo dinky dau!”   “Yep, Tran, one crazy motherfucker, I just spent ten thousand nickels, five hundred bucks on a human being!”

I awake with a start and come instantly alert as I always do when I have this dream.  You can take the boy out of the jungle, but you can’t take the jungle out of the boy.  A soft hand caresses my cheek and I look into two limpid brown pools of light that are Li’s eyes.  I think she knows what I am dreaming about but she never says a word, and snuggles closer to me, placing her tiny hand on my chest.  I am awake and will be for the rest of the night.  I patiently wait for her breathing return to a rhythmical steady beat before I leave the bed.   I have a lot to think about, the least of which is how Li came to be in my life.  The dream that was not always a dream sometimes disturbs me. 

       I leave my private wing of Singing Winds heading towards the staff cells; I want to talk to Sollie before I leave.  Without  knocking, I walk right in to her room.  Even if there were a lock on her door, I knew it would be unlocked.   I reach into my pocket for the Zippo that has been in my pocket for the last thirty years, minus the four months three years ago when it took a little vacation to Bradford, Pee Ay, back in the good ole’ You Ess of Ay for some of that good old lifetime warranty service.  Made it the U.S. of A may not mean shit in Detroit, but Pennsylvania is a whole different ball game. 

I could have turned on the lights, but when talking to Sollie, especially, I find candlelight soothing.  I open the lid of the lighter slowly and quietly and light a taper on her bed table and this does not wake her.  On the other side of her bed, leaning against the wall I make out a shape.  Picking up the candle, I move to the other side of the bed and can’t help but smile.  No wonder Sollie doesn’t wake up seems she was busy far into the night. 

Leaning against the wall is a rough cross with a limp body tied to it.  The eyes are closed and I can see the eyes rapidly moving in REM dream-sleep.  Ahh, the dreams of Slut; these are dreams that could interest me.  Softly I touch her lips and an involuntary shiver courses down her body but she does not wake. She is beautiful, her breasts are full and pendulous, with a light sheen of perspiration that glistens in the candlelight.   I can see that she is wearing a chastity devise.  I don’t need to guess that her cunt and ass are filled and well filled at that.  The slickness on her thighs also says that I don’t have to guess that it might be KY jelly.   I return to the far side of the bed, lean down and give Sollie’s cheeks several light taps.  Her eyes pop open and move side to side rapidly, unfocused.  Finally, her eyes settle on my face and she recognizes me.  She quietly slips out of bed and onto her knees.  I sit on her bed feeling the warmth of her body still in the sheets.  She knee walks forward and settles between my thighs, Idly I begin to stroke her black hair as she looks into my eyes with a shy smile that lights her entire face.

“Rough night?”  I ask.  Her smile broadens and just as suddenly she is serious.  “Are you sure this one should be here?” She asks softly, nodding toward Slut.  “There’s a lot of spirit in her.  I’m not sure if she’s taking training because she wants it or because it gets her what she wants.”  I knew exactly what she meant.  “Sollie,” I said, “Don’t question her motives, and just train her to the best of your, and her, abilities.”  I think she wanted to talk more about this but she knew the discussion was over.  It is now time to listen to me. 

“I’m leaving this morning; I’m going to see Maelstrom about this one and run some other errands.  Don’t try too hard to break this one.  And be extremely careful, I don’t know yet if this is someone’s property.  Not that I really care, but if she belongs to Malestrom then it’s going to cost him the same she would fetch at auction to training her.  Just in case, leave something out because Maelstrom thinks he can finish a slave’s training regimen.”   We smiled at each other at this.  “If that’s the case, I think this one might be at Singing Wind for a very long time,” I added and Sollie nodds in agreement. 

I crane my head back as if to look at the ceiling and begin to rotate my head, eyes closed, feeling the gravel in my neck and spine grate bone to bone as I try to relax.  I feel Sollie’s hand go into the fly in my silk pajamas and slip inside.  I looked down at her and lightly grab her wrist to stop her.  “Li’s already taken care of that,” I said.  Rolling over on my side, I stretch out on Sollie’s bed.  I am awake and know I won’t fall back asleep, but I am exhausted, the way I always feel after the dream.  Sollie crouches at the end of the bed and begins to massage my feet.  I close my eyes and give into the sensation she is sending up my sciatic nerve that culminates in a tingling sensation just behind my right ear.  I roll onto my back and I feel her take my toes between her warm, moist lips, sucking my toes, pulling them between her lips as if they were tiny cocks.  She runs her tongue between my toes and then licks up their lengths.  She takes all five on each foot into her mouth at once and runs her tongue around each one.  She then began to lick the entire foot with deliberate, long, tongue strokes.  I raise my head and look down at her, her features softened by the glow of the candle, her face serene in her devotion to the worship of my feet.  I lay back, closed my eyes and completely lose myself in her ministrations.  She works on, sensually and methodically, into the night.

I wake, again, to light streaming through the high window of Sollie’s cell.  I am in her bed, covered up, feeling snuggly warm.  Slut is not tied to the cross any longer and I am quite alone in Sollie’s room.  I throw back the covers and get to my feet, stretching broadly.  I feel totally refreshed and alert, not totally unlike the mornings I awoke in the jungle a million years ago:  Totally ready for any contingency.  Briskly, I leave the room and head back to my quarters.  Have to get a move on.  Today, I’m to be a traveling man.