As the village of MaeSaamLaep disappeared behind them, Chaz heard the piercing whistles and caws of jungle birds welcoming them, or perhaps warning them. The jungle noises dissipated as the sounds of the Salaween River took over. The water’s current was oddly gentle near the riverbank, yet he knew it would be dangerous towards the middle.
Chaz examined their guide’s wide stiff face. He found it difficult to keep from staring at the foot long hair protruding from a big dark mole on his chin. The Chinese referred to long facial hair that hung from facial moles as “wisdom hairs”. The man smiled back in a big, nearly toothless grin, except for one top tooth that jutted out.
“You do like this. Okay?” Their Chinese escort Wee Chu explained how to better control the raft with the pole. They began to pick up speed as they edged farther from the shore. At the same time though, the end started to swing around.
“No, not up and down,” Wee Chu said. “Use angle and push.”
Chaz put his pole straight down until it sunk into the gushing clay and held on, nearly falling into the water. He tightened his stomach muscles and pulled the raft toward the rooted pole.
“No stick pole so deep in mud. No lean off boat.” Chaz couldn’t tell if Wee Chu was mocking him or angry with him. Maybe this was just his teaching style.
The raft swung around until it was facing backwards. Once his pole was in proper position, he along with Wee Chu, leveraged the raft towards the riverbank. The hardest part was pulling the pole out of the grasp of the mud. He nearly lost his balance several times.
Soon they were facing downstream once again. He began using his pole, more to slow down than to increase the speed or change directions. He soon began to feel confident and in control.
He breathed deeply watching the dappled shadows from the scattered clouds flick over the water. Diamonds danced along the water’s surface from the path of the sunlight. The sun’s rays began to intensify as the day drifted lazily onward.
Wee Chu pressed on a nostril and blew the contents of his nose into a small plastic cup.
“What are you doing?” Chaz asked. Snot-rockets were supposed to be blown onto the ground.
“I respect your tradition to give honor to water spirits. Don’t you Americans worship snot of your nose?” He held the cup high then set it down in front of Chaz.
“What are you talking about?”
Is this another of the man’s strange jokes?
Wee Chu raised one hairy eyebrow in confusion. “I watch your people store life giving nose liquid into embroidered white holy cloth. Then put in your pocket.”
“You’re kidding right?” Chaz didn’t mean to contradict an adult, but come on. “We don’t keep our snot rags.”
“But I have seen this. White women, they protect it in a cloth for later.” Wee Chu flicked his wrist limply around, clearly in imitation of something he’d witnessed.
“But they don’t store it.” Chaz rubbed a temple. “They throw it away or wash it.”
“Why they no blow it to ground?”
“It is to respect others and not get germs everywhere.”
Wee Chu rubbed his chin, “Ahh, so your snot is a private matter.”
“Private? I guess so.”
“Your people not like discuss this?”
“Yeah. We keep it private to ourselves.”
“Hmm, I thought so.”
Chaz was getting annoyed and began to zone out on what the man was saying. All around them, limestone rocks jutted above the surface of the water. Chaz figured that these rocks would have been completely submerged during the rainy season.
Wee Chu turned to face the looming rocks ahead. “Talk later. River very danger here.” He gave a deep bow to the river and tossed in a hand of bananas. Chaz knew this was a request for the spirits to allow them to pass safely through the rapids.
Chaz felt unprepared for the swirling waters ahead. He held his breath and plunged his pole into a nearby limestone pillar as the raft rushed downstream.