|
|
|
Heat and smells assaulted the group of tourists in Burma. Carts pulled by oxen, filled with produce from the fields, gave them yet another ‘quaint sight’ to ogle. But they attract more flies than they were worth, Anna thought, waving away the black insects. The damp, wet heat was the perfect breeding ground for insects of all kinds. Undeterred, they clicked camera shutters and captured images to be printed and stored and pasted into albums. Their guide, Wan, smiled his toothy grin and spoke in broken English.
“Come. Now going on jungle hike. No other touristis see jungle. Special pass.”
“Go-ing to the jun-gle?” Mrs. Mayors asked loudly. “Is it safe?”
“Yes, yes.” Wan reassured. “Very safe. No touristis ever hurt.”
“If no other tourists have been on the jungle hike,” Mr. Mayors interjected, “why do you say no tourists were ever hurt on it?”
“I protect you with knife.” Wan flourished a three-foot long machete proudly. “Very expert with machete.”
The harsh light of the high powered fluorescent bulbs did little for the crags of his face.
“Whoever committed the murder was very skillful with a knife,” he said.
“So it was quick?”
“Quite the opposite.”
They crossed the street, managing to avoid ‘landmines’, as Mrs. Davis had termed them. The jungle loomed at the edge of the road, rising up as if to swallow humanity’s assault of it’s possessions. Bamboo mingled with exotic palms and ferns, creating a solid mass of green.
“How on Earth will we get by?” A loud voice called over Anna’s shoulder.
“No worry. No worry. Machete can cut.”
“I want you to keep in mind, Ms. Richardson, the condition in which his body is in. It is not pleasant. Are you- are you sure you want to see it?”
It, she thought. Not a he- he’s are living. It’s are dead. Broken. “Yes, officer. I need to know.”
Nothing could be heard but the rhythmic thwacking of the machete against the jungle. Anna passed bamboo stalks, cut in half to make room for their passing. Sap trickled out of the ends, dripping slowly down the round stems.
“Look!” Ms. Davis called, pointing ahead of them. “Citrus fruit!”
It looked nothing like he did when he was alive. It didn’t even sound the same than he did. “It… it… it…” she kept saying, over and over. “It… it… it…” Harsh. Splintering from the lips. “It… it… it…”
“Ms. Richardson.” Quiet, insistent. “Sit down, Ms. Richardson.” A coffee cup was placed in her cold hands. Reflexively, they curled around it. The coffee was comforting, a creamy light brown. Soft, soothing. Not like red.
Wan cut open the fruit expertly, and peeled hard shell away. Red juice from the fruit ran down his arms as he handed it to Mrs. Mayors. Deft fingers cut more citrus for the ‘touristis’- wrapping around the blade of the machete, slicing fruit into edible portions, peeling off the hard skin. The blade of the machete gleamed in the jungle light. He held out a citrus to Anna.
“No,” she said, voice sounding hollow in her ears. No. No. No.
“Isn’t it silly?” Mrs. Mayors remarked to her conspiratorially. “That huge machete for cutting up a few citrus. Overkill, really.”
“Have you no evidence?”
“I’m sorry, Ms. Richardson. No one was seen near his room, and all the staff have been interviewed.”
“What about the knife? Can you tell what kind of knife was used?”
“A machete, no doubt- but those are plentiful in Burma. Mostly used to clear away jungle. They can be bought nearly anywhere.” Untraceable.
They arrived to what Wan termed “Big Surprise.” Indeed, it was spectacular, everyone conceded. The cliff they were standing on rose above the jungle canopy, allowing a clear view of green for what seemed miles around. It was an illusion, they all knew, and Burma was less than a mile away from the spot they were standing, but the green rose up even higher than their point of view and blocked all sight of the city.
Cameras clicked once again, memorializing the view.
“It feels as if we’re explorers, the first ones to discover this… this haven,” Mr. Mayors said. Mrs. Mayors promptly agreed, plopping down on the ground and adding she was exhausted from the hike.
Wan was pleased with their response, thrust the machete point first in the ground and sat next to Mrs. Mayors. Shading his eyes to the sun, he asked me,
“You like it?”
Murderer.
 Attingere · Sun Apr 29, 2007 @ 06:29pm · 0 Comments |
|
|
|
|
|
