A new journey is starting. Move on and don’t look back.
Ballad of Hua Mu Lan
near Lai Chau. Northwest Vietnam
A man in shorts, sandals, and a Grateful Dead T-shirt approached me and introduced himself. He was short, powerfully built, with hard angles on his face. His eyes showed no emotion like the black pupils of a shark.
“ Hello, Sir.” He said, extending his hand. His grip was like a vise, and his hand rough and calloused. “Are you the American Biologist?”
His English was well practiced with the hint of an accent I had learned during my stay here. He introduced himself, and I’ll call him Pete to avoid typing his real name, which would interrupt the flow of the story as we all stumble with pronunciation.
“Yes, please call me Dan,” I replied.
“Good, I’m your guide and interpreter. I’ll introduce you to the Chief, and we can discuss your business here. How long will you stay?”
Here was my government-supplied assassin. So much for the secret journey. This was a lesson in patience that Montagnard people would teach me repeatedly. It is the long wait for a victory that wins. Pete simply came to the village as soon as he was sent and waited for my arrival. Now I was his to do with as he pleased. My job was to study his habits, so he couldn’t surprise me on that fateful day of my execution.
“I hope to stay several months, if possible. I want to gather a lot of information about plant life here.”
“Who will receive this study?”
“Everyone interested,” I said with all the straight-faced lying I could muster.
“Excellent. I have a colleague who also wants to study biology in this area; She will be here in a couple of days. I’m sure you can learn a lot from Miss Yang.” Pete said with an air of superiority.
“I’m looking forward to meeting Miss Yang. I’m sure with you and her leading the study, we will have great success.” My turning mastery over to Pete was purposeful. The best way to find a common bond is to let them lead the way and adapt to their leadership style even when they test you with impossible tasks. In this culture, only the worthy are allowed to eat the food and breath the air freely. Pete would take care of the messy work disposing of me if I proved problematic.
We walked along toward the longhouse that belonged to the Chief. This would be more ceremony than anything else, and I was ready to go with the flow as they tested me to determine my trustworthiness. The village followed from a safe distance, with the children boldly holding on to Pete’s shirt and mine in hopes of more treats. I touched the shoulders of the kids and made a gesture of showing them kindness. I knew never to touch their heads as this was only for animals, and to rub their hair playfully was the same as equating them to animals. Head rubbing was a high insult that would anger the adults and alienate the children. Not a good start for any long-nosed barbarian.
After passing the kid or animal test, the women called the children away and returned to work. The village square was soon deserted, and the chatter of the villagers faded. The chief sat at the far end of the longhouse in an area that served as a special place of counsel based on the wall coverings of their tribal colors and symbology carved into the thick wooden pylons that supported the roof. The tribal leader’s wife sat on the platform, appearing uninterested in Pete and my arrival. However, the two men standing in the corners with old Chinese assault rifles and extra-long parangs looked very interested in getting a chance to do some target practice.
The last thing I wanted to do was get nervous and sweat. That would be taken as a sign of dishonesty, and Hans and Franz would be arm wrestling Pete for a chance to do a little village hack and slash celebration on me. I put on my calm bro persona with a touch of humble head-down respect and let the inquisition begin. My stomach growled. They heard it. I prayed they didn’t think I farted because the Vietnamese believed farts were evil spirits and nothing was more evil than a longnose barbarian fart.
To my surprise, the chief’s wife left and brought back food, and we all sat and ate together. This was test number two. The cuisine is like nothing else Westerners are accustomed to, and the tastes and textures can take you to a whole other world of palate hell. Luckily, I had spent some time with Hector and his girlfriend near Loc Son, just south of Hue City. The cuisine blended Vietnamese and other Asian countries with a French twist. Street food was how most people got by in the city. I plastered on my most stoic face and ate. I liked it, and Mrs. Chief kept pouring it on until my week of starvation in the forest was sated. I prayed silently that I would not turn this hearty meal into evil spirits and ruin the friendly ambiance I found myself in.
After we ate and tried out the local homebrew, the Chief and Pete were in a good mood. I mentioned that I brought gifts for the Chief and his wife, which seemed to perk them up quite a bit. I presented the Chief with a small leather pouch full of gold nuggets worth a small fortune provided by the State Department and a spool of red silk thread. Both of these items were considered functional and hard to get. The Chief handed the silk thread to his wife, who flashed me a lovely set of brown teeth except for those missing. She would divide it up among the senior females for sewing ceremonial garments. Chief set the gold pouch aside like a sack of marbles, and we were suddenly getting down to business.
I explained my desire to study plants and how they contributed to the environment. Maybe some of these plants were useful for medicine or other purposes. The Chief’s eyes mocked me as a dumbass city boy, but he determined I wasn’t such a bad kid after all. I was welcomed into the village to stay as long as I liked.
Victory. Now the hard work began.
Hyperion Sky 
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