Palace of Precious Stones
He was up to his knees when he spotted it, only the size of a
pea. But it was red. Red. He couldn't believe his luck. Reaching
down he fished it out and placed it in his mouth. Now he could go
back and sun himself on a rock.
Withdrawing his feet from the stream he spread his toes wide and
swished his feet back and forth forcing water between them to
wash out the yellow mud. He sunk back on a rock to relax. His
work for the day was done.
The rock felt smooth and warm on his back. He popped open his
cowboy shirt to catch the last rays of afternoon sunlight
slanting between the leaves of a giant fig tree whose trunk was
as naked and pale as any woman's. He basked in the sunlight that
escaped the grasp of her leaves with permission. Starry-bright
reflections danced on the water as he watched a water strider
thread its way between bubbles and eddies constantly changing
their pathways. A kingfisher darted just over the surface then
away like a shot.
He considered the thing in his mouth. He took it out and gave it
a good look. It was red, not a hint of purple, that was good. It
was irregular, less to cut, that was bad. The stone was big
enough to pay for what he needed but not what he wanted.
"Damn, it's always this way with me. The rubies here are never
Michael was all about the money, or so he thought. If you asked
"Mike, what the hell is an American G.I. doing in the highlands
of Burma looking for rubies?"
He'd simply say, "This is where the money ran out."
Complex men always come up with simple answers. It wasn't that
Mike's answers were lies exactly, only that in his efforts to
simplify them he'd stripped them naked of the truth.
He watched the sun dip lower until the hills took on a bluish
cast, and the ones beyond a purple hue. White puffs of cumulus
turned grey against the setting sun tinting their edges silver
and when it dipped even lower, gold. Mountain shadows lengthened
and in the distance he heard a peahen crying for her mate,
insisting he return to their nest for the night. It was only too
obvious she didn't like sleeping alone.
With darkness the forest grew quiet and the sounds of the day
animals were replaced by the noises of crickets and creatures of
the night. The gentle murmur of the river never stopped and would
not vary its tune until the miracle of the monsoon came. All
Burma lie hushed and waiting. Some things never change.
So Mike really wasn't there because that's where the money had
run out. He was there because the mountain forest had seduced him
like a lovely woman and now he'd fallen in love with her exotic
beauty, her consistency, and the rhythms of her life.
If only he knew it.
The next morning he was sitting on a stump drinking coffee and
spitting out the grounds that he hadn't quite strained out. Tired
of trying to filter it with his teeth, he gave up, and poured the
rest on a wandering stink beetle that didn't seem to mind.
"Insects are tough," he reasoned, "but then again so am I." Then
he walked off to work down river.
He liked being his own boss and enjoyed working in the small
streams that fed into the Mogok river in the Valley of the
Rubies. The door to the Mogok had cracked open in nineteen
sixty-six and he squeezed in smartly just under the radar. Now he
had his own hut not far from a local tribe of Shans who'd been in
the trade for years. They ignored him, all except for the
children, thinking him eccentric as hell. He didn't mind and
agreed he probably was. He was a loner by trade, a loser by
profession, always hoping for a big strike... never getting it.
That was his life.
He knew that just beyond the bend that Shan women were bathing
and always, or nearly always, when he walked by on his way to
find rubies, made it a point to stay on his side of the river. He
knew enough to give temptation a wide birth and usually pretended
to ignore them.
This time was different.
Sitting on a rock removed from the rest was a girl quite singular
and alone. She glanced up at him with uncurious eyes.
"Mingalaba," he called out in Burmese.
"Krishnagopal kodoth," she answered in Shan. By the way she
pronounced it, it sounded more like Bangkok Thai. The girl had
She suddenly smiled and let herself into the water without a
sound. Swimming away, her hair trailed behind her like thin
curves of black coal. Their undulating design entranced him. She
disappeared among the rocks like a shadow from a passing cloud
leaving him wonder if he'd ever really seen her at all. It was
like seeing a nymph or a creature of the forest that shouldn't be
seen. He had a curious feeling he'd seen an apparition, and it
left him unsettled the rest of the day.
When he took off his cowboy shirt with the snaps they pulled lose
of the rotten shirt leaving holes.
"It's the climate," he reasoned, looking at his rotting tennies
"It rots everything. It's time I went down river to see Nigel.
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