Restless Soul. Alex Archer

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СКАЧАТЬ to living in the cave and hang on the stalactites like they would tree branches. This is the only place in the world this happens, I’ve heard. We bought some ultra-high-speed film for it. No digital camera for me.” She pointed to the expensive-looking camera around her neck.

      “You can come back tomorrow to see the birds if you want, Jennie. I’m not walking back out here again,” the Australian husband announced. “I’m too old for this nonsense. My blisters have blisters. I’m picking our next holiday. A beach somewhere so I can park my bum. Maybe Hawaii? Or Aruba on some package deal?”

      The river practically butted up against the path as they made their way. They stopped at a collection of small huts, one of which offered concessions, another of which shaded a dock. It was thirty more baht per person for the bamboo raft ride to the cave.

      Luartaro and Annja were the first couple on board.

      Zakkarat used a pole to edge the raft away from the bank. “Not deep here,” he said. “But it is wide. Taking this raft is better than wading, yes? Stay dry by taking this raft. The Shan tribe provides the rafts and gets the baht here. That is good.”

      He pointed to a woman and child near one of the huts. “Tourism money has cut the Shan’s need for slash-and-burn rice farming. That is very good.”

      “Are you a member of the Shan tribe?” Luartaro asked.

      “Yes. All the people in my tribe respect the caves and their creatures—the birds, bats, fish and snakes. The tourists who come to see the caves are helping our community.”

      The raft floated with the current for several minutes before Zakkarat poled it to a stop against the opposite shore and motioned his passengers to get off.

      A young boy collected a few more baht from everyone.

      The cave loomed sharply to the right, and Zakkarat took the lead and gestured to a half-dozen crude wooden steps that had been built next to the entrance.

      “Follow me, please.”

      Annja took the first spot in line and was quickly swallowed by a cavern filled with stalagmites, small sinkholes and vents.

      The change in temperature hit her immediately. The air was cool from her knees down, closest to the ground. Above that it remained warm and humid. The light had changed, too, and Annja closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, they had adjusted better to the dimness.

      She looked up, but couldn’t see the ceiling; it was lost in overlapping shadows dotted with the tips of stalactites.

      “Cave elephant,” Zakkarat said, pointing to a formation of rock and limestone that had been fashioned by water dripping across it through the centuries.

      Annja could make out the broad shape of it and the outline that could be construed as ears and a trunk.

      “Cave dog. Cave monkey.” Zakkarat pointed to other limestone formations that were not quite so easy to make out. “Cave crocodile.”

      The ecowife pointed to one that looked like a snake and snapped a picture of it.

      Annja shielded her eyes as the woman took another picture and then another, the flash in the darkness almost painful in its sudden brightness.

      “So it’s called a spirit cave because of the animal spirits that fill it, right? Spirits in the lime, I guess you could call them,” the ecowife said.

      She took several more shots of other formations in rapid succession and of the natural limestone columns that extended twenty meters or more to the ceiling.

      “Spirits of dead animals? No.” Zakkarat chuckled. “Some of the local tribes claim that the souls of the human dead live here. That is why it is called a spirit cave. Those tribes, but not the Shan, will not come here. They fear for their lives. Some other tribes, they are not so superstitious. It is these tribes, but not the Shan, that stole most of the artifacts that were here. But there are some pieces, not so good, for you to see. I will show you.”

      The group edged deeper into the cave, and bats, hidden by the shadows, started squeaking.

      Zakkarat picked up a gas lantern from the floor and lit it. The squeaking grew louder as the light grew brighter. A mud-colored snake slid across the path and toward the wall.

      “This is all so beautiful,” Annja said.

      “Yes,” Luartaro whispered. “Though not so beautiful as you.” He took a few pictures of her looking at one of the limestone formations, bouncing the flash so it would not be so disturbing.

      They both stared at the immense chamber striped with earth colors and shining in the meager light.

      No matter how many caves Annja had traipsed through, she never really tired of them and was always amazed by what magnificent formations nature had sculpted.

      Annja felt relaxed in the cave, though she knew from their mannerisms that some of her companions, the Australian husband in particular, were made uneasy by the surroundings. The sense of foreboding she’d had the night before seemed far away.

      They walked on, following the bobbing light of Zakkarat’s lantern.

      Annja could hear moving water a few minutes before they reached another river, or perhaps a branch of the same one.

      Zakkarat indicated another bamboo raft.

      “More baht, right?” the Australians said practically in unison. “For the Shan.”

      Zakkarat poled them across to the far side of the cave.

      “Follow me, please.” He led them up a fairly steep rise to a ledge that overlooked a cavern.

      “No rails,” the ecowife noted. “We’ve been to quite a few caves. Not near the safety standards as in Carlsbad Caverns and Mammoth Cave. Or even that Mark Twain one in Missouri. They all had railings.”

      Zakkarat’s course took them around a deep sinkhole and to another chamber from which tunnels branched away. Scattered road cones and faded danger signs blocked off a few of the passages, and Annja suspected there was a risk of cave-ins. Another sign, more recent from its bright paint, dangled from a rusty chain. It read Do Not Pass—Low Oxygen.

      “See here? Cave painting. Authentic.” Zakkarat pointed to a spot midway up the wall. “One of seven in this cave. But the only one I can show you today. Most paintings are where it is under excavation. Archaeologists from Bangkok found a skeleton under a rock shelf, supposed to be twenty thousand years old. The oldest skeleton found in Northern Thailand. The dig is off-limits, and the skeleton predates the coffins you will see. But this cave painting you can look at. Do not touch, though.”

      Annja squinted to make out a faded design. At first glance it looked like a shadow or a smudge. Beneath it, affixed to the stone, was a large black-and-white photograph of what the painting had looked like before tourists had rubbed it away by touching it. The photograph clearly showed a deer, an arrow and the sun overhead.

      “There’s writing on the photograph,” Luartaro said. He leaned close and almost touched the picture. “A date. This photograph was taken thirty years ago.”

      “Pity that people have to ruin things,” Annja said. СКАЧАТЬ