A LONG WIDE ROAD that cut through the city like an absence of city, cars swerving all over the dirt, no lanes, small buildings, almost too small for people, stretching out from either side of the road. This was Laos and Ian felt uncharacteristically free as he and Jonathan and Grant sped out of Vientiane toward the riverside town in which Grant wanted to build a restaurant.
They rode in the direction of green misty mountains that huddled behind one another like children’s heads forming a crowd around something of interest. In this case it was just wide brown road, fewer cars now, some bicyclists, backpackers here and there walking in twos and threes. The air felt light and floral and as if there were nothing separating Ian from his vacation. He was one with the easy sweetness and lazy freedom. That he was here on some mission, to be useful in some way, escaped him and lifted like a kite into the sky. Eventually, gone.
At the tourist town twenty-somethings had overtaken the local culture: tubing, zip-lining, mushroom shakes, everyone half naked, the village children dealing drugs, the bars open all night, the idea of civilization floating down the river like a used condom. Grant and Ian headed to get a drink while Jonathan met with two officials in a back room. They sat at a wooden table, discussing.
Jonathan listened to their reasons for declining a permit. The town was overrun. These tourists had no respect for the Laotians. It was time to crack down on the partying, not encourage it. Music was blowing into the dim room from riverside beaches. Jonathan sipped a Coke and sniffed as he listened to the two men make their case.
Thing is, he said when they finished, my cousin really believes in this restaurant. He thinks it will be good for the town. He’ll keep it clean.
That’s what they all say, the men said.
Jonathan looked down at the table and smiled with his jaw. Well, this time it’s true.
The officials sat silently.
He looked back up at the men.
You know, it could all disappear in a minute. You might think that would be good but all the money coming in: poof, gone, that wouldn’t be so good. You’re lucky all these kids like coming here.
One of the men closed his eyes. The other lit a cigarette.
Might not be so great for you if the kids moved on someplace else. Like, if it got dangerous around here and they decided to find a new party town.
What do you mean, dangerous?
I don’t know. Like for example if a few too many of these drunk kids got in the tubes or on the zip lines and fell in the water during the rapid season. That kind of thing. The area could get a bad reputation.
It’s the law that they have to wear life jackets.
Jonathan laughed. Some of them look a little too—a lot too—stoned to pay attention to that.
What are you saying?
I’m not saying anything. Just you might want to think about how important this commerce is to you. The American way is to welcome business, not discourage it.
This is not America.
Jonathan finished his Coke.
Yeah, I get that, he said putting down the bottle. Just think about it. I’ll be here for a couple of days.
He found Ian and Grant and the three of them hiked several miles to some caves. The hike was hot and the bugs flew in and out of Ian’s eyes and mouth. In the damp cave Jonathan handed over money to a man who nodded and translated to his friends while Grant kept a lookout into the blindingly white sunny entrance bounded by leaves. Ian waited outside, as Jonathan had asked him to. The bugs were a little better at the mouth of the cave.
The next day, a few of the men from the cave help two tourists locate some exceptionally strong cocktails. Now, in the afternoon, the tourists are guided to a flying fox, a zip line that runs above the water. The two muscular men get strapped, without life jackets, into their harnesses.
On an opposite hill the man who had taken the money in the cave takes out a gun. The two tourists swing along the line. Neither courage nor fear in their faces, just an expression of astonished pleasure. The man on the hillside lifts his black gun and he pulls the trigger and the shot hits the place where the harnesses attach to the line.
The explosion is muffled by the sound of the rushing river. Just a shudder of foliage that not even nearby hikers would notice. Two strong athletic bodies drop down in a sudden plummet of flesh and the expressions on their faces smear from excitement to terror in a blur like a face in a Francis Bacon painting. There was one in Steve’s office. Jonathan had always admired it.
Holy shit, Grant says later when he hears about the accident.
Oh my God, Ian says.
Drunken idiots, Jonathan says.
Jonathan knows that he has gone too far, that Steve would be upset with him if he were to find out, but he figures that Steve will never find out. That no one will.
And he is usually correct in these matters.
The bodies of the two Australians were found later that day. Local officials announced that new laws would be enacted to prevent zip-lining during the rapid season. Life jackets are mandatory, tourists were reminded. Flyers went up on the doors of the bars. Before they left, Jonathan and Ian and Grant stopped off at an office in a neighboring town and picked up a permit for Grant’s restaurant. Jonathan took them out for a last drink that night and held the permit up to the torchlight and turned it this way and that and said: We could have just forged this thing. It’s like a handwritten receipt. Just one stamp on it that could be anything.
Ian’s face looked somber and confused. I keep thinking about those two guys whipping around in the water like underwear in a washing machine, he said.
Poor assholes, said Jonathan.
Taste this, Grant said.
They each had a forkful of the sauce-covered fish that he was eating. He said he was going to put something like it on his menu, but with more of a citrusy flavor. It would be his signature dish. Ian and Jonathan closed their eyes while they savored the food and made odd moaning sounds. Strange, pained manifestations of delight came over their shadowy faces, under the flare of the flickering torches.