The first light of the new day had yet to clear the horizon, and a thin veil of mist still covered the old dirt road winding out of Phrae. The morning air was thick with the icy chill of forest fog and the smell of damp earth after rain. A sputtering gasoline engine coughed, “Chug-chug-chug,” alternating with the deep, thunderous roar of the “pig-pen bus”—an old-fashioned wooden songthaew with a teak body that had seen years of hard use. Black smoke billowed from its exhaust, mingling with the red dust swirling in its wake. Its rubber-wrapped iron wheels dropped into ruts along the cart road, sending the vehicle bouncing over the poorly maintained track. Every jolt made the old wooden frame creak and groan ominously.
Kham and Ming sat on a long plank bench at the back of the bus. Two rough-cloth shoulder bags containing a few changes of clothes and pocketknives rested between their legs. The two young men leaned their faces against the wooden railings of the pig-pen bus, their bodies tossed from side to side by the jolts of the rough road. Even so, their eyes shone with excitement and the spark of hope. There was no trace of fear or fatigue from fleeing their pursuers the night before.
The songthaew was packed with people. Villagers were traveling into town or heading back to their villages. Some carried baskets filled with wild vegetables and bamboo shoots. Others held fighting-cock cages tied securely with rope. The chatter and bargaining in the Lanna dialect rose in a clamor, competing with the wind rushing against their faces and the roar of the engine. But none of that reached Kham's ears. His mind was filled with thoughts of the freedom he had finally seized—the freedom from Father Nil's strict shadow, from the morning chanting and the sharp, overpowering smell of incense and candles he had grown sick of. Seeing the wide world beyond the village fence made the heart of a seventeen-year-old boy pump with restless energy. His body was alert, ready for every adventure waiting ahead.
“Hey, Kham, you think the logging camp in Si Satchanalai is really as big as those caravan hunters said?”
Ming shouted over the wind and engine, leaning toward his friend. His eyes gleamed with curiosity, touched by a hint of worry.
Kham turned and flashed him a wide grin. The corner of his mouth, still swollen and bruised from yesterday's fight, twinged with pain, but he paid it no attention.
“Big or not, you'll see for yourself. They're hiring as many people as they can get. If we arrive first, we get first pick of the jobs. I've got strength and I can haul. You’re quick with your hands and feet. I guarantee the boss will hire us!”
“Yeah! I think so too. The farther we get from home, the harder it'll be for Kamnan Man's men to find us. Maybe tonight I'll finally get a full night's sleep. I won't have to keep worrying about hearing horses' footsteps outside the house anymore.”
Ming laughed heartily and slapped his thigh, in high spirits. The tension from yesterday's events was beginning to fade, replaced by exhilaration.
The pig-pen bus rocked its way through dense bamboo groves and mixed deciduous forest, slowly climbing along the winding mountain road. It skirted cliffs, with steep rock faces rising on either side and revealing a limitless view of lush green treetops. Thick white fog covered the mountaintops like sheets of white silk. The bus headed into Den Chai District, the final junction on the cart-road routes of that era. When it stopped at the end of the line beside Den Chai Canal late that morning, the other passengers scattered toward their various destinations.
Kham and Ming jumped down from the bus with their beloved shoulder bags. Beyond this point, there were no more dirt roads or cart roads that vehicles could travel. Ahead lay a lush, dense stretch of deep jungle winding through the Phi Pa Nam Mountains. The unbroken forest extended southward toward Sukhothai Province.
“All right. This is as far as the vehicles go. From here on, it's all on our own two feet, Ming.”
Kham raised a hand to shield his eyes from the sun, which had begun to blaze, and stood gazing fearlessly at the towering treetops ahead.
The route from Den Chai down through the forested mountains to Si Satchanalai might have been less than a hundred kilometers as the crow flies. But in 1954, with no roads cutting through the wilderness, traveling on foot through the deep jungle, crossing several mountains and wading through numerous rivers, meant a long and grueling journey. To two hot-blooded young men, however, danger was merely a test of a man's strength.
They tightened the straps of their shoulder bags, stepped across the first small stream, and vanished beneath the dense canopy of the wild forest.
For the first two days, the journey was fueled by youthful excitement and boundless energy. Kham used the strength of a growing young man to lead the way, hacking through tangled undergrowth and using his pocketknife to clear a path for Ming. The two friends talked about the future, the money they would earn, and girls in the big city. Their laughter and teasing drowned out the shrieks of forest insects echoing throughout the wilderness, as if the insects were mocking their innocence.
Food was not a major problem for village boys like them. Kham used the hunting and foraging skills he had absorbed from Father Nil, catching fish barehanded in the streams, breaking off fern shoots and wild sweet greens, and gathering wild fruit to stave off hunger. At night they curled up beneath the roots of a great tree, building a large fire to drive away mosquitoes and wild animals. They took turns standing the first watches before exhaustion finally pulled them into sleep.
But the deeper they traveled into the trackless forest, the rougher and more brutal the route became. The deep jungle gradually turned into a forest so thick that daylight could barely penetrate it. The trunks of towering trees blocked out the sun, leaving everything dim and gloomy. They had to climb steep, overhanging limestone cliffs slick with moss, ford the broad Yom River with its furious current reaching chest-high, and fight against icy water that nearly swept them into whirlpools. They also had to trudge through sucking mud that drained an enormous amount of strength from their legs. Physical exhaustion began creeping in and pressing down hard. Every muscle protested in aching pain.
On the fourth night of their journey, they made camp beside a dry creek in a windless valley. The silence of the deep jungle at night was so complete they could hear their own heartbeats. Even the sound of a dry leaf falling to the ground seemed unnaturally frightening.
A small fire flickered across the two young men's faces, grimy with sweat and dirt. Ming sat hugging his knees, staring into the flames with eyes that had grown weary and wary of the darkness around them.
“Kham… do you hear something?”
Ming whispered, his voice trembling. His darting eyes searched the darkness beyond the firelight.
Kham, who was sitting beside the fire sharpening his pocketknife with a stone, furrowed his brow in annoyance.
“What are you talking about, Ming? It's just the wind in the leaves, or maybe deer and birds out foraging at night. What are you so scared of?”
“No, Kham…”
Ming leaned closer and whispered so softly it was as if he feared the thing might hear him.
“I heard something like a person walking… stepping on dry branches in a steady rhythm all around us. It's been going on for a while. Whenever I turn to look, there's nothing there… And just now… I think I saw a greenish light, about the size of a duck egg, flickering above the treetops over there.”
Kham let out a long, irritated sigh, then gave a soft laugh to conceal the unease beginning to gather in his chest.
“Oh, Ming, you're as jumpy as an old man. That light was just a firefly, or maybe the swamp gas Father Nil told us about from damp forests. As for the footsteps, it was probably bears or wild boars that smelled the fire and came around to investigate. Don't let your imagination run away with you. What ghost or spirit would be wandering through a forest like this? Only cowards get fooled by the forest.”
“But it really is strange, Kham. I feel like someone has been watching us the whole time ever since we crossed that stream. Whoever those eyes belong to feels like they're angry at us.”
Ming still could not shake his suspicion. He pulled his thin pha khao ma tighter around his trembling body.
“Quit talking nonsense and go to sleep. We have to get up early tomorrow. We've still got who knows how many mountains to climb before we reach Si Satchanalai.”
Kham cut him off dismissively. He grabbed his shoulder bag to use as a pillow, clasped his hands behind his head, and closed his eyes without a hint of fear.
Though he spoke that way, in the darkness surrounding them, Kham unconsciously reached over and touched the handle of Father Nil's golden takian spirit knife tucked against his waist. The icy metal of the Nam Phu iron beneath its wooden sheath sent a strange sensation through his palm. Deep down, Kham himself could sense that something was wrong around them—something he could not dismiss. There was the faint sound of giggling drifting on the cold breeze, or the sharp fragrance of night-blooming flowers that suddenly rose from nowhere. But ambition, pride, and the rebellious blood in his veins drove him to stubbornly bury those sensations beneath his consciousness. He absolutely refused to accept that any of it was “the forest curse,” as his father had warned him before he left.
By the fifth and sixth days of the journey, the dense forest had grown even fiercer and more brutal. The path grew steeper and steeper until it was almost a cliff, with no trace of any route remaining—only animal tracks and the marks of thorny vines that snagged at their clothes. Crossing the Yom River at the second point nearly cost Ming his life. The raging current swept him downstream, and Kham had to seize a large branch and hurl himself into the water, barely managing to drag Ming back to shore. In the struggle, Ming's shoulder bag broke loose and vanished into the rapids, leaving him with only the clothes on his back and one small pocketknife.
Exhaustion piled up until they reached their limit. Both young men had grown gaunt, their bones and tightly corded muscles showing beneath their skin. The forest sun had burned their complexions a coppery gold. Their legs were covered in scratches from barbed thorns and crusted with dried blood. Their lace-up sandals had fallen apart, forcing them to wrap scraps of pha khao ma around their feet as they walked over sharp stones. Ming began running a low fever, burning hot one moment and shivering with cold the next from exhaustion and wading through icy water. Kham had to support his best friend as they limped forward one painful step at a time, refusing to give up.
By the seventh day, both their bodies were so drained they could barely drag their legs. Their stomachs growled because they had gone the entire day without eating anything besides clear water from the streams.
That afternoon, as they dragged themselves over Bo Nam Ron Mountain amid drifting mist and the faint smell of sulfur rising from natural hot springs, the wind at the summit carried a strange sound toward them.
It was not the sound of a wild animal, nor the sound of running water. It was the ringing clang of metal striking wood, followed by the “swish! swish!” of a large saw cutting timber. Then a massive teak tree cracked and toppled with a thunderous “Krrrrr!” that shook the entire valley and rolled across the forest. The roar of bull elephants rang out in answer, mingling with the shouts, commands, and hollers of men echoing through the forest below.
Kham and Ming's exhausted eyes flew wide in shock. They turned to look at each other, overwhelmed with joy. The fatigue and pain that had built up over seven days vanished in an instant.
“Kham! Do you hear that? Saws! Elephants! People!”
Ming shouted through the forest, stammering with excitement and completely forgetting his fever and chills.
“Yeah! I hear it! We've made it, Ming! It's really the Si Satchanalai logging camp!”
Kham shouted back, exhilarated. He raced ahead, charging down the mountain through thorn bushes and tangled undergrowth as if his life depended on it. His final reserves of strength surged awake, and he sprinted onward.
When they cleared the edge of the dense forest, the sight before them appeared. It was a colossal logging camp spread along the Yom River. The forest there had been cleared into an open yard covering several acres. Huge golden teak logs, so large that four or five men could barely encircle them, lay stacked in rows like artificial mountains. The fragrant scent of fresh teak and sap hung in the air. Dozens of bull elephants trumpeted and worked vigorously, dragging enormous logs with their trunks at the mahouts' commands. Smoke from the workers' campfires and the diesel fumes of antique tractors drifted through the air, mingling with the fresh sawdust piled up like mountains.
Hundreds of powerfully built men in mor hom shirts and cropped trousers, filthy with dirt and sweat, worked busily. Some chopped with axes, some worked two-man saws, while others tended the elephants and prepared provisions. The atmosphere was bustling, raw, and brimming with the vitality of the vast forest-labor world.
Kham and Ming walked into the logging camp in battered condition, their clothes torn to shreds and their bodies covered in mud, bruises, and scratches from forest thorns. Several burly camp workers stopped what they were doing and turned to stare at the two strange young men from elsewhere with curiosity and amusement.
Kham drew a deep breath, filling his lungs with the scents of sawdust, sweat, and the logging camp's promise of civilization. He wiped the sweat from his brow, placed a hand around the handle of the spirit knife at his waist, and thrust out his chest proudly. He had survived a week of hardship and death in the wild forest, proving that he could make it through with his own two hands and feet, without relying even once on his father's spells or holy water for warding off misfortune.
“Come on, Ming… Let's find the camp foreman or the boss. I'm getting a job here! Our new life starts right now!”
Kham spoke with a fierce, utterly confident voice as he led his best friend straight into the heart of the Si Satchanalai logging camp… into a new world broader and more brutal than the one before, a world that was about to truly test him as a man.