On November 3, I saw your patient, Haley Davis, for a follow-up with respect to the management of her parasites and accompanying infectious diseases. After a lengthy stay in our pediatric intensive care unit, I am most pleased to report that Haley no longer exhibits any symptoms. Her stools are normal. Her lung fields are clear. She has not developed secondary complications: her heart is normal in size and configuration, her renal and liver functions are normal as well.
I have gotten to know Constance and Dan, who are delightful people and, I believe, very good parents. They will vigorously carry out all instructions to ensure Haley’s continued health and well-being. As for Haley, rarely in my professional life have I seen such a fighter. She’s not only responded to treatment, she’s begun to thrive. She’s gained weight and has caught up to her age-appropriate developmental milestones: she can roll over and sit up unassisted, and she’s become a master creeper. I expect she will have begun walking on her own in time for her first birthday in a couple of weeks, to which the family has invited me. Haley is very eager to please. The nurses in the unit love to make her laugh, but I’m her favorite. When she touches my nose, I stick out my tongue. She giggles so hard she tips over. Her verbal skills are coming along, but I was one of her first ten words. She calls me Da Ta, for doctor. All who have treated Haley consider her to be a bright and very cheerful child.
Since Haley is doing so well, I make no further recommendations at this time. Many thanks for allowing me to follow this nice youngster with you.
With warm personal regards, Roger Siegel, M.D.
GOODBYE TO THE TEARS
What am I to do now? We Akha have many customs, but none are more sacred than those for the dead, because these are souls who’ve moved from the living world to the spirit world. For a normal death, the ceremonies are ten times greater than those for a wedding. For someone who’s died a terrible death, though, traditions are severely simplified. Still, all dead must be treated with reverence and accord to clear their passage and see them settled in their new home, but there are too many things I can’t do for my husband. No songs of mourning will shudder along the hillsides telling everyone on Nannuo Mountain of our tragedy. I can’t weep—as a proper widow—as his family sacrifices a water buffalo, chickens, and other animals to make amends to the universe for their son’s terrible death and to prevent him from causing trouble in the village. Most of all, I can’t stay in this spot for three days and three nights with San-pa’s body. I just can’t. Nevertheless, I need to make sure his spirit is in his corpse and that both are completely in the ground, because his nature in the life he lived—and not his last moments—are what will drive him now.
I wash what’s left of his body as best I can with water from a nearby stream. Never before have I seen anything so horrible. His flesh has been torn and ripped. I don’t know what to do with his innards, which don’t want to fit back in his stomach cavity. I place a coin on his tongue and bind his jaw closed with a length of vine. “May you use that money to buy clothes and food in your new home,” I recite. I pull two threads from my skirt. One I use to tie San-pa’s thumbs together; the other to tie his big toes together. We do this to remind the dead that they are indeed dead. Surely San-pa knows he’s dead, but I perform this small act for him out of gratitude for his saving me.
Tradition says those who’ve died a terrible death must be buried right where they fell, but I have no digging tools. After searching the area, I find a small depression that might serve as a burial place. I manage to drag San-pa to the hollow. But once he’s there I can’t just pile stones over him, because one special rule applies to the interment of those who’ve died a terrible death. A sacrificed dog must be placed over the corpse to serve as a barrier so that the disturbed spirit won’t feel a need to roam and cause trouble for humans. There are no dogs in the jungle. I’m a woman, so I’m not a hunter either. I sit on my haunches, think, and wait. Finally, it comes to me. The tiger. I could never move it, but its power, even in death, might be strong enough to work. I try to cut off one of the tiger’s paws, but the sinew between the bones is too gristly. The thinnest part of the tiger is his tail. I wedge my knife between two of the bones, pry and pry. The length comes loose at last. As quickly as I can, I toss the tail on San-pa, then hurriedly cover his body with rocks, branches, and thatch. Anyone who passes the mound will know that someone is buried in this spot. They will recite incantations, seek ritual cleansing when they return home, and, I hope, remain safe.
I say a few last words to my husband. The first are phrases I’ve heard the ruma speak at proper funerals. “When you were alive, your a-ma and a-ba loved you, and you loved them. Now you are dead. When you were alive, you liked to hunt. Now you are dead. When you were alive, you liked to sing and dance. Now you are dead. It is time for the living and the dead to separate. May you travel to your ancestors. May you never disturb living people.”
Next I add a few words of my own. “You must forget all about me. You are dead completely. Do not try to follow me. I say goodbye to the tears you caused. I thank you for saving my life, but do not come back to earth again—as a spirit or in your next incarnation—until I am dead.”
I want to leave this place, but I’m covered with dirt and dried blood. At the stream, I bathe fully clothed so I can retain some decency in case someone should come upon me. My husband’s blood tints the water. My wedding clothes will never be completely cleansed, but my headdress is fine. Dripping wet, I gather wood for a fire, collect some tubers, find a patch of sun, and make a simple meal. Afterward, I lie down—hoping the sun’s rays will dry my clothes—and fall into a sleep as deep as death.
In the morning, I pick up San-pa’s crossbow and arrows, pass by the tiger’s corpse one last time, and find my way back to the path. I search the shards of sky peeking through the branches above me so I can track the arc of the sun as I continue my journey.
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