Ice Girl in Banlung

By Timothy Leonard

Ice girl lives in Banlung, Ratanakiri, Cambodia. She is a seller.
Always be closing.
She meets Leo, a wandering Chinese boy.

He was released from a Chinese Re-education through Reform labor Camp near the Gobi.

He walked to Sichuan and paid his respects to family. He walked to Fujian where he mentored university students in how to be more human.

He walked to Hanoi, Sapa, Saigon, Laos and Banlung collecting stories.

They share ideas about their lives and Asian cultures.

One life, no plan, many adventures.
Create like a God. Order like a King. Work like a Slave

• Language: English
• Publisher: Timothy Leonard
• Release date: Aug 3, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476156026

Timothy Leonard

Vietnam veteran.University of Oregon graduate.Author and photojournalist.International TEFL teacher.Designer of mysterious projects.

Book preview

Ice Girl in Banlung

By Timothy M. Leonard

Copyright 2012 Timothy M. Leonard

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

It’s fucking hysterical.

Now and then mean the same in Ratanakiri, Cambodian animist jungle languages.

Leo is incognito and invisible perusing the Wild West. It is replete with wandering literary outlaws, animists, shamans and 25,000 natives. Rambunctious young Banlung cowboys and cowgirls dance 125cc machines through spiraling red dust.

How long have you been here, asked a 12-year old girl cutting and selling ice along a red road.

All day. I started in China. I walked to Vietnam. Then Laos. I’ll stay here awhile. We can talk.

Ok, she said, cutting crystals. Is a day long enough to process a sensation, form an impression? Is it long enough to gather critical mass data about the diversity of the human condition in this total phenomena?

Yes, said Leo, If you slow down. How is life here?

I work, I breed, I get slaughtered, she said. This is my fate. My fate is a machete slashing through jungles. Fate and random chance are two sides of the same coin. Yeah, yeah are two of my favorite lazy words. Especially when I am talking with illiterate zombies. They are same word but I spit them out twice at light speed. You accent the last consonant, drawing it out like a sigh, a final breath, a whisper. Y-e-a-hhhhh. It’s crazy English believe you me. Impressive, eh? I can also say OK twice fast with a rising sound on the k sounding like a which means I understand without admitting meaning or personal truth-value. It’s vague. Why be precise? People love conversations using abstract metaphors. Ok?

Ok. Address the very low literacy rate, said Leo.

Hello, literary rate, how are you? she said.

I am well and speaking with improved elocution. My English is getting better. The more I see the less I know.

Someone said literacy means reading and writing, said ice girl.

I doubt it, said Literacy. Who needs reading and writing? Humans need food, sex, air, water, stories and red dust. Hope is in last place. In fact, hope may be the greatest evil because it’s a myth.

Let’s not have this conversation in the abstract, said ice girl, sawing cold.

I thought you said eating and fighting, said Literacy. You must be fucking crazy. My survival depends on eating and fighting. Reading and writing is for idiots. Millions never learn how to write, let alone scribble stories. No chance. No money. No tools. Education is a waste of time.

I see, said ice girl. When I write my stories filled with immediate sense impressions and precise details they lose their magic. They are like ice. Ice loses its essence in the big picture. Existence precedes essence. It’s lost between heart-mind-hand-tool-paper. Spoken stories lose their edge. Too many people talk out their stories. Magic is lost in the telling. Lost tales float around looking for ears. Talking kills magic and mystery. Ghost stories. World tribes memorize chants, rhythms, songs, tales and star trails with a side order of red dust. You never hear a kid say, Let’s take the day off and be creative.

Here’s my secret. I’m looking for a literary agent. Someone said they help writers. I sent one a query. One wrote me a letter. I will share it with you down the road. I write at night. During the day I’m busy with school and selling ice. If they ask me I will send them this manuscript. Maybe they will love it. Maybe they’ll find an editor and publisher with a big marketing budget, global distribution, readers and the rest is history, as they say. If not I’ll be independent and publish it myself. Ice is my life and I will never give it up. Besides writing, weaving, laughing, loving and living, it’s my life. Writers have homework every day of their lives.

Wow, that’s lovely, said Leo. You perceive and transform the world.

Yes, she said, I follow my bliss. If it’s not in your heart, it’s not in your head. I recombine world elements fusing images and dreams.

A man arrived on a broken motorcycle. She handed him a blue plastic bag of ice. He gave her Real currency.

I follow my blisters, laughed Leo.

Where are you staying, she asked.

I don’t have a home. I live in small houses along the road. I’m passing through. For now I sleep at Future Bright.

Everyone’s passing through. I know it. The woman owner smiles and lies at the same time.

What’s the difference between hearing and listening, Leo asked.

98% are asleep with their eyes open, she said. The remaining 2% don’t care. She opened her notebook and spilled red ink on white paper. Red is a lucky color. The color of wealth and prosperity. Living in a red dust town brings everyone good luck.

Tell me about your visionary skills, said Leo.

I am ahead of the future. Like you. The day after tomorrow belongs to us. We are healers. I practice detachment with discernment. Not too sentimental and not too cold, like ice. It’s the Middle Way. My job is to pay attention, get it down now and hope to make sense of it later. I treat my mental illness everyday. I say what others are afraid to say. One surprise here is how people live in a perpetual disconnect. They are talking accidents looking for a place to happen. They don’t know how to focus. Their attention span is ZERO. Like in Year 0 in 1975 before I was born. No attention span? No problem.

How about your town, asked Leo.

Red dust roads in Banlung are paved with blue Zircon, Amethyst, and Black Opals (nill) reflecting Ratanakiri, or Gem Mountain. City women of means wear blue Zircon, gold necklaces, rings, bracelets, sparkle bling. Rural women do not wear this wealth. Married women wear strings of red beads. They fashion yellow, red, blue, green, glittering plastic bangles on wrists.

Here it’s about food and honoring Earth spirits. Animists believe taking stones harms the spirits, creating an imbalance in the natural order of things.

Thanks for the education, said Leo. I’m going to have a look-see.

See you later, said ice girl, returning to ice.

Red dust town turned windy. Swirling quality gem stone particles and degrees of indifference spiraled through air. Redwood slats covered open sewer drains.

Locals watched Leo with curiosity and suspicion. They stared from a deep vacuum. When he made eye contact they glanced away with fear, uncertainty and doubt. They didn’t see many strangers here. They listened at 49% or less saying yeah, yeah with panache. Leo discovered his questions were constantly repeated.

Questions grew tired of repeating themselves. This is so fucking boring, said one question. We are abused. We are manipulated and rendered mute. Useless. Think of it as a test, said another question. Patience is our great teacher. I’ll try, said another question. Yes, said a question, these non-listeners have a distinct tendency to say nothing and say it louder when they’re leaving, when their back’s turned away from eye contact and potential real