Part Five – Vietnam
Rachel didn't even care if she ever heard of birds nest soup again. That was unbelievable, she thought. First, she was tied up helplessly and painfully with the soles of her feet pointed up toward the ceiling of the cave where the birds nests are collected. Then she was whipped across the soles of both feet which not only hurt terribly but made the soles of her feet even more sensitive. Then they applied sticky paste and bird seed completely covering the soles of her feet and allowed the hundreds of swallows to pick at the bird seed. The tickle torture was so bad she had passed out within twenty minutes. At least that was over now. This was Vietnam, the land where all those wonderful noodle soups came from.
Her stop in Vietnam was only a short two days, one day in Ho Chi Minh City, previously known as Saigon, and one day to tour the tropical countryside to try some of the little village eateries. As Ed, the cameraman, and Rachel were driving along one of the rural highways, There were two pops, one right after the other. It was not one flat tire, but two, caused by something on the road. There were several older villagers nearby and Ed asked if any of them could speak English and perhaps help them. An arrangement was made with the villagers for one of them to accompany Ed into the city to get the tires repaired, since the one spare would not suffice, and Rachel would stay in the village. Unfortunately, Ed and the villager would not return until the following morning as any place that could repair the tires would be closed by the time they could get there.
Rachel was invited to join the villagers for supper and she dined on some nicely cooked pork, vegetables and rice, with tea. Several of the men and one of the women spoke reasonably understandable English and, of course, the topic of the Vietnam was with America came up. Rachel told them she knew nothing about the war because it had ended more than five years before she was even born.
She was told by the woman who could speak English about the experience she had during the night before the Americans withdrew in 1975. She had worked as a bar girl and a prostitute at that time, and some of the American soldiers, knowing they would be leaving Viet Nam the following day, had paid for her to come with them for the whole night. After she had removed her clothes, they tied her to a bamboo frame and raised it to a vertical position and then played cards to see who would get to tickle her for the next ten minutes, as they were drinking. It got to be a drunken tickle party, and she had been the hapless centre of attention.
One of the men told Rachel about another incident involving the Americans. He thought that the soldiers involved must have been some special intelligence unit. They had captured a young Vietnamese woman who was an officer in the Viet Cong, the rebel forces fighting the Americans at the time. After questioning her, and being satisfied that they had obtained all of the information they could, they staked her out completely naked in the jungle with grenades attached to one wrist and one ankle. If she moved in the very slightest, she would pull the pin out of a grenade and set it off a few seconds later. Honey was liberally applied to her skin and she was left in the jungle overnight. The agony caused by animals, birds and insects was unbelievable.
When they had finished eating, Rachel accompanied the villagers out of the little hut. It was dark by this time and torches had been lit around the central area of the village. Some of the men had constructed a bamboo frame consisting of two vertical and six horizontal poles. Several villagers grabbed her by the arms and her clothes were quickly removed. They then lifted Rachel by her arms and legs and placed her on the frame made of bamboo poles, while she pleaded and fought as best she could. They tied her arms apart and over her head by the wrists and elbows, tied her waist to a crossbar, spread her legs widely and tied both her knees and ankles to bamboo crossbars. They then raised the entire frame, with the hapless Rachel perfectly secured, into a vertical position.
Ten men, who had been selected by lots, started to drink and play a local game with seashells and a wooden board full of little pockets. The round took about seven minutes to play, and the winner was a toothless older villager who came over to her and picked up a freshly cut palm frond from a pile nearby.
"No, please," she shook her head, as she saw his grinning face before her.
He showed her the palm leaf tapping its surface to demonstrate that it was stiff. He then drew the edge of the palm frond through the palm of his hand. He looked her over from head to foot and decided that the place to start was her stomach. He slowly and deliberately drew the edge of the palm leaf from side to side across her stomach, over and over, for his entire ten minutes.
"Hahahahaha, shihihihit," she laughed and screamed and cried as he continued with the palm leaf, the worst being when he drew it right across her belly button, "Nohohohoho, aaaaaaaah, oh, God, nohohohoho!"
It was a welcome break when his ten minutes were up and they played another round of their game. The winner this time was a young man, probably about her own age, in his mid twenties. His eyes were completely focused on his breasts, which were a lot bigger than those of the local Vietnamese women, pure pinkish white with gorgeous nipples whose color matched that of her lips.
"Aaaaaaaah," she cried as he drew his palm leaf over her breasts, from one side to the other over her nipples, as though the palm leaf was a knife to cut them off, "shihihihit, why are you doing this to me?"
"I can tell you that," he said, "the villagers have been praying for some revenge on my mother's behalf for the torment that the American soldiers put her through that night in 1975. They have always believed that a young American woman would come to atone for that one day. Now, you are here, and their prayers are answered."
"Let me go, please," she said, as he continued and her nipples hardened so much they hurt, "I am so ticklish. Aaaaaaah, shihihihit, get away from my nihihihipples!"
He touched her genital area with his fingers and was quite delighted that she was sopping wet with her own lubrication. Rachel was terribly ashamed, realizing that this torture had aroused her.
The next man who had won his turn went straight to Rachel's feet, which were still super sensitive from her experience with the bird in Thailand. He stroked the palm frond slowly across the sole of each foot and then weaved it up and down between her toes as she continued to beg and laugh.
