At the crossroads of salt and births

As we approach Buôn Tour, we begin to see on the horizon the bluish ridges of the Lang Biang massif in the Upper Donnaï, the border of Darlac. I'Doat shows me the distant mountains, three triangles in the sky, which must not exceed two thousand meters in altitude.
– There... he tells me, there is nothing!
– What do you mean nothing?
– No! nothing at all... just the savannah and the fever.

It's another superstition. I know that this region is inhabited by the rebellious Mnongs, the Kil tribes. The Rhadés fear them and prefer to say that there is nothing on that side... But we arrive at Buôn Tour. Fishing canoes descend the river to meet us. Thick lines of wild ducks and teal fly heavily above the muddy banks crowded with lotus and pellitory beds. This is indeed the large trading village whose charm has been praised to me! The village of the "Gray Salt Wells"...
– Why does the village bear this name, I'Doat?
– It's the starting and returning point for the canoes going to fetch salt from the other side of the forest, I'Doat replies.

Turning away, he extends his hand in the direction from which we came.
– Much further, to the west, a hundred leagues from here, flows the Mae Khong (now Mekong, ed.), the river of the Water Spirit. It is there, at the ongoing markets, that the canoeists go two or three times a year to fetch the salt necessary for their food. The Rhadés, Mnongs, Pihs tribes know the dates of their return and come to trade salt with them for jars of alcohol or pottery.
– It must be a great day, the salt market day?
– Days to cover your ears because of the noise of the gongs, I'Doat replies laughing.

The village of the "Gray Salt Wells" appears to me on the edge of the immense flooded marsh formed by the confluence of the two arms of the Srepok, the tumultuous Krong Nô coming from the mountains and the Krong Ana. I strongly desired this after five days in a canoe: a good village, neither too coastal nor too wild. Along a blonde beach are lined up many small houses perched very high on stilts. Around are fields where tame deer and buffalo graze. What joy finally to set my feet on solid ground! It's a good path that leads me to the town. And here comes a group of chattering natives to meet us. I stand before them quite perplexed. The tall and strong men I see there are surely Pihs... They are shaggy and dirty and wear large ivory plugs in their ears. This, however, is less strange than their eyes which shine with joy. I have never seen beings welcome me with such enthusiasm! These looks are more welcoming than anything!
– Why do they look so joyful, I'Doat? Is it normal?
– No, it's not normal, I'Doat replies, something must be happening.

In the silence that follows these words spoken in a low voice, one of the elders, a true Rhadé and very majestic, steps forward to I'Rit.
– Chief, he says, I did not see your face among your friends and yet I am eager to announce great news to you.

There is a movement in the assembly and everyone begins to exchange significant glances with their neighbor.
– What news? I’Rit asks calmly.
– The very wise H'Pru, your wife, gave us a son last night and we were waiting for you to prepare the celebration.

A sigh lifts I'Rit's brown chest. He seems relieved.
– I thank you for waiting for me, I'Thet, my noble relative. Fate wanted my son to come into the world of light during my absence… Iang Nga! I will give you five jars of alcohol for the care you had to give to the honorable H'Pru.
– I will only accept if I drink them with you and in honor of the River Spirits, I'Rit. I admire how strong your nerves are with the number of your children. Surely good things will come to you in your old age, said the old man.

I am quite embarrassed and bite my lips, for I don't know what to say to I'Rit! The usual Western phrases seem quite empty after listening to this delicate exchange of compliments…
– May your hut extend to the East as far as the sound of the gong carries, said I'Doat. Let us rejoice with you.

Obviously, I wouldn't have thought of that! I'Rit smiles as the echoes of the celebration come to us. His eyes fill with dreams.
– Another son, he murmurs.

And he seems proud. He is now the father of four daughters and five sons! It's the most beautiful family in the village, and his love for the little brown children who fill his hut is deeper than all the rivers in the country… The house is in celebration. The mother is settled with the child by the hearth, her body rubbed with ginger and adorned in her finest attire. Near her are piled gongs and some small gifts, rice, and eggs. In the smoky, still, and heavy air, while the men drink from the jars and smoke their small bamboo pipes, young girls murmur a lullaby specially composed for the newborn by his mother, his aunts, his older sisters, and even his cousins.
“In life as fragile as a cicada's chrysalis, sings one of them,
You came into the world, little child of H'Pru!
It's the time when the doves sing and everything renews...
Later when you grow up, we will surely find some herbs to cut,
To cover the bottom of your canoe,
Even if the season of tender foliage has passed.”
I'Rit's face lights up at these words… Of course, his son will be a canoeist like him. He takes him in his arms and lifts him very high.
– You will be one more to conquer the tumultuous waves of the Krong Ana, the Srepok, and Mae Khong when you go far to fetch salt, he says to the baby. For this, I name you I'Mae.

His heart leaps with joy in his chest. He knows that the yangs protect his little family, and this newborn child is a testament to him. I'Mae will one day know the great game of canoes on the rapids with this instinct inherited from generations of ancestors who, like his father I'Rit, had "the sense of the river." Willingly, he would take H'Pru in his strong arms, but he cannot do so in front of so many people! Tenderly, he places the child back in the maternal arms with a smile. H'Pru is the daughter of H’Nit, the chief of a noble clan in the region. Her face has the ivory-like matteness of little oriental gods, and her long hair is gathered above her head by a bamboo cushion. The fire's glow lingers on it in bluish reflections. Around her neck coil silver necklaces. I'Rit never tires of finding her beautiful, and she knows it well, for she laughs with all her little black filed teeth.
– I love you, H'Pru, says I'Rit.
– I am sure of it, oh my husband.