“Well, we’ve the album right here. And unless I’m seriously mistaken, that is our son right here,” he said pointing to a photo where Louis and Jade were standing waist high in what looked like a pond covered with floating lotuses. The photograph showed Louis looking straight at the camera with a beaming smile, while Jade looked up at him, her eyes bright, “And this is the young woman who was yesterday a guest in my house!”
“Don’t get angry, darling. It was just such a shock for all of us. It was difficult to think of someone else’s grief as well. There has been so much to do. I assure you Louis really never mentioned meeting anyone…”
“Louis didn’t mention a lot of things,” muttered Pierre walking away.
To escape the rising tensions, the girls decided that it was their cue to return to their respective rooms and consider their next move. They did not know how long they were expected to stay. They had overheard their parents talk about going away for a while, letting the dust settle. They presumed their parents longed to be alone and comfort one another. How did anyone ever recover from losing a child? It was not the normal order of things. It was just so wrong. They each called their office and drafted memos. Sophie confirmed her flight for the following day and Lily learned that the company jet had long since gone back to New York and thus she needed to book a one-way ticket to make her way back. She wondered whether American customs would bother asking her how she left the country to begin with, but she had forgotten that her boss had had her passport stamped when they left. Initially, Stephanie had wanted to stay a bit longer to console their mother but in the end, realised there was little she could do; at this point, she just wanted to bury herself under the covers of her own bed, in her own house, and cry as much as her soul could bear. At least back home, she could process her loss without any interference. She booked the Thalis back to Amsterdam for that very night, having decided that she would blatantly lie about the emergency that required her prompt return.
Sophie decided to go shopping for the afternoon, in a vain attempt to forget the pain of her emptiness. It took hours before she noticed that nothing really interested her, that she had passed displays upon displays without seeing them, that she kept seeing her brother’s face reflected in the mirrored surfaces of shop windows. Meanwhile, Lily and Stephanie had entertained their mother, walking in the garden, reminiscing, opening and closing family albums, sharing stories, pouring over photographs and over recent condolences notes. Talking about Louis, they skimmed over the unpleasantness of his past, recalling only the positive, deploring the fact he had been unjustly struck down by the worst possible fate. They discussed poisons and snakes of which they knew nothing, and discussed the hidden dangers of Thailand, a country in which none had ever set foot. The sound of their voices had finally put Pierre to sleep in the deep canapé of the living room, Jade’s album lying on his chest. The hours slipped away until it was time to bid Stephanie good-bye. For their grief-stricken parents, it was much too soon when the chauffeur came to pick up Sophie and Lily to drive them to their respective flights. Yet, they would never admit how they had each breathed a sigh of relief as soon as they stood away from each other, now able to face their grief alone, without having to share their most intimate thoughts or spare anyone else’s feelings. At the same time, fleeing to all corners of the planet, they had unwittingly broken the fragile circle: when they were all together, they had still shared their brother. Now he was truly gone, except in the heart of each one of them. Each of them felt resolutely lonely, irremediably isolated, and for now, forever scared. From now on, without Louis in their lives, their world could never be the same.
Chapter IV
Frog Leap Productions
The address Paul had given the two French men was along the Chao Phraya River and led them to an old colonial-style mansion, with its views of the miniature markets of floating shops, which rowed out to the long-tailed tourist boats in an attempt to sell them anything, from lukewarm beer to green bananas. After an eerie ride in one of the brightly pink-coloured tuk-tuks they had hailed a few paces down the road from the hotel, Louis and Jacques had arrived on the steps of an impressive home. They had barely pressed the doorbell, when the door opened to a female figure, who clasped her hands on her chest and bowed, murmuring ‘Sawadee’. Louis was shocked to recognise the stunning girl from the night before, the one who had haunted his dreams all night and made him run for a cold shower first thing upon awakening that morning. What was even more peculiar is that he did not remember having any inkling that the pair might be linked in any way: he was usually astute to this type of thing, having developed a sixth sense on the streets of Paris, when he had to keep vigilant at all times. Jacques bowed back in mimicry.
“Come on in. Sayek Paul is waiting for you on the veranda. I’m Aleida by the way, his niece, but everyone calls me Jade.”
The young men introduced themselves and Louis held her gaze a fraction longer than necessary, marking his interest and noting that her nickname aptly reflected her eyes’ unusual colour.
“Welcome,” said Paul’s booming voice behind her. “I’m glad you could make it. So how was your day?” and turning around to Jade added brightly, “And you have met my niece, haven’t you? Jade will dine with us tonight, if you have no objection, that is,” he added with a wink.
The young woman led the way through the house, inviting them to sit on the veranda overlooking the Chao Phraya River. They sat down in comfortable low-backed chairs, around an elaborately carved teak coffee table, surrounded by a multitude of citronella-scented candles which threw a pale reflection on the waters below.
“We’ll eat inside where it’s a tad cooler but at least mosquito free,” announced Paul. "In the meantime, I thought you might enjoy the unique view and the bustling activity on the river, at least during the space of a drink. I’ve taken the liberty to prepare some exotic cocktails, short of the umbrella, of course. I can’t even remember what I’ve thrown in, but I hope you’ll like it. I know the citronella scent is a touch overwhelming but it should put off the mosquitoes, at least for a little while.
Jacques looked across the river at the astonishing skyline of high rises and golden-ringed spires with their vertiginous roof finials, like so many delicate fingers pointing at the sky. Louis’s attention, on the other hand, had been drawn to the centre of the coffee table where a small coffin-shaped box with intricate silver detailing laid next to a long silver and blue Chinese lacquered lighter. Noticing his interest, Paul grabbed the small curio and opened the lid, pinching the tobacco mixture, starting to roll a cigarette while Louis joined his friend on the balcony rail to admire the view and sip on his drink.
“How is my little concoction?” asked Paul jovially, coming up next to the two young men.
“Delicious,” said Louis, eyeing the expert rolling of what he was now certain could not be just a plain cigarette since a pack of Dunhill Internationals lay untouched right next to it. You can never tell with people, he thought. Paul was of a different generation and he would have never thought of him indulging in marijuana smoking, but there it was nonetheless.
“So, how was your day?” repeated Paul after inhaling deeply. “What sights did you visit? What’s your impression so far? Oh,” he added seeing Louis staring at the rolled cigarette. “Don’t worry about this. I carry a license. It was duly prescribed for my chronic joint pain and after a few tokes, I can forget my cane for a while. I hope you don’t mind and that I haven’t offended you in any way.”
Automatically, Paul passed the perfectly rolled cigarette first to Louis and then to Jacques, neither of whom hesitated.
Louis smiled knowingly and was considering his answer to the question, when Jacques jumped straight in, dismissing Paul’s casual explanation for the rolled joint. Enthusiastically, he told their host how they had visited the Grand Palace and the Wat Phra Kaeo that morning, and how the sight, with its high walls, its numerous temples and the massive amount of people milling around, had left them spe
echless. Louis had been intrigued to observe visitors covering their knees and heels in particular, and Jacques had questioned why he had not sighted any resident monks since, in his understanding, most shrines boasted a number of monks living on the premises. Louis had joked at the time that monks aside, the Catholic Church would be most proud to count so many devotees, flocking to its cathedrals, regardless of the heat. Jacques was barely finished with his vivid description of the unexpectedly and deceivingly small Emerald Buddha crowning the ornate gilded altar inside the incredibly richly decorated bot, when Jade reappeared, announcing that dinner was served.
The dining room was spacious and sparingly furnished with just a very large wooden table, hand-carved chairs and a functional sideboard. Three 8-branch candelabras hung from the central beam, casting a warm light on their surroundings. Floor to ceiling windows screened in the latest US patented burglary-proof mesh screens opened up to the wraparound veranda where they had sat earlier. Low wooden ceiling fans kept the air moving. The table was laden with culinary delights: vegetarian spring rolls, papaya salad, tiger prawns the size of babies’ fists, pineapple sliced like open lotus flowers and a variety of rice dishes the boys could not identify, fought for their attention. Two cold bottles of an excellent French Chablis and a bottle of mineral water completed the offerings. Thanks to the oppressive heat, Louis and Jacques had not eaten since sunrise. The ganja had caused their stomach to rumble at the enticing sight of the dishes. Paul invited them to sit, sitting next to his niece and placing Louis across from her. One after the other, Jade commented the various dishes and her melodious voice rolled over Louis like warm honey. She was an attentive hostess, pouring drinks every time a glass emptied, replenishing their plates and taking empty dishes off to the kitchen with such grace that her movements were barely noticed by her guests. Her conversation was lively yet she was careful never to interrupt or contradict Paul, who was disserting freely on the merits of a city like Bangkok, contrasting it to Paris, New York, Amsterdam and Berlin, metropolises he had lived in, at one time or another. He told the boys that he had been married once and that his wife had died a few years ago from breast cancer. He had never remarried and kept a couple of mistresses for company, when he needed it. Jade was the only family he had and he enjoyed her company. He also mentioned that they had travelled a lot together and that she was an entertaining and savvy companion.
After dinner, slightly inebriated and fully sated, they adjourned to the living room, where low, comfortable, deep sofas in distressed calfskin leather, invited them to lounge rather than sit. After Paul was assured that they would accept another round of drinks and that they were not too tired to continue the conversation, Jade brought around four tiny bottles of what appeared a medicinal potion along with a bottle of Mekong whiskey. Paul joked that the latter was a local specialty, guaranteed to be no more than five days old. Jade expertly mixed the whiskey, coca cola and teaspoons of the medicinal looking potion, calling it Lipovitan, explaining that it was no other than a clever mixture of vitamin B, guarana, vitamin C and a whole string of other herbs and minerals, duly listed on the side of the bottle, designed to renew one’s energy and abate the too-young taste of the local whiskey. Louis was surprised at the smoothness of the drink and declared it was as delicious as the cocktail they had before dinner. Jade then presented the boys with another impeccably rolled joint and the conversation turned more personal.
Jacques told of his childhood in a small village in Burgundy, where his father had been the local butcher, while his mother had attended to the register. Due to glandular issues, his mother was unable to bear more children and Jacques had been doted upon. His parents had wanted for him a better life with broader horizons and had sent him to l’Ermitage, the international boarding school located at Maisons Lafitte, a mere 15 km West of Paris, where he had graduated with honours and left him completely bi-lingual. His parents had given him his first camera at the age of 16, and Jacques had spent most of his free time filming shorts in the beautiful park which surrounded the school. Following graduation, he had attended the University of Paris I, where he earned a bachelor of sciences in biology. One of his short documentaries, the life and death of an amoeba, set to Pink Floyd music, was entered in a short film festival and won First prize. Wanting to further pursue his studies, he had applied to UCLA Graduate School, which offered him a scholarship. Jacques spent the following four years living in Westwood, off the UCLA campus, attending the famous film school. It was not long after graduation that he was offered his first paid opportunity to make a documentary. The rest was basically history, the opportunities always coming his way: he had a good eye, a great attention to detail, a more than adequate knowledge of most of his subjects, combined with a thorough understanding of cinematographic techniques. To date, film had been his life and he loved it.
In stark contrast, Louis told of his privileged childhood, his innate deficiency for all things conformist, his family’s high expectations, his lack of enthusiasm for scholarly subjects, his overall dissatisfaction with his life from a very early age, inexplicably suffering from what the French call a “certain mal de vivre”. At 16, attending a debutante ball outside of Paris, a truck hit the car he was riding in, a few minutes before 3:00 am. The driver of the truck, not expecting anyone to ride the small country roads at that hour of the night, had gone through a stop sign without ever slowing down and had accidentally hit the tail end of the car, which was merging from a left hand road. The car had spun out of control and rolled a few times, before disappearing head first into a ditch. His friend, Thibault, who was at the wheel, was killed instantly. His schoolmate, Damian, who was in the back seat, changing awkwardly from his tuxedo into a pair of jeans and sweatshirt, had been thrown out of the car, suffering multiple contusions and a broken arm. As the front-seat passenger, Louis’s injuries had been more serious, with four broken ribs, a broken leg and a near-fatal spinal injury. The remorseful driver had stopped and immediately called an ambulance and then the police. The paramedics had taken over two hours to retrieve the boys from under the completely crushed bonnet, as they lacked the Jaws of Life which would have made the job easier. Louis was immediately air lifted to the hospital de Garches, a hospital in Paris vicinity, which specialised in life-threatening road and traffic accidents.
Louis had remained three months in hospital. A painful and dangerous spinal fusion was welded in to replace the disks and vertebrae which had been crushed in his lower back during the accident. The pain had been so intense, pre- and post-operatively that the doctors had put him on a morphine drip. The drug had effectively blurred the edges of pain, providing him with a certain level of comfort. By the same token, it also had, unwittingly, erased most of his internal malaise. Louis soon noticed that the morphine canister was only filled according to usage, and thus, very quickly, decided that courage and bravery in his condition were not nearly as important as the feeling of overall well-being which dripped through his veins every time he pressed the little red button. Thus he did so as often as permitted, so as to maintain the floating sensation at all times.
Stephanie would come to visit on weekends and sometimes after school accompanied by Theo, who fussed over him worryingly. She would tell him stories and read to him, since Louis quickly grew bored of the free to air television programs provided by the hospital. His two older sisters who had come at once, at the news of his accident, had found him completely despondent at first, and then on their subsequent visits, whenever in Paris for business, found him increasingly resilient. When Louis was released, after another two-month intensive therapy, and a promise to pursue a strict regimen of swimming and walking to rebuild his back muscles, he was soon at a loss. He had skipped most of the school term by then and would need to repeat the year. Moreover, since he could not reconcile the randomness of their fate, guilt over his friend’s death gnawed at him. Depression soon followed; he felt not just guilty, but defeated and alienated. Secretly, he longed for the days, when lying in hospita
l, he had felt nothing, the pain, both emotional and physical, chemically banned from entering his consciousness. It was pure chance that introduced him to street heroin, a few weeks later.
Louis, nonetheless, managed to graduate at 18, thanks to his parents’ persistent nagging. The atmosphere at home was often quite tense and at times, it seemed to Stephanie that she was the only one who had remained sane. For years, she had resented her sisters for leaving her behind to deal with the increasingly moody, irrational, sometimes violent person her brother had become and the frequent fights his behaviour caused between her parents. When, at Lily’s wedding, Sophie had walked into Louis’s bedroom by accident only to find him stealthily plunging a needle in his ankle, Sophie, well aware of its meaning, had vomited on the spot. Sharing her discovery with her sisters, it was decided that they would say nothing, not so much because they refused to accept the fact that their brother might be an addict, but because they did not believe their parents were emotionally equipped to handle the situation. From there on, they did whatever was necessary to hide and excuse their brother’s behaviour, whenever it was brought up. Yet, in the end, as incidents escalated, public and social embarrassment became unavoidable. And so began the cycle of rehab centres and happy rehabilitations, invariably followed, some weeks later, by yet another plunge into the darkness and a stay into yet another clinic. And so went the months, and the years. There seemed to be no escaping the vicious circle and every pledge Louis had ever made ended up broken. His remorse was always sincere, but he admitted his well-intentioned promises were never kept for long. Now 6 years later, he heralded Frog Leap Productions along with Jacques as his last chance for redemption. This time, he had to make it once and for all, since he knew, deep inside he would probably not survive another relapse.
The Samui Conspiracy Page 8