Evil in the Land Without

by Colin Cotterill

  "You aren't here for us," he said, still glaring at her confessing eyes. "You have other reasons for being here. Not for the stricken soldiers or the violated daughters. You’re here for you. And whatever it is you’ve come to do will cause more suffering."

  Shirley felt her legs buckle.

  "You aren't pure, girl. You aren't holy. You have evil in you, and you haven't fooled me."

  Shocked and embarrassed, she couldn't look any longer at his cruel face with its fathomless eyes. She didn't even want to be in the yard with him. She turned away and half ran into the street. He had seen through her disguise, one she had selected and nurtured over ten painful years. After all the work, that this old man could strip her of it so completely was devastating.

  Her heart pounded in time with her head as she walked weakly along the ash-dry street. She had left something behind. Her courage was still beside the old man under the papaya tree. She should have gone back for it, argued her innocence. The brilliant medical student who graduated a year before her classmates certainly would have done. But not now. That woman was lost. All that remained was Sherri, a seven-year-old, heading off into battle.

  25

  Three days later, the Thai Airways 747 carrying John and all his problems, touched down at Chiang Mai International Airport. He still hadn't slept for over a week. His dependency hated him for what he was doing to it. He'd shorn off his hair and hacked off his beard, but he’d have had to lop off the whole head to look and feel better than he did.

  The last couple of days had wracked his already frazzled nerves. The bends had convinced him that Te Pao was around every corner, behind every door. He was sure his time had come. “First the boys. Then the girls, then you will be last.” The girl had gone. His mother was dead. Was it his turn? Boarding the flight at Heathrow had been more like an escape than a departure.

  He stumbled through Immigration and stood in the crowded terminal waiting for someone to recognize him. Several drivers of illegal taxis homed in on his solitude, but he scared them off with his crimson eyes.

  It occurred to him that he had no idea what to do if his contact didn't turn up. He had no address for him, no phone number. He didn't even know his real name. He could hardly walk around the city asking if anyone knew Norbert.

  He knew nothing about this place. Thailand was so . . . far; so un-English, so bloody hot. But he'd been expecting more squalor. He was disappointed by the air-conditioned terminal and the gaudy Dairy Queen and Pizza Hut. He was surprised that everyone dressed in fashions he could have found in New Malden. He was strangely excited by the trim, dark-eyed women who avoided his stares, and baffled by the words he heard.

  A character with a Thai face, a grey cartoon handlebar moustache, and a black leather waistcoat over a Grateful Dead T-shirt pushed through the crowd towards him. . . .

  "So. You're the son of the bitch," he growled in a faux-Yank accent.

  John held out his hand but the man ignored it. He went straight into a bear hug that was so packed in muscle John felt like a tube of glue being squeezed of its remains. The man was getting on in years but was deceptively strong. "I told them I'd know you. No son of Jim could get past me, I said. Not ’less you was adopted or somethin’."

  John found himself hugging back in a non-committal, English kind of way. "I assume you're Norbert," he huffed. "I wasn't really expecting you to be Thai."

  "You assume on, bro. They sure haven't loosened you Limeys up none in the last generation. I'm a kind of Asian cocktail. My passport's Thai but my blood don't got no borders." He released John's body but held tightly to his hand as he led him through the concourse and out into the steaming car park. John had a strong feeling that Norbert was welcoming his father back.

  They arrived at an old black Willy’s jeep without doors, and climbed in.

  "Where did you pick up that unfortunate accent?" John asked.

  The man laughed a huge appreciative laugh that caused him to shake so much he couldn't get the key into the ignition. "You Limeys. . . . Throw your bag in the back there, but—"

  John tossed his cricket bag over the seat. There was a dull thud and a loud, painful howl. He looked behind him to see what appeared to be an old brown blanket bunched up on the floor.

  "I was gonna say, ‘Be careful of old Bruiser there.’"

  "What is it?"

  "Broo ain’t as frisky as he was."

  The blanket was apparently a bloodhound—old, fat, and layered like a stack of inner tubes. He grudgingly got to its feet, waddled to the seat, and gave John a sticky lick of forgiveness. An excited tail was the only remnant of his boisterous youth. Duty done, old Bruiser went back to his warm spot and collapsed in a heap.

  "Jim named him."

  "Did he name you, too?"

  "No, sir. This is the name my mama gave me. No idea where she got it from."

  John felt a strange nostalgia. The affection shown by this stranger and his dog made him feel happy to be the son of his father.

  They drove through the wide streets from the airport and on to the ring road. Again, John was disappointed. There wasn't much exotic about the exotic East; no elephants or golden domes, just 7-elevens, concrete, and Japanese cars. But it was all just a front. The further they drove from the city, the more different it became.

  They started along the winding Chiang Dao Road and, despite Norbert's constant monologue, John began to feel that he was in a new world. Monks sitting smoking in front of their temples. Ladies in sarongs carrying enormous bundles of sticks on their heads. Dusty children engrossed in a game of flip-flop skimming. Every small village had its whitewashed temple compound, the sun highlighting the mosaics of glass on the chofa, the eave-like adornments on their roofs

  It was probably a combination of jet lag and alcohol withdrawal, but forty minutes later, when the jeep pulled off the main road, John wasn't aware of anything his companion had said the whole journey. They drove through a narrow lane of trees up to a tall, wooden gate that opened immediately as if someone had been waiting for their arrival. They chugged through an orchard of strange fruit and parked in front of a beautiful, teak house on a riverbank. On the far side, trees smothered a hillside as far as the eye could see. Not a neighbour in sight.

  "God. You live here?"

  "Yeah. It's rustic ain't it."

  "It's bloody beautiful."

  Norbert led him away from the main house to a small guest bungalow in the trees. It had its own shower, and the large bed overlooked the stream.

  The Thai surprised him by saying, "You're still pretty messed up, boy. Get yourself clean and catch up on some sleep. Whenever you're ready, come on up to the house. Okay? It's good to see you." He put his arm around John's neck and kissed him on the cheek. It was a gesture that was oddly appropriate. John accepted it on behalf of his father but kept it for himself.

  When he was alone, he stood in the centre of the teak room and breathed in the sounds of the river and the birds, the clear air, and the sensation of freedom from an atmosphere polluted by The Paw. He showered in icy-cold water that must have been diverted from the stream; picked at the tray of food beside the bed; and rested briefly. The last thing he remembered was the shivering of the leaves on the far bank and the curious stare of a wall lizard reciting reptile poetry above his head.

  *

  He awoke 14 hours later, confused at first as it was still light out. He felt like a million dollars, or about 43 million Thai baht, and couldn't understand how a brief nap could make him feel so good. His watch didn't help. It was still on GMT and he hadn't thought to ask about the time difference.

  He went wobbly to the main house. As there was no front door, he walked straight in, announcing his arrival with a hello. Norbert and a slim, narrow-eyed woman were sitting close together at a large table. The balcony it was on overlooked the stream. The couple obviously hadn't heard him. They appeared to be fooling around.

  He coughed and they looked up.

  "Hey. Son of Frankenstein bac
k from the dead." Norbert rose from the table as he spoke, jogged over to John, and threw a familiar arm around his shoulders. "I snuck into your room during the night and checked your pulse. You looked like crap yesterday. I thought you might croak in the night.

  "The night? Have I been asleep that long?"

  "This doll here is my good lady wife, Kruamart."

  John walked towards her to shake her hand, but she ignored his hand and prayed towards him instead. He prayed back in an ungainly way.

  "Cuts down on the exchange of germs," Norbert said returning to his seat and gesturing for John to join them. "Hell of a lot more bacteria under your fingernails than there are up your ass. You know that?"

  "Perhaps we should rub arses when we meet, then."

  Norbert roared with laughter and then translated for his wife. She blushed but couldn't hold back. The more she laughed, the more beautiful she became.

  "Isn't he a bit old for you?" John asked Kruamart.

  "She prefers men with a few miles under their belts. And I didn't teach her English yet." He reached out to her, and she put her hand in his. It was a totally natural gesture. There was a lot of love between them, and John felt a pang of envy. He sat opposite and looked at the feast laid out under its city of mesh domes that kept off the flies.

  "Are you expecting a party for breakfast?"

  "Man who sleeps that long wakes up with a hell of a hunger. Besides, while you're eating I can tell you a few stories."

  It was a fact. John was so ravenous he could have eaten the banquet and the table it was on. He'd pecked at food like an ailing bird for the previous month. Although he didn't know what he was eating, he went at it with vigor. Kruamart left them to their business and the Thai began to tell him about his involvement with his father.

  "Didn't much like him at first. He was sarcastic like you. I wasn't used to it then. I am now."

  "I'm glad."

  "He messed with my accent, too. I told you this yesterday, but I didn't get the idea you was listening. I spent eight years in the States. Trained with the air force then Special Forces. Worked with a lot of CIA guys over here. You Limeys ain't very accepting of foreign accents, particularly American. First off, I thought your dad had something against me. I was his contact here for a mission in Burma. The CIA put him in touch with me. I had no contact with Limeys before, so I didn't realize how . . . un-American you guys was. Stateside they either hate the sight of you cause you're a chink or a gook, or they love you to death cause you're different.

  "Old Jim, I could never work out what he was thinking. He sure didn't love me. I knew that. But . . . well, I guess I ain't allowed to tell you about the missions we ended up running together. We went over the border six times. I can blend in over there. My mama was from Mandalay. Shit. That would be one hell of a name for a pop song."

  John almost choked on his papaya. Through the laughter he improvised, "Mama was from Mandalay . . ." to the melody of “Papa was a Rolling Stone.”

  Without a break, Norbert sang on: "Wherever there was a man she got laid."

  John felt disrespectful to be laughing at the man's probably long departed mother. But as Norbert was in hysterics, he joined him.

  "Anyways," Norbert said at last, wiping his eyes on a napkin. "You get to know someone real well over there. We knew each other over three years. When he died, I couldn't have been sadder if it had been my own kin. Man, I loved that dry bastard. He saved my sad ass more than once.

  "You know, like I was saying, over there I can blend in pretty much. But he was always going to be a big, orange-haired guy. He couldn't afford to relax for a second. But he was focussed, man. He made me feel like an amateur. You knew he could speak Burmese, Karen, and Thai real good. . . ?"

  John put down his full fork. "No. I didn't know. I really didn't know much at all before this Te Pao stuff started. I thought he was a boring insurance man."

  Norbert smiled. "Yeah. And you would have gone to your grave thinking that . . . if you hadn't been so pushy. Still, like father like son. Ain't that what they say?"

  "That's starting to sound like a compliment."

  "Oh it is, boy. It is."

  "And you've heard all about Te Pao I suppose."

  "They sent me a brief. It's the shits."

  "Got any theories?"

  "Nothing concrete. But I guess we can piece it together. Whoever this guy is, he didn't expect you to get this far."

  "I'm not sure what you mean. He advertised the name of the place they killed my dad, didn't he?"

  "Yeah. But he couldn't of expected you to make that connection. It was secret. You only got here by chance. Maybe he don't even know who your dad was with."

  "Then why give me the name?"

  "I been thinking about that. I came to the conclusion he's nuts."

  "I hope I'm not paying you a consultation fee."

  "No. I don't mean just slash-slash nuts. I mean I get the feeling this guy's obsessed with something. This is all part of some ritual he's put together in his mind. I bet my life your dad did something real bad to this guy. I bet it was so bad, he wanted to kill old Jim. And I bet old Jim beat him to it with the cyanide, so he didn't get the chance. He didn't get his revenge. Know what I mean?"

  "So he's going after the relatives one by one? That's a bit much even for an obsessed psychopath, don't you think?"

  "I don't know, boy. He traveled halfway round the goddamned world to find you."

  "Right. And that's another thing. How did he find me? How did he make the connection? If this was all so secret, how did he get to me?”

  Norbert looked up at the sky for a moment, then stared at his guest.

  "Fucked if I know."

  "And why Kenya of all places?"

  "Fucked if I know that, too."

  "Well you're a fat lot of good, aren't you."

  They both laughed. John stood and went over to the balcony railing. "Seriously. How do you think my being here is going to get answers to these questions, Norbert?"

  "Listen, boy." Norbert joined him. "I can tell you all I know about that last mission. It got screwed up right from the start. Me and your old man got separated after some Karen intelligence turned out to be not so damned intelligent. I hardly made it back here with my balls.

  “But we was nowhere near Te Pao, and nothing we’d planned would have got him all cut up like that. It was so quick. If he'd just gotten captured, SLORC or whatever they was called then, would have tortured him for a month. And I'm sure as hell they wouldn't have brought his body back.

  “Whatever it was must have been somethin' private . . . somethin' he didn't tell me about. Or somethin' he stumbled on by accident like. I been wonderin' what that might have been, man. There ain't a day goes by I don't wonder what that crazy son of a gun did to get himself all sliced up like that. If you'll excuse the expression."

  "Is there any way to find out?"

  "Only one."

  "What's that?"

  "I go back inside."

  "I thought you'd retired."

  "How can I retire in peace with this thing naggin' at me? And now I got a good reason. I can help stop this guy wiping out Jim's kids. By the way, I was real sorry to hear about your mother."

  "Thanks. Did dad ever talk about her?"

  "Oh man. He loved that woman."

  "What?"

  "Absolutely, boy. Hell. He knew she didn't love him back none, but he had a thing for that woman bigger than Buddha." Norbert could see the confusion on John’s face. "He always carried her picture, and yours and Susan's. But at night he'd take out the ballerina and talk to her real sweet. There were times, John boy. There were times when we wasn't sure we'd be around another day, and he'd tell me. He'd tell me how happy he was to have this love feeling inside him."

  "Do you think he ever told mother?"

  "At first he did. I guess she laughed at him one time too many. Seemed to me she treated him bad. Excuse me for saying, but I reckon he could have put his love into something
better than that. But it's a funny old thing. love. One minute you're a human being; the next you got the jingly-jangly.

  "He told me, when he met her there in Hungary, she just filled him up. That was it. If she told him to jump under a train, he'd be runnin' off to the station as fast as his legs would take him. She bewitched that big dumb Limey, and she knew he was under the spell.

  "She knew what she was doin'. She rode his love. She climbed in the saddle and rode it all the way to England. She rode away from a life and a system she hated. And he knew. He knew he was being used. He knew she had other guys."

  "She did?"

  "Sure, man. Hungarian wife of a British Secret Service agent don't fart without it being on a tape somewhere in Whitehall. They checked out all her fancy men, and told him about them."

  The weight of it all was getting too much for John. He sat down at the table and poured a strong coffee for himself. "They figured he'd dump her eventually and make all their lives easier. But that big soft gorilla couldn't bear the thought of her not being there at the end of an assignment. He knew it all, boy. But he let her ride."

  John shook his head. He could recall no affection between them; no touching, civil words. He'd grown up believing that mothers and fathers were separate things floating like planets in their own orbits. He was nine years old the last time he saw his dad, but it was all so fuzzy. There were no clear memories of that last time or of his parents' interaction.

  He looked at Norbert, who smiled apologetically. He had to be in his sixties. The grey of his moustache and the balding crown gave it away. But he was a man who would always have the energy and honesty of youth. John thought about the Bible passage, something about having walked in the valley of death and not fearing evil. Norbert and Jim Jessel had walked in that valley. When you've been so close to death you no longer needed to be afraid of it. And you lived every day of the subsequent life with gratitude and joy. John had a strong urge to stroll in the valley.