All three of them bowed with a deep wai. The older monk nodded and lowered himself onto the tiled floor, the younger one whisking the cushion out from under his own knees just in time for the older monk to sit on it.
‘My name is Phra Ubol,’ the old man said. ‘And I will see to it that chanting is offered for Khun Chanida over three evenings at Wat Sai Thai.’
Jayne bowed her head. ‘Khop khun na ka, Phra.’
‘The cremation will take place on the third day, Thursday, at five o’clock in the afternoon. But you’re welcome to join us for the chanting any evening beforehand.’
‘We will try to come Wednesday—’ Jayne began. But Phra Ubol’s attention had shifted. People were starting to arrive, drifting through the dining area towards the assembly hall. ‘I think we should go.’
As they backed away, Jayne overheard Phra Ubol instruct the younger monk to distribute the three orange buckets to the oldest monks in the care of the temple.
When Othong saw the woman, he couldn’t believe his luck. There she was by the side of the road—white skin, black curly hair, in-between age, in-between height—studying a map. She had a small pack on her back and a bottle of drinking water in one hand. He drew up alongside her on his motorbike.
‘Do you speak English?’ she asked.
Othong nodded, though he understood very little and spoke even less.
‘Oh, thank heavens. I think I got off the bus too soon.’
Most of this went over Othong’s head. But her next question was music to his ears.
‘Wat Sai Thai,’ she said, spinning her finger in the air. ‘Is it near?’
This was the woman, all right. She was on her way to the Sai Thai temple where the girl’s body was to be cremated, a piece of information he’d extracted by chatting up a nurse at Krabi Hospital earlier that day.
Othong made a show of looking where she pointed on the map. ‘Very far,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘You come my motorbike.’
‘Oh no, I couldn’t possibly impose—’
‘You no money,’ he added.
This seemed to make his proposal acceptable. The farang woman climbed on the pillion seat, clutching him around the waist as the motorbike surged forward. Othong knew of a dirt track less than a kilometre along the road, which led to an abandoned rubber plantation. It was the perfect setting to persuade the farang woman to give him the material she had taken from the girl’s room. She would hand it over and he would deliver the goods to Uncle Bapit, who might even compare Othong favourably with his cousin Vidura for a change.
At the very least, his face would be restored.
13
Jayne dropped Rajiv off in Krabi town and returned to their guesthouse in Ao Nang, misleadingly named the Sea View, to get to work translating Pla’s notes. Braving the heat, she set herself up at a table on the veranda of their bungalow, which, though failing to deliver a view of the sea, overlooked a lush garden.
She suspected the garden owed its fecundity to poor plumbing—she heard water hit the ground below the bathroom floor whenever she took a shower or used the basin—but she wasn’t complaining. The guesthouse was cheap and clean, and the manager required only a modest bribe to let them register without their passports.
There wasn’t enough of a breeze to lift the pages of Pla’s notebook as Jayne worked her way through the translation. With the aid of her dog-eared Thai–English dictionary, it took her the better part of three hours, pausing only to order coffee and replenish her supply of drinking water from the guesthouse café. When she finished, she lit a cigarette and read back over her translation.
Her first instincts proved to be correct. Pla’s notes were transcripts of meetings with villagers in relation to an unnamed project in locations she referred to only by initials, the equivalent of ‘Village P’ or ‘Village LK’. The records detailed the villagers’ concerns and the response of the Bangkok-based ‘experts’ who’d met with them on various occasions over the previous six months. All persons were referred to by an honorific and first name only, though this wasn’t unusual. Surnames had only been introduced in Thailand in the nineteenth century and were rarely used for anything other than bureaucratic purposes.
Several names recurred with greater frequency than others. One was Yada, whose honorific Mae, meaning ‘mother’, suggested a village matron. Mae Yada was a straight shooter who tolerated no nonsense. Jayne pictured her as a large matriarch with betel nut–stained teeth, who talked loudly at blessing ceremonies if the monks prattled on too much, but cuffed the ears of her grandsons if they dared show disrespect.
The following passage was typical of Mae Yada’s contribution to the discussion.
KHUN NUKUN: The road will be improved. The old dirt road will become a sealed road.
MAE YADA: But an increase in traffic on the new road will mean more road accidents.
NUKUN: But the new road means a faster route to hospital if anyone is injured in road accidents.
MAE YADA: But we wouldn’t need a faster route to hospital if not for more road accidents. Besides, the hospital is a long way from the village.
NUKUN: The project will provide a new medical unit in the village to reduce the need to travel to hospital. This will also prevent road accidents.
MAE YADA: I’m sorry, young man, please explain how the new medical unit will prevent road accidents.
NUKUN: Because people won’t have so far to drive to hospital, so there’s less risk of accidents.
MAE YADA: But they wouldn’t need hospital in the first place if not for the accidents they had while driving along your new road. (She laughs.)
This transcript was followed by a comment, a change of pen suggesting it was added later.
I asked Khun Nukun when the company planned to build the medical unit. He said his job is only public relations: to make the villagers understand, accept, assist and cooperate with the project and create a good image of the company.
Nukun’s was another name that came up often. Jayne gathered he was based in Bangkok, though he made frequent visits to the communities affected by the project. Not all interviewees were as assertive as Mae Yada, but the public relations officer had his work cut out for him.
KHUN NUKUN: You say everyone is opposed to the project. But I have received delegations from people very much in favour of the development.
KHUN POOMCHAI: The only people in favour are those who will profit personally from the construction.
NUKUN: Uncle, have you considered that your fear and short-sightedness may be blinding you to opportunities that others are choosing to embrace?
POOMCHAI: What’s short-sighted about wanting to protect my farmland?
KHUN BAPIT: Is that all the ambition you have for your children, to be a dark-skinned peasant like you?
NUKUN: The company is offering new jobs, higher incomes, new lifestyles for the next generation.
POOMCHAI: That’s all very well, Khun Nukun. But what happens to the older generation when there is no one left to tend the farm?
NUKUN: Your family will have no need for the farm.
POOMCHAI: But you don’t understand. The farm is what makes us a family.
While it was Nukun’s job to put a positive spin on things, at times he could spin out of control. Jayne came across an example in an exchange with someone of indeterminate gender, referred to by the nickname Daeng, meaning ‘red’.
KHUN DAENG: Village LK is worried about the impact of the project on the birdlife. We have many protected species in this area.
NUKUN: Do not worry about the birds. The species in this area are mostly common species of the country and have high adaptive ability. They are free to migrate when the environment is not preferable.
DAENG: You don’t understand. We do not want them to migrate. Without the birds to control them, the insects will take over, destroy our crops and spread diseases. (Others in the group murmur in agreement.)
NUKUN: Perhaps the insects will also not find the environment to th
eir liking.
DAENG: So now you are saying the project will scare both the birds and the insects away?
NUKUN: Excuse me, let me refer your concerns to the consultant responsible for Forestry and Wildlife. I am really not qualified to comment on this issue.
The more Jayne read, the more intrigued she became by the project, and the more frustrated by the lack of information on who, what, where and why. Pla seemed to have deliberately omitted any identifying features from her notes. For all Jayne knew, she’d used pseudonyms for the consultants and villagers, too, leaving her with almost nothing to start filling in the blanks. Why would Pla take such detailed notes but leave out the most important detail of all?
Though she rarely deviated from her role as scribe during the meetings, Pla added her own comments to the end of the transcript. These became more frequent over time, with the two most recent transcripts annotated more extensively than the others.
Jayne decamped from the veranda to the hotel room, switched on the air conditioner and lay down on the bed to scrutinise the last of the entries.
14
Pla took her customary position in the centre of the crowd towards the back, where she could overhear the hushed comments of those reluctant to speak out. Khun Nukun, the public relations officer, had brought three people with him to the village meeting, including a foreigner.
‘I understand people in this village have concerns about the project,’ Nukun said, as everyone settled. ‘So I have invited these experts to join us at this evening’s meeting. May I introduce Professor Azim from India, who studied engineering in America and now works for an international agency in Bangkok.’
Professor Azim’s smile pushed his cheeks against the black plastic frame of his glasses. He had tufts of grey hair above his ears and wore a snug-fitting charcoal safari suit. He pressed his hands together and shook them in greeting.
‘Also Doctor Budsaba, who is leader of the team responsible for surface water quality, aquatic biology and public health.’
In her high-heeled shoes, buttoned-to-the-neck blouse and fitted skirt, Doctor Budsaba looked as misplaced among the villagers as porcelain among earthenware. When she pressed her perfectly manicured hands together and bowed, her hair did not move.
‘And finally, Mister Kraichat, who will be translating for Professor Azim.’
A man with thick lips and a thin moustache greeted the villagers with a wai.
‘I invite the chao ban to outline the concerns of the villagers,’ Nukun said.
The villagers looked expectantly at the wiry man in the front row, who loudly cleared his throat.
‘My name is Uncle Amnat,’ he began. ‘I am chief of this village. I have been chief for fourteen years. My father was chao ban before me.
‘We had the experience of a project like this in our village before, back when my father was chief. At that time, the representatives from the company assured us we would become rich from the project. They said we had nothing to lose, only to gain. Same as you say, Mister Nukun.
‘It was true for a short time. Some local people were given work on the project and others made money at the small morning market out front of the site.
‘But the riches we were promised did not come. Instead, when the project did not find what it was looking for, the company used dynamite to go deeper into the ground and the explosion caused the temple wall to crack. In the Muslim village neighbouring ours, the mosque wall cracked, too.
‘After the temple wall cracked, there was an outbreak of dengue fever in the village. Fifteen people died, ten of them children.’
‘Aie, I remember,’ Mae Yada cried, ‘a terrible time. My own niece was among the dead.’
‘People say it was because the temple wall cracked that bad luck visited our village,’ Uncle Amnat continued. ‘We do not wish this bad luck to come back again.’
Mothers tightened their hold on their babies and several people touched the amulets they wore for protection around their necks.
‘Professor Azim, could I invite you to respond?’ Nukun said.
The engineer smiled again and leaned forward as he spoke through the interpreter.
‘I understand Chief Amnat’s concerns and I am aware of the project you speak of. It is on the site of the abandoned project, of course, where the company is seeking to establish its new initiative. I want to reassure the village chief and everyone in his community that engineering techniques have come a long way in the past twenty-five years. In the unlikely event that we need to utilise explosives in the construction of the new project, we’ll be able to restrict the impact to the project site.’
‘It’s hard to feel confident about your newfangled engineering techniques when you cannot even say for sure if there will be any more explosions,’ Mae Yada cut in again.
The professor’s smile was unwavering as he listened to Kraichat’s translation. ‘Auntie makes a valid point. Perhaps it will inspire more confidence to know that regardless of whether additional blasting is required, the company has agreed to put me and my team at your disposal to conduct an audit to ensure the soundness of all public buildings in relation to seismic disturbances of any nature.’
Pla saw confused looks on the faces of those closest to her. She caught the attention of Mae Yada, shrugged her shoulders and shook her head.
‘Khun Kraichat,’ the old woman said. ‘Please ask the professor to explain again using simple words.’
Professor Azim nodded in response to the request. ‘Of course, my apologies.’
He cleared his throat and began again. ‘I will personally inspect and if necessary reinforce all public buildings in your village to ensure they can withstand vibrations caused by industrial use of explosives or even natural phenomena such as earthquakes.’
‘Never heard of an earthquake in this district,’ Mae Yada muttered.
‘You say you will reinforce the buildings as necessary,’ Chief Amnat spoke up. ‘But who will cover the cost of this reinforcement?’
‘The company will cover the cost of my time and also any construction materials that are required. Assuming you agree with this proposal, villagers would be asked to contribute their labour.’
‘That sounds reasonable to me,’ Bapit said.
He straightened his bony shoulders to better show off the Charoen Sand and Gravel Supplies company logo on the chest pocket of his safari jacket. Mae Yada spat a jet of betel nut juice in his direction. Bapit ignored her.
‘And the mosque in the neighbouring village?’ Uncle Amnat added.
‘We will also inspect the mosque, strengthen it and any other public buildings if necessary. Same arrangement. Company covers costs, villagers provide labour.’
‘You will need the approval of the imam.’
Professor Azim smiled and nodded as though this wouldn’t be a problem.
‘If I might also weigh in,’ Doctor Budsaba said.
Nukun nodded for her to continue.
‘My study of the public health records suggests the increased incidence of dengue fever in this and nearby villages was the result of seasonal variation and—’
‘Simple words, please,’ Mae Yada interjected.
‘Back at the time you referred to, many villages in the district experienced more cases of dengue fever than usual,’ Doctor Budsaba said, in the tone of a primary school teacher. ‘Some years are worse than others. If the monsoon starts early or lingers late, there are more mosquitoes and hence more cases of khai sah.’
She must have seen the scepticism on the faces of the villagers because she hastened to add, ‘The company intends to help prevent future outbreaks of dengue fever by making sure there are no exposed water sources at the project site where mosquitoes might breed. We will test workers with any signs of fever and extend this service to their families. Treatment will be provided through the new medical care unit.’
‘What about the new medical care unit, Doctor?’ Pla said. ‘We hear there’s no actual timeline on that.’
‘The unit is necessary to provide health care for the workforce,’ Doctor Budsaba added. ‘The company considers it a priority.’
A more favourable murmur went around the group.
‘What more will it take for you people to see this for the great opportunity it is?’ Bapit said. ‘The experts here have patiently listened to all your concerns and proposed a solution to each one. What more can you want?’
‘Easy for you to say. You operate a sand and gravel supply company.’ This from a man named Choom, who wore grey slacks and a buttoned-up shirt the same pale yellow as the packet of 555 cigarettes in his breast pocket. ‘What about me? What compensation will there be for me when my diesel generator business goes broke because of this project?’
‘Your compensation will be the new business opportunities the project brings to our district,’ Bapit said. ‘It’s called progress.’
‘It’s not progress if the khlong becomes polluted and all the fish die,’ said another man, his skin so dark Pla could barely make out the sak yant tattoo of a turtle on his bare chest. ‘This will affect not only our livelihoods, but our food supply.’
A baby squawked as if giving voice to a wider protest.
‘The project will require some water to be taken from and discharged into the khlong,’ Professor Azim said in response to Kraichat’s translation. ‘However, all wastewater generated by the project, domestic or industrial, will be treated to meet Industrial Department Standards and, in some cases, even exceed them.’
‘For example,’ Doctor Budsaba said, ‘regulations require warm water to be kept in holding and retention ponds for three hours. This project will keep water for a whole day to ensure the temperature is reduced to normal levels before being discharged.’
The Dying Beach Page 6