by Ben Ezzell
Khun brought the hand out of his pocket, emptying the contents into the kettle with a crumbling motion.
“Find Tahm,” he offered, stepping outside again.
5:20 PM
“Old wiring,” Terry explained. “Sometimes it happens for no apparent reason.” He screwed a new fuse in place. “Or maybe the fuses just wear out. There, that should fix it. If it happens again, I’ll ask Tahm to check the wiring. No disaster, I hope?”
“No problem,” Nolan shook his head. “Soup’s on the stove, ducks are in the oven. The rest will be ready in a half-hour or so. If you’ll tell Mam? And Tahm and Khun?”
“Khun said something about going to sleep,” Terry offered. “He had a long trip yesterday. And he has to be up at two to keep an eye on things. Don’t want some kamoy breaking in and stealing things in the middle of the night. Oh, and I’m not sure that young Greg is going to be up to dinner. He woke up a while ago but he was still feeling pretty much under the weather.”
“Did he say anything about what happened?”
“Just that he’d met some girls and they’d been partying. Beyond that, he doesn’t remember much. Let him sleep it off?”
“Makes sense,” Nolan agreed, then asked: “But the rest of you will join us?”
“Of course, Plah’s been asking me if you’re really a chef – paw kroouh – or if she should fix.”
“And?”
“Well, I tried to tell her about Borthellos but she’s firmly convinced that an American can’t cook anything except hamburgers.”
“Then I’ll just have to prove different,” Nolan grinned. “Right?”
6:25 PM
“This would be good with bitter melon,” Bob suggested. “I mean, it’s a marvelous soup, no question about it. Just that it was reminding me of a bitter melon soup I had in Singapore. It was at a plastics conference and the soup was the best thing about the whole time.”
“The Thais use a lot of bitter melon,” Nolan considered. “Tom mara jiin, kahp?” he addressed Plah. “You would make for us?”
“Proongnee, ka? For lunch?”
“How’s lunch tomorrow sound?” Nolan translated, not quite literally.
“Wonderful,” Bob enthused. “Someone told me that bitter melon was the same as a loofa. That right?”
“The vegetable sponge?” Tanya queried. “Like you buy in the health food store?”
“That’s right,” Terry confirmed. “If you let them dry on the vine, then the skin will flake off. Cut the ends and you can shake the seeds out. Then what’s left is a loofa. Tastes better in soup though.”
“Soup’s good,” Bren admitted. “But the duck’s perfect. Nothing but ginger, nutmeg, cinnamon and pepper, right? Go for forty a plate easy.”
“I’m not sure,” Jeffery dissented, “whether the pad thai is the right side dish. Two such rich dishes together? The soup, yes, but maybe something a little blander to balance the duck. What would you say to fried sweet potato slices?”
“The duck’s already crispy,” Bren cut a piece of breast with the crackling brown skin, dipping it carefully in the dark soy. “Something purple would be nice.”
“Purple?” Rosalyn asked.
“Amethyst?” from Joan. “Looks more like dark amber. I love how the lights shine on the skin. Don’t you?”
“Braised celery and endive,” Tanya suggested. “And a little ginger in the soy.”
“Totally groovy,” Bob agreed vaguely. “Is there more soup?”
“Som tum malako,” Mam suggested. “I ask Plah make.”
“Papaya salad,” Nolan translated. “Shredded green papaya, very … very something pretty.” He raised his glass, holding it by the stem to allow the lights from the banyan tree to show through the wine.
“I like this,” Bob commented, copying Nolan’s action to view the banyan, strung with tiny lights along the branches, shining like some strange mandala against the dying sunset. “Yeah, man. Like Haight-Ashbury. Back in the sixties.”
“A friend of mine,” Terry reminisced, “bought a tract of swamp land a few years ago, then turned it into a series of islands and channels with a stage along one side. Put gazebos on the islands and little arched bridges connecting them. Has a kitchen behind the stage. Gets a lot of locals as well as tourists. Theatre al fresca, local cuisine.”
“Sounds lovely,” Sarah considered. “I would like to meet him.”
“Er,” Terry paused. “Do you speak French?”
“French? Not very well, no. Why?”
“Because it’s that or Thai. I mean, I’ll be happy to translate but Alain’s English is almost non-existent. Ex-pats – expatriates – are like that. Sometimes they even forget their mother tongues,” he grinned dreamily, his accent thickening briefly. “Hey, what about a travelling troupe? Local cuisine, international theater? I know a lot of Thai and Burmese performers.”
“Maybe,” Sarah returned the smile, “I’d better find a place first. But I would like to talk to your friend.”
“Why not,” Nolan suggested lazily. “We could take the entire group for dinner one evening. Another slan … slant on presentation.”
“Weeun hoouh, ka,” Mam spoke softly.
“Sorry? Mai kow jy kahp?” Nolan was looking at her strangely, moving his head backwards and forwards as if he were having trouble focusing.
“She … says she’s dizzy,” Terry started to rise, reaching out a hand toward his wife. Half-erect, his face assumed a puzzled look as he stumbled backwards against the railing, knocking his chair on its side.
DragonTree.com Contents
Chapter Eleven:
Chapter Eleven:
Baan Orchid, Chiang Mai, Tuesday, February 6th, 6:40 PM
Very good, Khun thought, looking across the lawn. One of them was singing. One of the older women. He couldn’t recognize the words but the tune was vaguely familiar. An old song. Beatles maybe? Something old fashioned anyway.
On the lanai, the older farahng and the cute blonde were dancing. Or trying to. And one of the gatuhee was climbing the banyan. No, not climbing, just sitting on the limb. Where was his partner? Ah, there he was, in the corner, dangling his feet off the lanai, clutching the corner post. At the back, that was Kun Terry waving his hands in the air. And that was Kun Nolan trying to stand up … no, lying down now. Kun Plah lying down too, pointing up at something.
And Kun Mam seemed to be asleep. And the other young one – where was she?
Then he spotted her – up high in the tree. Khun hoped she not fall – he not intend anyone harmed. And Kun Tahm there too, climbing after her and laughing.
But where was other older farahng woman?
Khun had to cross the lawn before he spotted her but there she was, walking along the river … or in it.
He turned and went inside to telephone. No need to go to coin phone now.
6:50 PM
“I call ambulance,” Khun reported. “They be here soon, take everyone to hospital. Then you come search, kahp? … Half-hour? Hour? No rush – tell American farahng all time he want … Kahp! I call, kahp!”
7:00 PM
It was the sirens that woke Greg.
At first, he didn’t recognize them – the warbling, two-tone EEE-OOO-EEE-OOO didn’t sound like a siren, more like some bad video game.
When the sound kept getting louder, Greg tried to sit up but the motion made him feel … sick suddenly.
He stumbled to the bathroom, reaching the toilet on hands and knees, retching into the bowl and feeling miserable. Maybe, he thought, he could just lie here on the tile for a minute. The tiles were cool and he felt so hot.
In a minute, he decided. In a minute he could go look.
When he felt a little better.
Right now, the tiles felt good. Cool. Soothing. He’d just lie here … just for a minute … until the room settled down …
7:15 PM
One or two sick farahng wasn’t anything unusual but a whole house of farahng – and Thai – suffering f
rom hallucinogenic poisoning? This was not something Niyom had encountered before – not in his six years as a paramedic.
None seemed to be in immediate danger, Niyom decided, performing a quick triage but all should go to hospital for treatment. Gastric lavage, Niyon prescribed mentally, relishing the English terminology. Gastric lavage and something to make them sleep until the hallucinogenic effects wore off.
Of course, the police must be notified as well.
Niyon punched the speed dial on his cellular to request additional assistance. Nearly a dozen patients – far more than he and his partner could transport.
“These are everyone, kahp,” Niyom inquired carefully. “There are no more people here?”
“Kahp!” Kuhn confirmed emphatically, feeling very much like he was beyond his depth. Now three of them were climbing in the tree. And two were swimming – or splashing in the water anyway – while the two gatuhee were doing some kind of slow, close dance. And one – no, two – were singing something vaguely familiar. There were more – but where? One, Plah, was on the lawn, arms waving vaguely.
Wasn’t there another? Who? Kuhn tried to remember. The older woman, kahp! She was where?
Ah, there she was – floating in the river. Swimming slowly.
8:10 PM
“Ambulance gone, kahp. You come now, everyone gone, kahp. … Kahp! I open gate, you come, kahp!”
8:40 PM
Everything was dark. And, at the moment, Greg couldn’t remember where he was.
He didn’t feel good either. Weak. And kind of dizzy.
But he could hear voices. One of them was speaking English – something angry, something about it not being there.
He was cold too. The tiles were cold.
Greg felt around in the dark. Finally his hand met something rough … but soft. Fabric. When he pulled on it, a large towel fell in a soft heap. Greg gathered the towel, pulling it around him like a blanket, then leaned back against the wall, letting his head rest against the corner made by two walls.
He could still hear the voices. Not well but someone was arguing about finding something. That it was important. Should he go see what was wrong?
Greg tried to stand, holding the towel closed with one hand, but the effort made him feel sick again.
He sunk back against the corner. He’d rest for a minute, then go see.
8:50 PM
Baw wasn’t pleased with farahng. The man was very brusque, very angry, much hurry hurry.
As Baw approached gate at Baan Orchid, Kun Khun was waiting, swinging gate open readily when green Isuzu pickup appear and closing it again after they enter.
On seat, Baw had bag with fresh orange and several coconut butter cookies. He try to explain, suggest farahng should buy fruit but big man laugh. Not nice laugh but kind of laugh that make Baw feel very small, provincial. Farahng have money, important man, know many important people – this Baw know since important man introduce Baw to farahng.
Baw felt uneasy leaving fruit and biscuits in pickup but not want to feel small. Baw not know for certain but idea in back of mind say maybe this Baw’s big chance. He do this well, then other opportunity come to Baw.
And Baw not drive cheap green Isuzu always. Soon Baw maybe have red sports car, have house, not rooms, have garden, servants. Maybe soon Baw be big man. He show how careful he plan – smart very very. And important men notice – they say Baw useful man, find much work Baw.
After all, did not Baw arrange for Kun Khun to become gardener? And did not Baw say put het mao in food? And did not Baw supply het mao before Khun come be gardener? In two day, did not Baw make much happen? Maybe fruit and offering just superstition. Baw show farahng he very modern, very smart. Then farahng tell important men Baw important, krahp!
“Show room where farahng lady stay, mai krahp,” Baw ordered. They find what farahng want quick, then leave quick, Baw shivered slightly, feeling uncomfortable.
9:05 PM
“What look for?” Baw questioned. “Very little here,” his gesture took in the scattered clothes, the emptied and overturned suitcase, the broken wooden box, the scattered cosmetics and toiletries.
“A computer disk,” the farahng growled angrily. “You know what a computer disk is?”
“Know computer disk,” Baw nodded. Did farahng think everyone stupid? Of course Baw know computer disk. Baw steal many computer – good market for computer. Any kind computer. And Baw know good to take computer disk also. Often have important program. Right people pay much money for computer. Pay little for computer disk but still good take. Especially big, shiny kind call CD.
“No computer disk here,” Baw pointed out. “Camera good, walkman good – Sony get good price.”
“Forget that crap,” the man ordered. “Check the other rooms. Maybe she has someone else holding it. Check all the rooms. Now!”
9:10 PM
“These are music CDs,” the farahng barked, opening each jewel box to check before tossing them on the floor in disgust. “Look harder. See if it’s hidden somewhere. And check the other house too!”
The farahng was not nice man but money meant something and ambition meant more. Baw and Khun did as ordered.
9:35 PM
“All right, I’ll pay you more. But I need you here, understand?”
“How stay here?” Khun protested. “You make mess like this,” he waved an arm around the room. “How I explain not stop? They say I do this. Call police.”
“Simple,” Baw decided. “You asleep when burglars break in. They see ambulance, think no one here, Find you, tie you up, rob place, then leave, karhp?”
“Speak English,” the American farahng ordered. “I don’t understand that jabber.”
“In minute,” Baw answered. “Stupid farahng have money. I get you extra thousand baht. Not tie ropes tight, you sleep. Someone find you in morning, mai karhp?”
“Thousand baht not enough. Five thousand, kahp!”
“Took dtwwng, five thousand, kahp! Look, longer it take to find thing, more money we get, mai kahp? Farahng have plenty, no rush, mai karhp? And we steal other things now, more money – make look good, karhp.”
Baw’s reassurances – and five thousand baht – were deciding factors. That and fact that being tied would provide what old movies call ‘ironclad alibi’.
After helping collect small, resaleable items, Khun submitted as gracefully as possible to being tied with clothesline, finally trying to find position which was not too uncomfortable. He was sleepy, yes – it had been long day and too short night – but rope was too tight and rough on his wrist.
Finally Khun slept fitfully, his rest disturbed by repeated dream of many shadowy thing grabbing him.
Wednesday, February 7th, 2:15 AM
Still dark. And chilly as well. Greg shivered, pulling the towel tighter.
Something smelled sour.
Plus he felt very tired and very thirsty.
Finally, he tried to stand. No shoes, towel, pants … He held the towel with one hand, feeling around with the other. A wall … a window … a … a curtain, plastic … “Damn!” he breathed, his leg had just hit something.
He reached down carefully, feeling the outline of a toilet. He was in a bathroom … and there was something sticky … slippery on the floor.
Moving carefully, he continued searching until he found a door. And then, gratefully, a light switch. He fumbled, then ‘click’, there were lights.
Too bright! Greg closed his eyes, willing them to adapt to the glare.
After a long minute, he opened them again, squinting.
The mess on the floor was what smelled sour, he decided. Except it was on him as well – both the pants and the towel. And on his arm and his watch. His watch – the numerals read: 3:14. It had to be morning, not evening.
There was a drain in the floor. Greg stepped into the shower enclosure. The water heater was on the wall, they’d shown him how to use it. You turned the knob first, then pressed the button. And what? Yeah, w
atch for the flame in the little window. No flame? Try again. Yeah, flame. Now what? Hold the knob, right, and count to ten. Yeah. Now turn it back to ‘ON’. Good thing it was labeled in English.
When the burner started roaring softly, Greg turned on the water, letting the spray soak the towel, his pants, everything. He turned his face up to the spray, opening his mouth, then gulping the water down. He was so thirsty …
Finally, Greg pulled the curtain back, turning the showerhead toward the floor outside, sluicing the floor clean, washing the debris down the drain set in the tiles before he stepped out again. The towel, pants and underwear, he left in a sodden heap in the corner of the shower. He wrapped the remaining towel around his waist, shivering again in the cool air, before stepping out in the hallway.
No lights – he left the bathroom door open, letting the light from the bathroom spill into the hallway. On the right, he remembered – at the end of the hall.
The door was open. He felt for the light switch, flicking it on.
The room was a complete mess. Not that he was the neatest person in the world but he hadn’t had time to make this kind of mess – he’d only been here … what? Two days? Besides, he’d hung his clothes in the closet. Now they were all over the floor. Plus the stuff he’d put in the drawers.
For that matter, he didn’t think he’d brought this much. Or maybe it just looked like more because it was a mess instead of neatly hung up or folded. At the airport, he’d had one suit bag and one carry-on – mostly levis, shirts, socks and underwear. Plus a jacket, spare athletic shoes and a few toiletries. The carry-on had held his CD player, some favorite CDs, his camera, things like that.
Travel light, he’d been told. If you forget something, you can buy it there.
But where was his camera? And the CD player? And … shit! His Death Angel CDs – there was one of them … cracked, like someone had stepped on it. Damn it all! What had happened here anyway?
The last thing he could remember was … Well, there was the guy who’d asked … Yeah, if he wanted ‘muscle’. And then, he’d gone … where? Someplace with girls. There’d been lots of girls. And something to drink. Something sweet. And music – hadn’t he been talking to someone about … No, he couldn’t remember.