by Geoff Ryman
Fish Face—no, Arn—Arn glares at Luc and down at his filthy clothes. One of the boys covers his mouth and nose. Arn says, “Barang, you're filthy. Get out of those clothes."
Luc feels fat, grey, and clumsy. His hands quiver with fatigue and fear. He finds that he is near tears. Clothes are protection in front of these young, healthy men. He doesn't want to be seen stripped and old, his sagging chest furred over with white hair.
Arn takes his shirt from him with the barrel of the AK-47 and flings it away from the boat. “Go on, get in. Wash.” Luc shivers his way out of his clinging trousers. Arn looks amused. Maybe he is just pleased I can go for a swim.
Luc doesn't care how deep the water might be or if there are hidden bamboo stakes or even crocodiles. He plunges in and the water bubbles up and over him, as delicious and cool as champagne. Something in his chest shudders with relief. He cleans himself as thoroughly as he can, but the cleaner he gets, the worse he seems to smell. We are just animals. We must pity the animal self, who aspires so. Aspires always to the celestial. Is that why water is holy?
"I'm just moving away from my clothes, to wash better,” he warns them, in his mild, and frightened voice.
He washes over and over again. He wants to sink into the dark water and never come up, swim to a secret mermaid realm. Captain Nemo and his submarine.
He can't pull himself back into the boat and so is hauled in like a particularly awkward fish. He's naked, and covers his privates with his hands. The boys mock him.
"Some good clothes, barang?” says the old man, smirking. He holds out something.
This is Arn, with a present. This is Arn giving me a gift.
It's a kramar, the mystifying cloth that Cambodians can twist into a pair of shorts or a shopping bag. It is a test, a joke. Okay, barang, this is how we dress. Just how stupid will you look, trying to dress like us?
"You can wrap a kramar, can't you?” the old man asks, eyes twinkling.
Talk, Luc.
"Aw kuun, thank you,” he says and takes the red-checked cloth.
Luc remembers a love-hotel long ago, outside town by the river. The room was high up on the top floor, and flooded with light. The sheets and shower were clean, and the hotel towels had been embroidered with hearts.
He and Arn had stood naked side by side and looked at each other in the mirror, startled at how much taller Luc was. Then gently, shyly, Arn had shown him how to wrap the kramar.
Help me now, Arn.
Luc imagines gentle Arn, squatting down beside him to guide his hands. The old man sniffs a laugh as Luc fumbles for the tail of the cloth. Arn had laughed as well; he had covered his mouth in glee to see Luc trying to put on the kramar. The boys laugh now. These are just merry boys, Luc tells himself; they are just having fun. He even manages to smile himself.
Warm morning air had moved, like Arn's fingers. Arn pulled the kramar tighter about him, like a pencil skirt. How did it go? Like tying a Windsor knot in a tie, there is always a moment of remembering. Luc pulls the tail of the cloth up between his legs to make a pouch, and eases the cloth up into two leggings. His pale, limp fifty-year-old tummy overhangs it.
Luc looks up, finished, and tries to see Arn in the old man's hard face. He doesn't see Arn, but he does see reflected back at him in the spectacles what is so funny. It is not so much him as the kramar—the cloth is evidently far too small.
"You barang are all fat,” says one of the boys. He looks like a hard-working, decent boy. His smile not all that different from all the smiles in hotels.
The old man's eyebrows flick. The joke is over; the barang has shown he can tie a kramar. The old man reaches forward, and jerks the end of the kramar tighter. He passes Luc his shirt. It has been fished out of the brown water, but somehow, miraculously, it is clean, smelling of fields and sunshine.
An imagined voice comes with the cat's-paw over the lake.
Just remember, says his mother, that he is not Arn. Watch him. He has no kindness, he thinks of himself as a series of disciplines and links and duties to other people. He only has good behaviour and bad behaviour. And both are equal to him.
"The General is still bleeding,” says Luc quickly. “He will get infected."
The old man shrugs. That's nothing to him. He passes Luc a yellow plastic bucket with dried concrete in the bottom. “If you care about it, clean out the hull.” He gives Luc a heavy brush thick with fish scales.
Luc almost cannot bear to go back into the hull. He can smell it; he can taste it in the back of his mouth. Disgust feels like a physical wall, stopping him.
But, he thinks, they have left me untaped to do it.
He folds himself back down under the deck. The air is clotted with the smells of shit and blood. Luc gapes at the General's wounds; they gape back like two exploded oranges. The General has been kneecapped.
"I am cleaning up in here,” Luc tells the General in Khmer. “We will get it clean. Maybe that will stop infection."
The General sags as if to say: what difference will that make now?
"It will be better than leaving it dirty.” Luc scrubs and rinses and retches. The light is going; he has to work quickly. He stands straight up through the hatch and dumps the water over the side.
"Don't do it that way,” says the old man. “People will see you. Boys, take the bucket."
Arn, that's Arn wanting to help me. Luc finds himself smiling and nodding thanks to the old man.
A boy, his face wrenched in disgust, takes the next bucket. “Somtoh,” says Luc, meaning excuse me. “We don't like making a mess."
He ducks back down, crab-crawling.
His mother's voice says: You look afraid. Move neatly, quickly. Look at how they do it.
The next trip up Luc says to the boys and the old man, “The lake is beautiful. Maybe we move away from here and fish. Get away from this filthy water."
"Maybe,” says the old man.
Each time he goes down, Luc says something to the General. “I will ask if we can boil water and try to clean up your legs."
Back up with the bucket, he says to the old man, “The General is still bleeding badly. I can clean up, but all that blood will be dirty too."
The old man sighs. “Stupid children.” He flicks Luc out of his way, and swings down into the hull. He blows out air with exasperation. “Why did you do this!” he barks at the boys.
Angrily he scoops up the General's legs. The General trumpets like an elephant. Brusquely, the old man wraps duct tape with ferociously hard jerks around each leg.
"That will stop the bleeding, yes?” Luc asks.
Still angry, the old man does not answer.
"I'm sorry, Vutthy,” says Luc. The General, still blind and dumb, nods in acknowledgement.
Luc practises moving along the low hull. This is exercise, he tells himself.
Move with confidence, his mother says. Imagine you are a doctor in a coal mine.
When he pops up again, he sees the boys are boiling water on the boat's concrete stove.
Luc asks them, “If you are boiling water, can I use some of it here?” The boys stare back at him. Luc keeps on. “I can scrub in here with boiling water, that would make it really clean."
The chief calls out from inside the hull. “Give it to him.” He moves Luc away from the hatch and climbs out. “Barangs like things clean,” he says, almost with satisfaction.
Luc keeps bailing out the hull. The next time he surfaces, he sees that the chief seems to be boiling his shirt.
"I think they're making a bandage for you,” Luc tells the General.
By now it's dark. The old man thrusts his way into the hull with steaming strips of boiled shirt. Behind him, one of the boys peers into the hull holding both a lamp and a rifle. The chief unwraps the General's wounds. The kneecaps weep clear fluid. Luc feels an answering sting of heat around his eyes.
The old man wraps sterile strips around each of the General's knees. The General groans in the explosive, repetitive rhythm of a cough
. Luc takes the General's hand. The General grips ferociously and holds on, jiggling from pain.
The old man works none too gently, briskly moving the legs. That's Arn, Luc tells himself, helping a fellow driver in an accident. He makes a perfect field dressing.
"Thank you,” says Luc. The old man looks up directly into Luc's eyes.
Then he turns and springs up and out. The hatch slams shut and the motor snarls to life. “The barang is still loose,” says one of the boys.
"So sit on the hatch,” says the old man.
Luc crouches next to the General in the dark. The General still has hold of his hand.
Luc's mother whispers, Learn the boys’ names.
* * * *
William finishes driving Sangha for the day.
At the gates of the Phimeanakas, he shakes hands and agrees to meet Sangha and Map early the next day.
Then he goes directly to his two adopted sisters who run the hat and handbag shop.
They are sophisticated ladies. They design handbags, not for tourists but for Cambodian women who live in the villas and who want to look modern.
William expounds. “Kraing Meas was written by Jayavarman himself, it is a message from the great king to us now. This book has been stolen and Teacher Luc Andrade and the General taken with it. The army are ashamed because they were in charge, and so they blame the Teacher's man, Tan Map."
One of the ladies wrinkles her nose. “Oh, I know Tan Map, he is not a good character."
William bows. “He is not someone who tells people what he thinks they want to hear. But the Teacher trusted him, and everyone says the Teacher is a man of good character."
"So they go for the wrong man, and the ones who took the Book go free."
"Tuh! It could be the army themselves who took it!"
"That's right. So everyone else should look as well,” says William.
The ladies are enrolled. “Oh! Yes, we should. You should go and tell everyone, Will."
They will keep their eyes open and ask anybody they meet. If they find anything out they will go to the APSARA main building.
Next William goes to Bopha, his adopted sister who sells gas by the roadside.
These adopted sisters are good friends who lack families. They come to his aunt's house at New Year and Pchum Ben, and find ways to help about the house. They help William find work.
William tells Bopha about the Kraing Meas, and the kidnapping. Does her older brother want to help? They need people to look. Could he show up by the police village tomorrow?
William goes to the old man who roasts corn and pork on the roadside, who has been his friend for years. He used to call William “nephew” until he unexpectedly found a real one. William and his nephew are now samlaing, good buddies.
William explains excitedly to both of them the great wrong that has been done.
"Ah,” says the old man. “The men in the villas are the thieves. They will profit whatever happens."
"Well, this time there is the Patrimony Police to investigate, and they have guns."
"And only sixteen dollars a month. Who says they didn't take it?"
"Because Ta Barang has won their hearts. He has awakened their love of Cambodia and our great kings."
The old man jokes. “Oh yes, and how much money did he pay them?"
"Oh, plenty of money too!” They all laugh.
Did the nephew want to help? Could he come tomorrow to Angkor Wat police village and await orders? The nephew glances at his uncle; his uncle nods yes.
William drives out towards the Phnom to all the people he paid to help in his uncle's fields. He drinks tea, and tells them how the voice of Jayavarman has been returned in a book, how the Teacher has been kidnapped, and how the Patrimony Police need everyone to look for clues. Does anyone remember anything?
One old granny remembers seeing on New Year Day a long, low boat go down the Siem Reap River through the town. The punter did not wear a kramar or a yuon straw hat, and got stuck going under the town bridge. So he is not local, and did not know the river.
Do their sons and brothers want to help? Could they come tomorrow?
One of the fathers says, “My son Ea is just out of the army. He rents out his pickup truck. Maybe he could drive people there?"
"That is a very good suggestion, Grandfather. Ea could help us look too."
The family are poor, their house perches on the dike out towards the lake. They sleep directly on the ground. “Yes. It is time all this kind of thing stopped. We lose everything with all this thievery and violence!” The old man has a lot to be fed up about.
"Where is Ea now?"
Hands are flung vaguely out towards the town. The bars, the lot where the pickups are parked—who knows?
So William goes to the pickup lot past the New Market along Highway 6. No tourists here, but a huge unpaved space full of footstools, bowls of noodles, dust, flicking headlights, and pickups stuffed with baskets and people swinging back out towards Sisophon or Kompong Thom.
Ea looks wind-burnt and bleary, still in his army fatigues, eating pork and staring ahead. He has been driving for twenty-four hours straight.
William bounces up, looking lively, to make the night more fun. He brings beer, and talks about car batteries and who is selling them cheap. Then he pitches. Could Ea do him a favour and pick up some lads? He can't pay, but maybe APSARA would. He talks about the Book, he gets Ea angry, and then gives him something to do about it. William gets two pickup trucks in the end, Ea and his mate who also drives.
William has been talking to his old forester friends, and he knows where they've abandoned some rough-cut timber. Maybe they could all go and take some.
They load William's bike on the back of the pickup and fetch the timber. Ea drives William and his plank back to the beginning of the track to his house. He even guards the fresh-smelling red wood while William goes to get his cousin Meak to help. William and Meak carry the plank back balanced between two motorbikes, weaving around tree trunks.
Why not have a party? Ea goes for more beer. They all sit in the kitchen with its strip light. The neighbours come by to hear the news and filch a beer. The price is simple. Their sons go to Angkor tomorrow.
It's past midnight when William goes out again to tell everyone where to meet the trucks in the morning.
* * * *
It is dark, airless, and hot inside the hull of the boat.
The General still writhes, hissing through the tape that will not let him breathe.
Luc has been taped up and trussed again, so he cannot help. He drifts in and out of sleep, listening to the noises the General makes. He calms himself by thinking of Arn, imagining that life had let them be together.
In that life Luc does not go back to France or move to Australia. He buys an apartment near the National Museum in Phnom Penh. Arn lives with him for a little while. His French improves, speaking it every day with Luc. Arn takes the civil service exam and passes. Arn becomes a functionary, in a crisp white shirt and tie. He has to marry. His wife is sweet and kind; his family have stopped asking questions; and Arn, instead of beginning to sleep around with new men, falls on Luc twice a month with love and gratitude.
The Americans decide to get out of Vietnam earlier. Nixon and Kissinger do not bomb eastern Cambodia, nor do they support a coup to remove the legitimate head of state. Sihanouk stays president.
There are no Khmers Rouges, only scattered powerless cadres in provincial towns.
Phnom Penh stays beautiful. There is no exile to turn Luc away from a study of medicine towards exploring the culture and history of a land that is his secret home. Luc studies medicine in Phnom Penh. He and Arn make love during the long lunch hours. They exchange cards and gifts. Arn has children and makes Luc their godfather.
Nike invests heavily in its Cambodian operation. Honda opens up a huge motorcycle factory. It is the duty of loyal Cambodians to buy from their own factories. Unlike Vietnam, Cambodia is not war-torn and Communist. Phnom P
enh is not an ex-R&R destination for American marines, full of drugs and whores like Bangkok. It is untouched by the West or by the Communists. Phnom Penh's reputation as the most unspoiled city in Southeast Asia spreads.
John Paul Getty moves there for its beauty. The Rolling Stones buy a villa on the river. John Lennon moves there and decides to stay, and so he is not shot in 1980. He records an album with Sin Sisimuth, who is also, in this life, alive. Derrida and Baudrillard come regularly every winter to teach. Phnom Penh becomes the place to be.
When Arn and Luc celebrate the fourteenth anniversary of what Arn calls My Other Marriage, a small company called Apple opens up a manufacturing center there. Something happens. Luc is inspired. He joins Apple as a liaison officer. He also learns programming. He sees this as the way ahead for Cambodia.
Alongside his day job, he begins to train as many Cambodians as he can in the art of programming. They began to author beautiful and jewellike applications.
Luc persuades Apple to set up a 24/7 programming operation. Cambodians continue to author programs while America sleeps.
Phnom Penh becomes a world center of computing. Cheap Apple programs on inexpensively produced Cambodian Apple hardware mount a viable challenge to Microsoft.
Luc is received by Prince Sihanouk in honor of his accomplishments. He comes with Arn and his wife and children. It is the right kind of Sunday so they all wear something red. The Prince beams and shakes their hands. Luc sees Arn's face at forty, and it is as real as his own—handsome, creased, and distinguished. Merrily in Arn's eyes amusement dances, and love.
For a while trussed and helpless in a stinking boat, Luc is happy.
The trapdoor opens. His mouth is untaped, and one of the boys shoves more burnt fish into it.
"Curse that dog of yours,” says the General in Khmer.
"I do not understand,” says Luc.
The General snorts. “You told Map about the Book. We wouldn't be here except for him!"
Why, wondered Luc, after all this time, does the army still hate Map?
[Back to Table of Contents]
April 1988, April 1989, April 1990
All through the early 1980s, Map tried to find his family.