“Nol says you are an art expert,” he said. “Is Khmer art your expertise?”
I shook my head. “I’m afraid not. My expertise is Mediterranean—Greek, Roman, Egyptian, Babylonian, and other civilizations.”
“We of the East are as blind about your Western civilizations as you are about ours. I know little of the Mediterranean antiquity sites.”
We headed toward the western entrance of the temple where the evening show was being presented.
Gesturing at the structure in front of us, he said, “I am told that Angkor is the largest religious center in the world. Our temples here number over a thousand, spread over a great area, but some of them have been turned into little more than rubble in rice paddies by the ravages of time.
“Angkor means city and it was the capital of the great Khmer emperors, from about the ninth to the fifteenth centuries. The empire held dominance over much of Southeast Asia. The temples you see here were built of stone and brick. Most tourists don’t realize that the buildings were religious shrines and not intended for public use. Only the gods and those chosen by them were permitted to live in buildings of stone or brick. The king and his court lived inside the temple walls.”
“Where did the common people live?” I asked.
“In the wooden huts found around the central temple compound.”
Our conversation continued as we walked across the causeway toward the temple entrance.
“Angkor Wat is a twelfth-century complex inspired by Hindu mythology while Bayon nearby in Angkor Thom is a Buddhist temple completed about a century later. Each of the complexes have their own monuments, canals, and reservoirs. The designs represent the shape of the universe according to mythological beliefs and the entire complex is walled and surrounded by a moat that represents the primordial ocean. Four causeways run across it. Carvings of nagas, half human, half serpent, were put on the causeways to defend them.” His voice was calm and melodious as he described the ancient site.
“I’ve heard that Cambodia has a problem with temple looters,” I said. That was an understatement but I decided I should proceed politely and test the waters early.
“Antiquity sites around the world have the same problem as we do. But yes, it is something we must deal with. The site is protected by a police force who the French assisted in training. French police agencies and even the French Foreign Legion are still involved in protecting the sites, but besides Angkor, there are thousands of more sites and we lack the resources to protect them all.”
Nothing he said so far signaled me that he was anything more than a guide taking me on a tour.
“There are three levels containing galleries and courtyards with the five towers atop the third. The tallest tower rises nearly to the height of a twenty-story building. It represents the peak of Mount Meru where the gods reside. The other four represent peaks of adjoining mountains.”
He gestured at the walled compound. “All sandstone, plus an earth material that acts as a mortar. The blocks were cut from a quarry far from here and brought by boat near where the Siem Reap ferry landing now is. From there they were brought by oxen cart and elephants to the site.”
“I imagine that like the pyramids of Egypt, it took decades and thousands of slaves to build this temple?”
“A million slaves toiled forty years just to build Angkor Wat. As you will see when you examine the carvings yourself, it is not just the power of the backs of people that were used to build this Khmer wonder, but the power of their minds and the artistic skills of hand and eye. Many of the surfaces in the complex have relief carvings depicting characters and legends from our mythology. The wat has the longest relief carvings in the world.”
We arrived at a raised terrace with giant stone lions guarding each side and climbed up the steps. In front of us was a long causeway leading to the interior. Inside, a courtyard theater had been created with rows of folding chairs.
“Would you like to see the show?”
“Yes, I would.”
Bourey said I could get a better view if I didn’t mind standing and I followed him up a stairway to a wood platform.
“You are familiar with the dancers we call Apsarases?” he asked.
“Oh, yes.”
“They were a favorite subject of ancient artists and are featured throughout the site. These heavenly nymphs were born to dance for the ancient gods and tonight they will dance for the new gods—tourists who pay.”
He chuckled at his joke.
Torchlights scattered along the outer walls and through the courtyard gave the whole place an unearthly feeling. Every seat was taken now and it had suddenly gotten quiet. The dancers began appearing, one by one.
Bourey whispered, “The performance tonight is a tale we call the Nymph and the Sage. The Apsarases were playful and seductive and were often sent to distract a spiritual master from his meditation. Menaka, the main dancer tonight, was considered to be one of the most beautiful of the nymphs. She was sent by Indra, King of the Devas, to break the concentration of the great sage, Vishwamitra.
“When the sage sees her beautiful naked body, he is filled with sexual desire and the two become lovers. After many years of having Menaka as his lover, Vishwamitra finds out he has been tricked. He becomes angry and returns to his meditations. Menaka has his child and leaves the baby by a river. The child is found later in the forest surrounded and protected by birds. She is named Shakuntala.”
Four apsaras dancers were now onstage. Dressed in brightly colored tunics and skirts, each of them had on elaborate headdresses, as well as glistening jewelry on their head, arms, wrists, and ankles.
“They’re beautiful,” I whispered.
To one side of the dancers an orchestra played drums, gongs, and xylophones.
I was mesmerized by the slow hand gestures and sensuous body movements. Bourey explained their graceful hand movements were a language.
“A finger to the sky means ‘today,’ arms crossed over the chest ‘very happy,’ a hand up means ‘dead,’ one down ‘alive.’ Other movements depict birth, aging, sickness, and death.”
They danced so exquisitely, as if they were born to dance. “How long does it take them to learn to dance?”
“They start when they are very young. Dancers must be trained while the bones are still flexible.”
I noticed that their fingers were extraordinarily elastic. The dancers could bend their fingers backward almost to the wrist.
After the performance, he took me to a spot where all five towers were visible in the bright light of a full moon.
We returned to the center of the terrace and continued our path on the stone causeway.
Bourey said, “Angkor was not just a temple complex, but was a city in and of itself.”
“Yes, the capital of an empire.”
“I understand that the pyramids of Egypt were built not just as resting places after death, but passageways to eternity for the pharaohs. Likewise, Angkor Wat was built by King Suryavarman II as a temple of immortality in which he would become one with the great god Vishnu.
“Among the beautiful sculptures here are bas-reliefs running for hundreds of meters depicting scenes from Hindu mythology, the Mahabharata, and the Ramayana. Also carvings of Suryavarman holding court.” He chuckled shyly. “For most men the beautiful carvings of Apsarases are the favorite scenes, next to war, of course. Did you know that the nymphs are said to be able to change their shapes at will … and that they rule over the luck of people, especially in gaming and gambling?”
“How is the restoration coming?” I asked.
“Much improvement has been made, but in some ways we have only scratched the surface. An American satellite that scanned the area with radar revealed many buried structures that we did not know about. So much work needs to be done, so little resources are available; many buried treasures of our culture will not be found during my lifetime.”
I felt like I had taken a journey to another world, a journey back to a place
and time that must have been truly magnificent. It also made me think of my father and what a mistake he made in not fulfilling his dream.
Bourey said something.
“I’m sorry?”
He smiled shyly. “Your mind flew away from here to another time and place.”
“It did. I was thinking about my father. His dream was to see Angkor Wat. He never got here.”
“Perhaps he will in his next life.”
That was a nice thought.
“Tomorrow by the light of day I will show you much more of the temple. There are three levels that tourists can enter. But if you are up to climbing, I will take you up into the main temple.” He pointed up at the temple that was two hundred feet high. “From there you can see much of the site. Even the vestiges of Angkor Thom. You must visit it, too. At Bayon, the central temple about a mile from here, four enormous heads are carved into the top of the tower. You have no doubt seen pictures of the heads, but you must see them in person. Over fifty smaller towers surround the central tower and have carved heads facing the four directions.”
He held up his index finger to make a point. “Yes, you definitely want to see the huge stone faces, but you’ll be a little disappointed at the sculpture and relief. They are inferior to those of Angkor Wat. Now, would you like to see the Churning of the Ocean of Milk?”
“I’ve read about it. I’d like to see it.”
“It’s at the east side, opposite to where we entered. Lights were set up there earlier to show important diplomats the relief. I can show them to you, also, and let you examine them closer by flashlight. Tomorrow you can see them by the light of day. The different effects of night and day are quite striking.”
As we walked in the darkness, Bourey asked, “Do you believe in ghosts?”
“Well, I’ve never seen one, but…” I shrugged. I didn’t disbelieve in ghosts.
“Some monks claim they have seen aberrations of ancient princes and princesses walking in the corridors here.”
“Wonderful. I love ghost stories when I’m wandering around dark places at night.”
Bourey chuckled. He had a nice sense of humor.
“Are you familiar with the stories of secret treasure?”
I wasn’t. “No.”
“It is said that when the empire was invaded, the royals and nobles would throw their jewels and treasure into the ponds, that today there are untold riches buried in the mud.”
“Has anyone ever found anything?”
“Some artifacts have been found, but if it was great treasure, the finders did not reveal it. There is a sacred chamber in the central core of the temple. It was walled up in the mid-fifteenth century. Five hundred years later, in the 1930s, I believe, a French curator discovered a vertical shaft about ninety feet deep with some jewels at the bottom. The curator died a few months later. It is said he killed himself. As with whatever was taken out of the ponds, the gems disappeared. Many people who have worked here at Angkor believe that there are many secret depositories of treasures.”
“Why?”
“Because it is true; treasure had to be hidden from invaders. But we have not excavated below the temples. We have spent our resources working to clear the sites and protecting them from looters.”
“Wasn’t it the French who started preserving the monuments?”
“Yes. After the monarchy moved farther south in 1430, Angkor was deserted. When the French came here five hundred years later they found it overgrown with jungle vegetation. For the last century the temples have been alternately cleared and looted.” He paused and looked at me. “I understand you are friends with a land mine hunter.”
“Yes.” I wondered how he knew about Kirk.
“As strange as it sounds, the land mines placed in this area by warring factions helped reduce the looting because it kept many thieves away.”
We reached the galley containing the churning sculpture. He told me the story as he shined light on the stone carving. The relief depicted gods and demons churning the milky sea by pulling a line of rope back and forth like a tug-of-war.
“This is one version of the tale. Once upon a time,” he said, smiling, “the ocean flooded the land and one of the precious treasures that the gods lost was the elixir of immortality. To retrieve it, the gods thought they could churn the water like they churned milk to make butter. But they needed the demons to help them with the churning. The churning pole they used was a mountain that rested on the bottom of the water. For the churning rope, they stretched out the giant man-serpent Vasuki.
“The demons pulled on one side of the rope and the gods pulled on the other. Slowly their lost treasures began to appear but a poison also came out, which the god Shiva swallowed. When the elixir appeared, the demons and gods fought for it and—”
“And the gods win in the end,” I finished for him. “The good guys always win.”
“Not always.”
I decided to plunge in. “The people of Cambodia haven’t been winning when it comes to looting of Khmer art, have they? Did Rim Nol tell you that I’m investigating the international smuggling of your art?”
I assumed that was the conclusion Nol had come to from the questions I had asked him.
His expression didn’t change. “Perhaps it will be safer if I showed you the galleries in the morning.”
I was being excused. He brought me back to my golf cart. I had screwed up. I forgot I was in a country with a corrupt government and that I might be putting the poor man into jeopardy.
As I climbed into the cart, Bourey said, “I sometimes wonder whether countries are subject to karma like people.”
“Come again?”
“My country has had many rebirths. In my lifetime I have seen wars and the tragic, violent era of the Khmer Rouge. Now it has another life and is struggling to be reborn again. It can have a bad rebirth … or it can be reborn with some of the greatness that created these wondrous monuments.”
He smiled, a little sadly. As with Rim Nol, it was a smile that had weathered decades of hardships.
“Some of us are working to make the rebirth into one which our people will achieve their inherent greatness again,” he said.
“I wish you luck,” I said. “And I only want to help.”
“Yes, I understand. If you wish my services again, we will talk more tomorrow about the subject you have raised. All great things have small starts. Perhaps together we can create a spark that will raise a flame that burns away the corrupt emanations that bring bad karma.”
We agreed to meet an hour after sunrise.
I drove my cart away feeling a little better about my progress. Maybe I was getting somewhere.
27
Dinner was sour soup and a concoction of steamed fish with coconut and spices wrapped in banana leaves. I passed on the snake salad. I was tired after the long trip and short tour of Angkor and even a little disturbed by my discussion with Bourey.
Chantrea hadn’t shown up and I wasn’t exactly good company for Kirk, but he didn’t need me—most of the men and women in the place came to our table with beers to talk to Kirk. He was a local celebrity to the other expats—or sexpats, drugpats, whatever they were. Fortunately, Bullock wasn’t among them.
When I finally made it back to my tent, I was physically and mentally exhausted. I wanted another shower but I was afraid to go out in the dark and take one, though I was forced to take a flashlight and visit the canvas outhouse where the portable potty roasted in the heat all day long, waiting for someone to lift the lid.
I definitely planned to go to a hotel tomorrow.
Kirk was lying on his cot dressed only in baby blue boxer shorts. The flap was a little open, hinting at an invitation. I was tempted, but too tired to accept. He didn’t say anything so I assumed he was sleeping. I undressed and slept only in a short tank top and underwear.
I wasn’t asleep when Kirk woke up sometime later. He did it quietly, slipping out of the tent like a wraith. Waking up after two or three
hours of sleep and having my problems run through my mind had become a habit.
After he left, I crept to the tent opening and opened it a crack to peek through. Kirk had the rear door of his SUV open. He gathered up a bundle in his arms and set it on the ground. He carefully shut the back to avoid making noise, then picked up the bundle and walked away.
I quickly put on my jogging pants and shoes and grabbed the flashlight Chanthrea had given me earlier and headed out to follow him. Had I been thinking straight, I would have realized it was dangerous to go creeping out at night.
At first I didn’t see anything, but then I saw a shadow moving in the distance. I wasn’t sure what I planned to do if I encountered any jungle beasts. Flash the light in their eyes hoping that would scare them away? What if I stepped on a snake?
The moon was bright so I didn’t really need the flashlight but I carried it anyway for security. What worried me more were land mines. Even though most of them had been cleared around the ancient grounds, they still warned you not to stray off the beaten paths. Warning signs were posted to remind you. I figured as long as I stayed behind Kirk, I’d be safe.
I followed him down a dirt road and through the bushes. I came up to a land mine warning sign but Kirk continued walking even without a flashlight, so I just kept following his lead.
When he came to a clearing in the brush, I remained hidden. I couldn’t see it, but I heard the sound of a car coming. No lights appeared anywhere on the car. I had a sneaking suspicion of who would be behind the wheel. My hunch was right.
Bullock.
As I watched him get out of the car, I suddenly felt something crawl up my leg. Instead of screaming, which I wanted to do, I quietly tried to squash whatever it was with my flashlight. I shook my pants leg afterward to make sure it was out.
Kirk and Bullock stood there for several minutes when a third car arrived, a white official Apsara pickup truck. Two men got out of the truck. Even in the dim light I could see that they wore park police uniforms.
Kirk gave the package he was carrying to the two men. After examining it briefly, they put it in Bullock’s car. From my vantage point I couldn’t see what it contained. The two men then unloaded something bigger from their car. It appeared to be something wrapped like a mummy in a cloth with ropes around it, approximately three feet long and maybe a foot wide. It wasn’t light because the two men were straining to put it into Bullock’s car.
The Deceivers Page 19