Killed at the Whim of a Hat

Twelve

You know how it is when the chicken manure man comes by with his truck and, instead of placing the dung in an orderly fashion twenty centimeters around the trunk of the palms as is de rigueur, he dumps it all on top of your best watermelon and drives off? One great mountain of dung. And all the chickens in the yard are looking at this pile and wondering why you’d pay for it when they could have produced it for nothing, eventually — not a mountain exactly but certainly a creditable amount. “Aren’t you pleased with our work?” they’d say.

You don’t know how it is? Well then you wouldn’t know how I was feeling when I finally got back to the resort that evening realizing I still had dinner to cook. I was like that watermelon, feeling claustrophobic and damp and dungy. I needed time to spread some of the manure around. A little bit of breathing space. But Mair, in one of her billion customer-free moments, strolled over to me in the kitchen.

“Ed…” she began.

“Mair, can we not talk about Ed for once?”

“All right. He said he’d be back at eight and he has something to say.”

“Thanks. Look, Mair. I’m running a bit late. Can you peel the carrots for me?”

“Oh, child. If only I could. But somebody has to watch the shop.”

I felt my cool pop like a tendon.

“You get three-point-seven customers a day,” I said. “They spend, on average, twenty-seven baht. Our biggest sales are bottled water, ice, individual cigarettes and garlic. At this rate, in twenty-three years we can afford a wind chime to hang in front of the shop. We’re surviving on what’s left of the sale of our place in Chiang Mai, and at the speed with which we’re spending, that should all be gone by the new year. Watching the shop isn’t going to put a meal on the table. Peeling carrots just might.”

She did her Titanic smile and I knew I’d got through to her. She picked up a carrot and started to eat it.

“The skin of a carrot contains most of its goodness, you know?” she said.

I upended the bowl of unpeeled carrots into the pot of boiling water and probably deserved the scalding splash on my cheek.

“There,” I said. “Goodness.”

“Did I mention that Ed would be stopping by at eight?” she asked.

“No, you didn’t.”

“He will.”

She turned and headed back to the shop.

¦

It was seven thirty. Ed, if he actually came, would be here in half an hour. I had to admire his persistence. He was a nice young lad, obviously enthralled by the exotic nature of our family. It had nothing to do with romance. Not really. He’d heard about us city girls and how loose our morals were. He was jumbling love and lust in his country boy mind. It wouldn’t take long to frighten him off. I’d suggest we become friends. He’d agree but soon tire of that sort of relationship and head off to the Pepsi karaoke beyond the bridge and work it all out of his system.

I imagined the fellows down here would prefer a more traditional mate than someone like me. It’s evident from the almost completely flat back tires of motorcycles I see passing that they like their women meaty. Wide and solid as boulders. I’d put my life savings on a Maprao ladies tug-of-war team. So, although my broad hip line shouldn’t be a hindrance for me, I’d be hard pressed to find anything in common with a local man. Yes I like spicy food but I prefer a good slice of pizza. What good would pillow talk be with half the night spent with your nose in the dictionary? And what kind of southern wife would I be if I couldn’t fix nets or trim palm trees with one of those chisel thingies? No, Ed the grass man, aka Ed the carpenter, would be very disappointed if I ever gave him the opportunity to get to know me.

I’d showered and put on my most matronly white blouse even though it did leave my shoulders bare. I’d compensated for this inadvertent titillation by putting on a full-length batik sarong with fish pictures on it. It didn’t even provide a glimpse of ankle. I’d gelled my hair back but only because there was a stray breeze from the Gulf and my untidy locks had been blowing in my eyes. The red lipgloss was in lieu of the lip salve which I hadn’t been able to find.

I sat on a deckchair on the sand with Gogo at my feet and a glass of Romanian red on my lap. We’d bought twelve cases, ten bottles in each, from Chiang Mai but hadn’t found anyone with the sophistication to sample them. It wasn’t any kind of a brew to write home about but I doubt brand identity was the reason the bottles remained untouched on the top shelf. We weren’t living in Paris. Since we’d arrived, I’d taken it upon myself to work my way through the stock to clear up that shelf for sardines. I had one case to go. The bottle and one spare glass sat beneath my seat. I mean, it would have been rude to drink alone and not offer. He’d accept, of course, sip at his drink, say it was delicious, and leave nine-tenths of it behind.

I heard footsteps along the sand and stared moodily at the shimmering boat lamps strung out across the horizon.

“First sign of alcoholism.”

I turned my head to see Granddad Jah standing black against the light from the kitchen with his hands on his waist. He looked like a bulimic superhero.

“It’s late, Granddad. You should be in bed.”

“It’s half past seven.”

“You can never have too much sleep.”

“You do know I drove the motorcycle all the way to Surat for you this morning?”

“Yes. You want me to reimburse you for the petrol?”

“No, I want you to have the decency to keep me informed of ongoing inquiries.”

“What makes you think I’m not?”

“I saw you.”

“Saw me do what?”

“Go into that place.”

“What pla —? The foundation? You were in Lang Suan?”

“I was passing.”

“Passing? I had the truck. Arny had the motorcycle all afternoon. Lang Suan’s twenty kilometers away. How did you happen to be just passing?”

“There are motorcycle taxis. There are buses. I’m not completely senile, you know? I have been getting around for seventy-odd years without the benefit of an escort.”

I laughed.

“You were doing surveillance,” I said.

“I was not. I was just…interested. After all I’d heard that morning from Captain Waew I wanted to see for myself. It was curiosity. But I saw you waltz in there as calm as you like, and I tell you…”

I waited a long while but he didn’t finish the sentence. As time was pressing and I had a young man to let down gently, I ran through the content of the interview with Sugit as succinctly as I was able. Granddad Jah didn’t nod or make comments. He merely squatted on the sand in that rural toilet pose I’d always failed to get comfortable in. When the story was told, he stood without creaking and said:

“All right. I might have some free time this week if you need…”

He turned to walk away.

“Granddad?”

“Yeah?”

“I think I’m going to need a lot of help on this one.”

He looked back. Even with the moon masked by clouds I could see the glint of his false teeth by the lamps of the fishing boats. He grunted and walked back toward the lights of the huts.

According to my luminous pocket alarm clock it was seven fifty-five when my second visitor arrived. Punctuality wasn’t a word that found its way into the vocabulary of too many of my fellow countrymen so I was impressed.

“Koon Jimm,” I heard and paused to study one or two more boats before looking back over my shoulder. Ed was standing behind me. He was wearing a white silk shirt, local style, and shiny black fisherman’s trousers. There was something heroic about the way he looked. Missing only a scabbard in his belt, I thought. Even his mustache fitted the costume.

“Ed, isn’t it?” I said.

“Yes.”

He walked down the sand and stood beside my deck-chair, breathing in the salt on the sea breeze with one healthy gulp. From where I sat he seemed every bit as tall as the coconut palms, every bit as upright and resilient.

“How did you know where to find me?” I asked.

“Looks like someone turned one of the table lights to face this direction,” he said. “I could see you a hundred meters away.”

“Well, that was a bit of luck, wasn’t it?” I said. “I usually sit here in the dark of an evening and disappear into my thoughts. I’m having a glass of wine. Would you like one?”

“Thank you,” he said. “I don’t drink.”

“Good for you. I have a glass rarely. It stimulates my imagination. Please sit down.”

There was only the sand but he found a spot two meters from my seat and folded himself down onto it. To my utter surprise, Gogo got to her feet and waddled over to him as if they’d been wagging buddies for years. He caressed her with one of his big hands and she rolled over to show him her belly. Her underside had always been taboo. Not even Mair got to touch it, but there was the grass man fondling her nipples with impunity.

“She’s skinny,” he said.

“She has a condition. She can’t digest her food. It passes right through her.”

“Has she been done yet?”

“Done?”

“Her tubes tied.”

“Oh, no.”

“She’s about five, six months old. She could come on heat any time soon. In the condition she’s in, one rooting from the local studs could kill her. I’d get her to the vet sooner rather than later. Get her tubes tied and it might help to settle her insides down too. Somboon’s a cow specialist but he’s good when it comes to de-sexing.”

That was quite a recommendation. Not once had he looked at me. His gaze alternated between the boats and Gogo’s belly. I surreptitiously emptied my wine out onto the sand beside the chair and stowed the glass.

“You seem to know a lot about dogs,” I said.

“We’ve had I don’t know how many over the years. You get to know what works for them.”

Enough about them.

“Anyway, what can I do for you, Ed?”

There was a long pause. Long enough for Thai Airways flight TG250 from Surat to Bangkok to pass overhead with its taillight flickering.

“I was talking to your mother,” he said.

“Oh, yes?”

“Asking about you. I’m sorry to be so nosy.”

“That’s all right.”

I think the wine had given me a little heart flutter. They say it’s a result of kick-starting a heart that’s already working just fine.

“Mine’s a small family,” he said, apparently trying to pick out stars in the moonlit sky. “Just me, my mother, and my sister. My mother’s doing all right. She’s got sixteen hectares of land with coconut and oil palm. Lots of fruit trees. Yeah, she’s doing all right.”

“That’s nice.”

Probably what they’d refer to down here as ‘a comfortable dowry’.

“My sister had a man for a while,” he continued. “What they’d call an arranged marriage. Don’t think that ever works. So she came back to live with us last year. She’s not…you know, her mind isn’t really here. She knows she’s different. She doesn’t really fit in. She’d probably be better suited for the city but she’s shy.”

It was quaint of him to tell me about his family. They seemed very normal, probably some girl’s dream relatives. I doubt anyone in their right mind would say the same about our family. I almost envied the simplicity of his life. I decided I owed it to him to perhaps go out for a meal with him so he could tell me about the grass business and how he’d learned roofing from Uncle Wit the builder.

“But she’s very attractive,” he was still going on. “Men are around all the time. I have to beat them back with sticks.”

I watched him smile. It was a lovely smile, warming like good whiskey.

“I was wondering if you’d like to meet her,” he said.

“Well, of course. That would be very nice. Sometime.”

“She heard about you and she’s seen you around. She saw you on the bicycle one day. It was all she could talk about over dinner that night. I’ve never heard her talk so much. The Chiang Mai girl with her trousers rolled up to her knees.”

We both laughed and then…I suppose there are times when you can’t see the rain for all the water that’s falling out of the sky. That was one of those times. I was already soaked before I knew what had hit me. I don’t know how it had gone so far without me getting the point. I’m usually a lot brighter than that. I felt sick, not wobbly sick, sick like I could happily throw up my entire day’s food intake right there on the beach. I was stupid. So very, very stupid. I couldn’t get away from there soon enough.

“OK, that’ll be fine,” I said without thinking. “I have to…cook dinner. Bye, Ed. Thank you.”

I left the chair and him and my wine and half my face there on the beach and clambered up through the soft sand to the resort. I lost one flip-flop but couldn’t even imagine going back for it. My hand shook as I reached for the handle of my unlocked hut and I threw myself onto the bed without turning on the light. Lucky the bed was in the same place as always. It wasn’t yet eight thirty. I wasn’t yet tired. The only thought in my wide-awake head was Ed the grass man trying to fix me up with his sister. I rolled onto my back and crossed my arms against my chest and willed myself to die.

I woke up at three a.m., four fifteen, five ten and five seventeen before I finally admitted I probably didn’t need ten hours sleep. I heard the grunt of returning squid boats in the distance and the pre-dawn rehearsal of the cocks. I turned on the bedside lamp and looked in the mirror. I was still stupid. I had a shower, dressed, and went to make an early start with breakfast. It was still dark and I was using a crack of shimmering gray at the bottom of the sky to see by. I was about to turn on the light in the kitchen when I saw a dark figure walking along the beach toward the resort. It was wearing baggy dark trousers and a black windcheater with the hood up. The lower face was obscured by a mask. There was something ominous in its heavy footfall across the sand. I took a step back behind the customer toilets, hoping I hadn’t been seen.

I could hear the crunch of footsteps on the gravel and there was no mistake they were heading directly toward me. I ducked inside the toilet block and hunted desperately for a weapon by the glow of the little red nightlight. Bathrooms are notoriously poor arsenals. There was a toilet brush, a plunger and a bunch of aromatic plastic tulips. None of these instilled in me the confidence to step outside and confront our invader. Then I found my weapon. Leaning against the far wall was a meter section of PVC piping. It was solid enough to bang an intruder over the head but light enough not to bring me up on a murder charge.

I took one step outside with my pipe raised and there, facing me like a mirror image, was the dark ninja with a block of beach bamboo hoisted. I screamed. She screamed.

“Mair?” I said.

“Jimm?”

We dropped our weapons and embraced, mainly to bring our respective shakes under control.

“Child, what on earth are you doing hanging around the public toilets at this time of the morning?”

“I woke up earl — No, wait. Never mind me. What are you doing creeping along the beach dressed like a bun-raku puppet master?”

She pulled down her mask, lowered her hood and looked down at her costume.

“Oh,” she said.

“Yes.”

“I got dressed in the dark. I had no idea I was wearing black. And besides, these trousers are navy blue. You’ll see when the sun comes up. And this?” She pulled the surgical mask up over her head. “Chicken flu.”

“Chicken flu?”

“From the poultry manure. Very high incidence of chicken flu from dung. It’s airborne.”

“Where exactly do they sell black face masks?” I took it from her.

“There are so many viruses around you can buy almost any color. It’s become a fashion statement.”

“Mair, this is a regular surgical face mask colored in with a black felt pen.”

“Really?”

“All right. Enough.”

I led her by the arm to the nearest table and sat her down. A puddle of pink was leaking out through the gap at the bottom of the night. The sun was rising somewhere beyond the Philippines and our sky was rushing through the dark tones in an effort to find something suitable to wear for the new day.

“Mair, what have you done?” I asked, staring her straight in the eyes. She stared back and slipped on an entirely different skin.

“Nothing to be ashamed of,” she said. “And I’m your mother. And I remind you that I am the breadwinner of this family and the day you go out and earn a salary, then, and only then, will you have the right to criticize your mother. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”

She stood and huffed away from the table with an indignant gait. She walked toward the shop but realized that wasn’t where she’d intended to go and retraced her steps toward her hut. I watched her march. I knew that walk and that speech well. All of us did. Eight-year-old Jimm had heard it a thousand times. On every occasion Jimm junior complained about having to clean her room or do her chores she’d had to sit through that same rant. Mair was in a dangerous altered state and wherever she’d been that morning I needed to know before the police found out.