Bangkok Haunts

“It’s not good to think about what they did in that family. It will bring bad luck.”
    “Did they use their own children?”
    “Yes.”
    “What about her brother?”
    For the first time a moment of concern appears in her face, then is quickly erased. “She loved him. She’s the only reason he survived. A very weak spirit. Perhaps he cannot survive on his own without her.” Casting me a glance: “Do you know how her father died?”
    “How her father died? Why don’t you tell me?”
    “Very unlucky to talk about a violent death like that.” She lays a hand on my forearm. “I’m a non-Returner.”
    It’s odd to hear a Buddhist technical expression used by someone who is obviously the product of some shamanistic cult, but when the Indians brought Buddhism to Thailand, much of it was absorbed into local animism. Nowadays it is quite common to hear people like the dwarf talk about “non-Returners.” Buddhist monks who believe they have achieved this level are careful not to commit a blunder that will land them in the flesh yet again. Even talking in an inappropriate way can ruin your disembodiment plans.
    There are few proprieties to observe in the country. When I’ve finished eating, I get up to go, casting the dwarf one last glance. Without looking at me, she says, “They made the children watch, you know. Both of them, so they wouldn’t turn out like their father. The girl was just about old enough to take it—like I say, she was very strong. But the boy…”
    “They watched their father die?”
    She raises a finger to her lips. As I leave, the hostess calls to me in an urgent voice, as if there is something vital she forgot to tell me. “They’re Khmer, you know, not Thai people at all.”
    At the main road I manage to wave down a pickup truck that will take me to the nearest bus station for a hundred baht. My driver is the best kind of country man: silent, devout, honest. In the delicious emptiness that surrounds him, my mind will not cease its endless narrative:
    A Third-World Pilgrim’s Progress
    1. Born into karma too daunting to contemplate, you decide to go to sleep for life.
    2. Mother does not permit option 1: you
do
run under the elephant, whether you like it or not.
    3. Ruthlessness and rage at least produce reactions from society, unlike good behavior, which leads to slavery and starvation. Only sex and drugs pay a living wage. You have seen the light.
    4. At the top of your game and winning, you regret aborting love. Too late, you have reached thirty and demons are massing on the horizon. Only death can save you now. One question remains: who will you take with you?
    Welcome to the new millennium.

28
    “Where is he, Lek?”
    It pains me to use this tone, to reduce my protégé to a sulky child, but I’m at the end of my rope. I’ve been back two days and seen no sign of Phra Titanaka.
    “I don’t know,” Lek says camply, pouts, and looks at the floor. We are at the station in one of the small interrogation rooms, which hardly helps Lek’s mood.
    “I’m sure you got close to him while I was away. I think you’re lying. I know he’s got you involved somehow. I saw you talking to him at the
wat.
”
    He jumps up, his face exploding with hurt. “I’ve never lied to you in my life, I couldn’t lie to you—I have
gatdanyu
with you. You protect me every minute of the day. If you stamp all over my heart, I’ll kill myself.”
    I pass a hand over my face. “I’m sorry, Lek. There’s no way I can pretend to you that I’m strong enough for this case. You’ll have to bear with me. I think you must have seen him while I was away. You were getting on so well.”
    Now his mood has changed. He comes over to comfort me. “Master, I’m so sorry for you. I would do anything to help.”
    “When did you last see him?”
    “He came to say goodbye when you were in Cambodia.”
    “That’s all?”
    “He asked me for your cell phone number. I gave it to him.”
    I nod. Somehow it is inevitable that I must turn in the wind, awaiting a young monk’s pleasure. There’s karma here: I’m paying one hell of a price for those ten days of ecstatic misery I spent with Damrong.
    Apart from the sudden spat with Lek, I’ve been listless all day. Just to get out of the station, I tell Lek I’m going for a massage, but I don’t really intend to have one. Outside, though, passing the Internet café—which has entirely lost its magic now that Damrong’s brother no longer uses it—I