Jimm Juree 01; Killed at the Whim of a Hat

during a prolonged stay in the jungle. But you’re pushing me ahead of myself. Kem wasn’t the most handsome boy in the class even before the leprosy. But he was sincere and honest. He obviously had something the other boys didn’t have because Bia spent a lot of time with him. There were those who speculated that these two might even get married. But on the final graduation night, when all the other couples were rushing off into the bushes to celebrate their arrival at adulthood, Kem announced that he was entering Thamathiraram temple and would be ordained as a monk.
    “Imagine her surprise. She continues to sing with her family troupe and soon makes a name for herself. But, whenever she’s in Burirum, she visits her old flame at the temple. She becomes famous for a love song she wrote herself called, ‘My Love Is Draped in Saffron’.”
    “You’re kidding? I’ve heard it. It’s beautiful.”
    “I’m sure. It thrust her into the serious ranks of molum celebrities.”
    “Did she wear a hat?”
    “What sort of hat?”
    “An orange one. A sort of a prop, like Michael Jackson?”
    “I didn’t see one. I downloaded pictures of her on stage. I didn’t notice a hat, but I tell you, she was something. You’d have to be one serious monk to turn your back on a babe like that. There were quotes from her manager. He said she was a difficult client because she insisted on regular returns to Burirum in her itinerary. And, on one fateful trip to the temple, Kern’s no longer there. He’s gone on a pilgrimage. For years nobody knows where he is. Bia’s career plummets. She lacks the confidence and motivation to continue and so she makes the astonishing announcement. In her late twenties she becomes a nun and begins her trek from province to province.”
    “In search of Kem.”
    “Isn’t it sickly?”
    I would never have admitted to the tears in my eyes just then and I knew Sissi would keep her mouth shut about hers.
    “So, when did they get back together?” I asked with a sniff.
    “Four months ago she arrived at Wat Feuang Fa.”
    “Any record of them getting together in those interim years?”
    “None.”
    “Then finally she finds him and refuses to leave and he accepts her as a nun in his temple until the Sangka IA bangs down the door.”
    “Ironic, isn’t it?”
    “But she said they’d been in touch, letters, phone calls…”
    “No evidence of it.”
    “And what did the council make of the murder and all?”
    “That the Bangkok monk arrived in Maprao and told the nun she’d have to leave. That she’d been searching for her love for over thirty years and she wasn’t going to go without a fight.”
    “So she hacks him to death with a carving knife?”
    “That’s the way they’re seeing it.”
    “It’s all wrong.”
    “It may be but that’s the version they’ll be passing along to the police.”
    I’d looked at the photographs. I didn’t see it as the work of a broken-hearted woman. It was premeditated, cool, not hot blooded. It was no crime of passion.
    “Sissi, there’s something wrong here.”
    “Perhaps, but don’t you think it would make a fabulous movie?”
    I thought about it.
    “Yes,” I agreed.
    “I could play the lead.”
    “The abbot?”
    A silence gushed out of the end of the phone in a scolding blast. I sometimes forgot how hairy was the trigger upon which her finger rested. You’d never know what might cause it to twitch.
    “That was a joke,” I said.
    Ever-increasing silence. I expected to hear a click and the groan of a dead line.
    “Come on, Sis. Laugh!”
    “Not funny.”
    “I know. I’m sorry. But to make this movie work for Clint…” We both had a burning admiration for Mr. Eastwood – we’d seen all his stuff on pirated DVDs. All right, perhaps we didn’t admire him enough to contribute to his royalties but we did like him. “We can’t send Sister Bia to the chair.”
    “It’d be lethal injection.”
    “So, what do you want me to do?”
    “I’m not sure.”
    For the next ten minutes, until my cell battery ran dry, I told my sister about the incident with the camera and described the photographs. I think she got most of it. When I stood up, the polystyrene stuck to my backside like a saddle. I don’t know whether it was as a result of the heat I exude down there or some natural latex dripping from the tree but it took me five minutes to disengage myself. It wouldn’t have been fitting for me to go and visit a former Minister for