Cambodian Book of the Dead (17 page)

 

BILGE WATER AND MEKONG WHISKEY

 

The water slapped against the side of the wooden boat. The smell of rotten fish was overwhelming. Had Maier had more room to manoeuvre, he would have stuffed bits of cloth or pieces of wood into his nostrils, but he lay less than twenty centimetres below the boat's deck in bilge water. He was trapped.

He'd managed to vomit twice without suffocating or being discovered. Did he want to be discovered?

He could see across the lake through a small hole in the side of the boat. Phnom Krom, the mountain at the western end of the Tonlé Sap, bopped up and down a few kilometres away. Grasses and drifting plastic rubbish floated close by.

The boat was being loaded. Heavy boxes packed with fish crashed onto the deck, which pressed down onto Maier. The wooden boards above his head were bending closer and closer. He wanted to scream, but most of all, he wanted to know more.

Why was he still alive? Had the young woman helped him escape? What was he doing under the deck of a fishing boat? How long had he been unconscious?

A loud, authoritarian voice barked an order. The men who were loading the boat stopped in their toil.

Maier could detect uniforms in the shallow water outside, moving towards the boat. Now he saw one of the men who'd been loading the fish, a typical Khmer fisherman, skinny and brawny, his back, bent from years of hard labour, burnt almost black by the sun. A policeman grabbed the man by the throat and screamed at him. Everywhere Maier could see now, uniforms were closing in. If Cambodian policemen stalked around in dirty water, up to their hips in the sauce, holding their Kalashnikovs above their heads, their uniforms muddy, they had to be under great pressure to produce results. Or they'd been promised a fat reward. They were looking for him.

But who knew that he lay under the planks of a boat on the Tonlé Sap? He barely knew himself. Someone had taken him from the temple to the lake shore and loaded him onto the boat. As much as he tried to stretch, he could not see or hear the young woman who had executed him with her syringe.

The commanding officer now stood directly in front of Maier's spy-hole and scratched his balls. Two of the officer's minions crashed about above Maier and began to bang on the wooden deck. Through the narrow gaps between the planks he could see that the men were trying to figure out how solid the deck was. Sweat and frustration dripped down on him.

A few minutes later they gave up and began to wade towards the next boat. The policeman in front of Maier growled, spat into the dirty water and disappeared.

The boat's engine coughed into life. The screw hit the water and the vessel began to move. Maier could see Cambodia pass through the tiny hole by the side of his head. Unnoticed, he slid through the floating village of Chong Neas, beneath Phnom Krom. An hour later, the boat passed the flooded forests of Kompong Phluk, whose fishermen lived in huts constructed on high poles, which reached far out into the water. But the boat didn't stop. Maier could hear the sound of a transistor radio from afar, a girl singing a mournful tune across the water, before sinking back into the rhythm of the engine and the rush of the water.

In the afternoon, the mosquitoes devoured Maier. He let himself go. What else could he do? He was sure the men on the boat did not know of their stowaway. He was a ghost and he tried to live the moment. After the days in the temple cell, he felt slightly euphoric, despite the insects, the vomit, the water, and his present imprisonment.

As evening came, they reached the mouth of the Stung Sangkar River. Every now and then he saw faint lights on the shore, lined by poor fishing communities. Then the night swallowed the land and only the gurgling water reminded Maier that he was still alive.

 

He woke up with a start. He was cold. The boat had stopped at a pier, probably in the early hours of the morning. A few weak bulbs flickered above an embankment. He could hear drunken voices.

The boat must have reached Battambang, the largest town on the Stung Sangkar. He began to shake. The sun would soon be up. Battambang had hotels and telephones. He would ring Carissa. His lover was the only person he could trust. But first he had to get out of his water taxi.

The detective lifted his bite-covered arms and pushed hard against the wooden planks above him. The wood bent a little, but there was no moving it. They had laid him below deck and then nailed everything shut. He would freeze to death before sunrise. He had not drunk or eaten anything for at least sixteen hours.

Suddenly he heard steps on the pier above him.

“Maier?”

A woman's voice, quiet and self confident. Khmer.

Maier groaned, “Yes?”

“I will get you out, but it will take some time. I don't want to make a noise. Everybody think you dead.”

“I do too,” he answered weakly.

 

BATTAMBANG

 

After a couple of days, Maier began to walk. But he couldn't run from himself. He slept under a net in a neat, small room located in an unremarkable family home on the edge of town, a bottle of water under his arm.

Every few hours, he woke, bathed in sweat, listening to the panic recede, and cursed the world. He hadn't seen Raksmei since his rescue. Twice a day, the family with whom he stayed invited him to eat. Rice and
prahok
. Maier did not eat much. The boys who lived in the house tried to animate him to play football, but he wouldn't leave the safety of the net.

A few days later, she suddenly stood in his room, a pile of newspapers under her arm. Jeans, white cotton shirt, leather sandals. She had parted the short hair with a garish plastic hair clip. He noticed small golden rings in her ears. She hadn't worn those in the temple.

“I have only bad news for you, Maier.”

Maier looked at her silently.

Raksmei appeared to be two people at the same time, changing and shifting from one moment to another. The blue eyes were confusing. There couldn't be many children her age who were half-Khmer and half-
barang
. To Maier, Raksmei seemed to be both self-confident European woman and traditional Cambodian girl from the countryside. The impression was disorientating. Carissa had been right, the girl was special. She reminded Maier of someone. He hoped that his brain was only temporarily muddled by the drugs they had given him. The drugs she had given him.

“Maybe you read article in
Phnom Penh Post
first.”

She left a phone and a bottle of Mekong Whiskey and disappeared. Maier didn't feel like bad news.

 

CAMBODIAN WITH GERMAN PASSPORT KILLED IN KAMPOT
 

 

Daniela Stricker, a Cambodian carrying a German passport, was found dead in her hotel room in Kampot. A 42-year old Canadian was arrested near the Green Apsara Guest House while trying to flee on a motorcycle and has made a full confession. The murder weapon, a golf club, was found at the crime scene.
 

The police in Kampot are looking for a 45-year-old German real estate speculator. Police investigations suggest the man left Kampot a day before the crime took place. It is not clear whether the man is a suspect. A week ago, Sambat Chuon, an employee of Hope-Child, a Kampot based NGO, was registered as missing. The local police dismissed any possibility that the disappearance and the murder of the German national could be connected. According to a German Embassy spokesman speaking on condition of anonymity, Mrs Stricker was from the town of Mannheim and had been recently widowed. Suicide has been ruled out.
 

 

A passport photo accompanied the brief article. The woman's face was familiar. After staring at the image for a while, he knew. This had to be Kaley's sister. Shit. And the German speculator? Maier didn't have to speculate all that much – he was being set up. He still held the paper in his hand when the young woman returned two hours later.

“Do you see my brother die?”

“No.”

“But you are diving near where my brother die, right?”

“Your brother was sunk with stones around his feet. When my dive partner and I reached him, he was already dead and there was nothing we could do for him. The water was full of sharks. I am sorry.”

“I sure it all the same story.”

Maier swallowed, “Me too.”

“You are journalist?”

“No.”

She had saved his life. He had to tell her the truth. There was no one else in Cambodia who'd listen to him.

“I am a private detective. I am here to look out for a young German man in Kep. I was hired by his mother. It's Rolf, the owner of Reef Pirate Divers.”

Raksmei watched him for a while.

“He disappear. I hear he have problem with partner and go to Phnom Penh to sell business.”

She hesitated for a moment.

“You not here to find out what happen in Kep and Bokor and why somebody kill my brother and this lady?”

“No, I did not come for this reason. But we both think all this is connected and I am sure my client is up to his neck in trouble.”

Raksmei nodded sadly.

“Raksmei, why did you save my life? And what were you doing in that temple with those people?”

“I look for murder of my brother. I want to know what happen to all the children who disappear from Kampot in last two years.”

“And?”

“The people who stay in old Khmer temple near Siem Reap, they trade with property on the coast. From Koh Kong to Sihanoukville and to Kep. But I think this is front for something different. Do you know Kangaok Meas Project?”

“The old man in the temple asked me the same question. A woman in Kep told me a story about Kangaok Meas, an old Cambodian story.”

“The story of golden peacock and Kaley?”

“Yes.”

“Kaley is Khmer Rouge. She with Tep, old Khmer Rouge General, who use her to get
barang
business partner. Maybe she mad. I not know her much.”

“She asked me to find her sister. I think the German woman killed is her sister. I am pretty sure.”

Raksmei looked at Maier doubtfully.

“I think Tep kill her family long time ago. He call her Kaley. She Tep slave, I think.”

“That is possible, but it is too simple, Raksmei. All the men who slept with her in Kep allegedly fall under a curse. They say if it rains after a man has spent a night with Kaley, he will die a violent, agonising death. All the locals and westerners in Kep believe this.”

“Old story from old Cambodia. Do you believe in ghosts, Maier?”

Maier hesitated to answer. In this country one lost touch with reality even quicker than one's life. “Since I lay on that bunk in the temple, I believe in anything. Perhaps the horrors of the past left something here in Cambodia. So many unimaginable crimes have been committed in this country. It's hard to see how things could be as they were before. Some of the horror sticks.”

“I never see ghost, Maier. But the Khmer, they live with ghost every day. But my brother and this lady not kill by ghost.”

“No.”

Maier read the article once more.

“I will go and visit the man who is in jail in Kampot. The man accused of Dani Stricker's murder.”

“Maier, the Cambodian government say you missing. Everybody looking for you. Tep know many police. He not stop until he find you, dead or alive.”

“And you too.”

“Yes, me too. You want to know why I save you? Alone I can do nothing. I save you because I think you crazy to come to Cambodia to solve crime. Maybe you so crazy you help me. I want to know what happen with my brother and what happen in the temple with the young girls.”

Raksmei sat down on the cool tiled floor and appeared to be ordering her thoughts.

“I run orphanage in Kampot. A few month ago, my brother find out that some of the girl we report missing are on Bokor mountain. He go up there one time, but he not tell me what he see. Tep want to find the money to buy casino and make all new. I think this connected to Kangaok Meas Project.”

“Could I make an international phone call?”

“Good to hear from you, Maier,” Sundermann said. “We were getting a bit worried. Two days ago, Frau Müller-Overbeck paid us a visit. She was very upset when she told us that her son had disappeared. I don't want any details now, but I assume you are on his trail.”

“Her son is in Phnom Penh. He is trying to sell his business. That's all I can say right now.”

“She will pay a fat bonus if you bring him back to Hamburg.”

“Dead or alive?”

“It's that serious, Maier?”

“The people who are close to this young man are dying like flies. He is deeply involved in a crooked real estate deal with occult overtones.”

“That sounds like Cambodia, Maier.”

“And the police are looking for me at this point. No one knows why I am here, though, or who I really am, so there's no need to worry. I need another week to solve the case and get the young man out of here.”

“Don't become a fly, Maier. You're one of the best. If it gets too hairy, then slink across the border into Thailand and we will send Altwasser as a replacement. I will pass your news on to Frau Müller-Overbeck. Don't bother with the report. It's all under control this end.”

“It is already very hairy. I will be in touch.”

“Alive, please, Maier. If he dies, there will be a lot of trouble and no bonus.”

Sundermann wasn't a bad boss. Maier had all the freedom he wanted to do his research. He was expected to work independently and discreetly. And he was expected to produce results.

 

“I have one week left, then I need to take the young man back to Germany,” Maier said.

“You go to Phnom Penh and find this man.”

“He refuses to leave Cambodia without his girl.”

“Girl?”

“Kaley, the girl in the story of the Kangaok Meas.”

Raksmei slowly shook her head.

“Not possible. I think she belong to General Tep. No one can help. My NGO cannot help. She too old.”

Kaley's desperate request to find her sister had sounded genuine. But Maier was beginning to think that the mysterious beauty was either mad or did indeed work for the general.

“Somehow Kaley is at the centre of all this though. I saw her in the temple.”

Raksmei shook her head.

“Not possible, Maier. Kaley is in Kep.”

“She sat next to me on my bunk and asked me where her sister was.”

“I think you dream, Maier.”

“And the White Spider? The old German?”

Raksmei took her time to answer.

“A
barang
who speak Khmer and Vietnamese. Speak very well. A friend of General Tep. He here long time. He live and speak like Asian man. No like Khmer Rouge man. But maybe he here in Khmer Rouge time. I don't know.”

“Are you scared of this man?”

“I don't know. He always friendly to me. But everyone scare the White Spider. Everyone shaking when he come into the room. He not like people speak bad with him, disagree with him. He never shout. Always speak very quiet.”

“Do you think Tep is scared of the man?”

Raksmei shook her head.

“Tep is old friend. They like brother and brother. I never see Khmer and
barang
good friend like this. But all the girl in the temple very fear from him.”

“How many girls live in the temple? Do you know?”

“Maybe twenty. They come and go in big black car. They all look and talk same same.”

Raksmei stared into empty space, lost in thought.

‘Did the Khmer Rouge not manipulate children to get them to brand their own parents as traitors or anti-communists?”

“I know, Maier. They do that before, long time before. Young Khmer people like me not know much about Khmer Rouge time. My friend in Kampot, they don't know who is Pol Pot. We not want to remember and the parents not want to talk about these times. But I know, the soldiers who come to Phnom Penh in 1975, many of the children, young boys and girls.”

“Do you know who your parents are?”

Again Raksmei took her time to answer.

“No. Somebody tell me my father is
barang
. My brother, he say same. Papa is
barang
. But maybe mama is
barang
. I don't know. I think I am born in 1980.”

“At that time, there were not many
barang
in Cambodia?”

Raksmei nodded.

“No
barang
. The Khmer Rouge throw out all the foreigner or kill them. But maybe there is some exception.”

Maier realised he was hurting the girl with his questions and changed the subject.

“How did you get into the temple?”

“I know General Tep long time, since I am little girl. He help me and my brother. We grow up with old lady in Kampot. I call her aunty, but she not aunty. She die eight years before. After that I live with my brother in her old house. Tep, he give money and food. I remember him long time.”

“I had not imagined Tep to be a generous man.”

Raksmei laughed, but Maier could sense that the girl was angry.

“One time he try to chat me up. When I start Hope-Child he give some money. After my brother gone, I give up NGO and offer to Tep I can work for him. He accept.”

“And why does he tell you about his dark secrets?”

“In Cambodia, people like this, man like this. They not think that a woman they know long time can make problem for them.”

Maier laughed drily.

“That's not a Cambodia phenomenon. It's like that everywhere.”

But Maier still had doubts. A large piece of the puzzle was still missing.

“I have to go to Kampot.”

Raksmei brushed her short hair across her forehead and smiled. She pulled a small wad of dollar bills and his passport from her pocket.

“I find in your room in the temple. Tonight I take you to Phnom Penh. From there you go alone.”

After she'd left, Maier opened the bottle of whiskey.