Daeng poured them two fresh glasses.
‘So how do you think it works?’ she asked.
‘What?’
‘Religion.’
Siri laughed.
‘That’s a bit heavy for six p.m. after just the one glass, don’t you think?’
‘I’ve asked you before when you were halfway down a bottle but you always make a joke of it.’
‘Why is it important?’
‘Oh, you know. If something happens to me I’d like to be prepared.’
‘You’re in your sixties. If you haven’t settled on a tour company yet you probably never will. You’ll be travelling solo. And, besides, I won’t let anything happen to you.’
‘Oh, Sir Siri. My hero. But tell me anyway.’
‘There isn’t one answer, Daeng. I know from experience that the spirits of the dead often hang around. This knowledge is a heavy weight to bear. It makes you want to have your brain laundered. I’m nothing special so it’s quite obvious that legions of similarly haunted people throughout history have borne this weight too. So, throughout time, I’m convinced all these confused spirit-seers got so freaked out they needed to find a way to explain it to themselves. Form logical parameters to make sense of it.
‘Like you, I grew up in a remote animist village. But then I went to school in a Buddhist temple. I underwent a strict Catholic education in France. I was perfectly content to accept the grand Shee Yee of the Otherworld and the Lord B, and Jesus and his mother as my spiritual icons as long as I didn’t have to spend too long on my knees. I would have settled for a committee. I just wanted order. But once I started to see my own ghosts I understood what these religions were all about. They were clubs set up by people like me to stop themselves going mad. You know what I really think happens? You die. You wait for your number. There’s a bit of time to take care of unfinished business. And you pass on. And, as you don’t come back, nobody actually knows what you pass on to. But that description has never been acceptable. People wanted an ending. They didn’t want to vanish into thin air. So these great religious gurus made some endings up. The more comfortable and happy your ending, the more members signed up and paid their fees. And it’s what the masses wanted. They ate it up. And the kings and emperors started to add rules and regulations to subjugate the commoners and keep ’em in line. And so they invented hell and told you if you coveted your neighbour’s mule you wouldn’t even get into the clubhouse at the end of it all.’
Siri took a sip of his brandy and smiled towards the river.
‘Nice,’ said Daeng. ‘The “You Just Die” philosophy of religion. I doubt you’d fill many seats on the holy day. But I suppose that’s fitting for a coroner. Except you know they don’t just die. I thought you’d seen the Otherworld?’
‘I did. But you would have noticed I wasn’t dead at the time. I was just in a trance. And as far as I can work out, the only spirits I see are the ones with unfinished business. But, I can’t know that for sure. I had no idea what I was seeing and no control over what happened there. I have this gift-cum-curse and I don’t even know how to switch it on and off.’
‘Is that why we’re here? An audience with the witch medium?’
‘No … Perhaps. I’m so close, Daeng. I feel it. I know I can communicate with these spirits. It shouldn’t be that hard. You see that fellow over there on the rock?’
‘No.’
‘Of course you can’t. He’s dead. But I should be able to call him over, sit him down here on the spare chair and ask him where he thinks he’s going. Ask him how he lost his arms.’
‘You think the witch can teach you to do that?’
‘It’s because of her and the word of a dead soldier that we’re all here. They do it all the time in Vietnam. They see the departed and ask them where the body is. If they can communicate, so can I. I’m sure it’s a question of confidence. Half the victory is in believing in yourself. You can’t tell me that faith hasn’t driven you through life.’
*
I was almost fourteen when I next saw Dr Claude and the Vietnamese. The bathroom fittings business was obviously doing well because they’d gone upmarket and were staying at the hotel in the centre of town. And they were travelling in a nice car. I’d delivered some laundry to the front desk and I saw them huddled at a small table. If they recognized me they didn’t react. I walked out and stood behind the outdoor barber stand opposite. My legs were like tofu. I couldn’t have gone back to the auberge if I’d wanted to. And I didn’t want to. I wanted to see where these devils were headed.
They could have walked but I suppose they wanted everyone to see their nice car. They drove it about two hundred yards and parked on the river bank not far from an open-air bistro. It was the type with hostesses in sexy clothes. The type the men liked; too young and just stupid enough. I’d sprinted to catch up with the car and I was out of breath when I threw myself under a hedge near where they parked the car. I watched them eat from there. I watched them drink. I watched them fondle. I’m not sure I had it in my mind to kill those two men. I don’t remember what was going through my brain. Perhaps I merely wanted them to feel what my mother and I had felt every day since we’d lost Gulap. And I had to do it then, that night, because I was afraid I’d never have the opportunity again.
It was getting late. Claude and his whore left the table and she propped him up as they walked along the river bank. He was drunk as a prince. The car was parked on a slight bluff with a scenic view of the Mekhong. They got in and there was some hanky-panky in the front seat. I’d learned all about hanky-panky at our auberge. The car rocked a little. Then there was nothing. Five minutes later the young lady of the night stepped out of the car and staggered back to the bistro. I came out of my hiding place and looked through the rear window. The moon lit up the river with a cheesy yellow glow. I could see the silhouette of Claude’s head. It didn’t move. I wondered if she’d killed him for me. But probably not. He was asleep. I’d heard all about men falling asleep at the wrong times as well. Too drunk to do his seedy business he’d decided to sleep it off.
I didn’t know anything about cars. Had never been in one. But I’d seen wheels before. I knew if you gave a handcart a good enough shove you could get it to move. I’d never heard of a handbrake and it wasn’t until several years later when I was learning to drive that it occurred to me that the spirits had left it off especially for me that night on the Mekhong. And even now I wonder whether I imagined what a laugh it would be if the car should roll all the way to the river and Dr Claude emerged angry and wet from the water. Or whether I hoped he’d be lost at the bottom of the Mekhong with all his sins come back in the form of river fish, snapping away at his nasty flesh. Or perhaps I just pushed to see what would happen.
It rolled more easily than I’d imagined. I barely leaned against the black boot and the car was on its way down the slope. It seemed to have a mind all its own. I couldn’t have stopped it if I’d wanted to. I lost sight of Claude’s silhouette when the car reached a sort of shelf and slowed a bit but in seconds it was over the ridge and nose-down headed for the water. The voracious Mekhong took the whole car in one gulp. I hurried to the ledge and looked at the bubbles — big, head-sized globs of air. Every second I expected the evil doctor to burst to the surface, coughing and spluttering and thanking his good Lord for delivering him safely from the edge of death. But he didn’t show. I was surprised to see people running past me, down to the river: foreign men and Lao staff and the Vietnamese and the curious girls. They’d seen it happen. And they all ignored me as if I’d had nothing to do with this. As if a car had taken a fancy for a dip all by itself.