Cambodian Book of the Dead (20 page)

 

THE LAST FILLING STATION

 

Maier spent the night in a small guest house in Kampot. The next day he stayed in his room, had his food delivered to his door, slept and dreamt empty dreams.

When it got dark, he got on the bike and drove to Kep.

“I need a gun. It cannot be difficult to buy a gun in Cambodia, surely?”

Maier had waited until just after midnight before he'd dropped into the Last Filling Station. Les had shown no surprise as the detective had entered his bar.

“The red snoop is back,” was all he'd said.

The old American nodded at the Vietnamese girl and seconds later a .22 calibre revolver and a box of cartridges lay on the bar counter in front of Maier.

“This little thing is not registered, buddy. And it's small so you won't go through the wall behind you when you pull the trigger. I don't want to see it again. Get rid of it when you're done. You owe me a hundred and fifty US dollars.”

Maier loaded the weapon.

“Turn up the music for a minute, Les.”

The detective stepped outside and walked down to the beach. A loud rock song blasted from the bar and shattered the humid silence: “
I am a world's forgotten boy, the one who searches and destroys.”
 

Maier stepped up to a palm tree, kept five metres distance and pulled the trigger. The bullet burst the tree bark. He waited until the song had finished.

“You don't trust anybody?”

“Kaley's sister was not killed by the Canadian who is sitting in jail in Kampot. At the time of the murder, that man was already a prisoner. Pete let him go and he was picked up again immediately. The woman was tortured and shot in Bokor. The work with the golf club was meant to hide this.”

The American nervously brushed his hand across a tattooed arm as if trying to cure an itch. For a moment, the old war veteran looked as if he was going to despair. Maier was sure he could trust this man. Les called for the Vietnamese girl. The small silent woman appeared from the kitchen, carrying two more guns. Les spoke a few words of Vietnamese to her and gave her a key-ring. The girl gesticulated angrily. But the American shook his head gently and took the weapons from her hands.

Maier realised only now that Raksmei had been sitting at one of the darkened tables at the back of the bar since he'd arrived.

“I wait for you long time, Maier.”

He nodded at the girl and smiled. She looked incredible in a pair of old and very tight jeans and a pink, buttoned-up shirt. Her blue eyes were lined with black kohl. Her short frizzy hair stood in all directions and had been dyed a soft red. She looked ready for a wild Saturday night in Phnom Penh, but it was Wednesday and she sat in the only bar in Kep.

“The whole world wants a piece of Maier. Tep's people were waiting for me in Phnom Penh.”

Maier had planned to ask Les whether the old soldier could take him to Bokor without being noticed, but it would have to wait.

“What you do with the gun, Maier? Shoot the ghost?”

Maier laughed. “I would not dare pay a second visit to Tep's without a gun.”

“You go back island?”

“Yes, tomorrow morning. Alone.”

Raksmei nodded seriously.

“No problem, Maier. I not come with you. If Tep catch me, I am dead. I not think he like that I help you run away.”

Maier nodded thankfully.

Raksmei finished a glass of water and stood up.

“You take me to Kampot? You not stay in Kep tonight? Pete is at the dive shop and son of Tep come here today looking for us. And he ask for you in Kampot.”

The American nodded in agreement.

“Yeah, the English guy dropped by with a lawyer from Phnom Penh and showed me copies of my land ownership papers. He told me that all the papers I had were fake. He's been doing the rounds for days, with all the
barang
who bought land in Kep. Usually the same story. Either we invest the money in the casino and pay rent for the properties we bought or we can get out. The Scandinavians already left. A few of the French have too. Maupai is still here. He came in yesterday, drunk, and told me that the casino would be saved through the cooperation of the local expatriate community. If you believe that, he will rule Bokor like the Sun King one day and Indochina will make a comeback. He's basically gone insane since the death of his wife.”

“What happened to Kaley?”

“Inspector Viengsra charged her with prostitution and took her away. Shortly after, Tep's son chased Rolf out of Kep. As far as I know, our young German hero is in Phnom Penh.” Les laughed without joy. “That was a few days ago. Since then no one's seen Kaley in Kep. But Tep is still here. Sometimes he's over at his island, sometimes up at the brothel and sometimes at his beach resort.”

Maier gave the American his best smile and said goodbye.

“I will be in touch.”

“If you need anything else, buddy, let me know.” He paused for a moment, then added, “You are alright, Maier, aren't you?”

“I am alright. Please organise me a boat that I can take to the island tomorrow.”

 

Two minutes later, Maier raced without lights along the coast road to Kampot, his revolver in a pocket of his vest. Raksmei sat behind him, her arms slung around his waist, her right hand on his weapon.

Maier had made all his decisions in the hospital in Phnom Penh.

“If you ever look into her eyes properly, you'll never share a bed with me again.”
 

When he stopped a few minutes later at the offices of Hope-Child, the girl behind him had fallen asleep. He switched off his engine and shook her awake.

“Maier, come in, your hotel might no longer be safe.”

“It is almost certainly safe. I checked in under a false name.”

In the light of a pale half-moon, Raksmei stepped towards him and threw her arms around the detective. Maier looked at her eyes. What a terrible and beautiful place this country was. For a moment he looked past her, tried to feel Carissa in the darkness of the tropical night, but she was not there.

Raksmei climbed back on his bike and they drove to his guest house.

Carissa's words followed him like a warning.

“Don't get happy yet, old man. First we have to solve the case.”
 

He finally took Raksmei where he could see her and opened his eyes for a second time, wide enough to let her look in. She stared back, from a place Maier could only guess at. Her skin was like the surface of a placid ocean, from a world in which placid oceans existed. When he slid his hand down her back, from her shoulders to the bottom of her spine, she shuddered slightly. As if the surface of the water rippled. She showed no fear, nor obvious joy, but enough silent lust to pull him down into the water.

 

They lay next to each other in his room, silent and sweating.

Hours later, after her breathing had calmed, he stood next to her, revolver in hand and stared down at the beautiful sleeping shape of the girl. Her face had a very serious expression. So familiar.

It was time to go.

Maier got dressed quietly, reloaded the gun, and collected Raksmei's clothes. No one would follow him this time. As he stood outside the door in the dark corridor he waited for a moment and typed a message into his mobile phone. The reception along the coast was not great and Maier hoped that his brief instructions made it to Kep.

He locked the room and threw Raksmei's clothes behind the reception.

It had started to rain.

Maier pushed his motorbike to the old bridge, the only one which led across Prek Kampong Bay, before he started the engine and slowly drove towards Bokor. When he reached the edge of the jungle, he ditched the bike and started walking. He never saw nor heard the three youthful black shadows peeling out of the fog behind him and closing in.

 

 

HELL IS EASY

 

Maier felt great and assumed his mental well-being to be the result of the drug he had been given. Everything in his head repeated itself over and over, at unfathomable speeds. He knew that he'd been lying on his bunk for ten thousand years. He could feel himself lying there ten minutes ago. Or perhaps his euphoria could have something to do with the fact that he was still alive. Wherever he was now, his life couldn't be worth much to anyone but himself.

Outside, somewhere unimaginably far away, he could hear birdsong, perhaps a few insects. No people, no engine noises. Familiar, but he couldn't put his finger on it.

After some time, he managed to move his head.

The White Spider sat in front of him. Alone. The man was so old, a single kick would end it all. But Maier could not even move his little toe. He could not even see far enough along his body to check whether he still had his toes.

“I assume that you feel reality has become more flexible. In a few days you will be able to find your way around the inside of your head again. You will then be able to sort your visions from your life.”

Maier watched the man silently. He did not want to try to speak yet.

“You are in a monastery near Bokor. You have been with us for a week, and you have been doing well. Some other guests would have gone insane by now, or expired. But we haven't amputated anything yet. No one knows that you are here and no one is out there looking for you. You have been reported missing to the authorities, but this is nothing out of the ordinary. People go missing in Cambodia all the time. And you are wanted in connection with the death of a German tourist, I have heard. The police found a gun with your prints on it that has been counter checked with the German authorities.”

Maier tried to focus on the man's wristwatch. Walls had appeared in his head, which made it impossible to form judgments. He needed to make judgments on what the man had just told him. But he couldn't.
“What do you want with me?”

Maier was surprised, the question had simply slipped out of him.

The old man heard him and leaned forward.

“I like precise answers, it comes with my background. You, on the other hand, ask precise questions. I am not used to that.”

For a moment, he seemed to be searching for words.

“I have not been asked anything for a very long time.”

“What is your background?”

“My background is in vermin removal. I realised as young man that this was my calling and I never got away from it again. I have had different experiences in life and have done different jobs, but I always felt most comfortable in my first job. I am sure you understand. Through the vagaries and coincidences of life, I have become a mirror of the twentieth century. A mirror for the blind. Look closely, without blinking. Concentrate.”

Maier's head was clear. He could see the man in front of him, but he had not caught up with himself yet. Some large chunk of his life, his personality, appeared like a brief dream which, following his return to consciousness, threatened to disappear down a black hole. That might have had its good sides, but he could not put his finger on anything positive. He wasn't even sure whether he was still truly Maier, whether he had ever been truly Maier, or whether he might be Maier again at some point in the future. He had lost his desire and ability to make judgments. He was happy.

“I will tell you my story very slowly, Maier. I am a Catholic. I believe in hell. I am familiar with it. My hell can only be days away. That's how it is when you grow old. After a long and productive life, one can't help becoming a little cynical. You used to be a journalist, now you are a detective. You grew up in a totalitarian country, but now you live in apparent freedom. You have seen a lot during your travels. That's why you can and will write down my story.”
The White Spider nodded at him, a celebratory expression in his pale blue eyes.

“Yes, I am appointing you as my biographer. I will pay you for your services, every day. With your life. Your work will enable you to continue living. You will be my Scheherazade. I will show you things only a few people have seen. And if you manage to bring my story to paper, you will earn the right to live, until our next session.”

Maier tried to nod, but his head wouldn't move.

“And if you do a good job you will soon understand again who you are and how to read the truth.”

Maier had nothing to say.

“But you must choose, Maier, between life and death. And if you choose life, it will be my life. My story.”

The old man had got up and staggered towards Maier. A young, beautiful woman with short frizzy hair and inscrutable blue almond-shaped eyes had appeared next to him. A European? Maier could not be sure.

He had seen her somewhere before. Maier thought about her so hard that his head almost exploded, but he could not recall the name of the young woman or where he might have met her. Her name had disappeared into the black hole.

She wore black pyjamas and stood in bare feet. She held two syringes in her hands. The left syringe was filled with blue liquid. The right one was clear. She did not smile and looked right through him.

“You are my biographer, Maier, and I will make you the witness of my life's work. What do you think, helping an old friend, a countryman, far away from home, to take leave of the world? What do you think of your assignment? Isn't my offer irresistible?”

The White Spider had bent over Maier and watched him attentively. Maier knew that the most important moment in his life lay in his own green eyes right now. In his eyes, which he'd used all his life to seduce women and to pull the truth from people. Perhaps his life had all been one long preparation for this moment. For a few seconds, he opened his eyes to let the old man look in.

The White Spider nodded sympathetically and the girl put the syringe with the clear liquid aside. Seconds later he felt the needle in his arm and fell into the sky.

“Do not worry. Everything is simple and straightforward in hell. You don't need a translator and there are no questions to ask. Just make sure you don't blink, Maier.”