The Deceivers (24 page)

“A simple ‘no' would have done nicely. I hope those things aren't what I think they are.”

“Those things” were small, square canvas shelters that looked suspiciously like they were meant to be a tropical version of an outhouse.

“Toilets and showers.”

“No roofs. What do you do when it rains?”

He grinned and shrugged. “You can shit and shower at the same time.”

I was afraid he'd say that. And after ten hours of a hot, sweaty trip, I was in desperate need of a shower.

“I suppose there's no hot water in those showers?”

“I think you'll get what you expect. Nice cool water. You'll love it. Just don't lick your lips while you're in the shower.”

“Why?”

“There's bottled water in your tent. The water used for showers is clean enough to bathe in, but I doubt if it's drinkable. My stomach's used to the local micros, yours will rebel.”

I estimated it would take three days for me to see Angkor Wat and Thom. One night in a tent was fine, but tomorrow I'd be checking into the Siem Reap version of the Ritz.

Kirk got on the phone to make arrangements for a meeting later while I went into the tent to change. I wondered what the “meeting” was about.

The tent was a double—two small “army” cots with a folding canvas end table between them, two racks for hanging clothes, and two bamboo benches for holding luggage. A reed mat covered most of the floor—but not under the beds. That made me wonder what kind of nasty crawling critters might be lurking there. Foot-long scorpions and fist-size hairy black spiders came to mind.

I put on my short robe, grabbed a bar of soap, and flip-flopped over to the row of canvas showers in my rubber thongs. The floor of the shower stall was a wood pallet made up of strips of wood. I looked carefully at the inch-wide cracks to see if anything like a snake or scorpion raised its ugly head. I knew I was being a pansy, but I was not an outdoor girl.

I took off my robe and hung it on the hook. It took a second to get used to the cool water but surprisingly it felt good on my sweaty body. I soaped down, getting ready to wash my hair, when I heard the shower start up next to me. Kirk hadn't said anything about taking a shower so I was curious as to who was next door.

As I washed my hair I heard a tearing noise in the canvas. I looked over and suddenly froze. I saw the knife slitting a hole down the canvas. I just stared at it, unable to move. This was not happening, I thought.

Just as I was about to let out a bloodcurdling scream, Kirk's head appeared through the hole.

“Hello.” He had a big grin on this face.

“Jesus, you scared me. I was just about to yell bloody murder.”

“Sorry. I wanted to surprise you.”

“Well, you did. You're going to get us into trouble for damaging the place.”

“Chantrea will take care of it. I'm just making sure we don't offend the sensitivities of Cambodians when I fuck you.”

“You sure know how to have fun.”

“Especially with a beautiful woman.”

I had to admit it was exciting to have a man rip through your shower tent to have illicit sex with you.

Kirk easily slipped through the tear. He pulled me against his wet glistening body and kissed me on the mouth, then worked his way down to my nipples, devouring each one with this mouth.

“You are crazy, you know that.”

“That's what makes it exciting.”

Damn. Why was I so weak? I knew he was wrong for me, probably a tomb raider and smuggler, but he had that strong masculine appeal and slightly dangerous vibe that turned me on.

I gave in to my need for sexual gratification. I grabbed his limp cock and squeezed, feeling it come alive in my hand. I couldn't deny it; I was horny for him.

“God, it's hard already.”

“That's what you want,” he said huskily.

His erect cock slipped out of my hand as he moved his way down my abdomen and to the mound between my legs. His tongue found my sweet spot and I pulled his face harder against it, spreading my legs for him.

“Feel good?”

His tongue stroked my clit and I started to tremble inside. “Yes,” I groaned with pleasure.

“You want more,” he teased.

“Yes.”

“What do you want. Say it.”

I was about to come any moment. “I want you inside me.”

I wrapped my arms around his neck as he grabbed my buttocks and lifted me up. He shuddered and held me tight. A minute later, I started giggling uncontrollably …

We hadn't heard the elderly Japanese couple in the tent next to us until we stepped out of the shower. The man avoided my eye but the woman gave me a big smirk.

Maybe she figured she would get lucky tonight, too.

 

L
OOTING
H
ISTORY—AND
D
ESTROYING
I
T

In
Angkor Wat … almost all the Buddhist statues have been beheaded. Looters and dealers prefer to take mainly heads.… [O]ut of the thousands of statues that once stood at Angkor Wat, only twenty-six are left.

—MASHA LAFONT,
Pillaging Cambodia: The Illicit Traffic in Khmer Art

 

Looting
has caused even more destruction than war. At Angkor Wat scarcely a freestanding statue retains its head, while many statues have disappeared entirely. In the 1980s the Cambodian government removed most freestanding sculptures and stored them in a guarded warehouse in Siem Reap. Even so, armed bandits attacked the warehouse and made off with priceless works. Today the worst pillaging has shifted to hundreds of outlying temples, such as Banteay Chhmar.

It takes no special insight to see why looting would be endemic to Cambodia, one of the poorest countries in the world, still swept by periodic famine. A poor farmer who finds a sculpture in his fields or a soldier who plucks one from a temple at night knows that if he sells it to a smuggler, he will be able to feed his family for several years.

—DOUGLAS PRESTON
, “Close Encounters at a Khmer Temple,”
National Geographic
, August, 2000

26

I left my golf cart near the causeway entrance to the temple complex. Since we were camped inside the park, I didn't have to go through the main gate and buy a ticket. The front of the buildings were lit for the evening show. I wouldn't have minded seeing the show, but I preferred to meet up with Bourey the guide.

I was sure the curator had a reason for referring me to the guide besides getting a good tour of the temples. I felt as if I was being tested … as if Rim Nol knew something, wanted to share it with me, but was still cautious to do so because he didn't know if I could be trusted.

The gate where tour guides hung out was at the entrance. I wasn't even sure if there were guides on duty this late. I was about to head for the front gate when a man slowly approached me.

He appeared older than Nol. To my Westerner's eye, he was a venerable
ancient
yet ageless relic. His hair was snow white, his features resembling the classical majesty of the faces of Angkor kings on the Bayan temples on the cover of guidebooks. Like Rim Nol, he was rail-thin, not an ounce of excess flesh on him. He wore casual, loose-fitting clothes typical of Cambodian men, sandals, and a clipped-on laminated ID that identified him as an Angkor guide.

Also like Rim Nol, he oozed honesty, reliability, and sincerity. I liked him immediately.

He met me with the traditional Cambodian
wai
greeting, a small bow with his hands clasped together in a prayer position. “I am Bourey.”

“How do you know who I am?” I asked.

He smiled and nodded again. “Nol said you were an exceptionally beautiful woman.”

I liked this man a lot. I offered my hand and he shook it. “After a comment like that, I am your faithful servant for life. Nol's, too.”

We walked together toward the temple.

“Nol says you are an art expert,” he said. “Is Khmer art your expertise?”

I shook my head. “I'm afraid not. My expertise is Mediterranean—Greek, Roman, Egyptian, Babylonian, and other civilizations.”

“We of the East are as blind about your Western civilizations as you are about ours. I know little of the Mediterranean antiquity sites.”

We headed toward the western entrance of the temple where the evening show was being presented.

Gesturing at the structure in front of us, he said, “I am told that Angkor is the largest religious center in the world. Our temples here number over a thousand, spread over a great area, but some of them have been turned into little more than rubble in rice paddies by the ravages of time.

“Angkor means city and it was the capital of the great Khmer emperors, from about the ninth to the fifteenth centuries. The empire held dominance over much of Southeast Asia. The temples you see here were built of stone and brick. Most tourists don't realize that the buildings were religious shrines and not intended for public use. Only the gods and those chosen by them were permitted to live in buildings of stone or brick. The king and his court lived inside the temple walls.”

“Where did the common people live?” I asked.

“In the wooden huts found around the central temple compound.”

Our conversation continued as we walked across the causeway toward the temple entrance.

“Angkor Wat is a twelfth-century complex inspired by Hindu mythology while Bayon nearby in Angkor Thom is a Buddhist temple completed about a century later. Each of the complexes have their own monuments, canals, and reservoirs. The designs represent the shape of the universe according to mythological beliefs and the entire complex is walled and surrounded by a moat that represents the primordial ocean. Four causeways run across it. Carvings of nagas, half human, half serpent, were put on the causeways to defend them.” His voice was calm and melodious as he described the ancient site.

“I've heard that Cambodia has a problem with temple looters,” I said. That was an understatement but I decided I should proceed politely and test the waters early.

“Antiquity sites around the world have the same problem as we do. But yes, it is something we must deal with. The site is protected by a police force who the French assisted in training. French police agencies and even the French Foreign Legion are still involved in protecting the sites, but besides Angkor, there are thousands of more sites and we lack the resources to protect them all.”

Nothing he said so far signaled me that he was anything more than a guide taking me on a tour.

“There are three levels containing galleries and courtyards with the five towers atop the third. The tallest tower rises nearly to the height of a twenty-story building. It represents the peak of Mount Meru where the gods reside. The other four represent peaks of adjoining mountains.”

He gestured at the walled compound. “All sandstone, plus an earth material that acts as a mortar. The blocks were cut from a quarry far from here and brought by boat near where the Siem Reap ferry landing now is. From there they were brought by oxen cart and elephants to the site.”

“I imagine that like the pyramids of Egypt, it took decades and thousands of slaves to build this temple?”

“A million slaves toiled forty years just to build Angkor Wat. As you will see when you examine the carvings yourself, it is not just the power of the backs of people that were used to build this Khmer wonder, but the power of their minds and the artistic skills of hand and eye. Many of the surfaces in the complex have relief carvings depicting characters and legends from our mythology. The wat has the longest relief carvings in the world.”

We arrived at a raised terrace with giant stone lions guarding each side and climbed up the steps. In front of us was a long causeway leading to the interior. Inside, a courtyard theater had been created with rows of folding chairs.

“Would you like to see the show?”

“Yes, I would.”

Bourey said I could get a better view if I didn't mind standing and I followed him up a stairway to a wood platform.

“You are familiar with the dancers we call Apsarases?” he asked.

“Oh, yes.”

“They were a favorite subject of ancient artists and are featured throughout the site. These heavenly nymphs were born to dance for the ancient gods and tonight they will dance for the new gods—tourists who pay.”

He chuckled at his joke.

Torchlights scattered along the outer walls and through the courtyard gave the whole place an unearthly feeling. Every seat was taken now and it had suddenly gotten quiet. The dancers began appearing, one by one.

Bourey whispered, “The performance tonight is a tale we call the Nymph and the Sage. The Apsarases were playful and seductive and were often sent to distract a spiritual master from his meditation. Menaka, the main dancer tonight, was considered to be one of the most beautiful of the nymphs. She was sent by Indra, King of the Devas, to break the concentration of the great sage, Vishwamitra.

“When the sage sees her beautiful naked body, he is filled with sexual desire and the two become lovers. After many years of having Menaka as his lover, Vishwamitra finds out he has been tricked. He becomes angry and returns to his meditations. Menaka has his child and leaves the baby by a river. The child is found later in the forest surrounded and protected by birds. She is named Shakuntala.”

Four apsaras dancers were now onstage. Dressed in brightly colored tunics and skirts, each of them had on elaborate headdresses, as well as glistening jewelry on their head, arms, wrists, and ankles.

“They're beautiful,” I whispered.

To one side of the dancers an orchestra played drums, gongs, and xylophones.

I was mesmerized by the slow hand gestures and sensuous body movements. Bourey explained their graceful hand movements were a language.