The Dying Beach (8 page)

‘I agree,' Jayne said, butting out her cigarette. ‘We could try tracking down the farang from Princess Beach. She might be able to tell us something about the state Pla's body was found in.'

‘Really? You are not thinking she was too shocked by the discovery of a dead body to notice much in the way of detail?'

Jayne shrugged. ‘No harm in asking.'

‘In that case, I will conduct a search of the hotels while you translate Pla's notes,' Rajiv said.

‘I found a mobile phone among Pla's things. Could you take a look at it?'

He nodded. ‘I should also be going into Krabi town to check for email messages. We need to keep our paying customers happy if we are to fund our pro bono work.'

‘Speaking of funding, before I start on Pla's notes, I'd like to head out early tomorrow to the temple to see about making a donation for the funeral.'

‘Of course.'

They sipped their beers in silence, watching as the Andaman Sea dissolved into the darkness.

12

Jayne knew of two foundations in Bangkok that provided free coffins and funeral services for people who died destitute or whose bodies were unclaimed by loved ones. A third foundation operated in the provinces, but didn't reach as far south as Krabi. It was left to local temples to arrange cremation and either scatter the deceased's ashes or inter them in a
chedi
on temple grounds. At the monks' discretion, the normal three days of funeral rites might be reduced to one. With this in mind, Jayne and Rajiv set out early on a rented motorbike to shop for gifts for the monks.

The Ao Nang market reeked of live fish dying slowly in the sun, apart from the aisle selling temple offerings, which smelled of dying fish and sandalwood. Jayne and Rajiv bought three orange plastic buckets containing washing powder, soap, toothpaste, sugar cubes, jars of instant coffee, candles and incense sticks, all wrapped in cellophane like hampers. One bucket fitted in the basket on the front of the motorbike. Jayne balanced another on the seat in front of her, leaving Rajiv to carry the third while gripping the back of the seat with his free hand. Jayne drove slowly to appease him, allowing her to take in the scenery.

Towering karst mountains of ochre and grey were draped in green vines and rose from lush jungle on both sides of the road, a landscape reminiscent of Conan Doyle's
Lost
World
. Wat Sai Thai was signposted not as a temple but as an ‘Ancient Sea Shell Site', nestled in a clearing between the road and the mountains. Behind the single-storey building at the entrance was a crematorium with a tall chimney, and beyond that, rows of ornate
chedi
like miniature temples, the Thai equivalent of tombstones. A Buddha statue as big as a city bus reclined against the base of a cliff beneath a concrete shelter, a knowing smile on his face.

The first monk to cross their path tried to steer Jayne and Rajiv around the side of the mountain to the shell fossil site. When Jayne explained the purpose of their visit, he registered the orange buckets and gestured towards the building by the entrance. A sign over the door said
rong
liang
, dining hall. They were met by a second monk, who ushered them past clusters of tables and chairs to a room that was empty apart from a white coffin against one wall in a nest of floral wreaths.

The monk, a youngish man whose orange robes encircled his pot belly like a girdle, knelt on a flat square cushion in the middle of the room. Jayne and Rajiv joined him on the cool tiled floor, Jayne maintaining a respectful distance and sitting in mermaid pose to keep the soles of her feet from view. She tried not to look at the coffin.

‘A funeral, you say?' The monk directed his questions to Rajiv. ‘For a drowned girl with no family?'

‘That's correct,
Phra
,' Jayne replied, using the honorific reserved for monks and nobles. ‘We were told Khun Chanida's funeral would be held here at Wat Sai Thai and we'd like to make a contribution to the cost of the ceremony.'

The monk rubbed at the shaved patches where his eyebrows had been.

‘Ah, Khun Chanida,' he said, still addressing Rajiv. ‘Yes, yes. I know the case you are talking about. Her body will come here later today from Krabi Hospital.'

So soon? Jayne wondered what the prompt release of Pla's remains implied about the autopsy results.

She addressed the monk again. ‘When will the funeral ceremony take place,
Phra
?'

‘Normally the chanting would commence Tuesday and the cremation take place on Thursday.' He glanced at the orange buckets. ‘But the length of the ceremony depends on the generosity of Khun Chanida's friends.'

He raised his shaven eyebrows at Rajiv, who took it as an opportune moment to hand over the buckets. As women were not permitted to pass anything directly to monks, Jayne gave hers to Rajiv to place at the monk's feet.

The monk tilted forward to inspect the contents. ‘Traditionally there are nine monks to conduct the chanting.'

Rajiv dipped his head to apologise for the shortfall in buckets.

‘The temple will provide a coffin but the cremation will require coal.'

‘
Phra
, we will be happy to make a donation to cover the cost of fuel for the cremation,' Jayne said.

‘For the feasting—'

‘Master is happy to advise young novice that the temple will cater for Khun Chanida's funeral.' The interjection came from an older monk who joined them in the hall. Wizened, dark and lean, he gave the young monk an exasperated look, and beamed at Jayne and Rajiv.

All three of them bowed with a deep
wai
. The older monk nodded and lowered himself onto the tiled floor, the younger one whisking the cushion out from under his own knees just in time for the older monk to sit on it.

‘My name is Phra Ubol,' the old man said. ‘And I will see to it that chanting is offered for Khun Chanida over three evenings at Wat Sai Thai.'

Jayne bowed her head. ‘
Khop khun na ka, Phra
.'

‘The cremation will take place on the third day, Thursday, at five o'clock in the afternoon. But you're welcome to join us for the chanting any evening beforehand.'

‘We will try to come Wednesday—' Jayne began. But Phra Ubol's attention had shifted. People were starting to arrive, drifting through the dining area towards the assembly hall. ‘I think we should go.'

As they backed away, Jayne overheard Phra Ubol instruct the younger monk to distribute the three orange buckets to the oldest monks in the care of the temple.

When Othong saw the woman, he couldn't believe his luck. There she was by the side of the road—white skin, black curly hair, in-between age, in-between height—studying a map. She had a small pack on her back and a bottle of drinking water in one hand. He drew up alongside her on his motorbike.

‘Do you speak English?' she asked.

Othong nodded, though he understood very little and spoke even less.

‘Oh, thank heavens. I think I got off the bus too soon.'

Most of this went over Othong's head. But her next question was music to his ears.

‘Wat Sai Thai,' she said, spinning her finger in the air. ‘Is it near?'

This was the woman, all right. She was on her way to the Sai Thai temple where the girl's body was to be cremated, a piece of information he'd extracted by chatting up a nurse at Krabi Hospital earlier that day.

Othong made a show of looking where she pointed on the map. ‘Very far,' he said, shaking his head. ‘You come my motorbike.'

‘Oh no, I couldn't possibly impose—'

‘You no money,' he added.

This seemed to make his proposal acceptable. The farang woman climbed on the pillion seat, clutching him around the waist as the motorbike surged forward. Othong knew of a dirt track less than a kilometre along the road, which led to an abandoned rubber plantation. It was the perfect setting to persuade the farang woman to give him the material she had taken from the girl's room. She would hand it over and he would deliver the goods to Uncle Bapit, who might even compare Othong favourably with his cousin Vidura for a change.

At the very least, his face would be restored.

13

Jayne dropped Rajiv off in Krabi town and returned to their guesthouse in Ao Nang, misleadingly named the Sea View, to get to work translating Pla's notes. Braving the heat, she set herself up at a table on the veranda of their bungalow, which, though failing to deliver a view of the sea, overlooked a lush garden.

She suspected the garden owed its fecundity to poor plumbing—she heard water hit the ground below the bathroom floor whenever she took a shower or used the basin—but she wasn't complaining. The guesthouse was cheap and clean, and the manager required only a modest bribe to let them register without their passports.

There wasn't enough of a breeze to lift the pages of Pla's notebook as Jayne worked her way through the translation. With the aid of her dog-eared Thai–English dictionary, it took her the better part of three hours, pausing only to order coffee and replenish her supply of drinking water from the guesthouse café. When she finished, she lit a cigarette and read back over her translation.

Her first instincts proved to be correct. Pla's notes were transcripts of meetings with villagers in relation to an unnamed project in locations she referred to only by initials, the equivalent of ‘Village P' or ‘Village LK'. The records detailed the villagers' concerns and the response of the Bangkok-based ‘experts' who'd met with them on various occasions over the previous six months. All persons were referred to by an honorific and first name only, though this wasn't unusual. Surnames had only been introduced in Thailand in the nineteenth century and were rarely used for anything other than bureaucratic purposes.

Several names recurred with greater frequency than others. One was Yada, whose honorific
Mae
, meaning ‘mother', suggested a village matron. Mae Yada was a straight shooter who tolerated no nonsense. Jayne pictured her as a large matriarch with betel nut–stained teeth, who talked loudly at blessing ceremonies if the monks prattled on too much, but cuffed the ears of her grandsons if they dared show disrespect.

The following passage was typical of Mae Yada's contribution to the discussion.

K
HUN
N
UKUN:
The road will be improved. The old dirt road will become a sealed road.

M
AE
Y
ADA:
But an increase in traffic on the new road will mean more road accidents.

N
UKUN:
But the new road means a faster route to hospital if anyone is injured in road accidents.

M
AE YADA:
But we wouldn't need a faster route to hospital if not for more road accidents. Besides, the hospital is a long way from the village.

N
UKUN:
The project will provide a new medical unit in the village to reduce the need to travel to hospital. This will also prevent road accidents.

M
AE
Y
ADA:
I'm sorry, young man, please explain how the new medical unit will prevent road accidents.

N
UKUN:
Because people won't have so far to drive to hospital, so there's less risk of accidents.

M
AE
Y
ADA:
But they wouldn't need hospital in the first place if not for the accidents they had while driving along your new road. (She laughs.)

This transcript was followed by a comment, a change of pen suggesting it was added later.

I asked Khun Nukun when the company planned to
build the medical unit. He said his job is only public
relations: to make the villagers understand, accept,
assist and cooperate with the project and create a
good image of the company.

Nukun's was another name that came up often. Jayne gathered he was based in Bangkok, though he made frequent visits to the communities affected by the project. Not all interviewees were as assertive as Mae Yada, but the public relations officer had his work cut out for him.

K
HUN
N
UKUN:
You say everyone is opposed to the project. But I have received delegations from people very much in favour of the development.

K
HUN
P
OOMCHAI:
The only people in favour are those who will profit personally from the construction.

N
UKUN:
Uncle, have you considered that your fear and short-sightedness may be blinding you to opportunities that others are choosing to embrace?

P
OOMCHAI:
What's short-sighted about wanting to protect my farmland?

K
HUN
B
APIT:
Is that all the ambition you have for your children, to be a dark-skinned peasant like you?

N
UKUN:
The company is offering new jobs, higher incomes, new lifestyles for the next generation.

P
OOMCHAI:
That's all very well, Khun Nukun. But what happens to the older generation when there is no one left to tend the farm?

N
UKUN:
Your family will have no need for the farm.

P
OOMCHAI:
But you don't understand. The farm is what makes us a family.

While it was Nukun's job to put a positive spin on things, at times he could spin out of control. Jayne came across an example in an exchange with someone of indeterminate gender, referred to by the nickname Daeng, meaning ‘red'.

K
HUN
D
AENG:
Village LK is worried about the impact of the project on the birdlife. We have many protected species in this area.

N
UKUN:
Do not worry about the birds. The species in this area are mostly common species of the country and have high adaptive ability. They are free to migrate when the environment is not preferable.