Colin Cotterill - The Woman Who Wouldn't die

He knew they’d be watching for him on the way to Pak Lai. The west was closed to him. But the south was hospitable. Thailand needed its tourist dollars and it honed its Thai smiles and its few words of English to suck out every last coin. Foreigners were shown respect, even the ones who deserved none. Barnard had no entry permit, but nobody asked. Transport was efficient and trouble free. He took the local bus to Chiang Khan and on to Bo Phak. And in under six hours he was in Boh Bia staring at a line of forest which the locals told him was the border with Laos. You could pick your spot. More dollars bought an unnecessary porter and a guide and three asses. It seemed no time at all before they had negotiated the heavily wooded trail through Sanyaburi and arrived at the Mekhong at a spot upriver from some madness of a festival. Cancer will take you the moment you yield to it, but he had that one motivating factor that could drive the terminally ill — that kept them going against all the odds. For some it was love. Family. For some it was a simple thing like adding to the count of bird songs and sunrises. For Barnard it was the dream of leaning over the dead body of Madame Daeng with the blood still warm on his tyre iron.

‘It could easily take us a few months, you realize?’ said Madame Daeng.

They sat dead centre in the longboat of the Uphill Rowing Club. It had taken the crew only five minutes to lose their first heat of the day which sent their average to zero points. Despite the generous atmosphere of a Lao boat race, losing every event and causing damage to others meant that you were disqualified from even the losers’ wooden spoon race in which both boats won a prize. The URC was just about to return home with nothing to show for its efforts until Madame Daeng made them a proposition.

‘If we asked them to pull in their oars and let us row we’d be there in half the time,’ said Civilai. ‘They do realize that only sailing boats have a need to tack, don’t they?’

‘Where else were we going to find a boat to take us upriver?’ Daeng asked. ‘And look at them. They’re all so happy.’

‘They’re on something,’ said Civilai, who spoke from experience.

When Daeng and her team had first approached the URC and suggested a journey upstream, she’d expected to haggle a price. But the crew was so pumped with adrenalin from the races, it was up for anything. They’d booted out half a dozen rowers who seemed not to care in the least and made space for the guests. Against the current they barely caused a breeze but Ugly’s tongue unfurled above the cool water as he scanned the bank ahead for hostiles. Daeng leaned back against Siri’s chest. Mr Geung rehearsed the words he’d use to placate his fiancee. The crew was passing around several plastic bottles from which they swigged with great enthusiasm.

‘I could use some of that,’ shouted Civilai.

A housewife handed him one of the containers and winked. He took a swig and spat it out. Coconut water.

‘This is all you’re drinking?’ he said with amazement.

‘Of course,’ said the old village headman.

‘But you all seem so … stoned. How can that be?’

‘We work hard,’ said the old man. ‘We don’t have a lot of chance to play, but when it comes, we play hard too. We don’t need stimulants.’

‘Remarkable,’ said Civilai.

‘Adrenalin,’ said Siri. ‘If only you could mix it with soda and ice.’ He watched the elderly lady in front of him who paddled with gusto even though her oar was too short to reach the water.

‘Has anyone considered what we might do when we get there?’ Civilai asked.

‘We might ask someone whether back in 1978 they remember seeing a naval vessel full of engineers,’ said Siri, prompting laughter from his shipmates.

‘Then perhaps there’ll be enough time for someone to explain why the elephant thing was so relevant,’ said Daeng.

‘The elephant,’ Civilai began. ‘A noble creature used for hundreds of years as a pack animal. Its courtship has been compared by many to the politburo. Much show and trumpeting but you don’t see any results for two years. Moody beasts whose strength is all in the neck with a surprisingly weak back. They were gradually replaced by asses and ponies and trucks. During the war — hard times — some were eaten. Nutritious but a bit like chewing on one’s favourite shoe. The population dwindled but you’ll find more here in Sanyaburi than any other province. That is largely because it’s one of only two border provinces you don’t have to swim to from Thailand. A lot of our most profitable smuggling of goods takes place right here and much of the jungle is only accessible by elephant. Lesser pack animals are easily spooked and unwilling to cut new swathes through dense undergrowth.

‘Once the Thailand trade was squeezed out by the Party and diverted to the Vietnamese border, business over on the west flank changed direction. Export switched to import. Black market goods flooded in across this porous border with the tacit knowledge of the local administrators. The things we lacked — which are many — they had. But it’s very much a one way trade. Empty elephants to Thailand. Full elephants to Laos. So, the question is, why have fifteen elephants been showering and frolicking at the riverside for three days when there’s smuggling to be done? It can only be because they’ve been booked. They’re waiting for a delivery. Something to take to Thailand.’

‘It could be something completely unrelated,’ said Daeng. ‘The sleazy governor might be exporting something.’

‘Very true, Madame Daeng,’ Civilai agreed. ‘But the governor has to maintain his position. Has to show his loyalty to the Party. He’s not going to blatantly load up fifteen elephants in the middle of the boat races with all us outsiders around. No, I’d say this is a private booking and I bet you it has something to do with your witch. For some reason, she’s prepared to risk everyone seeing and I bet it’s because she has a very narrow aperture of opportunity. This has to be done now. There’s something they want to ship to Thailand in a hurry.’

‘What?’ asked Daeng.

‘I think that’s a question we might get answers for if ever we catch up with the cruiser,’ said Siri. ‘And, brother …’

‘Yes?’

‘You did so well with the elephant question, here’s your bonus history question for two hundred points.’

‘I’m ready.’

‘What of significance happened in this country in 1910?’

‘1910? Let me see, France and Siam were busy slicing us up and winning parts of us like poker chips. Sanyaburi found itself back in French hands.’

‘I wonder if that’s got anything to do with it?’ said Siri.

‘The resident general experimented with making the whole country a free trade area. No notable battles, births or deaths as far as I know.’

‘Boring. That’s all?’ said Daeng.

‘It’s quite a significant amount,’ Civilai pointed out. ‘And I’ve given you more than you’d learn at a Convenient History 101 course you might study at Dong Dok College. The world began in 1975 as far as they’re concerned. What did you want exactly?’

‘I was hoping for a key,’ said Siri. ‘1910 was the clue.’

‘I still think it’s a phone number,’ said Daeng. ‘1910.’

‘Not an active one,’ Civilai told her. ‘Numbers 1000 to 2000 were decommissioned after the takeover. That was the French network.’

‘There it is,’ said Siri. ‘The French connection again.’

‘So we’d not be able to discover which department or household used that number before it was decommissioned?’ asked Daeng.

‘Not on a leaky boat in the middle of the Mekhong,’ said Civilai. ‘When we get back to Vientiane we can go through the files at the central post office.’