Lawrence Osborne - Hunters in the Dark

The river curved here and a mournful chanting echoed down it, a funeral service of some kind with the whiff of incense, while on the cliff opposite the dormitories of the bhikkus could be seen by the lines of saffron robes drying on lines along the walls. Silk cotton trees towered above these walls and cast down an almost impenetrable shade, within which a few cows moved, stirring their bells. They stopped halfway across the bridge and took in its jagged silhouette and the girls washing clothes on the mud isles dotted like stepping-stones across the river.

They went into the monastery and the shade of the silk cotton trees and as they wandered around the ramshackle dorms they heard the rustling of hundreds of bats hanging in the higher branches.

“Are you fraid of bats, Robert? I want to show you something very nice. Come here a little and we stand underneath them.”

They were between the monks’ houses and the boys were watching them from the walls and Robert felt a quiet dread go through him. Ouksa raised his hands and then clapped as loudly as he could and a moment later the mass of somnambulant bats stirred and rose as a single body.

It crackled and hissed as it lifted itself clear of the treetops and whirled around in a circle while the air rushed down and touched their faces. It was a little party trick but it made Robert put his hands over his ears and the monks had their laugh. They walked back down to the river.

The older monks had not come out to talk to them and the rain was clearly on the move. Ouksa said he knew a place a little farther up the river where they could relax if the downpour arrived. They drove there in fifteen minutes. It was a shack on the water, an NGO bar by the look of it, with the usual Bob Marley paraphernalia and one-dollar Tigers. They went out onto the empty deck and sat on the moth-eaten sofas and poured ice cubes into their beer glasses. In some breathless way the day had passed more quickly than they had realized. The waters here were faster and dyes from the construction site upriver swirled past. They felt rather good sitting there with Bob Marley and Smashing Pumpkins on the system. The rain was just beginning.

“I hear you went to the casino two night ago.”

“You heard that?”

“ Baht . I know all the guys there. I take the Chinese to Caesar. They love Caesar.”

“Well, I did.”

“Win or lose?”

“Lose.”

“Lose a lot?”

“Not very much.”

“Win nothing?”

“Nothing.”

He could feel that the part-time driver did not believe him. It was not easy to say why.

Robert made him drink more, and they waited for the rain to abate and the dusk to settle in. At six the drying out began and the clouds parted; the ironwood trees still dripped as they made their way back out to the car and the edge of a moon had appeared low in the sky. The road was wet and the car slid a little as it made its way parallel to the river before coming to a crossroads and the edge of wide fields, where Ouksa turned by a corner shop garish with rod lights and they began to cross the fields toward the town.

—

A sudden dusk had come. The road dipped slightly by a second crossroads and they paused while the engine turned and they could hear the insects purring wildly in the fields. A headlight was coming across the opposite field at high speed but they could not see the surface of this other road. The sugarcane was high here on all sides and tall banana trees lined the road. The moon now flashed between their leaves. It was because the road curved sharply that they did not see the other beam of light for a few seconds. It came around the bend at a leisurely pace and they saw that it was a motorbike and on it was the white man that Robert had seen at the temple earlier in the day.

He recognized him at once and when the bike slowed the barang looked up and saw them and drew to a halt at the side of the sugarcane.

“It’s the guy I saw earlier,” Robert said to Ouksa, and he felt a desire to get out of the car and make himself known.

Ouksa said nothing, but the sudden frown was telling.

“I’ll say hello,” Robert said.

He was out on the road and the quietness came down upon him now that the motors had been turned off and he saw that the barang was handsome and only slightly older than himself and dressed in his sharp summer linens and dark blue suede drivers.

“Are you lost?” the man said, laughing and showing all the openness in the world.

“Half lost, maybe,” Robert said.

“Englishman?” the American said.

“Can’t deny it.”

“I thought so. A Brit on a country road — I thought you might need some help.”

Robert turned toward the car and the face of Ouksa peering through the windscreen.

“I don’t know about help. I suppose he knows the road.”

“Depends where you’re going.”

“Back to Battambang, I guess.”

The bike rider shook his hand.

“I’m Simon Beaucamp.”

“Robert Grieve.”

“England then? That’s a long way to come. Or go.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Me, I live here.”

The voice was aristocratic New England, slightly clipped. Money, ease and familiarity with out-of-the-way things.

“In Battambang?”

“Down by the river. I have a place there.”

He made a motion to the fields, to the high trees.

They were as if alone in the sweet darkness, the two barangs, and mutually amused at the coincidence.

“Well, I just thought you might need some help. You traveling?”

“Yeah, passing through.”

“Come down to the river and have a drink if you like. There’s a bar called Angkor Town down there.”

“That’s a good idea — I’ll ask the driver if he doesn’t mind.”

“He won’t turn down a drink.”

Robert walked back to the car.

“What say we go with my new friend here and have a drink down by the river? He says there’s a bar called Angkor Town. You know it?”

“Yes, sir.”

But Ouksa was pale and he kept his eyes upon the motorbike gleaming at the far side of the road.

“You look a little worried,” Robert said. “It’s just a drink and you can join us.”

Ouksa shook his head emphatically. “Not with him.”

“What’s wrong with him? He’s just a barang like me.”

“No, sir.”

“Why not?” Robert said irritably.

“He has a bad feeling about him. It’s clear.”

“Clear to who?”

“Clear to me. Don’t go with him.”

“Nonsense.”

But Robert himself now had a small doubt. Should he listen to the more knowing Khmer? But his pride kicked in and he decided to go for bravura. There was also his sense that Ouksa’s emphatic warning was itself a con. He didn’t know who to believe and who to trust and so he went with the benefit of the doubt he was inclined to offer a fellow Anglo.

“Anyway,” he said with a kind of counteremphasis, “I’m paying, aren’t I? It’s my call.”

“I don’ care you pay.”

“Come on, Ouksa. It’s just a damn drink down by the river. There’s no harm in it. We’ll drive back to the hotel after. I’ll pay you more.”

“How more?”

“OK, twenty dollars more. Plus drinks.”

Seeing that he had little choice the Khmer relented.

“I won’ take him in the car,” he said, however.

“All right. He’ll just lead us down there.”

Robert went back to the stranger.

“I talked him into it. He seems a bit spooked for some reason.”

“Oh? Well, I’ve been known to have that effect.”

“Never mind him, we’ll follow you down to the river. I hope we aren’t putting you out.”

“Not at all.”

Beaucamp went back to his bike and mounted it, and the smile had not left his mouth.