The Dying Beach

by Angela Savage

  Jayne sidled up to him. ‘Fancy your chances?’

  ‘Doesn’t look that hard.’

  ‘Don’t be fooled. To win, you have to shoot the box off the can without touching the can itself. The size of the pellets, the placement of the cans, the angle of elevation—everything is designed to make it difficult. And it’s twenty baht per shot, not per plate.’

  ‘Cheeky. What about the place next door?’

  The adjacent stall offered a spread of prizes piled into pyramids: packets of dried noodles, washing powder, cakes of soap and, farthest from reach, more bottles of whisky. Twenty baht bought the use of four rattan hoops and the chance to lasso a prize.

  Jayne conferred with the stallholder. ‘You only win if your hoop fully encircles the items and ends up flat on the shelf. If it gets snagged, it doesn’t count.’

  ‘Sounds like a rip-off.’

  ‘Yeah, well, a percentage of the takings gets donated to the temple. So it’s a rip-off for a good cause. Oh, look, I’ve read about this.’

  Ahead of them, at the end of the aisle, was what looked like a child’s paddling pool, lit from above by a dangling globe. The water, oxygenated by an electric pump, teemed with black and orange fish. A man squatted toad-like on a low stool by the pool, plastic jugs at his feet, and in his lap, a basket of long-handled tools fashioned from wire and paper. A chubby boy of about nine or ten exchanged a twenty-baht note for a paper net and a plastic jug, crouched by the edge of the pool and tried scooping fish into the jug.

  ‘The kid gets to keep whatever he can catch before his paper net disintegrates,’ Jayne explained.

  ‘Surely it’d be easier to just buy the kid a goldfish.’

  ‘But this way the boy gets to learn about the impermanence of the material world.’

  The net didn’t last long. The boy tossed aside the soggy remains and handed the jug to the man, who decanted it into a clear plastic bag and fastened it like a balloon. The boy held it up, inspected the two goldfish inside, and ran off with a pup-like yelp.

  ‘This is fantastic,’ Jayne enthused. ‘An authentic temple fair. It’s like reliving a childhood memory. Look, fairy floss!’

  In no childhood memory of Paul’s did fairy floss come in lurid shades of mauve, aqua and lime green. Nor did he recall the food stalls at the Royal Hobart Show selling grilled crickets or unhatched chicks steamed in their shell—though the deep-fried sausages on sticks did look like dagwood dogs, his show treat of choice before he became vegetarian.

  ‘Hungry?’ Jayne asked.

  ‘Not for anything from the bug buffet, if that’s what you’re suggesting.’

  Jayne grinned. ‘I’m starving. Why don’t you get us some beers and find a table. I’ll get the food.’

  One corner of the temple courtyard had been transformed into an open-air cafeteria. Paul nabbed a spare table and sipped his beer while he waited for Jayne.

  Darkness was falling. Fluorescent tubes flickered on over the stalls and vendor carts. A small Ferris wheel lit up in a starburst of neon. Paul could hear the excited shrieks of children, the sizzling of grills, the tinkling music of the merry-go-round. All around him Thai families were enjoying the fun of the fair with not another farang in sight. Perhaps it was the beer, or the relief of finally handing over Pla’s ashes, but Paul felt lighter. Jayne was right: the temple fair was fantastic. Thailand at its most authentic. He’d craved an experience like this.

  Jayne reappeared with whole grilled fish on bamboo skewers, bags of spicy shredded green mango and a wad of sticky rice on a banana-leaf tray. Neither of them had eaten all day and they devoured the meal in hungry silence. Jayne’s phone rang as they were finishing. From her smile, Paul guessed it was Rajiv. Loud music started up, followed by a woman singing a mournful tune. Paul tapped Jayne on the shoulder and signalled that he’d be back.

  He made for the shooting gallery with the slingshots. Four of his five shots found their mark but all knocked down the cans as well as the boxes. He had better luck with the rattan hoops, lassoing a bottle of whisky with a leaping gold deer on the label.

  Jayne was off the phone when he returned. ‘How’d you score that?’

  ‘Raw talent.’ He banged the bottle down on the table. ‘To reward ourselves once we find a place to stay for the night.’

  Jayne made a face. ‘Kwang Thong is pretty nasty. If we really want to reward ourselves, we should be thinking J&B or Johnny Walker—’

  ‘What do you think I am, made of hoops?’

  She laughed and Paul liked the sound of it. He wanted to get away somewhere they could drink nasty local whisky and laugh some more.

  ‘Are you happy to get going?’ he asked.

  ‘Sure—’

  ‘Miss Jayne, Mister Porn.’ Making a beeline for their table was Pongsak, a small child in his arms. He’d swapped his taxi driver’s uniform for faded canvas slacks and a T-shirt with the logo of a popular fish sauce. The infant wore towelling shorts and a singlet, what looked like a small wooden penis on a string around his waist.

  ‘Sawadee ka, brother,’ Jayne said. ‘I thought you’d be home by now.’

  ‘My village not far from here,’ Pongsak said in English, nodding at Paul. ‘I bring my family to the ngan wat. This my baby son, Sittipong.’ He jiggled the small boy, who brought his chubby hands together in a wai. Even before they could walk, Thai children were taught to respect their elders. ‘My wife, Wan.’ Pongsak stepped aside to reveal the pouting woman who hovered behind him, flanked by two small boys. ‘And my sons Chupong and Putthipong.’

  The two boys gave them forehead-high wais.

  Jayne spoke to Pongsak’s wife in Thai, making her smile and revealing a set of equine teeth that accounted for the pout.

  ‘I’m so happy to find you,’ Pongsak said to Paul. ‘Please come. I show you something special.’ He headed off into the crowd, family in tow. Jayne turned to follow.

  ‘Wait.’ Paul placed a hand on her arm. ‘I’m knackered.’

  She looked annoyed but when she met his gaze, her expression softened. ‘We’ll take a quick look at whatever Pongsak wants to show us, then we’ll go, okay?’

  ‘Promise?’

  ‘Promise.’

  He swung his pack onto his shoulders, grabbed the whisky by the neck of the bottle and followed her through the crowd.

  49

  The white canvas screen was lit from behind. Percussive music tinkled out of speakers. Jayne and Paul squeezed onto the end of the bench seat alongside Pongsak and his family. All eyes in the crowd were riveted to the screen. The image of an old man appeared, his face in profile, a stencil so intricately wrought Jayne could make out his eyebrows and beard, lips and teeth, the pattern on his robes, the notches on his walking stick, the scales on the fish in the basket on his back.

  ‘Traditional Thai shadow puppets,’ Jayne whispered to Paul. ‘I read about them in your guidebook.’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘Shadow puppets came to Thailand from India and originally told the story of the Ramayana. But the stories have evolved over time.’

  A voiceover introduced the ajarn, or teacher, walking through the forest to meet with two of his students. The puppet’s hand moved with the aid of a narrow stick, his mouth and eyebrows with strings. He produced a bottle from the folds of his robes and took a swig. The audience laughed.

  ‘What’s the joke?’ Paul said.

  ‘The teacher character—he’s like a hermit or holy man—isn’t supposed to drink alcohol or eat any kind of animal flesh.’

  The teacher was joined on screen by two more characters, whom he started to lecture.

  ‘These are the teacher’s students,’ Jayne translated for Paul. ‘The fat joker with the big nose is called Jakkrit. The pig-faced one is Banpod.’

  ‘Is it just me or does the joker look like our mate Pongsak?’

  She elbowed him and kept speaking. ‘The teacher wants to know how much the two men have learned from him.’

  The group was joined b
y a fourth character, a curvaceous female with big hair and the elongated fingernails of a dancer. Unlike the other puppets, she faced the audience, the light shining through her large black eyes and red lips. The male voiceover took on a high-pitched tone.

  ‘The beautiful woman is called Noon. She is telling Jakkrit and Banpod that she wants to get married but cannot choose between them. They start fighting—’

  ‘No kidding,’ Paul said. ‘One of them just pulled a gun.’

  ‘The ajarn is telling them to put their guns away and stop fighting. He suggests they take turns to show Noon what sort of future she can look forward to if she marries one of them.’

  All the puppets disappeared and the volume of the music surged before Banpod reappeared with a new puppet in a European-style business suit.

  ‘Banpod is doing a deal with a businessman from Bangkok to build a shrimp farm in his village,’ Jayne said. ‘He says he needs to make a lot of money quickly so he can marry the beautiful Noon. The businessman says the more land he clears, the bigger his pond will be and the more shrimp he will sell. Banpod tells him he will recruit his neighbours to help and they will turn the whole village into a shrimp farm.’

  There were sound effects like heavy machinery and the screen went blank again. Engine noise gave way to music as Jakkrit reappeared, standing on the deck of a longtail boat.

  ‘The other character, Jakkrit, has built a fishing boat out of the finest wood he could find. He’s heading out to fish in the waters close to his village to show his would-be bride how he can provide for her.’

  The music surged again as Jakkrit’s boat sailed across the screen, flipping over to sail back. In the next scene the two men faced their teacher and Noon, Banpod with a wad of money, Jakkrit with his boat.

  ‘The teacher is asking the men what kind of future they have to offer Noon. Banpod says he has become rich because he transformed his whole village and all the surrounding forest into a shrimp farm. He offers to buy Noon anything she wants. A TV, VCR, even a Honda Dream.’

  The puppeteer made Noon extend one long-nailed hand as if she was stroking the space between her and the porcine Banpod.

  ‘The teacher is asking where Banpod plans to make a home for his new wife now that the whole village is a shrimp farm. Banpod says he will build the most beautiful house in the village. The teacher is pointing out that even the most beautiful house will have only poisoned mud for a view.’

  ‘He’s not pulling any punches, this teacher.’

  ‘No, and for a two-dimensional puppet, Noon is managing to look very unimpressed.’

  The female figure raised her hand to her face as though overwhelmed by a bad smell.

  ‘The ajarn is now inviting Jakkrit to say what he has to offer Noon. Jakkrit says he cannot give her Banpod’s riches, but thanks to his boat, he will always be able to provide for her. And their home in the village by the sea is surrounded by natural beauty.’

  ‘Sounds good,’ Paul said.

  ‘Noon thinks so, too. Look.’

  The female puppet sidled up to Jakkrit and stroked his boat.

  ‘The teacher is telling Banpod…ah, it’s a saying. Geng jeut jeung, roo khoon gleua. It means you only appreciate the worth of salt when the soup is tasteless.’

  ‘The equivalent of you don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone?’ Paul suggested. As he spoke, the audience whooped with laughter. ‘What did I miss?’

  ‘They’re laughing because as Jakkrit turned to leave, the teacher asked if he had any fish he could spare.’

  ‘The ajarn is funny,’ Pongsak weighed in. ‘But he can still teach us good things.’

  The audience began to disperse, throwing baht coins and notes into the basket that materialised in front of the screen. Jayne joined a group of children peeking around the back, where a white-haired man sat cross-legged on a cushion, puppets at his feet and lined up in rows either side of him. She nodded with respect as he caught her eye and smiled.

  ‘How good was that?’ Jayne said, tossing money into the basket. ‘An ancient art form with contemporary themes.’

  ‘It was pretty amazing,’ Paul said.

  ‘Thank you, older brother,’ she said to Pongsak in Thai. ‘It was very special to see the nang talung performance. Khun Paul and I are very lucky to have met you.’

  ‘Where are you going now?’ Pongsak said.

  ‘We’ll find somewhere to stay for the night, then head to Bangkok tomorrow.’

  ‘You have a hotel already?’

  ‘No, but I’m sure we can find—’

  ‘I can take you,’ Pongsak said. ‘I know a good place.’

  ‘That’s very kind,’ Jayne said. ‘But you have your family with you. We’ll get a tuktuk.’

  ‘No tuktuks in Khanom, Khun Jayne. And too late for taxis. You come in the car with my family. I know a good place on Hat Nai Plao. Clean. Very cheap. Our village is nearby. Mai pen rai.’

  Jayne hesitated but only for a moment. ‘Are you happy to leave now?’

  Pongsak nodded, patting the back of his infant son sleeping on his shoulder. Jayne relayed the plan to Paul, who looked sceptical.

  ‘We don’t have much choice,’ she said.

  Pongsak’s beat-up car was parked down the road from the temple. They piled in, Wan in the front seat with the baby on her lap, Jayne and Paul in the back with the two boys between them.

  Pongsak switched on the engine, bringing the stereo to life and filling the car with the mournful warbling of Thai folk music.

  One of the boys was asleep within minutes, slumped against Paul. The other sat wide-eyed and rigid. Jayne nudged Paul and nodded at the boy.

  ‘He probably thinks we’re ghosts,’ she whispered.

  Paul tilted his head towards their driver. ‘Where’s he taking us?’ he mouthed.

  ‘A guesthouse on a beach.’

  Paul shrugged and turned to face the window, unaware of the scared little boy’s eyes on his back.

  50

  Paul would have hugged Pongsak if it wasn’t culturally inappropriate. The guesthouse he’d found for them was perfect, right on the Hat Nai Plao beach and virtually deserted. Their bungalows, though monastically austere, had verandas overlooking the moonlit sea. Paul’s even had a hammock.

  With only cold water on offer, he showered quickly, pulled on a pair of shorts and a clean T-shirt and headed for the hammock with his bottle of whisky and a couple of glasses he found in the bathroom.

  Jayne joined him within minutes, her hair damp, bringing cigarettes and a bottle of water.

  ‘Would you like the hammock?’ he said, in a bid to ingratiate himself.

  ‘That’s big of you, Paul. Let me think about it.’ She lit a cigarette and exhaled slowly. ‘Tell you what, if you go inside and fish out Pla’s notebook, I promise not to take the hammock while you’re gone.’

  He expected her to pull one over on him, but returned to find her sitting cross-legged on a chair. She’d lit a mosquito coil and was using an empty Coke bottle as an ashtray. Paul tossed Pla’s notebook into the hammock, poured two generous shots of whisky and handed one to Jayne.

  ‘Cheers.’ He took a decent sip and almost choked. ‘Shit, what’s this?’

  ‘I told you, it’s the local brew. Rice wine. Stick with it. You won’t notice the taste by the second or third glass.’

  ‘How do you manage to be so coolheaded about everything?’ Paul said, resuming his place in the hammock.

  Jayne laughed. ‘I’m not a coolheaded person at all. I just play the part of one.’

  ‘You make it look so easy.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘This.’ He gestured to the scene in front of them. ‘Being a farang in Thailand.’

  ‘Oh, that.’ She shrugged and took another drag of her cigarette. ‘It’s easier than being a freak in Australia.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Nothing.’ She waved and exhaled a cloud of smoke. ‘Everything’s easier when you speak the language.’ />
  ‘Why do you live in Thailand, anyway?’ Paul persisted.

  She took a sip from her glass. ‘For the local whisky.’

  He gave up trying to interrogate her. ‘You’ve been here way too long.’

  A tired silence fell between them, the lapping of the waves like sighs.

  ‘How are you feeling after today?’ Jayne said.

  ‘Fine.’ Paul stared straight ahead at the sea, determined to prove equally adept at deflecting questions he didn’t want to answer.

  ‘It was tough.’

  Paul nodded, took another sip of whisky.

  ‘Did Pla ever talk about her family?’ Jayne asked.

  ‘I knew her parents were dead.’

  ‘Did she mention the aunt or anyone else in Nakhon Si Thammarat?’

  ‘Why would she?’

  ‘Do you know why she went to Krabi?’

  Paul shrugged. ‘For work, I guess.’

  ‘Why do you think she was drawn to the power plant consultations?’ she pushed.

  He met her gaze. ‘To be with me.’

  ‘Ah.’

  Both of them stared out to sea, neither speaking for a minute or two.

  ‘I don’t blame you for not wanting to talk about it.’ Jayne broke the spell. ‘You must be exhausted.’

  Paul felt himself losing his fragile hold on his temper. ‘Yeah, I am exhausted after carting the ashes of my dead girlfriend across the country and fronting up to her last remaining relative with fuck-all to offer, apart from empty wishes in a language she couldn’t even understand.’

  ‘I get that.’ She was unfazed by his tirade. ‘I guess it’s the price you pay for being intimate with someone.’

  ‘Christ, you sound like those sanctimonious little shits I trained with. They’re so keen to volunteer in Thailand but they don’t want to actually get close to Thai people.’

  ‘I didn’t mean—’

  ‘Is that why you thumb your nose up at everything the Thais value in terms of proper female behaviour?’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘You smoke. You drink. You date an Indian, for god’s sake. Why the fuck do you live in Thailand?’