Reaction

by Seth M. Baker

  38

  The road into town changed from uninhabited jungle to a strip lined with shacks on stilts, front yards full of brown water, and little stores selling liters of fuel from plastic bottles. Women sat on their front stoops, waiting out the rain. Signs written in a curved, unknowable script advertised services and products he could only guess at. Amadeus realized his mouth was gaping. He had only seen such houses in pictures and documentaries. The shacks seemed to be thrown together from packing crates and left over corrugated iron. Here and there, a pile of garbage sat, drenched by the rain. Closer to town were more concrete structures. Sal looked at him and raised one eyebrow.

  “One would think with all us people coming here, some of the money would be spread around. But this country,” he lowered his voice, “is still a clusterfuck, even with all the NGOs and well-meaning travelers. And I know a clusterfuck when I see it.”

  Ponleak drove slowly over the marginally-paved main street, making quick, stomach-turning swerves to avoid the brick-filled potholes. As he did, the tuktuk groaned, and Amadeus and Sal slid from side to side. Amadeus clutched his bag in his lap. Sal did the same, holding onto a handle that came down from the roof. Sal pointed out a bank on a busy street corner. “Can you meet me there at, say, seven o’clock?” Amadeus decided that yes, he should meet Sal for dinner, if only to get more information about the town, to find out where the expats hang out, and start looking for Laroux. Amadeus said seven o’clock was fine. That would give him time to find lodgings and change into some dry clothes.

  Off the main road and onto an unpaved side street, Ponleak drove even faster. Mud flew up from the back wheels of the tuktuk. They finally arrived at the night market. Even in the early afternoon, the neon sign for the market was lit. Amadeus hopped out and produced a soggy ten-dollar bill from his pocket. “That should cover it?”

  “That’s a little too much.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Saved me a lot of pain.”

  “Suit yourself,” Sal said, pocketing the wet money. “See you at seven, my crazy friend.”

  From the market, Amadeus followed signs pointing him to a cheap third–floor room with air con. Behind the desk, incense wafted from a little red house. Inside sat a gold Buddha statue, a bowl of rice, and a Chinese cat, its plastic paw perpetually waving. After a shower, his first in days, under a sky streaked mournful orange, he set off to find a bank.

  *

  They sat in an open-front restaurant, under the breeze of ceiling fans, and fish curries. Amadeus had thought he wouldn’t like it, but it was the combination of spicy and sweet, like a coconut and pineapple pepper, that changed his mind. He was tempted to order a second one. Instead, he ordered them both a bottle of Angkor beer.

  Sal told him his story: he had been studying in the United States but returned to Brahmapur, India, when his mother became sick. She had recovered. Now he was waiting another six months for a new education visa. He decided to spend that time here. When Amadeus asked him what he studied, he smiled.

  “I know it’s a cliché thing for an Indian person to say, but I study computer science and programming. American education is not cheap, so I support myself by running an information propagation company.”

  “Like marketing?”

  “Marketing on steroids, injected with adrenaline. Think heat-seeking missiles with a self-replicating payload of marketing materials. A group wants to get their word out, I make sure spreads like the plague. I make viral seem like a common cold. High–tech word–of–mouth. Mostly I work with charities. That’s why I’m here. And what is your trade?”

  “So you’re a spammer.”

  “I should be offended, but I’m not. In a way, I do spam. Only more sophisticated and targeted. Plus, I have standards. I don’t do pharmaceuticals or quackery. Mostly ideas and beliefs.”

  Amadeus told him he had been studying geography, but he too had had family troubles.

  “The world is strange place, my crazy friend. That’s why I like programming; so few answers, and the best ones are usually the easiest and most elegant. The world is messy. You can see that all around us. There is no one, easy, elegant solution. I wish getting countries to change was as easy as writing beautiful code, adding a few functions, or developing a clever campaign, but sadly it is not possible. But enough about me, why did you choose to come here? Are you interested in the temples?”

  “Yes, temples, but I’m looking for a friend…of my father’s. His name is Laroux.”

  “Laroux.Hmm. Is he a Frenchman? There are many in this town. I heard of one group that went out into the jungle maybe, um, fifteen years ago, they started a colony, took their Cambodian wives with them. A woman told me a rumor that their children are the most beautiful children in the world.”

  “Yeah, he’s French, but I don’t know about the jungle colony. I think he’s doing charity work,” Amadeus said.

  “There’s a bar in town you might check, called the Gecko Café. Many French expats hang out there.” Sal gave him directions. As they finished their dinner, they talked about their university time. Amadeus said he was going to ask around town about Laroux. They shook hands and Sal gave him his copy of On the Road. “I wrote my email in the front, if you ever want to catch up with me.”

  “That would be nice,” Amadeus said. “Thanks for all your help.”

  39

  At the Gecko Cafe, Amadeus sat at the table next to a girl typing on a tablet computer. Beside her sat a book in French. Her hair was the same brown as the dusty street outside. “Excuse me, do you speak English?” he asked. She shot him a cold look and returned her attention to her computer.

  “Hey, I’m really sorry to bother you, but I’m trying to find someone.”

  “Aren’t we all,” she said.

  “It’s important.”

  “So is what I’m doing.”

  “People could die if I don’t find him,” Amadeus said. “I saw you had French books and I thought you might know him.”

  “I’m from Quebec. You think I know every French person in this town?” She looked up from her laptop, stared straight ahead at the bar, took a deep breath, and said, “Who are you looking for?”

  Amadeus pulled out his phone and showed her Laroux’s picture.

  “You know, I think I have seen him around. He stays out in the jungle, near the Fuckoff Temple.”

  “Fuckoff temple?” Amadeus said. He started typing on his phone, to search for this temple.

  “You’re way too earnest.” Amadeus thought about the name for a second then smiled. “Let me have another look.” She squinted, zoomed in on the image. “Yeah, I really do recognize him. He runs an orphanage or charity or something.” Amadeus asked if she knew where he could find Laroux. “No, I do not. Where have I seen him…not here, but maybe,” she thought for a minute. “That’s right. At Le Bistro, the most expensive place in town. He has dinner there sometimes.”

  “Where is that?”

  “Do I look like a guidebook? Just walk down the main street and you’ll see it. Would you leave me alone now? I’d like to get back to work.”

  “You’re working?” Amadeus asked.

  “No, I just sit in a bar with my computer hoping to be distracted by a dashing Yankee.”

  “Any luck yet?” She just smiled and shook her head.

  “Not yet. One day, one day.”

  *

  He found Le Bistro and looked in, but he didn’t see Laroux. He went in and asked a waitress, showed her his picture. She recognized him. Amadeus asked her when Laroux came in, how often.

  “Every day around dinner, maybe seven or seven thirty. He is regular like a clock,” the waitress said, her skin unblemished by age or makeup. “And he always big tip.”

  “Do you know what he does here?”

  “Something good,” the waitress said, but that was all she knew.

  Amadeus returned to his guesthouse, turned on the air con, and spread out on the stiff white sheets. He watched a gecko on the wall then s
lept until late morning the next day. When he stepped outside, the heat hit him like a wall. He turned around, went back to his room, and spent the afternoon under the air conditioner, reading On the Road. At six forty five, he went to Le Bistro. Outside the restaurant, a row of tuk-tuk drivers reclined in their little trailers. No foreigners besides himself. Amadeus pulled out his book and waited. At exactly seven thirty, a man in a white linen suit and matching hat strode into the restaurant. All the waitresses smiled at him when he came in. He gave them a little bow and sat near Amadeus. Amadeus watched him as he adjusted the place setting before him. He seemed approachable enough. After Laroux had placed his order, Amadeus went over to Laroux’s table.

  “Excuse me, are you Quinton Laroux?” Amadeus asked. Laroux gave him a tight smile and nodded.

  “And you are?” he asked.

  “My name is Amadeus Brunmeier. I think you knew my father.”

  “Knew?” Laroux said, arching his thin eyebrows.

  Amadeus explained everything that had happened so far, his father, the demon, Vesely. Laroux nodded as he listened, his forefinger pressed against his cheek. After Amadeus finished, Laroux said he was sorry to hear about his father. “He was a man of astounding qualities.”

  “I really need your help.”

  “Tomorrow morning I will show you something, but not now. Even with such sad news, tonight is still a beautiful night. Do you hear that?” Amadeus listened but he wasn’t sure what he should be listening for. He heard sometuk tuk drivers laughing about something. On the street outside, autobikes and cars sputtered past.

  “That is the sound of hope, of progress. People laughing, living their life. The evening is a time for peace and happiness. What I will tell you will bring you just the opposite. So, let us meet first as friends sharing good news in a sad and beautiful country. Tomorrow, tomorrow morning, you can tell me more and we will figure out how I can help you with this awful business. Tonight, would you like to dine with me?” Amadeus nodded and got up to collect his plates and silverware. Laroux waved for him to sit back down as he called for the waitress. Together, they ate steaks. Laroux told Amadeus about his decision to leave the world of business behind. “Sharks, vultures, and plutocrats. I felt empty as a prison cell. Now I help people. I know my purpose.”

  *

  Before sunrise, Amadeus met Laroux outside Le Bistro. He stood beside a tuk-tuk, speaking to the driver in Khmer. Amadeus hopped in, telling Laroux about his situation on the way. Fifteen minutes later, they were walking across the causeway to Angkor Wat. Amadeus ran his hand over the balustrade as they walked. Even in the dark, Amadeus could make out the long stone wall and the spires of the temple, rising from the walls like giant pine cones. Once inside the walls, they stood by the reflecting pools with other visitors and watched the sun rise over the temple.

  They climbed the smooth stone stairs. The temple smelled of moisture and moss. Amadeus wanted to linger and examine the long stone carvings on the walls showing writhing armies of Khmers, Thais, Chinese, and Chams engaged in battle in eternal stone. Laroux told Amadeus there would be time to view these later, but now he would show him something that would help him explicate his story better. Amadeus followed him to the back of the temple.

  “This relief,” Laroux said, “is called the Churning of the Sea of Milk.” The relief showed a long, neat line of warriors pulling on a giant snake. Just above eye level, a four-armed figure stood atop a mountain. The mountain sat on a turtle. Above the scene, a thousand fairies danced and flew. Below, a thousand fish twisted and swam.

  “This is a Hindu creation myth, the story of a tug of war between demigods and demons. On this side are the Asuras. They are like less sinister forms of Christian demons. And there are the Devas, the demigods, almost like angels. But these categories are more flexible. Sometimes Asuras can become Devas. Lots of grey areas in this story.”

  Amadeus leaned in close to examine an Asura. “The demons don’t look that different from the demigods.”

  “That’s because they represent the two sides of human nature. This whole story is a metaphor for spiritual practice. The ocean is our mind, and the waves represent our thoughts and emotions. The mountain, stoic and calm, is concentration.

  “Here in the middle,” he walked over and pointed to a four-armed figure holding a sword, “is Vishnu, one of the highest gods in Hinduism, overseeing everything. Vishnu is incarnated as the turtle at the bottom. The turtle holds things up and keeps them from sinking. The turtle represents spiritual practice, withdrawing into oneself.

  “They’re all pulling back and forth on Vasuki, the giant snake. The snake is coiled around the mountain. As they pull back and forth, they make waves in the ocean.” Amadeus nodded. “Why are they pulling? They are trying to make an elixir of immortality. At first they had a deal, an arrangement, and everyone worked together. Why? The demigods promised to give half the elixir to the demons, but later they reneged on their promise.”

  “So the angels, or the demigods, lied to the demons,” Amadeus said.

  “That’s right. And they had Vishnu’s help. You probably want to know why I’m showing this to you,” Laroux said. Amadeus started to speak, but Laroux started before any words escaped his lips. “Ross thinks he is the turtle.”

  “Okay.”

  “You don’t understand. There’s a lot to know. But I’ll come back to the story in a minute. Let’s keep walking.” They set off down the pavilion. Each support pillar had a dancing deity and flowing patterns carved into the rough stone. Their footsteps reverberated down the stone corridors. They reached a doorway, climbed some steep stone steps, and entered the upper courtyard. Laroux continued.

  “A few months ago, Vesely and your father convinced me to come to New York for a meeting. I hadn’t spoken to anyone for several months, I try to keep my distance from that world, but they both said this was urgent, that things had gone awry. I walked in on an argument. The atmosphere was more tense and bitter than anything I have ever experienced. I was late. Your father, Vesely, and Ross were there. The woman, Esther is her name, she was not there. The moment I walked in, your father said there was something I had to see. And he showed me a video of a monster, crawling out of one of his contraptions. I guess you have seen this?”

  “Yes.”

  “After I watched this, I did not know what to think. I started to ask your father some questions, but at this point Ross stood up and began to give a speech. How did he start?” Laroux put his finger to his cheek and looked at the ceiling. “Ah yes. He said we faced a scenario very similar to story of the churning of the ocean of milk. He said that humanity had allowed itself to become like the Asuras, prideful, arrogant, ignorant and violent. He believed our civilization, our world, was represented in the struggle between the Devas and Asuras. We, he said, were Devas, and these monsters from the demon gate were our gift from Vishnu, that by having a common enemy humanity would unite. We could end the tug of war and the sinful orgy of the Asuras. He said that the victory, humanity would retreat into itself, that from the chaos a new order could be formed, one of discipline and spiritual contemplation.”

  Nearby, a family was having their photos taken with local women dressed up in traditional gold and red costumes. Little metal orbs hung down from their clothes, jingling as they moved.

  “He said a new age was dawning, that our civilization had grown too big, too decadent, too lazy and apathetic, oppressed by our own creations. This, from a man who created one of the largest companies in the world. But according to him, it was time to transcend our primitive roots, to grow beyond monkeys with machine guns. This last part I remember best. He leaned forward and looked around the room, making eye contact with each and every one of us. None of us spoke; maybe we were too shocked at what we were hearing. And then he spoke the words that have haunted me ever since: ‘The time has come. This is the end of the iron age,’ which he meant in the Hesiodic sense of the word.

  “At that point, your father stood up, called
Ross a maniac, and tackled him, knocking him to the ground. Vesely and I pulled your father off. Ross fumed with anger. Your father then said that he would stop his research, that he would rather be locked away at a university than allow demons and monsters to amok. I told him he should return to the original objectives of the research. You see, I always believed in your father and the work he did. Can you imagine how much grief would end if we could only talk one more time to the people we lost? Well, I’m sure you know this as much as anybody. And Vesely agreed with me.

  “When Ross saw that he had no support, he offered to buy us out for what, even for a roomful of already wealthy men, was a staggering amount of money. Both Vesely and I shook our heads. Your father, he looked so relieved at that moment. I know your father had said no one person could have control over the research, but the amount of money offered by Ross was more powerful than any contract. Yet we both stood firm and said no to Ross and his insanity. After we made our decision, Ross shook his finger at everyone and told us we made a mistake we would regret until our ‘ever-quickening dying day.’ That was the last I heard of him. Since then I have hoped Ross would put this madness aside.”

  Amadeus reached in his pocket for some paper but found none.

  Laroux sat on the stone stairs leading to the highest part of the temple and sighed. “Knowing what I know now, I feel responsible for this. Maybe I could’ve done more. But immediately after the meeting I returned here, wanting to get back to my work. Who could’ve known what he would do? You believe he killed your father?”

  “I know he did. This is the simplest possible explanation. But it a crazier explanation than I ever would’ve thought.”

  “That’s what I believed; I couldn’t take it too seriously. Yes, Ross is rich, but I thought this was just an eccentricity. When men reach a certain level of wealth and power, their view of the world begins to change. More than one European royal has said Earth would be better off with ninety-five percent less people. No one takes them seriously, because we assume they’re all a mentally deficient result of centuries of inbreeding. But Ross isn’t a member of European royalty; he’s actually an intelligent man. This creature you speak of, you say it was in New York while you were there?”